“She told you if you had an affair with me, she would commit suicide and her death would be your fault—just like your dad’s,” she said in a pained voice.
“Pretty much. Only, Cheryl’s threat was more specific. She didn’t care about other women. She just cared if I cheated with you.”
He didn’t confirm her astute guess. He couldn’t. But hadn’t he always, at least in part, blamed himself for his father’s death?
“How come you didn’t tell her about your dad and my mom? Wouldn’t the threat of committing incest have made her less anxious?”
He shook his head. “Maybe. I don’t know. I couldn’t risk that she wouldn’t tell my mother. Besides, that was our secret, Rem. Yours and mine. I never told anybody. I wouldn’t do that.”
They walked a good distance before she spoke. “I saw the condoms in the grocery bag, Jonas. Does that mean you don’t believe her threat anymore? You don’t care? Or you want to make love with me as long as we keep things on the down low so your ex-wife never finds out?”
He wished like hell he knew the answer to any of those questions. “I want you, Remy. Always have. But my life is a freaking mess. I don’t want to do anything to hurt you or Birdie. And as much as I hate to say this, I’d never forgive myself if Cheryl followed through on her threat because she found out you and I had been together.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her close enough to see her eyes. “Not because I give shit about what happens to her, but because I don’t want my daughter to spend the rest of her life wondering why her mommy didn’t love her enough to stick around.”
“Then we’d better make damn sure nobody ever finds out what we did—what we’re going to do—here tonight.”
He looked at her—a blonde angel in a white dress standing in front of him in the warm sand, the ocean breeze caressing them like the lovers they had no business being. He swallowed against the thickness in his throat. “You don’t mean that, Remy. I know you. I know that secrets eat you up inside. You deserve a whole helluva lot more than a one-night stand.”
“You can look at it that way. Or you could say the universe has given us a tiny window of time—a gift to make up for how badly we were wronged.” She sounded so convincing but he wasn’t sure he believed her. And he sure as hell couldn’t make any promises beyond to night.
“Can’t we pretend we’re two adults—two strangers—who find each other attractive and want to have sex together?”
Sex? Would that be enough? Could he make love with her, then leave? The way her father did nine months before she and her sister were born? “Do you really want this, Remy?”
“I’m not my mother’s daughter for nothing,” she replied wryly. “Yes, I do.”
“You can’t be there when we find Birdie. Cheryl will know something’s happened between us. She’ll know.”
She reached out to stroke the side of his face tenderly. “I’ll take the bus back to Baylorville the minute you tell me to go.”
Maybe it was the romance of the night, maybe she was right about Fate’s role in their lives. Whatever excuse seemed to fit best, he was ready to grasp it.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the key card to their room. “Hi, there, stranger. My name is Jonas. Have we met before?”
“Absolutely not. Are you new in town? Me, too. How about I join you in your room and we get to know each other?”
He took her arm. “Right this way, Miss…?”
“Bouchard. Remy Bouchard. Of the Baylorville Bouchards. Perhaps you’ve heard of us.”
“Nope. Absolutely not. But I’m dying to know everything about you.”
A ONE-NIGHT STAND. OH, lord, Jess, what am I doing?
Doubts nibbled on Remy’s self-confidence like minnows at her toes when her mother used to take the family to the lake. But she kicked them away. She was an adult. This was her chance to grab what she wanted with no apologies and damn few regrets—exactly the way her mother had lived her life.
Mama would be proud of her.
“So, Ms. Remy Bouchard of Baylorville, Louisiana, what do you do for a living?”
They’d reached the walkway where sand met sidewalk. A conveniently placed bench allowed her the chance to relace her sandals. “Well, I’m between jobs at the moment. In addition to my teaching degree, I have a minor in human services. I thought I might make a good headhunter—using my ability of reading people to find the right person for the right job.”
“That makes sense. How come you’re not working for some big company?”
She shuddered. “Do you have any idea what a jungle business can be? Too many people want too much without really doing the work.” She looked up and caught him staring at the neckline of her dress. She was glad now she’d brought her white dress. Not only did it pack well, it was made of a soft jersey that clung to her rounded parts in a very flattering way. “So, I took a job in geriatric care, instead.”
“You opted out of the jungle in favor of a more serene environment.”
She stood. “Serene? Is that code for boring? Because if that’s what you think, then you’ve never spent any time with old people. The ones who still have their wits about them are some of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.”
“I didn’t mean to sound judgmental. I was picturing the work as less competitive, not a snooze-fest.”
“Oh. Well, you wouldn’t be the first to accuse me of hiding out from life. My older sisters constantly email me articles about how to meet eligible men. Unfortunately, the dating pool at ShadyBrook is seniors only.” She grinned. “Not that the place isn’t rife with romance, but I’m not part of it.”
He pointed to his eyes. “Those old men need glasses.”
She pretended to blink coquettishly. “Why, don’t you say the sweetest things,” she said, laying on the drawl. “I do believe you have intentions of the lascivious kind in mind.”
They’d reached the door of their room and in the shadow of a huge, flowering bush, he turned, trapping her between his arms. “If you mean that in a good way, then, yes, I do. Most lascivious indeed.”
To prove it, he kissed her, full on the mouth in that ravishing way she once loved—still loved. She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned the kiss with all the passion she’d stored up over the years.
A sudden and loud applause from the nearby bar where Remy procured her delicious cocktail that afternoon made her shrink back in embarrassment. “That’s not for us—the band’s starting up,” he told her. “Come, my love. Let’s check out the privacy of our room.”
Not an appropriate endearment for a one-night stand, but she didn’t scold him. Even if this affair—for want of a better word—could go no further, she planned to make the most of her opportunity.
“That’s a pretty serious frown on your face. You’re not facing a firing squad, I promise. And if you want to call this off, just say the word.”
She took the key card from his fingers and ran it through the electronic lock. “The only word I plan to say is ‘Yes, yes, yes,’” she said, putting a little When Harry Met Sally urgency in her tone.
He followed her into the room. She sat on the bed to remove her shoes. She hiked up her hemline a few inches and crossed one leg over the other. “So where’s that bag with the condoms?”
He looked at the ceiling, a bemused grin on his face. “If you had any idea how close I came to throwing them away…” He walked to his suitcase and unzipped it. “I know how this looks, but I really didn’t plan…”
Remy laughed to let him off the hook. “Don’t worry. I’m not appalled. And if it makes you feel any better, I have some in my cosmetics bag.”
His jaw dropped. “No way.”
“Way. Jess and I made a pact when we moved to Nashville that we’d always carry ECs—emergency condoms.”
He tossed the box on the bed, shaking his head. “You two always did speak your own language.”
She walked to him and casually brushed back a lock of his hair. Then leaned in and k
issed him. Slow and methodically, so she’d be able to remember every moment later on.
He pulled her closer, linking his hands across the base of her tailbone. “Do you know what I remember most about kissing you? Your crooked tooth.”
She pulled back slightly to run her tongue across her eyetooth, which sat slightly off center. “Why?”
“Because even though you looked perfect to everyone else, you had one tiny little flaw that only I knew about.”
His confession warmed her. Well, actually, it did more than warm. Or maybe that spark of heat ignited when he tightened his arms around her and buried his face between her breasts.
She rubbed her cheek across the top of his head and closed her eyes with a sigh. There was no denying how right this felt—even after so many years of believing it was wrong.
“I put on a few pounds since high school,” she warned, reaching behind her to unzip the fitted bodice of her dress.
“I lost ten pounds in Iraq.”
“Braggart.”
“No. I simply meant we’re not the same people we were fifteen years ago. Living in this crazy world has changed us. I’m not expecting you to be the same Remy, and I don’t want you to be disappointed, because I sure as hell am not eighteen.”
She slipped out of her dress, letting it drop to the floor. She’d packed her nicest undies and matching bra. She felt pretty, sexy and so nervous she thought she might throw up. Until she looked in his eyes and saw Jonas. The old Jonas. The boy she’d loved forever.
The lines around his eyes softened; his smile was boyish and filled with glee—as if he’d rubbed a lamp and she was his genie about to grant his most heartfelt wish.
She unsnapped her front-closing bra and tossed it aside. She knew she looked pretty good. Not as fit and trim as Jessie, but she’d always had more curves than her twin. Does my tan line look too obvious? she wondered, glancing down.
Jonas stepped closer and caught her chin in his fingers, urging her face upward. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world, Remy Bouchard. I can’t believe you’re here. With me. I swear, I must be dreaming. Maybe those pain pills I took had a hallucinogenic agent in them.”
She placed his hand on her breast, molding his fingers to her warm flesh. “You’re not hallucinating, Jonas. I’m real. I’m here. And we’re going to live this dream together.”
He undressed with speed and surprising grace, despite her mostly inept attempts to help. She was so past any ability to fake coolness. She was excited, happy, giddy and a bit scared. Not of what would happen later. No, she was afraid she’d built this up in her mind to something so big, so perfect no man could possibly meet her expectations.
As if reading her mind, he said, “I need to warn you, Remy. I haven’t been with a woman in a long time. And, even though I’ve made love to you a million or so times in my mind, there’s a good chance I’ll blow it this time.”
She plastered herself against his naked body, wrapping her arms tight across his back. “No,” she said, rubbing her cheek flat against the finely toned muscles of his chest. “This is too right to go wrong. There’s no performance review, I promise. Just love me, Jonas. Now. Please.”
That one plea proved a trigger. He swept her into his arms and turned to lower her carefully to the bed. He kissed her from each extremity inward, fingertips to breasts, toes to her aching, heated core. She limited her attention to his skin, licking the wonderful curve of his collarbone, nipping and teasing each taut little nipple. She loved the taste of him, salty and slightly spicy. She couldn’t explain it, but her memory said, “Yes. This is your Jonas.”
“Kiss me,” he demanded, his voice low and rough.
She opened her mouth to him the same moment his fingers found her central core. He swallowed her moan of need and desire. They let their tongues wrangle, revealing the old friends they were, remembering and at the same time forging new memories.
“Now, please, Jonas. Now,” she whispered, ready—oh, so ready—to climb to the next plane of pleasure.
It took him a moment to locate and open the condom he’d tossed on the bed. But she used the time to touch the part of him that would soon be inside her. She’d never been quite this bold in high school. A few tentative caresses in the backseat of his car. Enough to form an image in her mind. An image that didn’t do justice to the body she now held and stroked.
“Damn, that feels good,” he said with a gravelly groan. “Your touch is so you. But any more and I’m not going to get us where we need to go.”
She dropped back to the pillow and watched as he prepared. This was it. The moment she’d waited half her life for. When he slipped between her legs, she closed her eyes to savor every wonderful sensation. They fit together like two halves of a whole.
And when he moved, that missing piece—the part that never seemed quite right with some other man—fell into place. Or rather, rose to the occasion, pulsing with life and heat and a power that took her straight out of her mind and into a level of awareness she never knew existed.
Oh. Of course. This is it.
And when Jonas joined her in that unique and wonderful space a moment later, collapsing into her arms with a cry of something male and real, it was all she could do to keep from saying the one thing that would ruin everything. I love you, Jonas.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JONAS WAS STILL AWAKE a good hour after he and Remy made love a second time. She was nestled comfortably in his arms, but he couldn’t relax. Never in his life had he felt more conflicted. When he was with Remy, he got so lost in the moment that a bomb could have gone off next door and he wouldn’t have known it. Losing control that way was never a good thing.
He’d read somewhere that children of divorce could spend the better part of their life trying to put things together again, either in their work or in their personal relationships. He was pretty sure he was guilty of that on both fronts. His professional life was all about recreating a puzzle to find the truth. In his personal life, he spent more years, months, weeks and days than he could count trying to keep the people in his life from spinning out of control.
Now, he’d made the biggest reconnection of his life. The girl who not only got away, but was driven away by a lie. That both their mothers were to blame for this lie did little to ease his anger and hurt. He’d loved Remy with every ounce of his teenage body and mind.
And now she was here. In this bed. Beside him. She was still beautiful, still sweet, but with a new and surprising dose of her sister’s mouth and backbone.
He could imagine what their first time would have been like if they’d “gone all the way” in high school. Fast, for sure. Sweaty and cramped considering the lack of space in the back of his car. Nervous and worried about being found out or getting pregnant. An embarrassment of youthful trial and error ending with a big bang for him and an “Isthatallthereis?” for her.
But the one thing that hadn’t changed was how he felt about her. He still loved her. He probably always would.
A fact that made this night all the more poignant. It was their one and only. Birdie would need him when she got back, and who knew what would happen with Cheryl? Any way he peered into the dark crystal ball of the future, he couldn’t see even a hint of personal fulfillment.
He rolled over and sat up, the covers bunching around his waist. He’d done as the P.I. instructed—he’d taken the night off and recharged his batteries. With Remy’s help. Had he used her? Again? He didn’t want to think about that.
He started to stand but a warm hand laid flat against the middle of his back stopped him. “No. Stay.”
He turned and nuzzled her cheek, soaking up the scent of her. His love. “I need to go over those files Leonard sent. There might be a clue or two I missed. The man has resources a small-time insurance investigator like me can only dream about.”
Dream. The word made him shiver. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered.
He pulled on his sweatpants and grabbed his computer bag. As q
uietly as possible, he heated up a cup of instant coffee in the microwave, then set up an impromptu desk at the glass-top table in the living area. His plan was to cross-reference his facts—and assumptions—about the GoodFriends with Leonard’s findings. Anything that didn’t jibe was a red flag worthy of a follow-up call.
He stumbled across the first such situation a few minutes later. “How did I miss that?” he muttered under his breath.
He re-read the police report from the first interview with the woman who escaped from the GoodFriends. A name he’d never seen in this context seemed to jump off the page straight into his brain.
No. It wasn’t possible, he thought. A bizarre coincidence, maybe? But he’d been in the insurance business too long to believe in coincidences of this magnitude.
He made several notes then continued reading, but his inner investigator hummed with curiosity and he couldn’t let go of the idea that what he’d circled wasn’t a mistake. Remy’s laptop was resting on the sofa a few feet away. He debated the ethics of snooping without permission for about a minute. He’d broken half a dozen laws and more than a few moral codes since this investigation began. What was one more? Besides, Remy would be the first to offer any help if he asked her. Which he couldn’t do because he needed her to dream.
So, what you’re saying, his conscience griped, is you’ve figured out how to use her two ways—three, if you count sex.
He snatched the computer and opened it, praying the files weren’t password protected. They weren’t. He clicked on her email icon and a minute later had his hands on the file Jessie’s future husband had sent.
He skimmed the page until he found what he wanted. A date of birth. A date that matched the one on the GoodFriends’s website.
“Interesting.” But he didn’t see how the fact that Brother Thom changed his name had any bearing on his case. Unless he could find out why a guy who followed in his late father’s well-established footsteps would want—or, perhaps, need—to distance himself so irrevocably.
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