When I Fall

by Tamara Morgan

  “Oh, she wasn’t in Africa, darling. Not if we’re thinking of the same person.”

  “Of course she was. She graduated from college and went straight off to dig wells. You should have seen her tan. It was incredible.”

  “That’s right.” Livvie frowned. “You weren’t here. You wouldn’t remember.”

  Now it was Becca’s turn to open her eyes in surprise. “What wouldn’t I remember?”

  “She never graduated—at least, not from college.” Livvie offered a sympathetic wince. “She spent her final semester in some sort of residential spa in California, if I’m not mistaken. It was a few weeks after you were sent away. Don’t...freak out or anything, but rumor at the time was that her family had her under a lot of pressure. She suffered some sort of breakdown.”

  Becca’s heart sank as Livvie’s full meaning settled. “Oh, no. Not Lulu too.”

  “I’m sorry.” Livvie reached across the table and squeezed her hand. There was no need for her to say anything more—it was those stadium lights. Nothing escaped anyone’s notice under here. “I wish I’d known Sara better. She seemed like a great person.”

  Dammit. Now she was going to cry. And those stupid cameras were out there just waiting for her to make a fool of herself again.

  “She was a great person.” Becca blinked rapidly, forcing her eyes to reabsorb the tears. It was a good thing she’d invested in bulk-sized quantities of waterproof mascara lately. “She felt everything so deeply—the good stuff as well as the bad. Did you know she practically ran that battered women’s shelter in Queens?” That was another organization that had received a hefty contribution from her trust fund after the clouds of shock had cleared. “I tell myself every day it wasn’t my fault, that her problems went a lot deeper than the occasional boyfriend trouble. I mean, she’d been seeing psychiatrists since before she could talk. But I can’t help feeling that all it would have taken was one good thing. One man in her life who didn’t treat her like crap. One news article that didn’t call her out as being a desperate attention-whore. One friend who remembered to call and check in on her from time to time.”

  That was as far as she could go. Her throat had solidified.

  “You know, I’ll never understand why it is that people think just because a girl has money and youth and a little bit of fame, she’s somehow exempt from having feelings too.” Livvie shook her head, summing up all of Becca’s thoughts in a few words and one tiny gesture. “We have hearts, for fuck’s sake. And they break just like everyone else’s.”

  Becca wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, determined not to turn the morning into a sobfest. Max was constantly telling her to celebrate every milestone and accomplishment. You didn’t get stronger by counting the number of sit-ups you hadn’t done. And she and Sara had made plenty of good memories together too: road trips and parties they’d crashed and sleepovers where men took a backseat to friendship. Those times mattered. They had to.

  “Then it’s settled,” Becca said. “I’m inviting Lulu to brunch next time, but you have to promise not to scandalize her with lurid stories about models trapped on trains.”

  “Cross my heart. I’ll stick to my best PG-13 tales. I’m sure I have one or two.”

  “You know, we could turn it into a whole thing.” She gave Livvie the side-eye. “Brunch. Shopping. And then we can all go out with my personal trainer afterward.”

  Livvie pointed her fork in a warning. “No way. Stop trying to foist your burdens on me.”

  “He’s not a burden. I’m telling you—he’s a godsend.”

  “Oh, really? And how does your fake fiancé feel about your godsend?”

  Becca laughed, picturing Jake’s face when she’d confessed that Max liked to keep her on her toes by never making appointments. He just showed up when he felt she needed it. “I haven’t asked him directly, but I’m pretty sure he’s declared him his mortal enemy.”

  Livvie gave a delighted shiver. “Is it wrong that I’m totally turned on by that?”

  “If it is, then I have no desire to be right.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Jake jolted awake, all of his senses alert.

  Becca released a mumbled groan and burrowed her head under the comforter. She also burrowed her arms and her legs and her body, writhing him into a state of early morning discomfort. It went well with his bedtime discomfort. And his middle-of-the-night discomfort. And unless he found himself some kind of portable cold shower, his whole-damn-rest-of-the-day discomfort.

  They were really going to have to rethink their sleeping arrangements. He didn’t care how many heartfelt pleas she buried him under, or how her lip quivered when he tried to take up residence in the spare room. There were very hard, very painful limits to his sense of nobility.

  “You have to save me,” Becca murmured into his chest. “Don’t let him come in here. Flashdance days are the worst.”

  He rolled away and out from under the covers, willing his blood to cool and his body to maintain a semblance of decency. It was easier than expected, thanks to the sound of “Maniac” continuing its techno beat from the living room.

  “What I can’t understand is why the hell you gave that man a key to your apartment. He’s a sadist.” Then, more curious than anything else, “What happens on Flashdance days?”

  “Usually?” She peeked her head out from under the blankets. He’d managed to extract a blood oath that she’d wear real pajamas to bed from now on, so at least she was covered up, but she still glowed like sex awakening from a long night of satisfaction. “He has to carry me back. They’ve started keeping a pushcart down by the concierge desk, or I’d never make it home. Want to come with?”

  “Not a chance. As charming of a picture you paint, I fail to see the value of early morning exercise. You could at least ask him to come at noon or something.”

  “Oh, you don’t ask Max for anything. He tells you what, when and where—and if you know what’s good for you, you don’t ask questions. He’s a Virgo too.”

  He ignored the barb as she unfolded herself out from the bed, stretching as she went. Her limbs were strong and catlike, the delineation of her muscles evident under the stretchy nylon on her lower half. He barely had time to appreciate the sight of her as the music switched over to the ominous blending sound of her morning smoothie being made. That man certainly knew how to make himself at home.

  “How long has he been coming here?”

  Becca pursed her lips, considering. “Three months? Three and a half? Somewhere around there.”

  Jake didn’t have to do the math. “Ever since you got out of rehab.”

  He couldn’t tell if the smile she offered him contained more joy or grief. “I don’t know how I would have done it without him. It’s nice having a familiar face to look forward to in the morning, you know?”

  “No, I don’t know. I like waking up alone. Preferably in a soundproofed guest room.”

  “Mock all you want, but he’s been better than therapy. He told me after our first day together—when I was basically dying on the concrete and threatening to sue him for cruelty—that focusing on physical pain and exhaustion is a good way to work through the emotional kind.” She paused, only shaking herself off when the sound of the blender came to a halt. “It’s like your tapping trick. When my legs and stomach hurt so much I can barely stand, it’s easier for me to process everything else.”

  Christ. She meant every word.

  “Oh.” She whirled and snapped her fingers. “And he always makes sure I remember to eat, so that’s good too.”

  Jake was unable to move as Becca continued her morning routine, muttering to herself as she rooted through her dresser. He found it impossible to come up with a reply to a confidence like that, so casual, so honest, so fucking unfair it made him boi
l up with unfamiliar frustration. It was odd how much that frustration felt like lust, as if he wanted to throw Becca to the bed and cover her body with his own, protecting her from everything but his touch. The more time he spent in her company, the more obvious it became that she needed someone to protect her. Mean Max, her driver Liam, the costume lady at the theater—it took the combined efforts of a village to keep this woman from walking straight off a cliff.

  How the hell did it come about that he was the only one to notice this? The day Jake Montgomery was the most observant and caring person in your life was a desperate day indeed. He’d once been given a hydroponic herb garden for Christmas. It had lasted three days before it turned black and died.

  The doors to Becca’s room opened in a burst of energy. Max planted himself in the doorway, two glasses of pink protein in his hands this time. He handed one to the half-naked Becca, blithely unconcerned that she was in the middle of pulling on a sports bra, and turned to Jake, his hand extended.

  “You’re coming with us today,” he said. “It’s not optional.”

  “Thanks but no thanks. I perform for no man.”

  Max nodded at Jake’s torso, clad only in an undershirt. “I know. I can tell.”

  Since there didn’t seem to be any way to get the better of this behemoth, Jake laughed and accepted the glass. He even went so far as to give an obliging sip. It was sweet and cloying and cold—his three least favorite adjectives in a breakfast beverage—before handing it back. No way was that making its way down his throat.

  “You can push all you want, but I have it on good authority it would never work out between us,” Jake said. “You and I are both Virgos. We’re doomed to constantly lock our cold, unfeeling horns.”

  Across the room, Becca managed to finish dressing and interrupted their conversation. “Close, Jake, but that’s not how it works. Max was born on the Leo/Virgo cusp. He’s actually quite balanced.”

  “There are cusps? You never mentioned cusps before. Why does this astrology stuff get more complicated every time it comes up?”

  “Because it’s more complicated than you’re willing to admit.” Becca dropped to the foot of the bed and pulled on a pair of bright white running shoes. “Won’t you come with us? You’re already awake, and it’s totally unfair that I have to whip my ass into shape with blood, sweat and tears while you get to saunter around the apartment drinking coffee and looking gorgeous.”

  There she was again, dropping compliments like they meant nothing. To make matters worse, Max already considered it a done deal, rubbing his hands together fast enough to start a fire. “I could make you carry her across Central Park on your back. It’s amazing for the core. Or we could tackle the stairs at the Empire State Building instead. What do you say?”

  Becca hopped up, delight lighting her eyes. “Please? No one comes with me no matter how much I beg.”

  Her expectation filled the room, trapping him. What else could he say? For better or for worse, he’d promised Moira he would take care of her daughter. He might be able to fool himself for a few days that organizing her closets and removing tape residue from her light switches counted, but they were talking about a woman who exercised through her emotional pain, who relied on a personal trainer to get her out of bed in the morning.

  This was a much bigger task than he’d anticipated.

  “Fine. I’ll come.” At the excited sounds greeting his capitulation, he held up a hand in warning. Becca fell silent. “But I need about ten minutes to get ready, and I require coffee first. These things are nonnegotiable.”

  “No can do, my friend.” Max shook the protein drink, now melting to an unappealing brown. “Stick to Miracle Max here. Coffee is too dehydrating. Believe me when I say you’re going to want to keep all your bodily fluids intact for this.”

  Jake opened his mouth to protest, but Becca silenced him by holding up her glass, mocking and toasting him at the same time.

  She’s doing it again. As Max closed the doors—once again, quite tactfully—behind him, Jake felt his control of this situation slipping away. He couldn’t tell if Becca was manipulating him or merely holding out a hand, asking for him to help her up.

  “If it makes a difference, he’s very expensive,” Becca offered. “You can tell Monty all about how you spent your day running around the park with a man who makes more money than your family’s entire team of attorneys. His head will explode.”

  Manipulating him.

  “And thank you.” She got up on tiptoes and brushed a kiss on his cheek, her lips soft and warm. “You have no idea how much it means to me that you’re willing to give this a try.”

  Shit. Asking for help.

  * * *

  Jake was in better shape than he let on.

  From the looks of him, all neatly coiffed and poured into a long-sleeved compression shirt, he was one of those guys at the gym who went for the mirrors rather than the free weights. But the pair of them were about three miles in to a five-mile run, and he’d barely broken a sweat. In fact, he turned backward and began trotting ass-first, watching her with a smile curling his lips.

  “You run like a zombie,” he said. “Shuffle, shuffle, moan. Shuffle, shuffle, moan.”

  She flipped him her middle finger. Some people were able to make jogging look elegant, but she wasn’t counted among the fortunate ranks. She could pull off leg lifts with the right amount of sex appeal—and Jake had no idea what she was capable of when Pilates came into play—but jogging had always seemed an indecorous sport. All those body parts flopping up and down, lubricated with gallons of sweat.

  Max had parked himself at the end of the upper loop in Central Park, where he was waiting to put them through their paces. He liked to get the cardio out of the way first to loosen the body, although Becca suspected it had more to do with training her to use running as a relaxation technique. He was always telling her to focus on the rhythm and her breathing, to turn her mind off and enjoy the sights and sound of New York waking up around her.

  It didn’t always work, but she tried. Having a running companion with her today was greatly improving her enjoyment level, but she didn’t want to think too much about that. She was already growing scarily dependent on Jake for sleep—she’d had to practically tackle him to the mattress last night to get him to stay in her bed, and he’d visibly recoiled when she’d used the term “cuddle.”

  He might be willing to play along with this whole charade while she had something he wanted, but their careful balance could change in an instant. No one knew that better than her.

  “It’s all breezy jogging and gentle stretching right now,” she warned, “but just you wait. This is only Max’s warm-up. The mean part comes only after you’ve been lulled into a state of relaxation.”

  “I can respect that. I like a well-planned ambush as much as the next man.”

  “And he takes it as a personal insult if you aren’t in tears by the end. You may want to start thinking of sad things.”

  “How can I, when I’m out here with you?”

  Becca laughed so hard she got a stitch in her side, her hand clasped to her flank to keep it from spreading. “That was worse than the Cinderella pickup line, Jake. You’re seriously slipping.”

  “Yeah, but it still would’ve worked on you, wouldn’t it?”

  “That’s hardly the point. I’m no conquest. Heck—if you wanted to duck over in those bushes for a quickie, I wouldn’t say no.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, his Adam’s apple working heavily, before turning to run in a normal, forward-moving pattern. There was no denying that he’d pictured it—the pair of them scrambling into the bushes with all their sweaty, flopping parts—but he was too much in control of himself to take it further than a picture. The bastard.

  “I don’t do outdoor sex,” he said lightly. “It’s unseemly. A
nd I’m pretty sure I could get Max to cry well before he managed to break me. The big ones fall the hardest—and they always make the most glorious crash.”

  “Don’t you dare make my personal trainer cry. I like him.”

  “Or you’ll do what?”

  She thought about it. There weren’t many thing she could do to hurt Jake—there weren’t many things anyone could do to accomplish that. Sure, she could kick him out of her apartment, but he was the type who would dive from an airplane only to land gracefully on his feet. She could end their engagement in a gloriously tabloid-friendly manner, but as public opinion had already proven, Jake’s foibles were charming while hers were the sign of a raging slut storm. And she couldn’t even use him for sex and leave him in the lurch, because none of her feminine wiles were working on him.

  He’s broken my wiles.

  She had to settle for the only thing she knew he cared about. “I’ll let the hem out of every pair of pants you own—but only a quarter inch at a time and always under the cloak of night. And I’ll do it every day for a week. You’ll think you’re shrinking.”

  He pointed a warning finger at her. “You wouldn’t dare. You can mess with my life all you want, but mess with my tailoring and I refuse to answer for my actions.”

  “Then be nice to Max,” she said firmly. “He’s all I have.”

  He opened his mouth to disagree before quickly shutting it again. His smile disappeared with the firm press of his lips, and she couldn’t help but feel it was her fault. Something about Max made Jake upset. It wasn’t jealousy—she wasn’t so deluded as to think Jake cared about her enough for that—and it wasn’t anger, because the entire way over here, Jake and Max had been chatting like best friends as they discussed more appropriate wakeup songs. Jake would accept 8 Mile’s “Lose Yourself” but nothing from Dirty Dancing. He was partial to Macklemore and Kanye West. Kid Rock would do in a pinch.