The Complete Novels of the Lear Sister Trilogy

by Julia London

  Mom sighed wearily, shaking her head as she stared at the screen door. “Don’t know what I’m going to do with him, swear I don’t.” She paused to fish a pack of smokes from her pocket, tapped it absently against the back of her hand. “Where are you taking him?”

  “We’re going to throw a baseball around.”

  Mom sighed again, lit a cigarette, and exhaled loudly. “Baseball ain’t the answer for everyone, Jacob.”

  What is the answer, Mom? “It doesn’t hurt anything,” he said with a shrug and looked down the street at the line of identical green tract houses. “He likes it.”

  Mom said nothing, just dragged off her smoke. “Well. I better go up and see about him.”

  Jake nodded, stepped up, and kissed his mom on the cheek, taking in the familiar scent of stale smoke and soap. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He left; the ride to the Heights seemed to take hours instead of the half hour it actually took. A half hour in which Jake waged a silent war in his head about what to do with Cole. He paused on his porch to pick up his mail, then came inside and tossed his gear onto a chair, mindlessly stepped around the drop cloth and sawhorse in the middle of his living room where he was staging his own private renovation. As he came to the dining room, he looked down at the laptop he had left open, the books stacked neatly to one side, and the pile of papers that marked the class work he had planned to finish tonight. With a sigh, he looked through the mail, tossed the bills aside, then proceeded to his bedroom and a hot shower.

  A short time later, he went to the kitchen to make a double-decker sandwich and found himself thinking of Robin Lear again, thinking that she was really pretty . . . but bossy. And full of herself. He mulled that over, and was reaching for a beer when the phone rang.

  With a growl, he put his sandwich aside and picked up the phone. “Yeah,” he said unceremoniously.

  “Jake?”

  “Hey, Lindy, how are you?”

  “I’m fine. How are you?”

  “I had a long day, actually. I’m pretty beat.”

  “Perfect. I made some brownies for you.”

  God. That was exactly what had gotten him involved with the girl in the first place. He certainly wasn’t in the habit of dating women fifteen years his junior—actually, he wasn’t really in the habit of dating—but he’d met Lindy on campus, admired her pert little breasts, and asked her out for coffee after class one night. Lindy came to class the next week with a baggie full of homemade cookies. She was a nice girl, a good girl, the kind of girl who would dote on a man. And although he hadn’t really been interested enough to date her, he hadn’t been fool enough to turn down homemade cookies. Lindy had taken his acceptance of her cookies as a green light.

  “Uh . . . that was really nice of you,” he said uncertainly. “But I don’t need any.”

  “Well, nobody needs brownies.”

  “Umm . . . well, maybe some other time,” he said, not wanting to hurt her feelings. “But I really gotta run. Got a lot to do.” A lot of sandwich.

  “Want help?”

  “Not this time, Lindy.”

  She sighed, and Jake could almost see her twist a strand of hair around her finger. “Okay, well, I guess I’ll just have a bath and go to bed,” she said listlessly.

  At the mention of bath, the thought of a lithe young body flit across Jake’s mind, but strangely, it wasn’t Lindy’s. “Okay. See you in class.” He hung up, turned blindly back to his sandwich, alarmed by the fact that he had just imagined Robin Lear naked. In a bath. And the thought had been strongly arousing.

  He took a big bite of sandwich and pondered that. In his work, he encountered a lot of society women who had more money than most governments. They were overly pampered, almost always too pleased with themselves—Robin was definitely all that and change. But then again, she was different, too, and bizarrely interesting. Still . . . he was not the kind of guy to get his thrills at work. He was way too serious about the business he was trying to build.

  Nonetheless, the thought of her was so magnetic that she kept popping into his head the next day. When he took Cole to the park, he thought of her. At the grocery store, buying for his mom, he thought of her. Over his class work, his invoicing, and during the Astros game that Sunday he thought of her, wondered what she was doing. He thought of her in her torn jeans and Curious George pajamas. Worst of all, when he slept Saturday night, he dreamed of making love to a woman who turned out to be Robin Lear, whose blue eyes glazed over in the throes of a powerful, nails-in-the-back climax.

  He even thought of her when Zaney called and said he would not be at work on Monday or Tuesday or for that matter, maybe even Wednesday. The news didn’t perturb Jake nearly as bad as it ought to have done. The only thing he could think was, he’d be alone with Robin Lear.

  But so what? She had thought he was a pervert! How he had managed to turn one encounter into a fantasy like this was a little troubling. Yet by the time Monday rolled around, Jake was sort of anxious to go to work and see her again.

  He arrived at the house on North Boulevard earlier than he had wanted, but was smiling as he let himself in and put his things in the dining room and noticed the aroma of coffee in the air. And when he heard the bedroom door open, he turned expectantly and looked down the hall . . . and whammo, felt the huge stab of disappointment. It had never occurred to him, had not once crossed his mind. What an idiot he was! It wasn’t Robin who came walking out of the bedroom at all, but a guy, a nice-looking guy at that, wearing nothing but a pair of silk boxers.

  Chapter Eight

  When Robin heard the sound of Evan’s voice outside her bedroom, all hopes that it was all just a bad dream were effectively obliterated. She lifted her head, winced at the sharp pain right behind her eyes, and dropped, facedown in her pillow, cursing the damned wine Evan had bought. She hadn’t intended to drink it, particularly since she’d been so mad at Evan for showing up unannounced last night to begin with. But then Mia had shown up with her Big News. Mia, who had, since their high school days, gone through men like there was some huge race, was getting married.

  Her first thought was to call Ripley’s Believe It or Not, because Mia was completely incapable of commitment to anything—including a dog she once had. And, she and Michael fought every other week and had ended their affair no less than fifteen hundred times. And now she was getting married. Married!

  The announcement, made to Robin and Evan when Mia and Michael had arrived for their Saturday night dinner date, had prompted a gushing Evan to run out and buy a few bottles of Pouilly-Vinzelles for a celebration. Robin tried to stop him, told him they already had plans, but Mia, in her near state of euphoria at being given a ring (and it wasn’t that great of a ring) had proclaimed with great verve, “Oh noooo, Evan should stay and help us celebrate!” This, in spite of knowing how Robin felt about Evan, in spite of the very pointed looks Robin gave her, in spite of the universe in general. She just flipped her long blond ponytail over her shoulder and smiled all moon-eyed at Michael.

  So Evan had dashed out for the wine, Michael had ordered up Thai, and Robin had drunk heavily as Mia went on and on about her wedding plans, which she had, apparently, given quite a lot of thought.

  Actually, Robin might have survived the evening had it not been for the third bottle of Pouilly-Vinzelles and that moment alone with Mia in the kitchen, when in a tipsy moment, Robin had blurted, “Mia, are you insane? You hated Michael two weeks ago and swore you’d never speak to him again. Now you’re getting married? This is a huge mistake.”

  To which Mia had smiled in the most condescending way possible and said, “Oh, Robbie, I know how you must be feeling. But you haven’t lost me.”

  “What in the hell are you talking about? I’m talking about this on-again, off-again thing you have with Michael. Who’s to say that next week you won’t hate him again?”

  Mia’s smile was so sympathetic that Robin was tempted to try and rub it off her face. “Don’t worry. You’ll get m
arried too. I mean, you’ll chill out in a few years and then, who won’t want you?”

  Chill out? Chill out? Robin had been so stunned that she couldn’t even reply. She had stood there, gaping in dumb shock as Mia checked her lipstick in the glass reflection of the cabinet, flipped her hair over her shoulder again, and smiled when Michael called out, “God, Mia, what are you running on about now?” She laughed, walked out of the kitchen to where Michael and Evan were seated around the dining room table, leaving Robin alone in the kitchen in utter confusion.

  Chill. Out.

  By the time Mia and Michael left and Evan opened the fourth and last bottle and asked about her arrest, Robin had—in spite of the annoying little voice warning her to shut up, shut up, shut up!—crumbled into despair. She’d lit up like the Texas Commerce building, crying into her Salviati crystal wineglass, and one thing inevitably led to another, and before she knew it, she was wailing about her dad, her demotion, the fire, and even Mia’s engagement. And then, somehow, Evan was kissing her, and then . . .

  This was precisely the sort of thing that always got her into trouble.

  Robin lifted her head again, groaning beneath a monstrous headache, and peered bleary-eyed at the clock. Eight A.M. Fabulous. Still enough time left in the day to learn all about the many intricacies of Styrofoam peanuts. She could hardly wait.

  She heard Evan’s voice again, managed to push herself up, and as she groped around for her robe, the door opened and Evan came in, carrying two cups of coffee, wearing little more than a ridiculously broad smile. “Good morning, sweetcakes.”

  “Uh-huh,” Robin muttered, and wrapped the thick terry cloth robe tightly around her while Evan stood there smiling at her. Self-conscious, she pushed her hands through her Amazon hair. “Who were you talking to?” she asked as Evan handed her a cup of coffee.

  “Your contractor.”

  Her contractor . . . Oh! Oh Oh Oh! How could she have forgotten that the delicious hunk of a man would be here this morning? Worse, he’d seen Evan—in his boxers, no less. Robin could feel herself color deeply, and while she was trying to figure that out, Evan reached for her waist, leaned down, and kissed her neck. “Hello, gorgeous.”

  What a colossal mistake she’d made. Disastrous! “Evan—”

  “You were wonderful last night. I’m getting hard just thinking about it.”

  “Yeah, but I was sort of lit—”

  “Baby, you were lit, all right. I’d forgotten how feisty you can get.”

  Well, someone had to be feisty, although she really did not care for the reminder. “What I’m trying to say is, I really shouldn’t have done . . . that,” she said, gesturing to the bed.

  Evan laughed deep in his chest. “You can do that anytime you want.” He nibbled her ear and Robin wriggled out of his embrace, spilling a little coffee on the thick oriental carpet she had bought on one of her shopping whims.

  “Please listen to me,” she pleaded, and turned to face him. His boxers were tenting. She did not care for the tent. So she abruptly turned away, put her coffee down, and tightened her robe around her. Her temples were pounding, her mouth tasted like dirt. “You know what?” she said, avoiding Evan’s gaze—and boxers— “I can’t talk about this now. I need to get dressed for my new job. Can’t leave the bubble wrap waiting.”

  “Want me to help?”

  “No!” she said quickly, and grabbing her coffee, darted into her bathroom, shut the door behind her, and locked it.

  After a moment, Evan said, “Robin?”

  His proximity directly on the other side of the door startled Robin, and she reared back, held a hand over her heart for a moment before sinking onto the edge of the spa.

  “Okay. I’ll use the guest bath.”

  She heard him move away, and slowly released her breath. So. How did she get into this mess, again? As if her life could get any more ludicrous, as if it were possible that one person could make so many stupid, stupid mistakes in the space of a week! A sudden attack of panic assailed her, a strange feeling like she was standing too close to the edge of some deep hole and was in danger of throwing herself off.

  Run. Not away, although that sounded pretty appealing at the moment, but down the street, far enough to pound out her frustration. Yes, run.

  Robin got up, brushed her teeth, tried to brush her hair, found a bottle of aspirin and took four. No sense beating around the bush. She then peeked out the bathroom door, saw her bed was made, but all other signs of Evan removed. Cautiously, she hurried to her closet, found her running gear, and hoped that he was gone from her house.

  No such luck. Evan was seated at her dining table, dressed in slacks and a polo shirt, one leg casually crossed over the other as he read the paper. Worse, Jake Manning was quietly working in the entry, wearing carpenter pants that hugged his very fine butt and a T-shirt that strained across his chest.

  Evan looked up from the paper and smiled. “Ah, there she is! Hey, you’re going out for a run? You should have told me—I would have gone with,” he said cheerfully.

  Robin tried very hard not to look at Jake. “Yeah, but you don’t have time, do you, Evan? Aren’t you headed back to Dallas?”

  He casually sipped his coffee. “Actually, I’m going to be around for a few days. We have to get you set up, don’t we?”

  We? She did not like the sound of that at all, and walked to the kitchen before he could say more. She opened the fridge, studied the empty box, and vowed to make it to the grocery store this calendar year. With a sigh, she went back into the dining room. That was when she spied the box of Krispy Kremes on the edge of the table and instantly looked at Jake.

  He was watching her, expressionless. He glanced at the box and turned away. Hey . . . he’d brought her doughnuts. He had, hadn’t he? Jake Manning had brought her doughnuts! Cha-cha cha-cha cha-CHA! Cha-cha cha-cha cha-CHA! Evan could bring all the outrageously expensive wine he wanted, but doughnuts—now here was a man who really knew how to impress a woman.

  With two fingers, Robin lifted the lid to the mouthwatering treats, until a T-square came crashing down on the lid, missing her fingernails by a hairbreadth. Robin squeaked, jerked her hand back, and looked up at Jake, who was holding the T-square firmly on top of the doughnut box, glaring at her. “Those are mine. Remember our little talk?”

  “You almost hit me with that thing!”

  “Let’s review—I am not your local Pac-n-Sac. Keep out of my stuff.”

  “Goodness,” Evan said. He turned the page of the business section and continued reading.

  “They’re just doughnuts,” Robin groused at Jake’s back as he walked back to the foyer.

  Evan looked up over the business section, one brow lifted above the other. “Get up on the wrong side of the bed, sweetheart?”

  Actually, just the wrong bed, and at the moment, she wished Evan would go far, far away. But he turned his attention back to his paper. “IBM stock is down.”

  Robin looked at the doughnut box, then at Jake over the top of Evan’s head. That was a smirk on his face, she thought. At the very least, a smarty little twinkle in his eye. Robin walked over to the wall where he was working, pretended to look at what he was doing. Yep, it was a twinkle, all right.

  She moved until she was standing so close that her arm brushed his sleeve. “Still testing the layers?”

  Jake looked down, smiled a crooked, I-know-what-you-are-doing kind of smile. “Yep.”

  “What’s that?” Evan called, forcing Robin to glance over her shoulder. He was watching her intently, his expression curious. “I thought you were going for a run?”

  Okay. There were too many guys in her house, and his name was Evan. “Yes, I am. See you later,” she said and walked across the foyer.

  “Have a good run,” Evan said, looking at Jake.

  “Uh-huh,” she mumbled, and walked out the door and proceeded down the street.

  When the door shut behind Robin, Jake heard a heavy sigh and the rustle of newspaper behind him.
“I swear to God she’s going to be the death of me.”

  Good.

  “I don’t know what it is about women—one minute they can melt you, the next minute they make you want to jump off a cliff. Know what I mean?”

  How about jumping off a cliff right now? “I suppose,” Jake muttered.

  The man’s chair scraped against the floor; in the next moment, he was standing directly behind Jake. “So . . . what are you doing here?”

  Man, oh man, he was destined to have a lousy morning, wasn’t he? And he had such high (though admittedly asinine) hopes. “I’m testing the layers of paint to see what we’re working with before I strip these walls.”

  “Ah,” the dolt said. “I’ve dabbled a bit in this kind of work.” When Jake didn’t take the bait, he continued, “Redid my living room. Had that old-style paneling, you know what I mean? I took that out and textured the walls.”

  Yep, a bona fide expert with latent homosexual tendencies. “Hmmm,” Jake answered.

  The man turned away from the wall. “I should get to the office.”

  If he expected Jake to say something, he was going to be disappointed. Jake continued working as he listened to the sound of the man gathering his things, fought the urge to help him, and felt relieved when the door finally shut behind the guy. If there was one thing he hoped for this job, it would be that that guy would not be around too often . . . but wait a minute, there was that dipshit thinking again. Jake paused to wipe the brush he was using, shook his head again at his own great foolishness. He really had to shake the thought of Robin from his mind as he worked. Or at least the memory of her scent when she had stood so electrifyingly close to him this morning.

  Meanwhile, Robin was pounding the jogging trail in slow, leaden steps, her hangover forgotten in favor of thinking about Jake. What it was about him she couldn’t be entirely certain, other than the fact that he was so ruggedly male. And handsome. Very nice coppery eyes. And as she turned around the corner and headed up North Boulevard again, she thought about the care he took with the antique brick, his fingers stroking it—Okay, enough already. What was she doing? Wasn’t it bad enough that she had fallen into bed with Evan? Now she had to go and fantasize about a perfect stranger, and a contractor at that?