by Raina James
Chapter 17
The hotel room was pitch-black, thanks to the heavy curtains pulled across the windows. If the moon was still out, no light was getting past that fabric barrier.
Katie had long since fallen asleep in the room's second double bed. She'd be mortified if she knew how loud her faint, whistling snores sounded in the darkness. Any other time, Jack might have relished the thought of razzing her about it in the morning. Now, his mind was too tangled up in conflicting thoughts about his mother and Riff Logan to appreciate the prospect of a little sister baiting—usually, that never got old.
Jack sighed and rolled over—again. The room felt hot, stuffy, though the thermostat on the air conditioner was turned low enough to keep the room comfortable. He kicked off the blankets, then flipped his pillow until the cool side was facing up. A futile effort, he knew. It wasn't physical discomfort that was keeping him from sleep.
He wished he could go back to the days when Riff Logan was just Morven's lead singer, an awesome guitarist he could dream of one day taking the stage with. Then, the prospect of meeting Riff was a young fan's fantasy, an unattainable wish. Looked like that event was suddenly way more attainable. Pretty much a certainty, from the way his mom had been talking earlier. Made a guy appreciate that saying, "Be careful what you wish for."
Resigned, Jack tossed the sheet aside and sat up. No point in lying in bed staring at the ceiling. He snagged a can of cola from the stash of snacks on the low bureau and chugged half of it down on his way to the tiny table in the corner. Dropping into the bucket-seated chair, he lifted the screen on the laptop—Mom's old one—and booted it up. Within minutes he was checking his e-mail with one hand and digging through a bag of chips with the other. The crinkle of the bag briefly drowned out Katie's snores but she didn't wake.
"Hey, J-Man," began Sean's message. "How's the family thing going? Pick up any mouse ears yet? You bugged out just in time. This place is crawling with TV types and shit, all going like, so are you tight with the Jeffries and stuff. M&D told me not to say anything (like I would!). But your mom and Riff—how sweet is that?"
"Yeah, sweet," Jack muttered, closing his best friend's message and moving on to the next, from another of the guys he hung with. It was about the same. And the next. And the next. Nothing like being spammed by your buddies—or acquaintances or whatever—all writing variations of "your Mom dated Riff?!" and "so by the way, can you get me Morven tickets?"
And that wasn't including the e-mails from "Entertainment" this and "press service" that. Who the hell was giving out his e-mail address to these people? After scanning the first few, he deleted the rest without even opening them. Yeah, like he wanted to talk about this to the people who'd started this mess in the first place.
He almost missed her message in with the rest of them. His finger had started to push the "Delete" key when the sender's name registered.
"Hiya, Blackjack. How's my favorite nephew? Yeah, I know—soaking up sun and sand with Grandpa and Grandma Jeffries. (And leering at chickies in little bikinis—you can't fool me! Mwuahaha!)"
Prodded out of his dark mood, Jack laughed softly. He could just picture Auntie Grace letting out a diabolical cackle as she typed that last. Although she was only a few years younger than his mother, she seemed closer to his own age. She was fun and cool, always in pursuit of her personal quest to, so she said, defy her parents for naming their daughters after such lame character traits. Her sister could be as serene and even-tempered as a mother superior, but if she had to be a Grace, she'd damn well be an amazing one. As far as Jack was concerned, Auntie Grace lived up to that aspiration, and then some. She was the best.
"I guess things have been pretty crazy over there. It's even big news Across The Pond here. Finding out your mom dated Riff Logan must have been a bit of surprise. Don't worry—it'll all blow over soon. I've just got to wrap up some things with my shoot here, then I'm hopping a plane home. I should be there by the time you and your sister get back from Florida. We'll catch a flick and some food, okay? Miss you and Katydid. Love, Auntie Grace."
Jack's smile slowly faded. No matter how glad he was to hear from his aunt, he couldn't shake the grim thought that had been bothering him all day.
"Do you think he could be Riff's son?"
That was totally bogus. Of course it was! Never had it occurred to him that his dad wasn't his dad. But still … The idea was like one of those optical-illusion pictures, the kind that you thought showed one image but turned out to be something totally different once you knew how to look at it.
He wasn't stupid. He could count. So his birthday was less than nine months after his parents' anniversary. More like seven. All that meant was they hadn't waited for their wedding to—he cringed just thinking about it—sleep together. Other people didn't. Why would his parents be any different?
"Do you think he could be Riff's son?"
It bothered him that he didn't know exactly when his mom and Riff had split up.
Katie mumbled in her sleep and knocked one of her pillows to the floor before burrowing her face into its twin. Jack realized his fingers were tapping the tabletop in a loud, angry staccato rhythm and forced himself to stop.
It wasn't like he could ask his mom about it. He didn't even want to imagine how that conversation would go. So, Mom, did you and Riff, you know? And when'd you stop? Yuck.
But maybe … He took a slow sip of the room-temperature cola. Maybe he could ask someone else, someone who knew both Mom and Riff. Aunt Grace. Just like Mom, she'd never mentioned knowing Riff either, but how could she not know who her sister was dating? After all, he knew who his sister was interested in. He thought Sean even got a kick out of being Katie's crush.
Jack hit "reply" to Grace's e-mail, then stared at the blinking cursor on the new message window. How to phrase this? Slowly, he started to type.
Chapter 18
"Morning, baby."
Finn's kiss roused Serena to some semblance of wakefulness, though she was still not entirely aware of her surroundings. She was warm, satisfied and happy to be that way.
He playfully nibbled her neck. Sleepily, she hunched her shoulder when the stubble on his chin rasped against her skin, sending a tickling shiver all the way down to her toes.
"Do you want to come for a swim?"
For that, she opened her eyes to peer blearily at him in disbelief. "Are you nuts? The lake's gotta be just above freezing."
"Scared?" he taunted.
Serena wasn't about to be shamed into anything, especially when every bone in her body felt like it was about as capable of supporting her weight as a pool full of Jell-O. "Prudent," she said. "I tend to prefer my ice water in a glass."
"Ha ha. Okay. But you don’t know what you're missing." Still, he tucked the spread back around her shoulders and gave her an affectionate kiss on the nose. "I won't be long."
"Hmmmm. Wake me when you get back." Then, thinking of the cause-and-effect of cold water on the male anatomy added under her breath, "Or maybe not."
Smiling, she drifted back to sleep to the fading sound of Finn's cheery whistle as he headed downstairs.
When she next surfaced, Finn's cell phone was chirping with quiet insistence. Serena pulled the thick comforter back over her head. Let the voice-mail get it. Wait—what if it's the kids? She leaned up on one elbow and fumbled on the nightstand for the phone. She squinted at the number in the call display. Long-distance, but her sleep-fogged mind couldn't dredge up the Florida area code for the hotel the kids were staying at. Better just answer it. Still squinting, she hit the right button, stopping the ring mid-chirp.
"Hello?"
A brief silence met her husky question, then a woman's voice said, "I'm calling for Riff."
Just four words, but the tone of them—a bit breathy, but brittle—made Serena feel a whole lot more alert. "He's not here right now. Can I have him return your call?"
"Who is this?"
Bristling, Serena's answer was clipped. "Serena. Now,
would you like to leave a message?"
A pause, barely noticeable, then the woman gave a low, throaty laugh. Suggestive was too mild a word for it. "Oh, it's much too personal to say to anyone but Riff. Just tell him Tamara called, won't you, sweetie? He knows where to reach me."
"Sure."
Woodenly, Serena hung up on the other woman's airy goodbye. In fifteen short seconds, all her insecurities about Finn jumped up to point accusingly: See! We told you! He's doing it again! The woman hadn't had to spell out her relationship with Finn. Sex practically oozed over the line with every sound she made.
Numbly, Serena put the cell phone back on the nightstand and sank back into the bed, pulling the comforter tightly around her naked shoulders like a child trying to hide from the monster under the bed. She couldn't believe she'd done it—again. Let herself fall for Finn Logan—again. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She'd convinced herself she could have an "adult" relationship with him. What an idiot. Then again, when had she ever done anything by half measures?
She couldn't really blame Finn for taking what she offered. It wasn't his fault she couldn't help tossing her heart at him with her panties. There's a picture.
Absently, she dug the heel of her right hand into her breastbone, just above her pounding heart. It did nothing to ease the sharp ache that was more emotional than physical. She really didn't want to get her heart broken, but she suspected it was already too late. What was she going to do?
* * * *
Riff pulled himself onto the dock, sending droplets of water flying with a shake of his head. A hard shiver racked him. Serena was right—the water felt this side of freezing! It also had the benefit of wiping every thought from his head except getting his swim over with and spending the rest of the day with Serena, on a rug in front of the fire, snuggled on the couch or wrapped around each other in the big bed upstairs. Hell, any of the above. All of the above.
Laughing at himself, he grabbed his towel and briskly rubbed the lake water from his hair. Another shiver had him trotting across the dock, eager to get back in the cabin to warm up. Maybe he'd skip the swim tomorrow morning. Yeah. Sleeping in with Serena sounded infinitely more appealing.
He stopped on the porch long enough to shuck his dripping trunks and wrap the towel around his waist. Then he let himself in and went to the kitchen with the idea of making Serena breakfast in bed. To his surprise, she was already there. The rich smell of perking coffee filled the room, as did the bubbling hiss of the machine as it worked. Serena stood in front of the counter with her back to him. She was wearing a pale pink T-shirt tucked into a belted pair of khaki shorts that faithfully outlined her nicely rounded backside. The little silver ring glinted on one bare little toe.
The morning sun was bright in the kitchen. He couldn't shake the impression of how right it felt to have Serena here, moving comfortably around his childhood home like she'd been doing it for years. She fit. When she didn't turn around, he went and wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled the back of her neck. Her skin felt burning hot against his cold cheeks.
"What are you doing up? I was going to whip up some breakfast for you."
She gave a tiny shrug. "I'm fine. Not really very hungry, anyway." Opening the cupboard to take down a mug smoothly took her out of his embrace. When she had it in her hand, she made no move to return to him, instead pouring herself some coffee and choosing a stool at the counter, putting even more distance between them. Puzzled, he watched her sip her coffee, her whole concentration apparently on the mug and its contents.
"Not me. I'm starved." Faintly alarmed, he turned to get his own mug of coffee. What had happened between the time he'd left her warm and loving in bed, and now? "Is everything okay?"
"Yes. Fine." Before he could dispute that patent lie, she continued. "Tamara wants you to call her."
"Who?"
"Tamara."
Oddly, the faint impatience that crossed her face at his blank look made him loosen up a bit. Anything was better than the expressionless mask of moments before.
The impatience laced her voice, too. "She called your cell and said you'd know how to reach her."
For an instant, he still had no idea who she was talking about. Then clarity hit, and he realized she meant Tamara Ashton, as in Danny's sister-in-law. And she'd obviously said something to upset Serena. The little bitch. So that was why Serena looked ready to bolt. The brief relief he'd felt at understanding vanished. The thought that Serena wouldn't be here tomorrow was not acceptable.
He put down his mug and went to her. She'd gone back to trying to look as though the depths of her coffee mug were fascinating. Gently, he cupped her chin and lifted it. At first, she kept her eyes stubbornly down. He wasn't fooled. Judging by the way her jaw tightened, she was this close to letting him have it. He wished she would. He'd prefer the fire of her temper to the icy disdain she was treating him to.
"Tamara's Danny's sister-in-law," he explained. "She's been … stalking me, I guess."
Serena gave a feminine snort of disbelief. Stalking him. Right. Tamara certainly didn't sound like some crazed fan bent on breaking into his house to steal his underwear and roll around on his bed—though she was perfectly willing to believe the "rolling around on Finn's bed" part of that scenario.
"That's not what it sounded like to me."
Finn dropped her chin and paced away, a few short, frustrated steps. "I'm serious! She's done everything but break into my house."
She squelched a laugh at that bit of parallel thinking, reminding herself that she had to be serious about this. Admittedly, what she should do and what she'd like to do were hard to focus on when he was walking around in nothing but a towel, the muscles in his arms flexing as he clenched and unclenched his fists in aggravation. He muttered, "How someone so sweet could have such a bitch for a sister, I have no idea."
He stopped his pacing circuit in front of her. As if he just had to touch her, Finn ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek. A zing of pleasure went through her.
"Baby, I wouldn't lie to you. If I was involved with someone, I'd tell you. You're important to me, too important to mess around with. I love you."
If he thought that would solve everything, he was bound for disappointment. She sighed. "It's okay, Finn. You don't owe me any explanations. You have your life, I have mine, and we've got to get back to them sometime."
He stilled. "What do you mean?"
"Finn," she said. "I have two great kids who mean the world to me. I spend way too much time running my business. When I'm not there, I'm playing social director and personal driver for Jack and Katie. Lately, my idea of a good time is soaking in the tub with a good book. If I’m feeling really wild, I'll have a glass of wine with the book.
"How, exactly, do you see me fitting into the life of a man who probably has 'people' to do things for him, and thinks nothing of dropping off the face of the earth for weeks at a time?"
By the time she was finished, she held the coffee mug in a death grip. She needed something to hold onto, or she was sure she'd lose her determination not to forget the highlights of her oh-so-logical argument and do something really stupid—like say to hell with it.
Finn's mouth opened, then snapped shut. He seemed at a loss for words. Finally, he ran a frustrated hand through his drying hair. The towel sagged a bit on his hips. While he didn't seem to notice, she did. Against her will, Serena watched the royal blue bath sheet dip, and the muscles in his lean belly tighten as he leaned against the counter.
"I think you're overreacting," he finally said.
"What?"
"Do you really think all that matters?"
"Of course it matters. Finn, we're not the same people anymore. We may care for each other, but we're just too different. God, we were too different to make it work fifteen years ago, what makes you think we can now when our lifestyles are exponentially even further apart? You were right to end it all those years ago. It probably saved both of us a lot of heartache."
That seemed to incense him. His eyes sparked with anger and he stalked across the short space separating them. He loomed over her, planting his hands on the counter on either side of her, caging her in.
"I was wrong." His voice vibrated with intensity. "I was an ass and an idiot and I regretted what I did as soon as the words left my mouth. I love you."
Riff felt a twinge in his chest as Serena looked away, silently refuting his declaration. She cradled the mug between her breasts, wrapping one arm protectively over her stomach, holding herself together as if she couldn't bear to touch him. Her head was bowed, shielding her expressive blue eyes.
He wished he could just take her in his arms, say everything would be all right and have her believe him. Once, she would have. But she was right. They weren't the same people anymore. And the woman she'd grown into, so complex, so wonderful, was all the more appealing to him. As a girl, he'd loved her with the passion of his heart. Now he loved her with all he was. The challenge would be making her believe it.
At least she hadn't said she didn't love him. He could work with that.
Letting out a ragged breath, Riff dared to run his hands up her arms to her shoulders. Serena shuddered like a marathon racer who had been pushed to her limit and couldn't go a step further.
"Serena, you said you'd give me a chance. Please, let me prove it to you. I belong in your life every bit as much as you belong in mine. We fit. Don't give up on us."
When he cupped her cheek, she immediately rubbed it against his palm, a child seeking comfort. The kiss she dropped in his palm, chaste and sweet as it was, banished any thoughts of children from his mind. She lifted her head, her gaze direct. He wanted to sink right into those bright blue eyes and lose himself in them.
He was so earnest, so focused. And all for her, Serena thought. Would he go to all the trouble of winning her over—and she wasn't making it easy for him, either—if he didn't mean it? She didn't think so. She felt the tension in him grow as he waited for her answer.