Well, it provided a break from working on the house and a distraction from thinking about other things. Things like Jessie and why she’d invited him to dinner tonight. She’d sounded…nervous. Which pretty much described how he felt about seeing her again. He’d put considerable effort over the last few days into not thinking about Jessie. And he’d been successful. He hadn’t thought about the way she’d looked at Reilly with her heart in her eyes. He hadn’t thought about those ridiculously long legs. And he’d spent a great deal of time not thinking about the way her mouth had felt under his, the way she’d tasted. He’d done a great job of not thinking about her.
Why the hell had she invited him to dinner tonight?
“Still listening to that egghead music?”
Matt turned his head toward the front of the shed, squinting a little against the bright flare of sunlight.
“Some of us have taste.”
“Yeah, all of it bad.” Reilly wandered into the shed. “You going to rebuild this thing?” he asked, eyeing the car doubtfully.
“I’m thinking about it. I’m trying to figure out how much of it is here before I make any decisions. I haven’t tackled anything like this in a long time.”
“It’s a long-term project.” Reilly shot him a questioning glance, his words holding a question Matt wasn’t ready to answer. He didn’t know how long he planned to stay.
“I haven’t committed myself yet,” he said, shrugging lightly.
Reilly nodded and turned his attention to the car again. Wearing faded jeans and an old gray sweatshirt, his sandy-blond hair rumpled, he looked more like a slightly over-the-hill beach bum than the owner of a successful construction firm.
“Playing hooky?” Matt asked, picking up an old T-shirt and wiping the grease off his hands.
“More or less. There’s not much point in being boss if I can’t take a little time off now and then.”
His tone was a little defensive, a little defiant, and Matt’s brows rose. Something told him that the time had come for him to find out what was bothering his old friend. It had been inevitable. Reilly had never been able to keep a secret for long. Matt had sometimes wondered if that openness was the result of growing up with two loving parents or something inborn in the other man.
“Great party the other night,” Matt said, not sure he wanted to hear whatever it was Reilly so obviously wanted to tell him.
“It was great seeing everybody, wasn’t it?” Reilly picked up a wrench and set it down again. “Dana said to thank you for the flowers you sent.”
“I’m glad she liked them. She throws a hell of a party.”
“Yeah.” Reilly picked up a worn spark plug, studied it a moment and then set it down next to another plug, fussing with its position as if the fate of nations rested on their perfect alignment.
With a sigh, Matt tossed the T-shirt down and rested one hip against the Chevy’s scarred fender.
“You want to spit it out now, or are you going to make me beat it out of you with a tire iron?”
Reilly shot him a startled glance, opened his mouth to deny that there was anything to spit out, then closed it without speaking. His shoulders seemed to slump a little. “Have you ever done something so incredibly stupid and self-destructive that you find it just keeps haunting you?”
Matt flashed on the dreams, on the reason behind them; then, oddly enough, he thought of the kiss he’d shared with Jessie after the party. He wasn’t sure it qualified as self-destructive, but it had certainly haunted him. He crossed his arms over his chest, his mouth curving in a half smile. “I think I can safely say that I’m a strong contender in the stupid-acts sweepstakes. What have you done, Kemosabe?”
The old nickname made Reilly smile, but it faded immediately, and for a moment there was naked vulnerability in his eyes before he looked away.
“I slept with another woman.” The flat words echoed in the shabby little building, shimmering in the heat with an almost visible presence.
Aside from a lift of his brow, Matt didn’t rush to comment. Instead, he considered the idea, trying to connect it with what he knew of the man who’d been his friend for most of his life. He shook his head slowly.
“I always figured you for the faithful type, Ri.”
“I was. I am.” Reilly spun away, staring down at the neat row of spark plugs. “It was once. One time. One lousy night, and I’ve managed to destroy my marriage.”
His voice had thickened, and Matt looked down, contemplating the toe of his running shoe. In theory he was a firm supporter of the enlightened viewpoint that said it was okay for men to cry, but that didn’t make him comfortable with the reality.
Now that it was started, the story spilled out. Dana had been on a trip to New York for some sort of photo spread on former beauty queens. Reilly had had business in Los Angeles, and when the business was concluded, there had been a party. And at the party had been a woman, someone he knew casually and liked.
“I know it’s no excuse, but I was drinking and she was…she practically crawled all over me.” Reilly shoved his fingers through his hair, his expression both shamed and defensive. “I’ve tried to figure out what the hell happened. She was going through a divorce, and her husband was there with another woman. Maybe she wanted to punish him. We’d met before, and there’d never been anything between us. I mean, she’s attractive but I’d never… Hell.” Closing his eyes, he shook his head. “There’s no excuse for it. I slept with her. I was sorry as soon as it happened, but I couldn’t change it.”
“I suppose you told Dana,” Matt said after a moment.
Reilly gave him a startled look. “I had to. I owed her that much. Not telling her would have been like lying to her.”
Matt shook his head, his mouth twisting in a rueful smile. “Honesty is a sometimes overrated quality. And a painful one.”
“You think I shouldn’t have told her?”
Matt shrugged. “It’s not for me to say. I’m no expert on marriage.”
“Obviously neither am I.” Reilly shoved his hands in his back pockets and turned away, his shoulders hunched. “She forgave me. I didn’t deserve it, but she forgave me. She didn’t scream or hit me or throw me out of our bedroom. She just asked me if it was ever going to happen again, and when I told her I’d never regretted anything more in my life, she said we’d forget about it.”
Only it hadn’t been that easy, Matt thought, seeing the misery on his friend’s face, remembering the fragile emptiness he’d glimpsed in Dana’s eyes. You couldn’t just forget something like that, couldn’t just pretend it hadn’t happened, no matter how much you wanted to. Memory just wasn’t that accommodating.
Reilly drew a deep breath and lifted his head to look at Matt, his mouth curving in a half smile. “Thanks for listening, man. It helps to talk about it, even though I know I can’t go back and change it.”
Matt nodded slowly. “No, you can’t ever go back.”
Jessie gave the table a careful inspection. She knew a great deal about the art of presentation. Fine dining involved much more than the food. Everything from the table linens to the glassware contributed to the experience. Tonight she wanted everything to be as close to perfect as she could make it. Maybe, just maybe, this was going to be one of the most important nights of her life.
Or the night when she confirmed, once and for all, that she was certifiably insane.
With a sigh, she turned away from the table and went into the kitchen. This was Matt, she reminded herself. She’d always been able to talk to him about anything. She’d known him most of her life. Of course, she hadn’t known he could dissolve her knees with a kiss until a few days ago. She held the memory of that kiss like a talisman, as if it somehow proved that her insane idea made sense.
Standing in the kitchen, she ran through the remaining tasks in her mind, checking to make sure everything was ready. She’d chosen the menu with care. Beef tenderloin with a mustard and herb crust, flageolet with roasted tomatoes, mushroom and endi
ve salad with truffle oil vinaigrette, and her own recipe for pound cake soaked in melted butter, sugar and Galliano. The tenderloin was tied, ready to be browned and then roasted. Everything else was ready and waiting. She knew Matt didn’t drink much, but she’d opened a good California merlot so that it could breathe. Her grandfather’s favorite cognac was waiting in the living room.
Jessie frowned as the thought drifted, unbidden and unwanted, through her mind. And the condemned man ate a hearty meal.
Matt settled back into the comfortable embrace of the big wing chair. He’d always liked this room, this house. Jessie’s grandfather had lived here for over fifty years, and it had the cozy, lived-in feeling of a well-loved home. Softly burnished oak floors glowed golden in the lamp-light. The furniture had been chosen for comfort more than style, with soft, wide cushions that made it impossible to do anything other than relax back into their embrace. The stone fireplace was empty at this time of year, but he had memories of the way it looked in the winter, a fire crackling on the hearth, sending out heat and the sweetly pungent scent of piñon and eucalyptus.
It had been foolish to worry about coming here. Foolish to think that a single kiss would somehow change his friendship with Jessie forever. He’d felt a little awkward at first, thinking Jessie might have been upset or, worse still, had asked him over so that they could talk about what had happened. He should have known better. Jessie was… Well, she was Jessie. And a single kiss, even one hot enough to melt paint, was not going to intrude on a friendship that dated back more than two decades. She was much too practical for that. Had too much common sense. And if he felt a twinge of annoyance that she could apparently shrug the whole thing off, well, that was probably just another facet of delayed stress or whatever the hell it was.
It had been a pleasant evening so far. The food had been superb, and, though he’d turned down the wine, he had given in to temptation and allowed her to pour him a snifter of cognac. He held it now, cupped in the palm of his hand, warming it so that the rich, fruity scent drifted up to tease even before he tasted it. After that initial awkwardness, he and Jessie had fallen into conversation as easily as they always had, discussing everything and nothing. She hadn’t mentioned her grandfather’s book, hadn’t asked if he’d made a decision about doing the photography for it, and he hadn’t brought it up, either. He wasn’t ready to pick up a camera again. Maybe he would never be ready.
Still, she’d asked him to dinner for a reason. He’d known Jessie too long not to recognize the signs. She hadn’t settled in one place for more than a minute or two since they left the dining room. And she hadn’t stopped talking. The easy conversation they’d enjoyed earlier had disappeared in a nervous flood of chatter.
The cognac cradled in his palm, he leaned back in his chair and watched her as she stood next to an end table, fussing aimlessly with the shallow bowl of roses that sat there, making minute adjustments to the arrangement. At least she wasn’t wearing a dress tonight, though he wasn’t sure the black ribbed leggings and silky blue shirt she was wearing were much of an improvement. She really did have amazing legs.
“So, you want to tell me why you invited me to dinner?” he asked, seeking a distraction.
Jessie lifted her head to look at him, her eyes startled. “What do you mean?”
“Well, when a woman feeds a man filet mignon and plies him with fine cognac, there’s got to be an ulterior motive.” His smile took any sting from the words, but Jessie flushed guiltily, and her fingers tightened around the rose she held, bruising the peach-toned petals.
Now that the moment was here, she was torn between a desperate need to blurt out her question and an equally desperate urge to tell him he was imagining things, that she didn’t want anything at all, had never wanted anything and would never want anything. Except that would be a lie, because there was something she wanted quite desperately, and he might be her best hope of getting it.
Gathering her courage in both hands, she drew a deep breath. This was Matt, she reminded herself. Never mind that she was uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was really amazingly attractive sitting there, with his dark hair just a little tousled and his eyes questioning. Had his eyes always been so blue? Not that it mattered. What mattered was that he was one of her dearest friends. She could talk to him about anything. Ask him anything.
“Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about.” She lifted her eyes to his face and felt her nerves steady a little. He looked so familiar, so dear. “It’s…it’s sort of…unusual and rather…personal.”
“My specialty,” he said lightly. When she didn’t smile but just stood there staring at him, her big brown eyes wide and almost frightened, Matt shook his head and smiled gently. “Spit it out, Jessie. You know there’s nothing you can’t ask me.”
“That’s what I thought,” she murmured. She looked down at the mangled arrangement of roses for a moment and then lifted her eyes to his face again.
“What is it, Jess?” he asked softly. “What do you want?”
“A baby.” She blurted it out, then drew a deep breath and repeated it more steadily. “I want a baby.”
Chapter Six
Matt stared at her. For the space of several seconds his mind was completely blank. Auditory hallucinations, he thought. That was the only possible explanation. Three sips of cognac and he was starting to hear things. Things like Jessie telling him she wanted a baby. Telling him in a way that suggested she wanted him to help her get one.
Maybe the cognac was spoiled, he thought. Moldy. Any mold that could live in eighty-six-proof alcohol could probably cause a man to hear things. Even something as crazy as Jessie asking him to… Suggesting that he could…
“Excuse me?” he said at last, his voice raspy.
“I know it sounds crazy,” Jessie said nervously. “But when you think about it, it really makes perfect sense.”
Now that the words were out, now that she’d actually taken that first, huge step, her confidence took a quick upward bounce. Matt was looking at her as if she’d lost her mind, but once she’d explained things, he would see that it made sense. He’d never let her down before, and she knew he wouldn’t this time, either. It was just a matter of explaining things to him, of making him see how much this meant to her.
“It probably seems very sudden to you,” she said, her voice calm and steady, wanting him to understand that this was not an impulsive suggestion but something to which she’d given a great deal of thought. “But I’ve been thinking about this for quite a while, and it’s really not as crazy as it seems.”
He said nothing, only continued to stare at her with that look of blank shock.
“It’s really very simple.” Her body thrumming with nerves, Jessie sat down, then shot up from her chair immediately. It was so important to make him understand. She’d tried out half a dozen carefully prepared little speeches, but now that the moment was here, she could only speak from the heart.
“I know it’s a cliché, but my biological clock is ticking like a time bomb.” She moved to the front window and made a minute adjustment to the alignment of the curtains. “I’m twenty-nine years old, without a single romantic entanglement in my life. I’m tired of waiting for Mr. Right to show up.”
She had already decided not to mention the fact that her particular Mr. Right had married someone else. This had nothing to do with Reilly. She didn’t want a baby as a consolation prize because she hadn’t gotten the man she loved. She glanced at Matt, but he was staring down into the brandy snifter, his expression hidden from her. She wished he would say something, give her some clue as to what he might be thinking, but he just sat there—listening, she hoped.
“It’s not that I wouldn’t like the whole dream,” she said, picking an invisible piece of lint off the back of the sofa. “A husband, a family, two cars in the garage and a white picket fence.” Jessie laughed self-consciously. “But things didn’t work out that way. I mean, I suppose I could put up a white picket
fence, but there’s no husband in the picture, and I don’t really need a second car.” She realized she was starting to babble and caught her lower lip between her teeth as if to physically contain the stream of words.
Matt still hadn’t spoken, and his silence was starting to seem very loud. This had all seemed so reasonable when she was thinking about it, but now, hearing the echo of her own words in the quiet room, she wasn’t so sure. This wasn’t exactly like asking him to teach her to drive or to take photographs of her grandfather’s rose garden.
“When I thought about it, I realized that there was no reason why I couldn’t have part of the dream.” Jessie sank down on the sofa, resting her elbows on her knees as she leaned toward him, focusing everything she had on making him see how much this meant to her. “I’d be a good mother. I know I would. And these days, no one looks twice at a single parent. Maybe it is a little crazy, but I… I want a baby, Matt.”
Stated like that, the words sounded rather…naked, but she couldn’t take them back. She wouldn’t. This was Matt. Matt, who’d patched up her skinned knees and taught her to drive and made her laugh more times than she could remember. She’d always been able to count on him. True, this was something a little…bigger than a Band-Aid or a stick shift, but once he understood how much it meant to her, he would—
“You want a baby.”
Jessie jumped at the sound of his voice. She couldn’t read anything from his tone, which was curiously flat, empty of emotion. Swallowing the nervous lump in her throat, she nodded, realized he wasn’t looking at her and forced words out through a throat suddenly gone tight.
Loving Jessie Page 9