Hot & Bothered

by Susan Andersen

  It unnerved him, so when he reached her he stooped low, got a shoulder under her midsection and surged upright with her firmly flung over his shoulder in a fireman lift. It wasn’t until his hand gripped bare skin at the back of her knee that he realized she was wearing a dress.

  It stunned him, because P.J. and dresses weren’t exactly an automatic association in his mind. For a moment he froze and so did she.

  Then, in typical P.J. fashion, she came up fighting, legs kicking and arms flailing.

  When she started bitch-slapping his head he had no recourse but to set her back on her feet. “Jeez, Peej!”

  “Jeez, yourself!” She brushed at the skirt of her thin floral sundress as if he’d covered her in dust. Shiny red-brown hair hanging over one eye, she glared at him. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing. I was just glad to see you.” He watched as she jerked the dress’s straps into place and realized that she had breasts. Really little breasts, but still. He’d never noticed that before.

  Her head snapped up as if she could read his thoughts and Jared felt a heated flush steal up his throat.

  All she said, though, was, “Yeah, well…I’m glad to see you, too. But I got myself all dressed up for this visit, so don’t go swinging me around like some sack of smelly old gym socks.”

  Glancing around, he was relieved to see Rocket and Gert had disappeared inside. Some of his tension faded with the knowledge that no one had witnessed his less-than-suave technique with the ladies. He looked back at P.J. “I can see that, now the cars aren’t between us. You look—” Man, older than thirteen! “—really nice.”

  “Thank you.” She smoothed her hand down the skirt of her dress. Then she looked up at him and her uncharacteristic stiffness suddenly disappeared and all the liveliness he was accustomed to seeing blazed forth in her face. “I feel really nice. Gert bought me this.” She gave the skirt another stroke. “Ain’t it just the prettiest dress you ever seen?”

  “Have ever seen,” he corrected automatically.

  Her hands stilled. “What?”

  “Nothing. Sorry. I was being rude. Yes, I do believe it is the prettiest dress I’ve ever seen.” But it was too late and as he watched the animation fade, he could have kicked himself. Especially when she wrapped her arms around herself as if she were cold and began humming a song under her breath. The latter scared the shit out of him, for he knew it was something she was particularly prone to doing when she was scared or nervous.

  Damn. This was all dicked up. Feeling desperate, he gave her a nudge. “You still singing that country western crap?” She had a surprisingly excellent voice, much clearer and stronger than anyone hearing her raspy speaking voice would expect.

  “It’s not crap! It’s rock and roll with a twang—and better than nine-tenths of that rapper junk you like.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Why don’t you come on up to my room and convince me?”

  “Fine. Lead the way.”

  They passed through the kitchen and walked down the hallway to the foyer, where P.J. stopped dead. “Omigawd,” she said. She stared up at the one-story, un-lighted chandelier hanging overhead. “Oh. My. God.” Turning in slow circles, she took everything in. “This is so beautiful. This is the most beautiful place I ever—have ever—seen in my life. You could probably fit my mama’s entire trailer right here.” With a sweep of one delicate arm, she indicated the foyer around them. A shadow crossed her face, but then she pasted on a bright smile. “So let’s see your room, hotshot. I bet it’s bigger than the whosit—that Taj Mahal place—isn’t it?”

  “Nah. More like Buckingham Palace.”

  For the rest of the afternoon he saw intermittent flashes of the P.J. he knew. Mostly, though, he got the impression she thought she had to be on her party manners. It was like watching the Anti-Peej as she wandered around his room inspecting things, her hands firmly clasped behind her back as if she feared she’d break something if she actually touched it. The most relaxed she got was when he put on a Dixie Chicks CD he’d ordered off the Internet. She sang along, and her butt, which he noticed had filled out some in the week she’d been getting regular meals, wiggled in time.

  When the CD was finished, she plopped down onto the bed next to him. She looked at her nails; she looked at the baseball mitt he’d tossed on the bedpost. Finally she looked at him. “My mama called.”

  Ice crept through his veins. He’d never met the woman, but he hated her guts anyhow. He kept his voice carefully neutral, however, when he said, “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Gert got hold of her. I’m going home to Pueblo.” Her expression was both hopeful and scared. She reached into a little pocket on her dress and pulled out a slip of paper. “That’s really why we came down here today—Gert just made up the paperwork-for-John stuff. She said you and me oughtta have the chance to say goodbye in person.” She glanced down at the paper in her hand then held it out to him. “I’m leaving tomorrow, but I wanted to give you my phone number so we could still talk.” She looked around his big airy room uncertainly. “If you wanna, that is.”

  “Oh, I want to.” He grabbed her chin and pulled it around until she had no choice but to look him in the eye. Ignoring her hands tugging at his and her demands for him to let go, he glared into her feisty, frightened—God, so vulnerable—golden brown eyes and reiterated unequivocally, “I want to. I plan to. Count on it.”

  VICTORIA LOOKED UP FROM the invoices she was preparing for the two dollhouses she’d shipped this week to see John standing in the doorway to Ford’s old office. She saved her work on the laptop computer and smiled at him. “Gert and P.J. get off okay?”

  “Yep.”

  She got up, rounded the desk, and perched her bottom against its front. Bracing her palms on either side of her hips, she curled her fingers around the edge and observed him as he lounged against the jamb. “Didn’t you think P.J. seemed subdued?”

  He pressed his shoulder into the wood. “Mac located her mother and had a little talk with her. The upshot is P.J.’s moving back to Pueblo tomorrow.”

  “Oh, boy. I hope that works out for her.”

  “Me, too. From everything I’ve heard of Mom, she doesn’t exactly sound like Mother of the Year material and I know Jared thinks it’s a lousy idea.”

  “But to P.J. she’s still Mama.”

  “Yeah. And there’s nothing any of us can do as long as little Priscilla Jayne wants to go home.”

  “Is that her real name? Priscilla?” Victoria thought about it for a moment, then smiled. “It suits her.”

  “Yeah. You might not think so at first, because she comes off as a tough little nougat. But she’s got a real soft center, doesn’t she?” He shook his head. “She was sure thrilled with the dollhouse you gave her. Wasn’t that slated for a customer?”

  She shrugged. “I can make another for my customer. I doubt that little girl has been given much in her life.”

  “It’s definitely one gift that’s going to be well-loved. She wouldn’t hear of Gert putting it in the backseat and was holding it in her lap when they drove away.”

  Victoria laughed, then changed the subject. “I’ve been dying to hear how it went today. Did you learn anything new?”

  “Yeah. Did you know they make little girls not much older than Esme go to something called Cotillion class?”

  She blinked. “What?” It was so not what she’d expected that she couldn’t quite wrap her mind around it.

  “You shoulda seen it, Tor. Little kids all duded up like miniature adults, marching with a precision I swear the Marines would envy toward some class that Frank tells me teaches them to ballroom dance and comport themselves like good little country clubbers.” Hands thrust in his slacks pockets, he shoved away from the doorjamb and sauntered across the room toward her. “You aren’t going to make Esme attend one of those, are you? ’Cause I’m against it. I mean, manners are great and so is discipline—hell, I’d be the last one to argue with that. But I want my kid to be more than so
me society princess afraid to scuff her patent-leather shoes or get a bit of sand in her socks. I want to teach her the stuff that counts.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “And that would be…?”

  “I don’t know, something useful like…survival skills! How to find her way out of the woods if she gets lost. How to live off the land. How to—well, maybe not eat grubs, but at least know which berries will see her through and which ones will kill her.”

  “Yes, I can see where there’s bound to be a great big demand for that in her life.” She didn’t know whether to laugh out loud or swear. On the one hand, he was demonstrating interest in his daughter’s life, a basic necessity if he was ever to be an actual part of it. But her foot began to tap. Because on the other hand—

  “Uh-oh. Something tells me you’re pissed at me.”

  He’d moved closer and she had to tilt her head back to look up into his eyes. She used the movement to give him her snootiest nose tilt. “Hamiltons don’t get p.o.’d,” she said coolly.

  “No? Why’s that, honey, too vulgar?”

  “Much,” she agreed. “We are rational and collected. And when we’re pushed too far, we become…irate.”

  “Irate.” He leaned so close his breath washed over her lips. “And are you irate now?”

  “A little.”

  “Why? You said I should get to know her. Doesn’t that mean showing an interest in what she does?”

  “Yes, but—” She took a deep breath. Blew it out. “Okay, here’s the truth. I’ve gone this alone for nearly six years. The only thing I want to hear from you is what a good job I’ve done raising her. You don’t get to just waltz in here and tell me what is—or isn’t—important for my daughter to know.”

  “I don’t?”

  “No.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Now, that’s fair.”

  “You want fair? Well, what’s so fair about you suddenly telling me what to do here?”

  He reared back, hands fisting on his hips. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m not dictating anything. I’m just expressing what I’d like to see as part of her future.”

  She went from moderately annoyed to red-hot furious. “Because you think I’m nothing but a spoiled society princess and you can’t stand the thought of her being the same?”

  “No! Jesus.” He thrust his hand through his hair, knocking a strand loose from the rubber band holding it back. He ignored the way it dangled in front of his left eye to pin her in place with his stare. “Did you attend Cotillion class?”

  “Of course.”

  “And you had such a great time you can’t wait for Es to repeat the experience?”

  She considered him, more than a little shocked to realize she was enjoying their skirmishing. And not just because it felt good to hold her ground. While it was certainly true that she was less than thrilled about the thought of sharing the decision-making regarding Esme’s future, maybe there was a subtext at work here, as well. One that had more to do with the fact that he was big and hard-bodied, with a slight flush highlighting his cheekbones and his dark eyes liquid with conviction.

  And with her sudden acute awareness that it had been several loooong days since they’d last made love. She thrust a hand through her own hair.

  “I hated Cotillion,” she admitted. “But if we end up staying in the Springs it will be a part of Esme’s life. Hopefully she’ll eventually make friends from all walks of life. But for now she has Rebecca, and you can be sure if Rebecca goes to CC, Es will want to go, too. And I’d rather she make up her own mind as to whether she likes it or not.”

  He considered it. “I guess that makes sense.” Scowling, he took a sudden step back and shook his head. “But, damn. I was really hoping you’d argue.”

  “Why, so you could argue back just for the sake of arguing?”

  “No, darlin’. So I could clear off that nice wide desk behind you and spread you across the top of it.”

  “Oh.” She gripped the wood on either side of her hips so tightly it was a surprise it didn’t crumble to dust. “Not a great—” her voice cracked like a thirteen-year-old boy’s, and she cleared her throat “—idea.”

  “I know. But this is hard.”

  Her gaze instinctively dropped to just below the waistband of his pants.

  A bark of laughter escaped him. “Oh, yeah, that, too. But I meant this no-sex stuff. It’s really hard, and it’s making us both edgy and—”

  “Maybe a tiny bit unreasonable?”

  “Yes.” He shoved his hands back into his pockets and stood with military erectness. “But we said no sex while the kid’s around and no sex it is. So, do us both a favor. Go back behind your desk. And I’ll bore you with the things I found out during my golf game with Olson and Hamlin.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “WE’RE SORRY. YOU HAVEreached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service.”

  Swearing, Jared slammed down the phone. This was the third fricking time he’d dialed the number P.J. had given him and each time he’d gotten the same recording. Why had she bothered to give him a number at all, if the damn telephone wasn’t even connected?

  Because it was easier than telling you she doesn’t like you anymore, whispered a voice in his mind that insisted on reminding him of what he kept trying hard to forget—how uncomfortable she’d been when she’d visited him last week.

  “No!” He shoved the thought away and, in an attempt to outrun the icy feeling settling in his gut, left his room with long strides, yanking the door shut behind him with such violence it bounced back open again. Ignoring it, he stormed down the hall.

  This wasn’t about him. This had something to do with her bitch of a mother, he just knew it, and he was going to find Rocket and hire him to locate P.J. She could come live with them.

  But when he turned the corner into the main upstairs corridor and spotted John, shock stopped him dead in his tracks. For the former Marine was wrapped around his sister, kissing her as if he were a condemned man and she his last meal. Tori’s arms were locked around his neck and John’s long fingers clutched her butt.

  He must have made a sound, because Rocket’s head suddenly lifted and Jared watched his lips form a succinct swear word when he saw him standing there staring at them. Realizing his own jaw must be sagging, Jared snapped it shut so hard his teeth clacked. His worry about P.J. and fury over the operator’s electronic message abruptly transferred to his sister and the lanky P.I.

  He stalked over to them, his upper lip curling in a sneer when Tori turned to face him and he saw how red and swollen her mouth was, how mussed her clothing. He gave her a slow up and down, but John he ignored entirely. He couldn’t look at the older man without feeling betrayed. He’d admired him. No, more than that—he’d practically hero-worshiped the guy. And all along the P.I. had only been being nice to him to get close to his sister.

  Sickness crawled through him. Because Rocket was a frigging page right out of the old man’s book, wasn’t he? It was clear he had one eye firmly on the main chance and was looking out for Number One. Victoria was suddenly worth a lot of money and Miglionni had worked fast to consolidate his position.

  Jared wasn’t quite brave enough to say that aloud, however, and shame at being such a chickenshit added to his fury. Unsure who he despised more at the moment—Rocket, Tori, or himself—he gave his sister his most insolent stare.

  “I thought you were trying to help me,” he said in a low, furious voice. God, if he couldn’t trust her, who could he trust? Not P.J., it seemed. She obviously didn’t want to be his friend anymore or she wouldn’t have given him a bogus telephone number. But Tori was the one person he’d counted on to be unquestioningly on his side.

  Yet here he stood, forgotten once again.

  It was like all those times with his dad and whichever wife had been in residence. Only this betrayal cut deeper because Jared never in a trillion years expected it from his sister and he lashed out unthinkingly
. “I thought you were trying to help, but I guess I was just an excuse to have the studmeister here stay around, wasn’t I? Well, hey.” He shrugged as if his world wasn’t one great big ball of fiery pain. “As long as the big guy here is screwing you regularly, what do my little problems matter?”

  Tori’s eyes went wide with shock, but before the hurt that replaced it had time to gouge his conscience, she was blocked from view by John’s bigger body. The utter fury in his jet-black eyes sent Jared stumbling several steps backward.

  “In my office,” John snapped. “Now!”

  Oh shit, oh shit. Cold sweat broke out on Jared’s back and trickled down his spine. That was exactly where his dad used to drag him whenever he’d felt the urge to tell him what a loser he was. Wanting desperately to order Rocket to stuff it but afraid to even open his mouth again, he whirled on his heel and stalked down the hallway, impotent fury burning through his veins. He was conscious of the long-legged man striding in his wake as they marched down the stairs and along the main-floor hallway until they reached the office in the rear of the new south wing that Rocket had taken over.

  Banging through the doorway, he barreled over to the chair in front of the desk and threw himself down upon it. He folded his arms over his chest and, heart knocking, glared defiantly as Rocket walked around the desk and took his own seat.

  “Let’s get something straight right off the bat.” Leaning his forearms on the desk, Rocket pointed a long, tan finger at him. The skull-and-crossbones tattoo beneath a fan of black hair on his arm shifted with the movement. “You can say whatever the hell you want about me. But you don’t talk to your sister—or any other woman, for that matter—that way. Especially not Tori. She believed in you when no one else did. Hell, she disrupted her entire life for you, and I’ll be damned if I’ll listen to you disrespect her.”

  The look he’d seen on his sister’s face already had guilt twisting his gut in knots, but Jared hadn’t asked her to do one damn thing for him, so why was he was supposed to take the blame for that?