Between The Sheets

by Jeanie London

  His dad was what April had always thought of as dark Irish, tall, black-haired—though there was now more silver than black—fair-skinned with bright blue eyes that twinkled.

  It was no mystery where Rex had gotten his charm. Shawn Holt laughed loudly, interacted with his wife and daughters easily and seemed genuinely pleased to see his son. Very different from the way John interacted with his girls, although something about that king in the middle of his all-female court held distinct similarities. Not to mention explaining Rex’s own rather regal sense of entitlement.

  “Have you ever been to the Saint Patrick’s Day parade before, April?” Deirdre, the tallest of the sisters, wanted to know.

  “Have you ever even been to Chicago before?” Juliet asked. “We want to know all about you, so come with us.”

  Rex retrieved her carry-on bag and arrangements were made for the brothers-in-law to drive the cars around to baggage claim. Giving her a smile of reassurance, he disappeared with his parents to retrieve their luggage and April found herself herded toward the bathroom to tend Juliet’s infant’s diaper.

  The sisters were a hoot, so much like John and Paula’s girls that she felt at ease as they interrogated her, conversing between the stalls, the sinks and the diaper-changing area as casually as if they were in the privacy of their homes.

  “So who are you, April?” Juliet asked. “We want the scoop on why Rex has brought you home. Are you dating?”

  “I’m his assistant on his current project,” she replied, unwilling to get into the details of their relationship. She had no idea what Rex had told his family and since maintaining family relations didn’t comprise a great deal of her past experience, she hadn’t thought to ask.

  “Would you hand me that?” Juliet pointed to the bag on the floor and April did, smiling as Juliet hung on to her squirming baby, fished out a diaper and ointment while managing to keep her curious gaze on April. “You’re just his assistant?”

  Deirdre emerged from the sink area, drying her hands on a paper towel. “Betsy wasn’t kidding. Rex has never brought home a friend for Saint Patrick’s Day.”

  “It’s our biggest family holiday, if you can imagine,” Juliet said.

  “Rex told me.”

  “Well…” Deirdre prompted.

  What to say…what to say? She and Rex weren’t dating; they were sleeping together. She had no idea what he would have told his family. She saw no choice but to keep her explanation light. “I hadn’t made any plans to head home for the weekend and he felt bad about leaving me behind at the hotel alone.”

  “Your family doesn’t celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day?”

  She just shook her head, not wanting to get into interpretations about what constituted family. She celebrated most holidays with the Mooneys. For all that John Patrick Mooney was Irish, Saint Patrick’s Day wasn’t one of said holidays.

  Juliet handed off her son’s diaper to his Auntie Deirdre for disposal. “Where’s home?”

  “Los Angeles.” An outright lie.

  “How long ago did you and Rex meet?” Theresa called from the sink area, where she was helping her preschool aged daughter wash her hands.

  “Just a few weeks ago when I was assigned to the project he’s currently working on.”

  “The sheet project?” Juliet asked, illustrating that while Rex may work on the road, he remained in touch with his family enough for them to know the particulars of his business life.

  She nodded, interested.

  “So you and Rex spend your days doing what…talking about what to do on sheets?” Betsy appeared, tossing a paper towel into the trash and retrieving several more for her young niece, who emerged from the sink area with Theresa.

  “In a manner of speaking. We’re collecting data for the launch of a new product line,” she coached, hoping to continue the conversation. Here was an opportunity to find out what Rex had said to his family about the Sensuous Collection.

  “Oh, we know all about this product line,” Deirdre said, returning the diaper ointment to Juliet’s bag.

  “Made for a rather entertaining conversation over Sunday dinner when he first contracted the project,” Juliet added.

  “I can imagine. It’s rather unique. What did he tell you?”

  By the time they caught back up with Rex and his parents at baggage claim, April had learned that Rex hadn’t shared anything pertinent about the Sensuous Collection launch other than the details of the line itself, which had apparently entertained the Holts from appetizers through dessert.

  Pleased with what she’d learned, April imagined the sisters were equally pleased. They were relentless in maneuvering her into neat little corners so she had no choice but to answer their questions or look like she had something to hide.

  Family inevitably came up.

  “Adopted? Wow!”

  “But your parents died? That’s so sad.”

  “How wonderful that you became part of your boss’s family. They sound great.”

  The sisters had been no less determined in the pursuit of information than their older brother demonstrated on a daily basis with his finely honed information-gathering skills. April decided this talent must be a Holt family trait. But when she saw Rex, standing out in the crowd with his striking good looks and charming smile, she couldn’t help but think that information-gathering wasn’t his only gift.

  He looked relaxed in a way she’d never seen him before. The man was in his element, unguarded almost, a distinct difference from that almost-regal, always-on-edge person he projected to conduct business.

  This Rex was a son, a brother, a man about the business of enjoying himself with the people he cared about. There was an intimacy about the way he interacted with his family, absently taking his mom’s elbow to guide her through the door to where his dad waited with the car, holding his infant nephew while Juliet strapped her older son into his car seat.

  She watched him curiously, glimpsing a man who might be so focused on work that he didn’t make much time to have a life, but one who knew how to enjoy himself when he did. And now that he realized he wanted to kick back and make more time to have fun, he’d need a woman to enjoy that time with. And when he found the right woman, he’d probably want to raise a family as wonderful as his seemed to be.

  Fortunately April was distracted from her thoughts before she got to really angsting about all the reasons she could never be that woman. Rex directed her to his parents’ car and she settled in beside him for a grand tour of Chicago. From city history and trivia to landmarks like Rex’s elementary school and the ball field where he’d played Little League, she glimpsed a view of his early life until their day of celebrating kicked off at nine o’clock mass at Old Saint Pat’s Church.

  They met up with his grandparents to attend the service and afterward made their way to the riverbank of the Chicago River for a bird’s-eye view of the river’s transformation into an Irish-green phenomenon, and a performance by the Shannon Rovers Irish Pipe Band.

  Rex’s grandfather was a retired band member, an elderly man who’d passed along his charm to his son and grandson. With his twinkling blue eyes and dashing smiles, Scully Holt clearly still reigned as the patriarch of the Holt family. His wife Anna smiled good-naturedly at her husband’s loud welcomes and hugged all her great-grandchildren warmly.

  “So you’re Rex’s young lady?” Scully asked her.

  April caught sight of Betsy elbowing Rex from the corner of her eye, but Rex didn’t pay any attention, his gaze was fixed on April as he said, “Yes she is, Grandpa.”

  Well, there, that answered the question about what Rex had told his family.

  “And you’ve never been to Chicago before, young lady?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Are you Irish?”

  “I am today,” she offered, hoping to sidestep the particulars of her upbringing. The sisters had already picked her brain enough for one day.

  No such luck.

  “Grandpa, April was a
dopted, so she might be just as Irish as you are,” Betsy said.

  Clearly Betsy thought this tidbit was something special so April forced a smile and stepped into the suddenly awkward silence to deflect the inevitable questions. “I can choose to be whatever I want. And today, I choose to be Irish. Seems like a good day for it, don’t you think, sir?”

  Scully pierced April with a searching gaze and she knew those sharp blue eyes were assessing her character. Rex took a step closer. A reassurance, April supposed. But amazingly, the alarm wasn’t shrieking in her head and she didn’t have to assume the stance to stand still. In fact, she didn’t feel nervous at all beneath Scully Holt’s gaze and when his wizened old face split into a grin, April felt as if she’d made the cut.

  It was a very good feeling.

  “It’s not only a good day to be Irish, little lady. It’s the best day.” He shot his grandson a sharp look and gave a snort of what she assumed was laughter.

  Without another word, he linked arms with her and his wife and escorted them both toward the riverbank where they could get the best view of the band on the south bank. April sensed Rex staring after them with a smile.

  By the time Rex had maneuvered his way to her side again the crowd was cheering so loudly in anticipation of preparing the Chicago River for the holiday that she had to raise her voice to be heard. “I thought you said this river was going to turn green. That’s orange.”

  Rex leaned close, his head bowed over hers, but never taking his eyes off the river, which grew more orange by the second. “Just wait.”

  And then it happened. Orange transformed to a bright Irish green before her very eyes. “Wow.”

  “There you go. A Saint Patrick’s Day miracle.”

  “All right. I’ll bite. How do they do that?”

  “Leprechauns,” Scully replied before Rex had the chance. “Homesick for the greens of Ireland.”

  April could almost believe him. With the bagpipes playing and the whole world looking as though the sky had opened up and rained green, she felt a definite magic in the air.

  Or maybe the magic had to do with the company of the man wedged against her, his hand casually wrapped around her waist, so that even through her coat, her skin tingled with his touch.

  His father said something that April couldn’t hear, but Rex laughed, the chiseled lines of his face softening, the dark eyes he’d inherited from his mom sparkling with amusement.

  That look made her sigh inside, made her imagine what it would be like to have her own family. A family a lot like this one, she decided, one that liked to have fun.

  But longing wouldn’t change her situation or the fact that she only had these precious moments with Rex. She needed to savor his smiles, savor her temporary place in his life, savor this unfamiliar feeling of contentment. She only had now—this man and his smile, his family and a leprechaun’s miracle.

  And she was determined to make the most of her time and every time her thoughts strayed, she only had to glance at the river—which only stayed green for four or five hours, another fleeting miracle—to be reminded to enjoy the moment.

  Fortunately the Holts made enjoying the moment easy. They hurried her away from the river to find a spot along the parade route, where the kids took turns sitting up on the adult’s shoulders for a bird’s-eye view of the floats. Even Uncle Rex lent his shoulders to the cause, much to the delight of his nieces and nephews who shrieked and waved at two fifteen-foot high shamrocks and a thirty-five-foot high leprechaun.

  After the parade, they congregated at the Irish club to enjoy corned beef and cabbage, boxty with applesauce and mugs of green beer. April, who hadn’t worn anything green, found herself the recipient of a bowler hat, a half-dozen shamrocks, or seamógs, in assorted sizes, including one that had been painted on her face by a children’s artist, after the nieces and nephews insisted Uncle Rex buy one for Miss April, too.

  This ethnic celebration could have taught an Irishman like John Patrick Mooney a thing or two about celebrating. She liked the Holt family’s pride in their heritage, something a person unfamiliar with her own history had no experience with. Every one of the Holts proved very generous at sharing their pride, though, and April couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so comfortable with anyone except for the Mooneys.

  She liked to think that Rex’s massages were doing the trick, after all, but found it more likely that the Holts were just easy to be around. Even Rex. Comfortable with his family in a way she’d never seen him before, he stuck close, always aware of her needs or to answer her questions, yet never overbearing. He treated her as if he expected her to have as much fun with his family as he was. And she did.

  She liked this side of him, enjoyed the camaraderie he shared with his family. On the road he’d been focused on work, and she was reminded of his admission that work typically superceded everything in his life, how he’d been accused of not making time to have fun.

  She suspected part of the trouble was the nature of the work itself. Being out on the road was an isolated business. She didn’t really travel often and was definitely no social butterfly, but even she had her handful of friends that she interacted with at work or with the Mooneys.

  Rex claimed to have friends, but they’d been together around the clock for the better part of two weeks and she hadn’t seen one.

  The lone ranger.

  Who’d said that? Charles Blackstone had, and he’d been right. Rex was the lone ranger and she’d never noticed how much until she’d seen him surrounded by the people he loved.

  But he’d identified the problem and now all he needed was a woman in his life to give him a reason to slow down and make more time to enjoy himself. Preferably a woman who could share his work so he wouldn’t be alone in hotels for those long stretches. And definitely a woman who didn’t mind that high-handed attitude he got while he was ordering everyone around.

  A woman a lot like her.

  Minus all the baggage.

  When the afternoon waned and the children began passing out from exhaustion, April’s hosts headed back to the house Rex had been raised in, a neatly kept home in a quiet residential neighborhood. The sisters all headed back to the bedrooms to settle the little ones.

  April offered to help Gina out of the kitchen and Rex insisted he needed to supervise the preparation of the Tipsy Cake, which was a very sweet, very alcoholic Irish treat that his Italian mom needed help with.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Rex,” Gina said with a scowl. “Everything is already made. All I have to do is whip cream and brew coffee and I think I can handle that. Go wait for Grandma and Grandpa and keep them in there with you or else I’ll be tripping over them, too. This house is too small. I’m telling your father I want to move.”

  “You do that, Mom.” Rex kissed the top of her head and escorted April from the room. “She has been saying that since Deirdre was born.”

  “Hasn’t found anything yet?”

  Rex shook his head. “I don’t think she’s ever looked.”

  He motioned to the couch and sat down beside her. She wanted to melt back against him, but positioned herself on the edge suddenly awkward as they were alone for the first time since their arrival.

  “It must have been fun growing up with your family.” She took a stab at polite conversation.

  “They’re a crew. That’s for sure. Noisy,” he added as Juliet’s oldest son cruised down the hallway, yelling after his cousin at the top of his lungs.

  April laughed. “The size of the house wouldn’t make any difference. John’s house is just as noisy on the holidays.”

  “Do you spend them with his family?”

  She nodded, struck at how little Rex knew about her in some regards, when in others he knew more than any man had ever known. Where to kiss her to make her shiver, or sigh, or climax.

  Yet he’d missed a few important basics like the real reason she’d become his assistant. He’d welcomed her into his home, introduced her to his wonderful f
amily, while she’d crossed the line by becoming his lover while she was spying on him.

  “So John has a big home.” Rex leaned back into the corner of the leather couch, hooked his hands behind his head and got comfortable. “Tell me about him.”

  “He reminds me of your dad with all these women around.”

  “It’s always been interesting.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  When she stifled a yawn, he asked, “Tired?”

  “We got an early start.”

  Rex had intended to fly out of Tampa after a late dinner with Wilhemina and Charles last night. When he couldn’t arrange her a seat on his flight, he’d rearranged his plans to get them both out of Tampa at 4:00 a.m. the following morning, which meant arriving at the airport at two.

  “Turn around and come here.” He slipped his hands over her shoulders, tried to pull her back against him.

  “Not here, Rex. Anyone could walk in.”

  “Trust me. They take numbers around here for one of my massages. Even the kids. They’re all just being polite because you’re here and my mother threatened them.”

  “Why did she threaten them?”

  “Because she likes that I brought you home to visit and she wants everyone to behave so they don’t scare you off. Come sit here, so she knows I’m doing my bit to make you feel welcome. She says I have magic hands. Let me use them on you.”

  Magic hands. April had made the very same observation herself. And she wouldn’t deny him. She needed his hands on her, so she wouldn’t be able to think. He’d distract her from thinking about how his family wanted to make her feel welcome, about how much she wanted them to like her.

  His magic hands chased away all her thoughts. That slow, steady motion worked the tension from her muscles, made that now familiar languidness creep into the edges of her brain. Her breathing slowed. Her body melted against his.

  But his magic hands worked only too well. April couldn’t think, but she could feel. And as she sat in Rex’s childhood home, surrounded by his family, she felt like she belonged.

  FOR A MOMENT Rex couldn’t figure out how he’d gone from giving April a massage to being jarred awake by his grandfather’s comment about how nice it must be to sleep whenever and wherever the mood struck.