Turn My World Upside Down: Jo's Story

by Maureen Child

  Outside, clouds had rolled in off the ocean and even now the first drops of rain were beginning to pelt the wall of windows that overlooked the lake. The trees bent in the wind, the reeds at the water’s edge dipped and swayed as if they were dancing, and a swell of music rose up from the stereo downstairs.

  Something soft, haunting. Violins and harps, bleeding together into a symphony of sound that sounded both joyful and desolate.

  “Boy, he takes his work serious,” Jo muttered, and sat down on the edge of the bed, before hopping right back up again as if she’d been scalded. To calm herself, she looked around the room.

  The huge master suite was completely male and yet warm and welcoming. The bed was one of Cash’s own creations—the headboard was carved with intricate vines of ivy that entwined and curled around each of the four bedposts and down to the footboard. Two tall dressers stood on either side of a flat-screen plasma TV hanging on the wall opposite the bed, and bookcases crowded with paperbacks ringed another wall.

  “Dance with me.”

  She started, then spun around to look at Cash, standing in the open doorway.

  “Dance?” she repeated. “You want to dance?”

  “For starters.”

  “Ah. Like an appetizer.” Great. Talk about food. But that’s Italians for you—when things get tough, open a fridge.

  “Dance with me, Josefina.” He crossed the room, took her hand and swept her into a slow, sensuous sway that both calmed and excited her. If she felt foolish dancing in the late afternoon wash of rain and watery light, that feeling faded as soon as his arms came around her.

  They swayed to the music, perfectly in synch. He held her close, one hand running up and down her spine in long slow strokes that kindled a fire deep within. A fire she’d always kept carefully banked. Until tonight.

  Jo took a deep breath and told herself to relax. To concentrate on the feel of his hands on her, on the warmth skittering through her, on the soft sigh of the music surrounding them.

  “You’re thinking,” Cash whispered, dipping his head to nibble on her shoulder. “No thinking allowed, Josefina.”

  “Right.” She nodded and bit down on her bottom lip as his mouth trailed damp kisses along her throat and up to the curve of her jaw. “No thinking. Only . . .”

  He lifted his head and looked down at her. Shadows crossed his face, flickering with the wavery light from outside. “Only what?”

  “Only, I’m a little nervous.”

  “Yeah? Me, too.”

  Jo laughed and immediately felt better. “Sure. You. Nervous.”

  His hands lifted to cup her face. His thumbs stroked her cheekbones, his fingers speared into the silky strands of her hair. “I’ve never made love to a virgin before.”

  She stiffened instantly. “I’m not a virgin.”

  He kissed her. Once. Twice. “In every way that really matters,” he said gently, “you are.”

  Then he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. His practiced fingers moved quickly, and before she knew it was happening, Jo was naked and lying back on cool, white sheets. She watched as he stood up, stripped out of his own clothes, and then stretched out alongside her, running the palm of his hand up and down the length of her body.

  Jo shivered and fought for air when his fingers caressed her nipples, tweaking, tugging, creating a sensation that she’d never allowed herself to feel before. And now, now she couldn’t have stopped if she’d wanted to.

  He dipped his head and his mouth took over what his fingers had begun. And as he suckled her, drawing deep on her hard, sensitive nipples, each in turn, his left hand swept down her body to the center of her.

  Jo pressed her head back into the pillow and stared unseeing at the ceiling. Her vision blurred, clouded and cleared again, as if her brain were shutting down. And hey, who needed a brain, anyway?

  She lifted one hand to his head, boldly holding him in place. Her fingers scraped through his thick, soft hair and she sighed as her touch seemed to inflame him. His hand dipped low, sliding between the thighs she’d managed to keep locked together.

  Now, for his touch, she parted them slowly, carefully. And he slipped into her warmth. One finger, then two, he dipped into her damp heat, stroking, caressing, fanning the flames he’d created until she felt as though she were burning alive from the inside out.

  “Something’s happening,” she croaked, surprised her voice could work at all. “Cash . . . something . . .”

  “Don’t think,” he whispered, lifting his head to stare down at her. “Just feel, Josefina. Let yourself feel. Let go and let it happen.”

  “I can’t—Oh God . . .” Her hips rocked as he touched her, as his fingers slicked across one small, sensitive piece of flesh at the core of her. Electric jolts shot through her and she wouldn’t have been surprised to see smoke lifting off her body.

  She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t lose control. Couldn’t . . . stop.

  “Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop . . .”

  Her hands clutched at him, fingers digging into his shoulders, holding on to him as the world around her rocked unsteadily. She lifted her hips into his hand and he gave her more. “Cash—” She fought for air. “Cash—”

  “Come, Josefina,” he said, his voice a hush of sound nearly drowned out by the harps and violins that continued to ache in the air around them. “Look into my eyes and come for me.”

  She shook her head, licked her lips, and ground out, “No. Not until you’re inside me. Be there. Be with me when it happens. When it finally happens.”

  “Stubborn, hardheaded woman,” he said on a groan. But he moved quickly, tearing his hand free of her body, then shifting to cover her. He entered her in one, smooth stroke that locked them together in ways neither of them had imagined.

  “Look at me,” he ordered, his voice tight with need. A need that she shared. That she finally and completely shared. “I’m with you, Josefina,” he said, and rocked his hips against hers, pushing higher, deeper inside. “Be with me.”

  “I’m with you, Cash,” she managed to say even as she moved with him, into him, against him. More, she wanted more. Wanted to feel it all. As if a dam had burst inside her, she was drowning in sensation and hoped she’d never surface.

  Her gaze locked with his, she whispered, “Show me everything.”

  She was still staring up into his dark, fathomless eyes when the first explosion shattered her body. She cried out his name, but didn’t close her eyes. She couldn’t look away and so she saw herself reflected in Cash’s eyes. Saw the woman she had been dissolve—and watched as she became the woman she was always meant to be.

  While her body celebrated and her heart began to heal, she felt Cash’s surrender and she cradled him to her as he fell.

  Three hours later, most of the lasagna was gone, the wine bottle was empty, and the two of them were sprawled across Cash’s mattress like survivors of a shipwreck.

  He turned his head to look at the woman lying beside him, but instead, came eyeball to eyeball with her pink polished toes. One eyebrow lifted as he raised his head and looked down the bed at her. They’d been eating, sitting opposite each other, when they’d each collapsed, stretching out where they were.

  “I feel you moving,” Jo said without lifting her head. “And whatever you’ve got in mind—” She paused, then smiled. “Give me five more minutes to recuperate and then you’re on.”

  Grinning, he reached out one hand and skimmed it along her muscled calf and up the inside of her thigh. “It just occurred to me that since we’re in this position anyway . . .”

  Now she did lift her head. “Really?”

  Cash laughed out loud, surprising himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a damn good time. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Josefina,” he said, winking at her. “You’re a slow starter, but you catch up quick.”

  His fingertips brushed the joining of her thighs and she sucked in a fast breath before she sat up, stark n
aked and completely comfortable. “I’ve got a lot of time to make up for,” she said and caught his hand in hers.

  “Yeah,” he said, his gaze moving from her tousled brown hair to her kiss-bruised lips and then up to her eyes. The woman awakened something in him that hadn’t been touched in years. And though a part of him enjoyed the sensation, the more logical side of his brain was already trying to warn him to get out. Get out now. “I guess you do.”

  “And I’ve made a decision,” she continued, pushing her hair back from her eyes as she leaned over him, dusting her rigid nipples across his chest with the touch of a butterfly.

  “Well,” he managed to say even though his body was suddenly hard and raring to go again. “I liked the last decision you made. So what’s the next one?”

  She dropped a kiss onto his mouth and he waited, braced for what was coming. She’d had an orgasm. Plenty of ’em. Now, he was pretty sure she was going to announce that she was leaving. Thanks very much for the good time, I’m off to Africa to save the spotted elephant, or some damn thing.

  His stomach fisted, but he told himself this was how he’d wanted it. She was healed and now she’d be gone. And he could get back to doing what he did best. Alone. No ties, no connections. No caring.

  But damned if Josefina Marconi didn’t surprise him again.

  “I’m going into the city. I’m going to see Steve Smith and tell him just what I think of him.”

  “What?”

  She grinned. “What’s the matter? Did you really think that I’d be rushing off to save the world or something?”

  “Well . . .” Yeah.

  “Nope. I’ve got a life,” she said. “And it’s right here. But I will say that this afternoon has given me the strength to do what I should have done ten years ago.”

  “Which is . . . ?”

  Her pale blue eyes narrowed and her full lips went as thin and sharp as a razor blade. “Kick that son of a bitch’s ass.”

  Two days later, Jo walked into the tall steel-and-glass building and gave her reflection in the elevator doors the once-over. Her long brown hair was held back from her face with a thick, gold-toned barrette. Her makeup was perfect, thanks to Mike, and she was carrying Sam’s good black purse for luck. Black slacks, green long-sleeved blouse, and her square-toed, thick-heeled boots—good for either kicking or stomping, whichever was required—completed her look.

  Then her gaze shifted to the man coming up behind her. He wore a black jacket over a white shirt, but he hadn’t turned in his jeans or his boots. She still wasn’t sure if she was glad Cash had invited himself along or not. But the fact was, he was here now and she just had to deal with it.

  He’d been treating her . . . differently since their long, luscious afternoon together. It was as if the closer she felt to him, the more he set himself back from her. He was running while standing still. A clever, if annoying, trick.

  “You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked quietly.

  She shifted her gaze to the list of names on the building’s directory. She stabbed “Steve Smith, Attorney at Law” with her index finger. Glancing at Cash, she said only, “Suite 305.”

  “Right.” He hit the button for the elevator and they didn’t speak again until they were inside and headed up. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

  She looked up at him. “Yeah, I do.”

  He nodded, but said, “Fine. But I’ll be right there in case you need backup.”

  The elevator hummed, the engine, a slow one, lifted them past the second floor. “Why are you really here, Cash?”

  He pushed back the edges of his jacket and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

  “You’ve been leaving me alone for two days.”

  “What’re you talking about?” he asked irritably. “We’ve been working together, haven’t we?”

  “Working, yes, talking, no.”

  “What’s there to say?”

  Annoyed, Jo tapped the toe of her boot against the plain gray carpet. “You know, you’re the one who started all this between us—”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, you idiot,” she snarled at him, “that for a year, you’ve been flirting and teasing and trying to get me into the sack. Now that you’ve had me, it’s over?”

  The third-floor button lit up, the elevator dinged, and the doors opened with a groan.

  “Is now really the time to talk about this?” he asked.

  Annoyance flickered into anger and from there it was just a short hop to downright fury. “You know, maybe it was the right time. Because trying to talk to you put me in exactly the right frame of mind to face that bastard now, let me tell you.”

  She stomped past him, out the elevator, across yet another gray rug to the receptionist’s desk. There, a dark-haired woman in her fifties lifted her cautious gaze and asked, “May I help you?”

  “Yes,” Jo said, straightening up and lifting her chin until it was perched at a completely defiant angle. “I’m here to see Steve Smith.”

  “Your name?”

  “Josefina Marconi,” she ground out. “He’ll remember me.”

  “Do you have an appointment?” the woman asked, already flipping through her daybook.

  “Yep,” Jo said, out of patience and sailing past the clearly stunned woman as she leaped out of her chair to stop her. “Made it myself, ten years ago.”

  Jo threw open the cherrywood double doors and entered the bastard’s lair.

  “What’s this about?”

  He hadn’t changed much, Jo thought absently. His blond hair was a little thinner, his face a little thicker, and his eyes a bit shiftier. But all in all, he was still the pretty boy with the black heart. It was a wonder there wasn’t an oil spill oozing down the sleeves of his impeccably cut suit jacket to pool on the top of his desk. He stood up and the city of San Francisco was spread out behind him in a glorious vista that he probably never noticed.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Smith,” his assistant was saying from directly behind Jo. “I couldn’t stop her.”

  “Fine, Linda,” the great man himself said, waving one hand at her in dismissal. “I’ll take it from here.”

  The woman left, but Jo didn’t hear the door close. And even without turning around, Jo knew she and Steve weren’t alone in the room. She could feel Cash standing right behind her. And though she’d told him she could handle this herself, she could acknowledge, at least silently, that she was grateful for his presence.

  “Jo Marconi,” Steve said as he came around his desk, a small, private smile on his face. “Isn’t it? Long time.”

  “Not nearly long enough,” Jo said, but added, “It’s taken me a while, but I’ve got a few things to say to you.”

  “Who’s he?” The man’s blue gaze shifted briefly to Cash and back again.

  “A . . . friend,” Jo said, without turning around. She didn’t take her gaze off the man standing opposite her. Hard to believe, but during the last ten years, her memories had become so overpowering that she’d somehow convinced herself that he was bigger, stronger. When in reality, he was a little shorter than Cash and much smaller.

  He looked at her, his cool gaze as deceptive as the smooth surface of a toxic lake. “Why not lose your ‘friend’ and we’ll talk about old times?”

  “We don’t have any ‘old times’ I want to remember, let alone talk to you about.”

  “Fine.” Steve dismissed Cash, leaned one hip on the corner of his desk, crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “What could you possibly have to say that I would want to hear?”

  “You raped me, you rat bastard.”

  He didn’t even blink. Instead, he flicked at a piece of imaginary lint on his lapel, then lifted cold eyes to hers. “Not how I remember it. But it’s quite an accusation.”

  “It’s the truth and you know it.”

  “What I know,” he said, straightening, “is that you’re looking at a slander suit if you say
that to anyone else.”

  “Slander?”

  He took one step toward her, then stopped, flicking a wary glance at Cash. “Please. We were kids. Grow up and get over it already.”

  Get over it?

  “You left me battered and bruised on the floor.”

  His lips quirked. “You had a good time.”

  Fury quickly devoured whatever nerves had been left, swimming in the pit of her stomach. She looked at him and couldn’t believe that she’d let thoughts of him, memories of him, rule her life for the last ten years. She should have fought him then.

  But she’d make up for that, now.

  “I want you to drop out of the race for the senate,” Jo said, her voice quiet, every word a stone.

  He laughed at her. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “If you don’t,” she promised, “I’ll go to the media. Tell them everything.”

  In the outer office, Linda Sandoval listened intently, heart racing, stomach spinning. Excitement coursed through her and she wanted to cheer. But there was something more important to do, she reminded herself as she kept listening, making mental notes. Something she’d wanted to do for years.

  Now, it was finally time.

  Steve Smith’s practiced smile slipped from his face and the real man became evident for the first time. He stepped toward her, leaning in close enough that Jo could have counted the pores on his leanly sculpted nose. “One word out of you and I’ll sue you for everything you’ve got. I’ll make it my business to make your life hell.”

  “Josefina?” Cash’s voice came soft, steady. “Need some help?”

  “What’re you gonna do?” Steve sneered at her. “Have your ‘friend’ hit me?”

  She inhaled slowly, deeply, letting the air slide through her body like a balm. Then she half turned to smile at the man who’d helped her come this far. “No, but thanks. I can handle him.”

  “Is that right?” Steve laughed.

  Jo drew her right arm back, gave it everything she had—and decked him.

  Sixteen

  “Damn it, Maria,” Hank yelled as he stomped down the stairs from his bedroom to beard the lioness in her denkitchen. His best dress shirt gripped in one tight fist, he waved it like a flag at a bull.