Thankfully she hadn’t insisted on decorating it. Still, it was convenient when Madoc had parties. I had a place of my own off-limits to guests.
“Relax, old man,” I griped. “I haven’t taken a day off since you hired me.”
“And I pay you to be available.”
I stopped and shot him a dark look. “Are you whining?” I accused. “Jesus, what’s her name?”
“Shut it,” he shot back with his heavy Irish accent.
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Here.” And I punched a few buttons, starting to send files as they loaded from my flash drives. “As soon as you get this shit, leave me alone for a few days, okay?”
“Why?” He sipped coffee, starting to look more relaxed now that he was getting what he wanted.
“Nothing major.” I didn’t want my employer to see that I was distracted and lose faith in me. The less information, the better. “I just need to focus on a side project.”
“What’s her name?”
I heard the laughter in his voice as he repeated my words, and I glowered at the screen.
“Her name,” I started, “is none of your fucking business, and she hates me, okay?”
“I doubt it.”
I loaded the last flash drive, dragging files into the Ciaran folder, and sent it. “I made love to her for the first time in a dirty carnival fun house and haven’t talked to her in five days. Trust me, she hates me.”
He shook his head. “Son, women are easy. They simply want everything. It’s not difficult.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, not difficult.” And then I looked at him. “And what if she wants to know things I don’t want to tell her?”
“You’re asking the wrong question,” he said flatly. “The question is, would you rather keep your secrets or keep her?”
My eyes dropped, and I closed my mouth.
“If you want a woman,” he started, “then you have to start acting like a man.”
I nodded, understanding.
“And that means,” he continued, “you start looking like one, too.”
I narrowed my eyes, looking down at my workout pants and sneakers. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means grow up, kid.”
I stared at him wide-eyed, and when I spoke, my tone sounded like a warning. “You know? Plenty of girls like the way I look, old man.”
“Yeah. Girls,” he deadpanned. “They may like those T-shirts with all the writing on them, and those wallet chains and badass braids, but I bet you don’t feel like a real presence in those clothes, do you?”
I arched an eyebrow.
“Take more pride in yourself, Jaxon. You’ll be surprised how it transfers into your behavior. You’re going to be a father someday, for Christ’s sake.”
“What the fuck?”
“Probably,” he added. “Is that how you want to look at parent conferences?”
Whoa! What the hell? I let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah, this conversation escalated quickly. Damn.”
Why was my appearance suddenly under attack? I’d never gotten any complaints before. Jeans, black pants, nice T-shirts that fit great … My clothes didn’t attract attention, but they certainly weren’t Salvation Army, either.
Jesus, why was he making me feel as if I looked like a bum all of a sudden?
He cleared his throat. “My son-in-law is a bit of a Barbie.” He jerked his chin at me. “Have him take you shopping.”
Madoc and me? Shopping?
I inhaled a deep breath, trying to figure out what the hell was happening. Okay, yeah. Maybe Madoc fit in places Jared and I didn’t. We weren’t about clothes and appearances, and that worked for us.
But on the other hand, people showed Madoc just a little more respect, too. Their initial impression of him was different from what it was of me. I could see it, even though they were polite. He looked as though he took pride in himself and that he cared enough to put in the effort. People appreciated that.
“Shopping?” I repeated to myself.
“Yeah, shopping,” Ciaran mimicked. “And cut that fucking hair, too.” And then he hung up.
I stared dumbfounded at the now blank laptop screen and slowly fell back in my chair, feeling more confused now than I did after Tate left.
What the hell just happened? How do you go from talking business, to talking about women, to talking about me as a father, to me getting a makeover?
I raked my hand over the top of my head, unable to catch my breath. A father?
And then I caught my reflection in the laptop screen and stilled. I continued to stare at myself. I might be a father someday. Someone’s father.
Was I unhappy with my appearance? I’d never really thought about it. Women came easily, I was clean, and I was healthy. That was as much as I cared about how I looked.
And I loved how Juliet looked at me. As though she couldn’t see the shit inside. And she certainly didn’t seem to care about my clothes or hair.
Madoc said once that the clothes didn’t make the man; the man made the clothes.
I reached back and grabbed my ponytail, running the length through my fist, feeling years and years of growth, some from when I lived with my father. I didn’t know about clothing, but my hair definitely owned me, and I was sick of it.
The lump lodged in my throat, and I didn’t even try to swallow it down.
Shooting out of my chair, I stalked out of the room and down the stairs. Swinging myself around the banister, I leaped onto the tiled floor and toward the kitchen. I made my way to the patio door—Madoc and Fallon had been swimming a while ago—but then I heard piano keys tinkling, and I pulled up short.
Basement.
I turned around and almost jogged for the basement door. Madoc had a classic Steinway that he kept down there so he could play in private. Fallon and he talked about bringing it up, but it never happened. I wasn’t sure why.
And right now I didn’t care. Thundering down the stairs, I skipped the last few, jumping to the bottom, and looked up, my mouth dropping and my eyes damn near bugging out of my fucking head.
Uh …
Fallon sat on the top of the huge piano with her legs wrapped around Madoc and her head fallen back. Even though he stood in front of her with his head buried in her neck, I could tell she was naked except for her shorts.
“Oh, shit,” I whispered.
Fallon shot her head back upright and screamed, and Madoc spun around, putting his body in front of her.
I held up my hands. “So sorry.” I guess I knew why they hadn’t brought the piano upstairs now.
“What’s the matter with you?” Madoc seethed, his blue eyes turning fierce. “Get out!”
Fallon cowered behind Madoc, peeking over his shoulder.
“No,” I shot back. “You should be in your room if you’re going to do that, and I need help. Now.”
Madoc rolled his eyes and looked to the ceiling, exasperated. “God, I miss being an only child.”
“Baby,” Fallon whined behind him, taking offense to that remark. They used to be stepsiblings.
I stared, waiting.
“What?” Madoc held out his palms, shaking them with annoyance. “What do you need help with?”
I straightened, feeling embarrassed as I hooded my eyes. My voice was barely a mumble. “I need to go shopping.”
“Shopping?”
I looked at him as if it was no big deal. “Yeah, so? I need some clothes, and you’re girlie like that, so …” I trailed off, hoping he’d just do it and shut up.
I saw Fallon kind of grin behind him while Madoc looked at me suspiciously. “You want new clothes.” He said it as if he was trying to understand Latin.
“No pastel shit,” I commanded. “Just stuff that’s more grown-up.”
Why was he pinching his eyebrows together? Yes, I want new clothes. Soak in the idea. Breathe, Madoc. The world hasn’t ended.
He finally grumbled, “Fine. I’ll be upstairs in a few.”
I
nodded once and turned to leave. “I need a haircut, too,” I called behind me, and slammed the door.
CHAPTER 19
JULIET
Tate paced the living room, smoothing down her loose light gray blouse that fell off one shoulder and over her short white shorts. “Do I look okay?” she worried, stopping and standing stiff in front of me.
I looked up from my laptop, and smiled at how the soft glow of the lamps made her skin look like fine cream.
“You look amazing,” I replied.
Her face scrunched up. “I should wear a skirt.” She sounded utterly tormented. “I’m probably going to wrap my legs around him as soon as I see him, so I thought shorts would be easier to work with.”
I shook my head, amused. “If Jared can see your legs, then he’s sold.” I started typing again, working on loan applications that were probably far too late to be considered.
I’d thought about switching schools for something cheaper—Arizona was out-of-state tuition, after all—but it was so late, and I definitely didn’t want to get stuck having to take a semester off school to get in elsewhere, so I’d decided to just stay where I was for convenience’s sake. I’d put in an application at the local community college just in case these loans didn’t come through, but to be honest, I couldn’t stay in town even if I had to.
Jax would be everywhere.
I cried the night he dropped me off, several times the next day, and in the shower practically every morning. But no one saw it, and no one would.
I missed him, and everything ached, and …
I caught the tear at the corner of my eye and cleared my throat, typing faster. Financial information, references, names, addresses. Just go. Don’t stop. You. Will. Be. Fine.
Why wasn’t he home? Why wasn’t he at lacrosse practice this week? Why wasn’t he calling? And screw him! I punched the keys harder.
“I went to Madoc’s today,” Tate piped up, peering out the window, “to talk to Jax.”
I looked up, my fingers still planted on the keyboard. Madoc’s. So that was where he was.
She continued. “He’ll probably be here soon to welcome Jared home.”
I squeezed my eyes shut for a second and then quickly dropped my gaze back down to my computer screen.
They were all supposed to be going to dinner.
I’d been invited but had the good sense to decline, knowing Jax would probably be at the pizzeria.
“K.C.?” Tate pressed, sitting down next to me.
“Juliet?” I corrected her, mimicking her tone.
She laughed. “Sorry. Old habits die hard, I guess.”
She continued to sit there, staring at me, so I finally looked up. “I’m okay, Tate,” I assured her.
“If it’s any consolation, he looked miserable.”
I scrunched up my lips and looked back to the laptop. “I doubt that.” Jaxon Trent never looked bad. Freshly showered? He was gorgeous. Sweaty? He was sublime. Happy? Stunning. Angry? Brilliant. And when that man was dirty? Holy. Shit.
“He looks completely twisted up. He never loses control,” she ventured.
“Except with me,” I replied. “He’s always fighting with me.”
“Mm-hmm,” she agreed, a cocky hint to her tone.
I looked over at her suggestive eyes. “What?”
She held my gaze, and I watched as her eyes turned from playful to serious.
“He’s falling in love with you.” I could hear the emotion in her voice. “If he hasn’t already.”
I sat there, stunned by her words.
Falling in love?
I clenched my fists, my heartbeat drumming in my chest. No. He wouldn’t have pushed me away if that were true. He wouldn’t have stayed away. That was what had hurt more than anything these past few days. Jax didn’t care the way I did.
His words came back to me. “I just never thought the real thing would live up to the fantasy.”
I dropped my eyes, my head suddenly too damn heavy to hold up. Jesus.
Tate nearly whispered, “It’s impossible not to love them, isn’t it?” and my resolve cracked. I had to look away, taking deep breaths.
She was talking about the Trent brothers. Her Jared … and my Jaxon.
“I love you,” she said sweetly, probably seeing that I was in pain.
I nodded. “I know.” I looked over at her. “And I don’t know why. How come you’re so good to me?”
She narrowed her eyes, confused.
“Three years ago, I pretended to date your high school bully who is now your boyfriend so I could get even with Liam. For cheating. The first time.” I admitted the whole sordid mess. “Why didn’t you kick my ass?”
She offered a small smile. “Because you took Liam back,” she said. “I knew you were going to need a friend.” Tears sprang into my eyes, and I wanted to hug her.
As she got up, I followed her with my eyes, realizing how much I loved her and how much I wanted to deserve her.
“Tate?” I choked out. “I’m—”
“Oh, good God,” she said, cutting me off, staring wide-eyed out the window.
“What?”
She shook her head, a surprised grin on her face as she looked out the window. “You better come see this.”
I picked up the laptop, leaving it open as I carried it to stand beside her. Looking through the sheer curtains, I sucked in a breath, my arms shaking so bad that the laptop tumbled out of my grasp.
“Shit!” It shot out of my hands. I tried to clutch it as it bobbled against my weak arms and finally collapsed to the floor.
Tate covered her snort with her hand, and I breathed a mile a minute as I dived down to pick it up again.
“Damn it,” I yelled.
The battery pack had come out, and the screen had gone blank. I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw ached. “Damn him,” I growled, trying to fit the battery back in and glancing up out of the window repeatedly.
Jax stood next to his car, parked at the curb just behind Madoc’s GTO, and I kept scaling my eyes up and down his body, trying to take everything in.
Nothing had really changed and yet so much was different about him. Damn …
I licked my lips.
He wore straight-leg black pants. Not skinny but definitely slim, and my eyes widened when he turned around to talk to Madoc and Fallon. I knew what he looked like naked, even though I hadn’t had time to explore, but I hadn’t realized how much his baggy pants had covered up his form. Nice ass. He still wore clothes that fit his style—dark and low on flash—but they fit him better now. Almost too good. You could see how big he really was through his white V-neck T-shirt that draped just loosely enough to be comfortable but tight enough to show off his muscular shoulders, tight chest, and toned back. Hell, I could even see his shoulder blades.
And his hair. I let out a breath, my shoulders slumping a little. His hair was gone. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
He looked more beautiful. Definitely. I hadn’t realized how much the hair took focus from everything else, and now that it was gone, you could see the whole picture. The mouth, the nose, the eyes, everything all together.
And his body, too, looked bigger without it.
But I had also loved his long hair. It was a sign of his defiance.
The hair was now cropped short and styled on the top. He made my mouth water, and I gritted my teeth, knowing just how much other women would be looking at him now, too. As if they hadn’t looked at him enough before.
Jesus.
Watching him, Madoc, and Fallon talk on the front lawn as Jax crossed his arms, pushing out his chest, I brought myself back to reality, and I suddenly didn’t care that the hair was gone. And I didn’t care about his new clothes, either.
So what?
Even if his appearance had changed, it was still Jax. The same one who had kicked me to the curb five days ago.
“Go on.” Tate nudged me. “Get cleaned up.”
Huh?
“What?”
I asked, standing tall. “No. Screw him. After the way he acted, it’s going to take more than new clothes and a haircut.”
Tate let out a condescending chuckle and turned to face me. “Juliet, I’m speaking from personal experience, so pay attention.”
She grabbed my shoulders, and I sucked in a breath as she turned my body to face her, running her hands up and down my arms in a maternal manner. “When he comes in here, honey, he’s going to fix his eyes on you and look at you all intense. He’ll look mad,” she pointed out, talking down to me, “but what he’s really contemplating is whether or not to rip off all your clothes, slam you into a wall, and fuck the daylights out of you … from behind.”
My jaw dropped, and I clutched my laptop tighter.
“Then,” she continued, “he’ll corner you somewhere where you least expect it. He’ll lean in close”—Tate stepped up to me so our bodies were touching—“touch his lips to yours without actually kissing you, and you’ll feel how tortured he is simply by the heat on his skin.” She took my face in her hands, getting nose-to-nose, and her voice dropped. “Then, in barely a whisper that will have your thighs quivering, he’ll say, ‘Baby,’ and you will melt without him even having to apologize.”
I gulped, my mouth completely parched.
“Now, Juliet?” Tate hardened her voice. “That aqua and gold miniskirt I bought you in Tokyo? Go get it on. You look like shit.”
“Ugh,” I whispered.
She snatched the laptop out of my hand, slammed it shut, and tossed it on the couch. “He’s coming.”
After that I didn’t hesitate. I darted past her, racing up the stairs two at a time, and crashed through her bedroom door, slamming it shut. Hitting the power on the iPod dock, I dashed into the bath-room as Joan Jett & the Blackhearts started with “I Hate Myself for Loving You.” Music made me work faster.
Whipping off my tank top, I pulled my hair out of my ponytail and hastily applied eyeliner and mascara. Dabbing a little red on my lips—not lip gloss, because Jax hated it—I ran the straightener through my hair, smoothing it over with the brush, and then scurried for Tate’s walk-in closet.
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