by Inez Kelley
He snagged his cell from his pocket and walked to the kitchen. He had plans to make. The rest of their lives began here. Now. Immediately.
Frannie woke when Pocus jumped on her stomach and kneaded it. Groggy and thick-tongued, she caught the smell of food and breathed deep. She let her nose lead her to the brightly lit kitchen. She squinted against the harsh lights. Jinx stood at the stove, grating cheese into a skillet.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”
He sent her a bright smile and motioned to the coffee pot. “It’s fresh, help yourself. You only slept a bit over an hour but I thought I’d start dinner anyway. I hope ham and cheese omelets are okay. It’s just about all I could find to fix.”
Frannie padded to the counter and poured a cup of coffee. Eyes clamped closed, holding the cup in front of her, she inhaled the rich fragrance deeply. Just the scent revitalized her. With a long sip, she turned and found him watching her.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He smiled. “You look like an adorable sleepy raccoon.”
Horrified, she sped into the hall bath and slammed the door. Her hair was flat on one side and completely tousled on the other. The tails of her silk blouse had come out of her skirt and her mascara-rimmed eyes were puffy and bloodshot. Groaning in embarrassment, she grabbed the hairbrush. Why couldn’t she be one of those women who woke up looking cute and sleep-tossed? No, she looked like an extra for a horror flick. Visine and a cool washcloth helped to banish all traces of wildlife. Her cosmetic bag was in her purse, wherever he had put it, so she settled for a freshly scrubbed look. Not that she had much choice. It was either that or slather on a freebie mud mask she found in the medicine cabinet.
A snort burned her throat. Bet that look would send him racing to the hills. Exiting the bathroom, that sobering thought stayed with her.
“What can I do to help?” she asked, feeling useless in her own kitchen.
“You can start some toast if you want. These are just about ready.”
While the bread toasted, Frannie finished her coffee and studied him. For such a large man, he moved with an easy grace that showed his confidence. He was comfortable in his own skin. And apparently in the kitchen.
“So you can cook?”
“I’m great with breakfast. Other than that, I can dial takeout with the best of them.” His eyes twinkled like wet coal. “What about you? Can you cook? Or are you a takeout queen?”
“Phhtt, I could give Paula Deen lessons.”
“Oh, really? Think you’re that good, do you?”
“Damn straight. Tomorrow I’ll make dinner and show you. What would you like?”
Jinx stopped sliding the eggs onto plates and stared at her. She read his mind effortlessly. She’d just made plans for them, on her own, without his prompting. The delight in his face made her heart skip. How does he do that? One of his talents seemed to be leading her to his way of thinking before she knew where she was going. It unsettled her how easily she fell under his spell. When he motioned her to sit, she grabbed the warm toast with a bit too much force.
“You can’t cook anything until we go to the store. We have nothing in the fridge.”
“We?” She raised her brows and stared at him, self-recrimination making her voice stern. “In case you have forgotten, wacko, you don’t live here. My house, my fridge, my life, okay? As far as I know, you could be homeless.”
His fingers steepled, he watched her with a deeply intent expression.
Frannie could almost see the wheels turning in his head and she fidgeted. “Stop staring at me like I’m some sort of zoo animal. It’s rude.”
He smiled at her before picking up his fork. “Note to self, Frannie’s grumpy when she’s hungry.”
A retort fired from her lips like a pistol. “Note to self, Jinx is a pain in the ass.”
She dug into her own plate. The buttery eggs and smooth cheese did a lot to soothe her annoyance. This meant he was right about her mood. It irritated her but she was too hungry to think about it. She finished in record time and started feeling guilty for snapping at him. He confused her so much her gut reaction was to lash out. Either that or haul off and drag his delectable ass to bed and be done with it. That option was looking better and better.
“Thank you. Dinner was wonderful. Considering what you had to work with, I’m surprised you could make anything. I really have to hit the store if I’m going to cook dinner tomorrow.”
“Actually, I’m going to need a rain check on dinner.”
Unexpectedly, her heart plummeted. He didn’t want her to make dinner tomorrow. Is he backing away already? Although she expected it to happen, she didn’t expect it to hurt so much or for it to happen so soon. Realizing she wanted more of him, more time, more everything, she blinked against the unshed tears making her nose burn. Mark’s tenor rang through her memory.
“I just can’t take it anymore, Fran. You’re like a too-tight shoe. Every step I make, you pinch me and ruin every second of the day.”
“I have a favor to ask you.” Unaware of her emotional turmoil, Jinx stood and gathered their empty plates. “I’m having a small dinner party tomorrow at my house. It’s nothing fancy, just casual. Will you come?”
“Okay.” She shrugged but internally she was dancing for joy. He wasn’t pushing her away yet. He still wanted to be with her. Staunchly refusing to examine why that thrilled her, she hopped up and grabbed a note pad. “I do need to go to the store sometime tomorrow, though. Help me make a list.”
She was oddly curious to see Jinx’s house but tried to hide it by digging in the junk drawer for a pen. He cleaned up the light supper dishes while she looked through the cabinets and added things to her grocery list. She again asked what he wanted her to cook for dinner. She figured he would pick something manly, like steak and baked potatoes or maybe something elegant like poached salmon. His answer took her by surprise.
“You want meatloaf?”
“Yeah, you can’t get home cooking at many restaurants and I miss those Sunday-type suppers. Honestly, I haven’t had meatloaf in years. Why don’t we do that on Sunday? Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, string beans, biscuits, all gut-filling food. Then we can just crash on the couch and let our belts out while watching football. Sounds like a great idea to me.”
Frannie shook her head. She couldn’t get a firm grasp on his personality. Meatloaf was so normal and he was anything but. Meatloaf was for Mama’s boys and PTA dads and hardworking blue-collar men with a spare tire. Meatloaf was comfort food, not elegant fare. She scribbled the ingredients she needed and wondered if she had misjudged him. He couldn’t have such mundane tastes, could he?
She watched him in total amazement. He washed dishes and talked about holiday and Sunday dinners with his family. Soon she shared tales of her own. When she tossed out that she had once won a school bake-off with her cinnamon apple strudel, he tapped the growing list with one soapy finger and told her to add those ingredients. Playfully, she batted his hand away, pleased he wanted her to bake for him. How homey that sounded.
Hocus sniffed around the food bowls and meowed loudly in her direction. Pocus ran to join in but stopped short of the bowl and passed out, looking like a big black throw rug. Jinx pulled the bag of dry cat food from under the counter and replenished the empty bowls. Hocus stared at him, hissed and then walked away.
“Mark my words, cat. One of these days, you and I are going to make up.”
“In your dreams.” Frannie folded her list and stuck it to the refrigerator with a pineapple magnet. Jinx had secured one of his business cards there. It had his name and cell number, which was exactly like hers in reverse, and he’d penned in his home number. The stark white card did funny things to her stomach. She chose to ignore them.
“So, my day sucked. How was yours?” She went into the living room and curled up on the couch. Jinx sat beside her with a deep sigh.
“Total bust. I went out with our Research and Development department to talk to som
e kindergarteners about what they liked to play with that was non-computerized. The boys had typical answers like trains and cars, some sports and stuff. But the girls, man, they’re tough. I swear I think being difficult’s in the female DNA or something.”
Frannie crossed her arms with a haughty huff and cocked her head. “Oh, do tell? What did these despicable little girls want to play with?”
“Unicorns. Real unicorns with sparkly purple horns that grant real wishes.” She burst into laughter at the confused look on his face. “Frannie, it’s not funny. I can make dolls or trains or fire trucks, but I can’t pull a magical one-horned horse out of my ass. Our demographics are skewed toward boys and we have to get a better handle on the girls. But they ask for stuff like unicorns. It’s frustrating. The normal things like kitchens and dolls do all right but our number one request is for more girl-oriented non-plastic things.”
“Poor baby.” Tears of laughter dampened her eyes. “You seriously have no clue about girls, do you?”
“Nope, not a one. I have absolutely zero insight into the female psyche. If I could understand women, you and I’d already be married and on a honeymoon in the South of France, dollface.”
Silenced by his words, she bit her lip. Once again he had managed to take a simple, harmless exchange and turn it to his own purpose. She didn’t need the reminder. She knew he would propose and then leave when she turned him down. Why couldn’t he just let her enjoy the time they spent together?
“No marriage talk. You promised.”
“No, I promised not to propose for a while. I still plan on marrying you.” Unnamed emotions assaulted her and she closed her eyes. He cupped her cheek. “But let’s leave that alone for now. Tonight’s been too nice to get you pissed off at me.”
“I was asleep for part of the night.” Frannie grinned.
“Well you’re awake now.” Fingering her bangs, he tilted his head and murmured. “Your hair is so soft. I love it. Most women I know have crunchy hair.”
“Crunchy hair?”
“Yeah, hard and stiff from hairspray and other goop they put on it. It’s like touching straw. But yours is like silk.”
Caught in his liquid gaze, she couldn’t find her breath. She was close enough to smell his aftershave, a spicy blend that teased her senses. Licking her lips, she forced herself to speak. “Oh. I—I use very little spray on my hair. It’s too fine for much else. That’s why I keep it short.”
In jeopardy of drowning in his ink black eyes, she tried to refocus her attention. If she didn’t think about something other than his body pressed against hers, she was in trouble. “Do you want to watch TV?”
“Not really. I like sitting here with you.”
“This is bullshit. All you ever want to do is sit on your ass and talk. We’re married, Fran. Talking is overrated. I’m going out. Don’t bother waiting up.”
Swallowing the memory, she flipped through the Rolodex in her head, trying to find something else to talk to Jinx about. Anything to keep her mind from settling on how sexy his mouth looked and how her pulse was beginning to pound at his closeness. Inspiration struck like a thunderbolt.
“Hey! I have an idea. Sunday while I make dinner, will you drag all my Christmas decorations down from the attic? That way we could put the tree up early.”
He reared back and looked at her like she had grown another head. “It’s too early to get a tree. It’ll be nothing but dried-out needles if we get it now.”
“I have an artificial tree.”
“Blasphemy!” He clasped his hand to his heart as if struck. “An artificial tree is like cheating. We have to get a real tree. How can you even think of denying me the yearly trip to pick out the perfect tree? It’s one of the best parts of Christmas.”
She snorted in disagreement. “I tried a real Christmas tree the first year I lived here. Pocus peed on it. The needles got everywhere. I was still finding them at Halloween. Nope, I do a female fake tree and that’s what I’m putting up. If you want a real tree, we’ll get one for your house.”
“Whoa, back up. What’s a female fake tree?”
“Female, you know, without balls. I use ribbons and different ornaments but no Christmas balls.”
A tortured look on his face, Jinx shifted away slightly and tugged at his crotch, as if her words had threatened his masculinity. “That’s just wrong. Christmas trees need to be real and have red and gold glass balls on them. What kind of Christmas can a kid have if his tree is some piece of emasculated plastic crap?”
Frannie laughed. “Well, I doubt any child would care as long as Santa put presents under it. Besides, I don’t have any kids and I pay the mortgage so I can have whatever I want.”
“Fine, but once we have a child, we’re getting a real tree—with balls.”
He’d done it again, taken a very nice conversation and turned it around on her. Why did he continue to pester her with this fantasy? She narrowed her eyes. “We aren’t having children because we aren’t getting married.”
Jinx pretended he hadn’t heard her and plowed straight ahead. “I’d love to have a little girl, one with big brown eyes and dimples, just like yours. I’ve got nephews so I know boys. I mean, a boy would be great, too. I’d like at least one. I can’t wait to teach him how to pitch a ball or make a tackle. They deserve a real tree with balls, doncha think?”
“Jinx, we are not having children.” Her firmness seemed lost on him.
“Of course, we should look at buying another house first. This one, while perfect for a couple, is too small for kids. And mine is—I don’t know, not kid friendly. And we should get a dog. Kids need a dog. As soon as the weather warms up, we should start looking at places.”
Oh hell no, we will not be getting any damn dog! “We can’t get a dog. I have cats, numbskull.”
“But the kids would love a dog.”
“The cats wouldn’t. Besides, dogs need a lot of room to run.”
“I hear there are some nice places about an hour south of here that have great schools. The R&D department went out there last week and talked about how nice it was, very Rockwell Americana-esque.”
Angry heat flashed on her face. How dare he think he could just up and move them without discussing it with her? “I can’t move an hour south. What about my job? If you think I’m quitting just because the stick turns blue, you’re crazier than I thought.”
“Come on, Steve’ll let you work from home a couple days a week, won’t he? And you can commute when you have to. But if you’d rather just stay home for a while, it’d be fine. I mean, having kids has got to make it hard to work and travel much, at least until they’re all in school.”
“Then it’s Little League and ballet classes, field trips and homeroom parties.” She shook her head firmly. He could argue all he wanted, she meant what she said. “And what’s with this all in school business? Who’s having more than one? No, too many kids means too many obligations. I’d be happy with just one.”
“But think of the first steps and first words, all the sticky kisses and bedtime stories.”
Rolling her eyes, she tried to bust the Ward Cleaver bubble he was blowing. “Dirty clothes and chicken pox and flushed matchbox cars. No, one child, two at most.”
“Three.” Like a child begging for a cookie, he held up three fingers.
“Two. You aren’t the one going to be dealing with stretch marks, morning sickness and swollen ankles.”
“I’ll take the night feedings and diaper changes. That has to count for something.”
Frannie’s brows crashed together. Again. He had done it again. Confused and distracted her and drawn her into his delusional world. Nervously, she realized she liked being there. His dreams sounded so plausible. But they were only dreams. Dreams shatter when morning comes and you have to face the daylight of reality. With a shake of her head, she replanted her feet firmly back in her bland, boring life.
“We are not having children.”
“We’ll see.” His enig
matic grin was infuriating.
“We are not getting married.”
Sighing dramatically, Jinx placed his hand on her bare thigh and stared at her. “Let’s not get into this now, okay?”
Right, it’s not worth arguing about because it’s a moot point. Long before the question of children came up, he would have disappeared into the sunset. The twinge of loss she felt in her womb was pure self-pity. He would make beautiful babies. And he was a big enough child himself that he would make a wonderful father.
Making those babies with him wouldn’t exactly be a hardship, either.
Chapter Four
“He’s strong, he’s kind. He’s always there for you, and he’s handsome to boot.
He’s perfect. Perfect. Perfectly infuriating! He makes me crazy.”
—Hades in Kingdom Hearts
Jinx started a small fire in her fireplace to ward off the chill slowly permeating the room. The firelight flickered over his pitch black hair, golden shimmers casting his face into a plane of shadows and light. The breadth of his back and the tight muscles of his shoulders began an itch deep in her center, and she wet her lips. A nap, a full tummy and an incredibly sexy man had awoken her libido. She could still feel the warmth of his hand where it had caressed her leg, and longing shot through her.
Kneeling before the fire, he turned to say something and caught her with her tongue to her lip. Passion sparked. Desire flashed in his eyes and he cast her a wicked grin. Her lips returned it without thought. He rose and flipped the lamp off, thrusting the room into darkness except for the growing amber glow. The couch cushion dipped as he sat and pulled her into his arms.
His voice was thick with want, his body warm and hard, his touch tender and sweet. “What are you thinking about?”