by Karina Bliss
Down a side alley, two cats spat and hissed at each other in a territorial dispute by the bins. He hadn’t been back to this neighborhood since he’d sublet his apartment.
When he’d bought the place two years ago, it had looked shabby to him. Compared to the family home he’d left on Russian Hill with its views of the bay, a one-bedroom apartment in an aging seven-story building close to the airport was a major comedown.
Now, as he stood on the street corner, counting the windows up to the sixth floor and the glow of light behind the drapes, Joe felt a pang of homesickness. Funny how living in a hotel gave a guy perspective.
The cats collided in a flurry of yowling, rolling fur, then one disengaged itself and tore past Joe, so close it brushed the toes of his hiking boots. Of course it was black.
“Too late,” he said, then squared his shoulders and went to sign the sales contract on the last thing he owned.
CHAPTER NINE
THE NURSING STAFF WERE in the middle of a shift change when Joe walked into the rehab center at noon the next day. They welcomed him like a long-lost relative before returning to their clipboards. It made him realize how much time he spent here.
His father was watching CBS news on the big-screen TV, the curtains partially pulled to reduce the glare from another bright, hot October morning. Fall in other parts of the country was summer in San Francisco.
“Hey, Adam.” Joe went to the coffee machine he’d installed on a side table next to the couch, and made himself a strong cup. “I just caught up with your, uh, sister, Jenny, and her husband.”
“Coffee…smells…good.” There was longing in his father’s restlessness.
“I’ll make you one.”
When the coffee was ready he adjusted the bed so his father was sitting up, then supported him while he drank through a straw.
“Why…back…early?”
He couldn’t tell him the tenants who’d snapped up his apartment had wanted to sign papers before flying to Saint Thomas for a month’s holiday. “I missed you.”
“Cut…crap.”
Joe put the cup on the bedside table and resettled his father on the pillows. “Fine. I know Aunt Jenny offered you the Carson diamond. I want you to turn her down.”
An angry flush mottled Adam’s cheeks. “Not…your…business!”
“What the hell are you going to do with a necklace, anyway?” Joe said more mildly. “It’s not like it can be sold.”
“Only…temporary.” His father paused to rest. His color began to return to its normal pallor. “Teach…Sam…lesson.”
Certainly Joe’s new uncle deserved one. The man was a tyrant and a bully, and the only enigma was why his gentle wife had put up with him for so long. Even Belle, who had more gumption, still showed enormous forbearance when dealing with her father.
Joe didn’t understand that kind of forgiveness and he didn’t want to.
Standing by the bed, he stared down at Adam. “What happened at the country club?” It bugged him that his father wouldn’t divulge details of his meeting with Sam.
Adam hesitated. “Tell…stop…hassle…Jenny,” he admitted, confounding Joe. So his father did feel protective of his long-lost sister.
“I bet that went down well.” Sam didn’t take kindly to criticism. “Wait a minute…did he hit you?”
“No.” There was a glint in his father’s eyes. “I…hit…him.”
Joe stared at the feeble man in the bed and then slowly started to laugh. “God, what I would have given to see that.” He sobered abruptly. “Except it triggered a second stroke. Which brings me back to my point. You’re in no shape to play the white knight.”
Adam looked at him expectantly.
“Oh, I get it.” Joe walked back to the side table where he’d left his own coffee. “Uncle Sam has to come through me first.”
“You…broad…shoulders,” Adam said reasonably.
Joe resisted the urge to tell his father exactly what those broad shoulders had been carrying lately. With the sale of his apartment finalized, the short-term pressure was off. But he couldn’t live in a hotel for the rest of his life. And he certainly hadn’t divested himself of one problem only to take on another.
“Want…heat…off…Jen….” Adam was clearly exhausted. “Tease…Sam.”
“You’re fifty-eight,” Joe responded irritably. Didn’t his father know he needed to conserve his energy for recuperation? “That’s too old to play childish games with your half brother. Take the high ground.”
“No.”
“Yes!”
The door swung open with a great deal of force and—speak of the devil—Sam Carson stormed in. Ignoring Adam, he eyeballed Joe. “This is your doing, isn’t it? You blame me for your father’s second stroke and this is payback.”
“Hello, Sam.” Wearily Joe put down his coffee cup. “Finally come to inquire after your brother?”
“Half brother.” His uncle faced the bed and flinched, then dug his hands in the pockets of his rain-splotched Burberry raincoat, unbuttoned over a gray suit. “I thought this was a rehab unit,” Sam said gruffly. He was so obviously shocked by Adam’s infirmity that Joe excused his tactlessness.
“Adam’s got a way to go but he’s making good progress.” Joe moved to stand by his father’s bedside. “No thanks to you.”
Sam addressed Adam in a tone that was half bluster, half apology. “You can’t hold me accountable for putting you here. The hospital said you discharged yourself after the first stroke against medical advice.”
Because he had no insurance, something his son hadn’t known at the time. When Adam snorted, Sam turned back to Joe. “I had absolutely nothing to do with him showing up at my country club.”
“Now that I do believe,” he drawled. “Introducing your illegitimate half brother to your cronies would be anathema to a pillar of the community such as yourself.” Though it was pathetic, he could never resist using big words with his uncle.
Sam eyed him with active dislike. Only a few months younger than Adam, he was still a handsome son of a bitch—no doubt through a deal with Satan—with a full head of blond hair, piercing blue eyes and an infuriating air of entitlement. “The Frasers might not have a reputation to uphold, but the Carsons have.” Sam looked down his nose. “Your father instigated the argument, not me.”
“And finished it, too, I hear?” With grim satisfaction Joe watched his uncle Sam shuffle his feet. “Kinda sad that he felt the need to defend a sister he barely knows from the brother she’d grown up with, don’t you think?”
Recovering his composure, Sam glared at him. “You young whelp. Do you honestly think I’m going to stand by and see the Carson diamond given to my father’s bastard? I’d sooner let my half-blood sister keep it.”
Adam grew agitated; Joe laid a hand on his father’s arm. They were not getting involved. “Good idea,” he said coldly. “Let’s sign something now to that effect.”
For a moment his uncle appeared nonplussed. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. “That necklace was promised to me by my father. Jenny only got it because my mother was bewildered.” The older man’s lip curled. “And Jenny knows she’s in the wrong, which is why she’s avoiding my calls.”
Joe stared at him. “She’s avoiding your calls because you’re being obsessive, obnoxious and unreasonable.” Not to mention self-delusional. “Sue told me her grandmother was as sharp as a tack right up to her death.” Maybe the Carson women did need protection. With an effort, he reminded himself that his cousins’ husband and fiancé were more than capable of providing backup. “For God’s sake, man,” he added in exasperation, “haven’t you lost enough?”
“Yes.” Sam jutted out his jaw like an old bulldog. “Which is why I won’t give up what’s left. Now that I’ve seen Adam’s condition, it’s clear who instigated this con. He doesn’t want the family heirloom, you do.”
Joe felt his temper rise. “That’s insane.”
“You’re thinking that your old man�
��s on his way out,” Sam persisted, “and see an opportunity to get your hands on the Carson diamond. You’ve played on Jenny’s sympathies and—”
“That’s enough,” Joe snarled. “Now get the hell out of here before I continue the new Fraser tradition of kicking Carson butt.”
“Not without the necklace.” Sam stepped toward the bedside table, obviously with the intention of searching the drawers.
Folding his arms, Joe blocked the way. Any rational man would have run for cover, but his uncle stood his ground, breathing hard, his hands curling into fists and his eyes glassy.
This close, Joe could smell whiskey on Sam’s breath and see a faint food stain on his uncle’s usually impeccable clothing. He wished he’d noticed these things earlier, when pity still had the power to stir him.
“Back off,” he warned.
For another moment Sam, his breath hot and sour, held Joe’s gaze, before he broke eye contact. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer,” he barked over his shoulder as he left.
Fighting to regain his equilibrium, Joe picked up his cup with slow deliberation.
“He…was…drunk.”
“You’d know.” The acid comment slipped out before he could stop it. Swallowing the cold coffee in three gulps, Joe slammed the cup down. “Sorry. That was petty.”
A choking sound came from the bed and Joe quickly turned. One side of Adam’s face was contorted in laughter. “High…ground…?”
Joe’s mouth twitched. “Shut up.”
WHEN PIP FIELDED A THIRD come-on from yet another intoxicated guy partying in the bar adjacent to the lobby, the hotel manager gave her a key card for Joe’s room.
“Honestly, we’re a respectable establishment,” he told her with a wry grin. “But there’s a Teamsters convention in town and the boys are celebrating some contract breakthrough. You’re getting caught in the crossfire.”
Relieved, Pip took the key card. “Thank you.” She had no idea how Joe was going to react to this visit, and the thought of inebriated witnesses was decimating the little courage she had left. It had been bad enough watching reception ring Joe’s room, and waiting to be told politely to go to hell. But he wasn’t back from work yet and she’d decided to wait.
Standing up, she tucked the key into the pocket of her poppy-red swing coat.
The manager gestured toward the elevators. “Suite 415. Right at the elevator, end of the corridor. Incidentally, I wouldn’t do this if Joe wasn’t a buddy of mine. But I recognized your name. Kaitlin’s teacher, right?”
“Yes. Has Joe…Did he mention me?”
“Before camp. I haven’t had a chance to talk to him since. How’d it go?”
“Great,” she said, suddenly eager to be gone before Joe walked in and called her a liar. “Well, thanks—” she looked at his name tag “—Michael.”
“Anytime.” He gave her one of those charming Californian grins that suggested he’d be happy to flirt with her. Right now, however, Pip was only interested in winning one of Joe’s grim smiles.
Upstairs, she shoved the card into the key slot and pushed open the door. The first thing she saw was a big bed. Maybe this is a bad idea.
The suite was decorated in soft sage and cream, from the rugs to the wallpaper and the plump-cushioned couches and chairs. Heavy embossed fabrics and ornate patterns lent the room lushness, but it was saved from femininity by the dark wood and square, simple design of the desk, tables and armoire.
Pip’s footsteps made no sound on the thick carpet as she crossed the room and closed the sliding door separating the bedroom from the rest of the suite so she couldn’t see the bed. Then she turned on all the lights to make the suite seem less…intimate, and pulled the velvet drapes, more to block out the sight of her nervous reflection than keep the chill out of the room.
She’d timed her visit for eight, figuring even Joe wouldn’t work that late, substantiated by a covert phone call to his office. It also gave her plenty of time to wash off the camp dirt, change into a simple gray shift dress and high-heeled boots, and apply some light makeup, the first she’d worn in four days. She figured she needed whatever confidence boost she could get.
Dry cleaning in a plastic wrapper lay over the back of the couch; Pip hung it on a lamp shade and sat down. She picked up a winegrowers periodical from the pile of wine industry magazines on the coffee table, then replaced it and nervously tidied the stack. She probably shouldn’t touch anything.
It was warm in the room, but she didn’t take off her coat, though she undid the single button under the bust-line.
Trying to relax, she sank back into the couch cushions, then yawned. She’d spent a sleepless night and was completely exhausted. It galled her to admit it, but she’d come out of her corner swinging only because Joe had hurt her feminine pride.
And even though her inner coward suggested she make reparation through a card, e-mail or flowers—anything but looking into those blazing eyes again—Pip knew she owed him a personal apology.
The minutes passed, excruciatingly slowly. Her head drooped forward and Pip jerked upright, trying not to fall asleep. Maybe he’d gone somewhere after work? She stood up. Then she sat down again. Traffic could be bad; she owed him another ten minutes.
She became aware of a tap dripping and followed the sound to a tiny kitchenette behind a marble-topped bar. She turned the tap off. Now she needed to use the bathroom.
Pip opened the hotel room door and glanced up and down the long corridor, before shutting it again and hurrying to the bathroom.
After flushing the toilet, she quickly washed and dried her hands. The faint, lingering scent of Joe’s aftershave made her mouth go dry and stole the last of her nerve. She opened the bathroom door, intending to grab her bag and run.
In gym clothes, with a towel around his neck, Joe leaned against the opposite wall. His arms were folded, his mouth set in a stern line. For a moment, the only sound was the last gurgle of the cistern refilling.
“Do you mind telling me what the hell you’re doing in my room? Other than using my facilities?”
Pip managed a weak smile. “Goldilocks had it easy. She was only caught sleeping in Poppa Bear’s bed.”
Joe’s expression didn’t change by so much as a muscle twitch. She lost her bravado.
“I needed to talk to you.”
He hurled the towel onto the couch. “And I need to talk to Michael about security.”
“I picked the lock,” she lied.
“Let me make it easier for you on the way out.” He opened the door.
She walked back into the living room on shaky legs, moved the damp towel and sat down. “In a minute.”
Joe didn’t budge. “If you’ve come to deliver another loser-dad lecture you can—”
“I apologize unreservedly. I had no right to talk to you as I did.”
He hadn’t anticipated that. For a moment he said nothing, then shut the door. “Then why did you?”
She was well aware that nothing but the brutal truth would fix this. “I…I let hurt feelings goad me into believing the worst of you.” Pip focused on the topiary plant on the coffee table. “I thought I’d given away the fact that I found you attractive, and you were apologizing because it wasn’t mutual.”
“You thought…” Joe trailed off. The plant was pruned and trained into the shape of four green disks. Pip counted them. Twice.
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Pip forgot the tortured plant.
“Considering I all but got a hard-on on stage,” he continued bluntly, “where did you get such a ridiculous idea?”
Pip blinked, but made a quick recovery. “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe it was the Scooter analogy. Or when you got really cryptic and said, ‘she’s not my type.’”
He started to laugh and, infuriated, she stood up. “I think I should leave before I take back that apology.”
“I only said that because the girls were going to make you go out with me as your punishment fo
r losing the team challenge.”
She blanched, imagining that public announcement. “Oh.” Pip concentrated on rebuttoning her coat. “Where did they get that idea?”
“From my daughter. She’s quite a fan of yours.”
Pip adjusted the straps of her bag on her shoulder. “That would have been embarrassing.”
“You think?”
It was time for a dignified exit. “Well, I’ve said what I needed to say—”
“I haven’t.” Joe frowned at the closed sliding door, shoved it open and disappeared inside the bedroom. Pip waited. He returned with fresh clothes. “There’s a bottle of Reverie Roussanne in the fridge. I won’t be long.”
“But—”
The bathroom door closed behind him.
“I’m not going to grovel,” she called.
A laugh was her only answer. She poured herself a half glass of white wine and sipped it nervously, wondering if Joe would notice if she closed the sliding door again. Probably. Through the wall she heard the muted sound of the shower, and tried not to imagine him naked.
Her admission had given him the upper hand, and she had only Anita’s word for it that he fancied her back. And if he did? Pip took another sip, savoring the honey and pineapple accents. She hadn’t thought past the apology. Now she wished she had.
Did she want to date Joe Fraser? A hot, sexy fling with the guy she was salivating over, knowing she had a safety net in place. She was going home soon, so no strings. She finished the half glass and poured herself a little more. He certainly had good taste in wine.
The phone rang, loud and discordant, and she spilled her drink. “Damn.” Distractedly dabbing at the mark with Joe’s discarded gym towel, she automatically picked up the receiver, then paused. What if it was Kaitlin or Nadia? Poised to hang up, Pip grunted in what she hoped passed for a deep male grunt.
“Joe? Paul. I can transfer the money from the sale of your condo into your account tomorrow if you give me your num—”
“It’s not Joe,” Pip interrupted. “One moment please.”
She knocked on the bathroom door and it opened, releasing a billow of steam and the spicy scent of male toiletries. Joe wore a pair of jeans and nothing else. Shaving cream covered half his face and he held a razor.