Clear as Glass

by Lynn Kellan

  “Close game. Sorry I missed it.” Simon leaned his forearms on his thighs and cleared his throat. “You played middle linebacker at Alfred University, didn’t you?”

  Mitch nodded. “I was recruited to play safety but coach moved me to linebacker after our starter wrenched his knee.”

  “I heard you were an All-American,” her father offered.

  “Who told you?” Jaye crossed her arms, knowing full well her father knew everything about Mitch’s college days. A detailed background check would’ve provided the name of his fraternity, how much weight he could bench press, and what size jock he wore. “Didn’t you get most of your information from a private investigator? Or did you talk with Mitch’s coach? How deep did you dig when you searched for dirt about my husband?”

  Mitch gave her thigh a gentle squeeze. “Your father had no choice but to run a background check. He had no idea who I was.”

  Simon stared at the lonely chicken wing sitting on a platter. “I asked Ted Wingate to help.”

  “Of course. Ted is the best in the business for digging up dirt on felons and psychopaths.” Jaye glared at her father, a tightness growing in her chest. “Who better to investigate the man I married?”

  “I had to know who we were dealing with.”

  “Why didn’t you have a real conversation with Mitch?” Sickened by her father’s actions, Jaye stood. “No matter how many report cards, credit reports, and background checks you studied, you still have no idea who I married.”

  Simon bowed his head. “I know he’s a gifted artist who won a number of prestigious awards.”

  “You might be able to list every contest he won, but you have no idea Mitch isn’t the type to crow about his achievements.” Jaye snatched two empty glasses off the table and carried them into the kitchen.

  Now that no wall blocked off the space, she saw her mother rise with characteristic grace, lift the mostly-empty platter, and approach. Jaye rinsed out the glasses, making no effort to fill the awkward silence. Why bother? Nothing would shake her mother’s loyalty to her father.

  Cecilia placed the dish on the counter with care and offered a small smile. “You’re growing out your hair.”

  “Yes. I’m no longer willing to play the part of a son.” Her dry remark must’ve hit a nerve, because a ruddy streak stained her mother’s perfect cheekbones like someone had gone a little crazy with a blush brush.

  “You look pretty. Then again, you always do.” Cecelia plucked the dishtowel off the counter, smoothing her hands across the crisp cotton. “I—I wanted to thank you for the gifts.”

  Jaye eyed her mother. “What gifts?”

  “The box of stemware you mailed at Thanksgiving. You also sent a beautiful glass pitcher at Christmas.”

  Jaye glanced across the room at Mitch, who had leaned forward to talk with her father. “I didn’t send any packages.”

  The hopeful arch along her mother’s brow eased. “Then your husband must have sent those things. He signed the notes with your name, too. I thought maybe you knew.”

  “No, I didn’t.” Jaye jammed a glass into the dishwasher’s top rack. What was Mitch thinking? Her parents didn’t need stemware.

  “I have a feeling your father isn’t the only one who did some sleuthing these last few weeks.” Cecelia’s mouth lifted in a poor imitation of a grin. “Your husband figured out your father’s weak spot is football. In December, he invited us to your house to watch a game.”

  Jaye’s insides flipped upside down. How did Mitch expect her to welcome her mother and father with open arms after what they’d done to him, not to mention her?

  “We didn’t respond to Mitch’s invitation because we were going through a rough spot.” Cecelia twisted the dishtowel in her hands. “I left your father.”

  The platter slipped through Jaye’s hands, splashing into the sudsy water. Swiveling her head, Jaye studied her mother’s hands. “You’re not wearing your wedding ring.”

  “I removed it the night you and Mitch left the house.”

  Distress cramped Jaye’s lower abdomen. “Because of us?”

  “In a way, yes.”

  Jaye inhaled, the air above the sink scented with buffalo sauce and dish soap. “Please, don’t blame my husband.”

  “But I do.” Cecelia set the towel on the counter and looked into the living room. “When Mitch came into our home that night, he was a man crazy in love. He’d do anything to be with you, even if he had to take a hard look at his flaws and reverse them. I’ll never forget the way he got down on one knee and looked at you.” Cecelia let out a soft sigh. “He still looks at you the same way. Like you’re the only thing he cares about.”

  “I know,” Jaye whispered, desperately happy she’d found such a man.

  Cecelia rested her perfectly manicured hands on the kitchen counter. “I didn’t recognize Simon when he blew up at the two of you. I couldn’t believe he could be so cruel. That night, I packed a bag and flew to our place in Denver. At first, your father didn’t realize I’d left him. He assumed I just went skiing.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Then he began to send dozens of flowers and boxes of jewelry. He texted me at least five times a day, but I didn’t respond. I refused to talk about our issues via text messages. He flew out to visit after Christmas.”

  Jaye pressed her fingertips to her mouth. “Why did he take so long?”

  “Your father is very uncomfortable sharing his feelings.”

  “I think incapable might be more apropos.”

  Cecelia lifted a shoulder. “You didn’t hear from us at Christmastime because neither of us wanted to admit things weren’t perfect.”

  “Gee, Mom. In most families, people share their heartaches.” Jaye dropped the rest of the dishes into the sink to soak.

  “I’d like to become better at sharing how we feel. I’d like to be a normal family.” Cecelia clasped her hands in front of her and let out a small hiccup. “When I look back at how poorly we reacted when you got married, I feel sick to my stomach. I don’t blame you if you never want to see us again.”

  Horrified, Jaye watched, as her mother’s nose turned a bright pink.

  Cecelia’s eyes filled with tears. “Will you ever forgive us?”

  Her father’s attention shifted to the kitchen, targeting a potential emotional outburst with the sharp gaze of a hawk.

  Jaye tried to think of a way to defuse the situation. In a flash of bumbling stupidity, she pushed a box of crackers down the counter. “Here, Mom, eat one of these.”

  Simon Davis stood. “Cecelia, what are you doing?”

  Her mouth turned down and she hiccupped again, louder.

  “You’re not the one who should be asking forgiveness. I’m the one at fault.” Simon pulled a hand down his face and glanced at Mitch. “Turns out, my daughter’s instincts were right about you. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find anything wrong. The more I dug, the more impressed I became. I’m sorry for being a pompous, overbearing jerk.” Simon turned his gaze toward his wife. “From now on, I’m not working on weekends. I want to spend those days with you, Cecelia. I need you, dammit.”

  A strange sound burst from her mother—part sob, part laugh of relief, loud as the bark of a mastiff.

  “Jayson, you were also right about David. I fired him last week.” Simon tucked both hands in his pockets and squared his shoulders. “You’re angry at me, for good reason. You’ve done everything I ever asked, and I took you for granted. Am I asking too much for a second chance?”

  There wasn’t an “I love you” anywhere in his apology. Jaye evaded her father’s stoic gaze and glanced at Mitch, tempted to throttle him for interfering. “I’d like to speak with you in our bedroom, please.” Each clipped word rattled with anger.

  Mitch faced her and gestured toward the hallway leading away from the living room. “I’ll join you after I show your parents the guest room.”

  Ice crackled over her insides. “Of course. You knew they’d use that ro
om long before I did.”

  Jaye stared out the window at the mountain rising along the horizon, a dark hump blocking the stars covering the lower portion of the sky. “Did my parents accept your invitation to stay the night?”

  “Yes.” The bedroom door closed with a gentle thump. “They shouldn’t drive all the way to Syracuse this late. I insisted they stay.”

  “You should feel gratified they listened.” She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “I’m still waiting for them to listen to me.”

  “They’re here because they want to reconcile, Jaye.”

  “No. They’re here because they think all is forgiven, thanks to you.” She unbuttoned her blouse with sharp, angry flicks of her fingers and shot him a frown. “My mother said you’ve been sending them gifts and signing my name. What else did you do?”

  He came to an abrupt stop beside their bed. “Say again?”

  “Mom said you sent them glassware from the factory. You also invited them to our house last month.” She tossed her blouse into the laundry hamper. “What else did you do?”

  His gaze dipped to her bra. “Uh, I mailed them a few pictures from our wedding.”

  “Geez.” She shimmied out of her jeans and jammed her hands on her hips. “And what else?”

  “Two framed photographs you took of the mountains. One went to their house and the other one went to your father’s office. I included a link to your website.” He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Could you put something on while we talk about this? I can’t concentrate while you’re undressing.”

  Her husband never missed a thing, and right now, he stared at the new black satin push-up bra that put her breasts on display like a pair of well-paid supermodels. Taking advantage of his distraction, she pushed him onto their bed. “My mother said you sent notes along with your gifts. What did you say in those notes?”

  “I said we hoped to see them soon.” He scrambled into a sitting position with a guilty wince. “I might’ve mentioned you missed them over the holidays.”

  A gasp came out in a hiccup. “I never said that.”

  “Honey, it was bad enough they didn’t come to our wedding. When you didn’t hear from them on Christmas, the look on your face ripped out my heart. No matter how much my family loves you, we can’t make up for your parents’ absence.” He opened his hands. “I had to do something.”

  “You interfered.” She jammed her finger into his chest, hitting him squarely in the center of the Bahama Islands logo on his shirt. “Two weeks ago, I stopped by the factory and you weren’t there. Sarah said you went to see a distributor. Looking back, I don’t think that’s true. Normally, you tell me when you’re heading out of town. Where were you?”

  “Sarah was right. I went to see a distributor in Syracuse.” He frowned at the lacy rosette decorating the front clasp of her bra. “While I was there, I stopped by your father’s office to drop off one of my sketches of you. I would have spoken to him at the time, but he was out of town.”

  “Why did you give my father a drawing of me, of all things?”

  “You’re always behind the lens taking pictures, pixie. None of us have pictures of you.” Mitch shrugged. “I figured your father would want one.”

  Narrowing her gaze, she took a hunk of his shirt in her fist, crushing the fabric in her fingers. “I thought you didn’t want any more secrets between us.” Her voice dropped to a ferocious whisper. “What have you been doing behind my back for the past six weeks?”

  Regret slammed across his hard features, pooling in his widened eyes. “You’re angry.”

  “Yes. Very.” Sharing her feelings was so easy with this man, because she knew he cared. “You hurt me.”

  He grimaced. “I was trying to connect with your parents. I wanted them to know I had no intention of keeping you from them.”

  “Did you ever consider I wasn’t ready to talk to them? Don’t my feelings matter?” She was amazed at the lengths he’d gone to. Leaning over him, she was close enough to smell the woodsy scent of his skin. “Is there something else I should know about? Some other secret I’m not privy to?” Her husband flinched as though she’d slapped him.

  “There are no other secrets.” Remorse pinched the corners of his mouth. “I hated seeing the wedge between you and your parents. I had to mend the rift. Don’t you see? I’m responsible for ripping your family apart.”

  “You couldn’t rip us apart. We were never together in the first place.”

  “The day I proposed, I barged into your house and hardly spoke to your parents. They must’ve thought I was some kind of maniac. Ever since then, I’ve thought of a hundred different ways I could have behaved better.”

  Jaye felt a sudden pang of guilt. She hadn’t done a very good job telling Mitch how cold her family was, and how much warmer she felt with him. Then again, she was still getting used to the powerful swell of love she experienced every time she gazed into his beloved face. Every single time, emotion short-circuited her ability to speak, but the flood of attraction had quite the opposite effect on her libido.

  Like now.

  Even though she only wore panties and a bra, she felt her skin prickle with heat. The spot between her legs felt heavy and sensitive, just like she always felt whenever he was around. She itched to tear off everything and jump on her husband for relief. Instead, she jumped to the floor, padded around the bedroom, and turned on every lamp to flood their sanctuary with a golden glow. “Let’s go to bed.”

  A smile curled one side of his mouth. “If you want to sleep, shouldn’t you be turning off the lights?” His gaze blazed a path from her breasts to her hips. “You look amazing.”

  Every single day, he said things like that. The wonderful thing was, she was starting to believe him.

  Splaying her hand on his chest, she pushed him back until he leaned against the headboard. She straddled his hips and unbuttoned his fly.

  He gripped her forearms, slowing her but not quite stopping her. “What are you doing?”

  “Don’t worry. We don’t have to take off all your clothes.” She lowered the elastic band of his boxer shorts and dipped her hand into the warmth trapped behind the denim. Crisp pubic hair tickled her fingertips. She took hold of his rigid erection and felt a burst of desire. “I want you.”

  “I’d rather make love when you’re not pissed at me.” He half-heartedly tugged on her arm.

  She freed his penis from his wrinkled boxers and stroked the heavy shaft.

  “Aw, hell—don’t do that. We need to talk.” He tugged the waistband of his boxers up an inch and abruptly yanked down the fabric. “A little harder, honey.”

  Nothing was more erotic than the sight of her husband in the throes of passion. Jaye tightened her grip on his shaft. “Like this?”

  “God, yeah. I mean, no.” His calloused hand closed around her wrist. “It’s my fault your parents didn’t approve of our marriage.”

  “Doubt it.” She shivered, loving the scrape of his denim jeans between her bare thighs. She inched her hips closer to the hard silk of his penis and licked the shell of his ear just the way he liked, light and teasing.

  Sure enough, he turned his face toward her neck and panted a gruff endearment against her throat.

  Wanting to see the red blush of arousal across his broad chest, she pulled on the hem of his shirt. He was wearing the one she’d bought during one of the rare occasions they’d ventured outside their honeymoon suite weeks ago. “Take this off.”

  With quick moves, he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed the garment to the floor.

  Muscles rippled across his chest, shooting a zing of excitement through her lower belly. Grabbing his thick wrists, she forced his heavy arms to rest along the cool smooth wood of the headboard. “Hold tight to the bed. Don’t let go, no matter how much you want to.”

  “You don’t want me to touch you?”

  He sounded hurt by the notion. “You’d better not.” She glared for good measure. Assured he
’d follow directions, she spread her hands on the warm breadth of his chest, loving the fact she had a real man in her bed, one who always put her needs above his own—even when she specifically told him not to. “And stop talking.”

  “I stole you away from your parents in the blink of an eye.” The fine shape of his upper lip curled into a snarl of self-reproach. “Like a greedy thief.”

  “Shh,” she whispered her fingers over his mouth, never wanting him to regret their quick marriage.

  Turning to the side, he pulled away from her soothing fingers. “I had to let them know I was willing to share. They have good reason to hate me for taking something so precious.”

  His use of the word precious got to her. A hot tear rolled down her cheek, gathering velocity. The drop fell off her jaw to explode on his hard chest.

  “My God, Jaye.” Mitch’s baritone broke in two. “Are you crying?”

  She wiped off her cheek. “I’m not used to being with a man who will do anything to make things right for me.”

  “Get used to it.” He reached for her hips.

  “No, don’t touch me. I’m still mad at you for interfering.” She put his arms back on the headboard and yanked off her panties. “Why’d you have to be so blasted good looking? Even when I’m mad at you, I want to have you.”

  “We’ve made love nearly every day since we got married. Why stop now?” His hot gaze almost melted the black lace covering her breasts. “Don’t take off that bra. Lord, woman. You’re so pretty, my eyes hurt.”

  “Don’t make me smile.” Pulling his jeans wider, she nestled the vee of her legs against his engorged penis. The feel of hard hot skin against her soft aching flesh made her shiver. Feeling more powerful than any forest pixie, she boosted herself up so his erection slid along her slick folds. She pulled away when he tried to enter.

  “You really know how to punish a guy.” Mitch’s hands tightened on the headboard and the wood squealed in protest.

  Ready to strip away the only barrier left between them, she nudged her hips closer. “Is it all right if we don’t use a condom?”

  His eyebrows rose. “What if I get you pregnant?”