Believe in Me: A Rosewood Novel

by Laura Moore

  “And you know what else, Owen?”

  He shook his head. “No, I really don’t, Max.”

  “Me, Kate, and Wiv are going to see my daddy and stay at his house!”

  It was difficult to say for sure if Max had actually shouted the news or if the momentary lull in the grown-up conversation just made it seem that way, but the sentence resounded with the force of a major explosion.

  Stunned silence filled the room as Jordan’s sisters stared at her. Even Travis, whom Owen considered a master of unshakeable calm when dealing with his wife and sisters-in-law, frowned with dark concern.

  Olivia was still clinging to his neck. Owen decided this would be the perfect time to make himself invisible. He ducked his head, bringing it closer to her blond curls. She rewarded him by mashing her open palm against his nose.

  “She wants you to say beep!” Max was a real font of information tonight.

  He was saved the embarrassment of having to honk into Olivia’s palm by Margot.

  “You’re going to visit your dad, Max?” she asked, still looking at Jordan.

  Oblivious to the adults’ tension, Max nodded happily. “Uh-huh. When are we going, Mommy?”

  “Next Friday,” she replied, setting the blue and white ceramic bowl filled with pasta salad on the counter.

  Annoyed the horn was malfunctioning, Olivia slammed her palm into his nose again, making him jerk his head back. The movement caught Jordan’s attention. “Olivia, let go of Owen’s nose, please.”

  Olivia freed his nose only to begin thwacking his chest, perhaps expecting he’d go “moo.” But with no hand planted in the middle of his face, he was at least able to give Jordan a smile in silent support.

  Her answering smile eased the fine tension about her eyes. “Kate, can you and Max please take Olivia to the bathroom? You all need to wash your hands before dinner.”

  The second the kids had trooped out of the kitchen, Jade pounced. “And why is this visit happening exactly?” she demanded.

  “Because I think it’s a good idea. Richard and I have talked it over and we’ve agreed to share the kids on the weekends and for part of the school holidays.”

  Owen was proud of Jordan’s calm reply.

  “So he just called and bullied you into agreeing? How typical.”

  “No, he sent a letter through his lawyer, a very polite and correct letter.” Jordan plunged two long-handled spoons into the pasta salad and tossed it. “He simply wants to see his children, Margot.”

  “He’s simply a selfish jerk is all.”

  Jordan could extol the virtues of having siblings all she wanted, Owen thought, listening to their exchange. He liked Margot. She was strong and smart and, for a successful fashion model, refreshingly indifferent to her knock-you-on-your-ass beauty. And Jade was like fireworks on a summer night. Thrilling and crackling and unpredictable.

  But like them as he may, he’d had enough of them jumping on Jordan. “I think Jordan’s doing the right thing.” The surprise mirrored in their faces at his comment reinforced his determination to get them off her back. “You saw Max. The kid’s over the moon at the prospect of spending a weekend with his dad. Do you honestly think Jordan would deny her kids that happiness?”

  They had the grace to look embarrassed.

  “Here’s something else you might want to consider. These kids will have a much easier time adapting to the new situation if you don’t make it quite so obvious you’d like to hunt their father down like a rabid fox. They’re not totally stupid.” They weren’t. He was sure even Olivia would learn to read and write one day. But having said his piece, this was as far as he would wade into the Radcliffe family waters.

  “Owen’s right,” Travis said. “What we think of Richard has nothing to do with his merits as a father. So they’re going to D.C. next Friday?”

  Owen was pleased Travis had spoken up. His added support would cool Margot and Jade’s tempers far more effectively than anything he could do.

  Jordan nodded, giving her brother-in-law a frankly dazzling smile. “Yes, they’ll stay with him through Sunday. Richard’s coming to pick them up. He’s even arranged for Susannah to come over and lend a hand.”

  “Smart of him,” Travis said easily, ignoring Jade and Margot’s less-than-happy silence. Walking over to the fridge and opening it, he glanced over his shoulder. “Can I get you a beer, Owen, before Olivia begins playing with your face again?”

  “Please. Though maybe since I didn’t honk, moo, or tweet, she’ll give up.”

  Travis laughed. “Not our Olivia.”

  Owen decided that as puppet shows went, this one took the prize for surreal. The play was about a hippo and alligator taking a walk through a sunny, flower-filled meadow. It was difficult to tell if there was more to the plot. But one thing was certain, the principals’ lines were so off-beat, they could have passed for the edgiest avant-garde theater in Berlin.

  The show pushed the envelope in terms of audience interaction, too, with Olivia bounding from her seat to rush the stage, touch the plush actors, and up the level of the dialogue’s incoherency. The puppeteers weren’t shy about shouting questions to Jordan for tips with the scene.

  It was a sign of how much he’d acclimated to the Rosewood environment that he wasn’t at all surprised at the rousing applause the two stars, Henry the alligator and Lucinda the hippo, received when the dark red curtain went down. The standing ovation would have done Broadway proud. And he had to admit, the show had been pretty darned entertaining.

  Once the play and the accolades were over, Owen was sure the children would be trundled off to bed. Naïve of him. With Henry the alligator still jammed on his arm, Max, high on the success of his opening night, was ready to party.

  “Mommy, Mommy, can we play Twistuh now?” and when Jordan hesitated, he cannily added, “Pwease.” Then Owen knew, sure as bees made honey, that he was finally going to see what this game Twister was all about.

  “All right. But not for long. Why don’t you run upstairs and bring it down? It’s on the lower shelf. You can play in the front parlor, where there’ll be more room. But I’m going to have to put Olivia to bed.”

  Resistance came from an unexpected source. “No, let Olivia stay up. She loves to play, too,” Margot said.

  “She needs to go to sleep.”

  “Jordan, you know Twister is just not the same without her,” Margot laughed.

  “That’s for sure,” Jade said, joining forces with Margot. “Owen should experience the game at its finest.” Rising from the sofa where she’d been lounging, she turned to Margot. “I gotta split. The Rev and I are bowling against a new team.”

  “Okay. Drive safely.” Margot stood, too. “Are you ready to do the barn check, honey?”

  Before Travis could even nod, Jordan said, “You and Travis aren’t going to play?”

  “Nope,” Margot said with a little smile. “We might spoil your fun.”

  “So very considerate of you,” Jordan replied, sounding distinctly sarcastic.

  “That’s what sisters are all about. Right, Jade?”

  “Absofreakinlutely,” she pronounced with her own broad smile. “Hasta la vista, y’all.”

  Listening to the sisters’ conversation, Owen knew something was going on. But he attributed the testiness and Jordan’s out-of-character exasperation as the lingering effect of their earlier spat in the kitchen. There was no reason to get this hopped up about a children’s game.

  * * *

  This was a children’s game?

  Its premise had sounded so simple, banal: at the turn of the dial one had to place one’s left or right foot or hand on one of the red, blue, yellow, or green colored dots lining the plastic sheet. But then the play had commenced …

  No prude, Owen decided Twister should come with a warning label: dangerous when sexually starved. Who in hell had invented this diabolical game? It had him literally contorted with lust.

  With each spin of the dial—Max and Kate takin
g turns because spinning was apparently just too much fun to miss out on—little bodies raced across the plastic rectangle to land on a colored spot, the frantic dash inevitably sending Jordan’s body into his.

  By spin number three, he no longer knew left from right, nor could he distinguish his foot from his hand. Colors? Red, blue? Forget about it.

  All he could think of, focus on, was Jordan and the next careful twist and flex of her body. Because no matter how much she or he tried to avoid it, some miniature dervish was going to plow into them and there was going to be contact. Each jostle and bump, every tangle of limbs the spin of the dial produced was an electric zap of desire shooting through him.

  That Jordan was trying to resist the push and shove as much as he was intensified the awareness between them as their bodies moved with excruciating care around each other. Each graze and accidental press amplified the sudden hitches in their breathing.

  It was hell struggling not to respond when with each breath, he caught Jordan’s unique scent. It was heaven feeling the fine quiver of her limbs when they touched and seeing her pulse hammer wildly beneath the delicate skin of her throat. Impossible not to think of touching that point with his tongue while he was deep inside her and she tight and hot around him. Weak-kneed, he went down like one of Jade’s bowling pins when Olivia barreled into him. With a groan, he took them—Jordan and the kids—with him. A squirming human heap, they hit the mat.

  He landed on Jordan. A second stretched into eternity as his body learned the gentle slopes of hers.

  A high-pitched giggle, as effective as a stun gun, shocked them both into violent recoil. He jumped to his feet.

  Christ, forget a simple advisory, the game should be outlawed, he thought, rubbing the crick in his neck that was as stiff as the rest of him but at least was a G-rated part of his anatomy. For God’s sakes, this was nuts. Unless he got a handle on his attraction for Jordan, he was going to get arrested for indecent acts in the presence of minors.

  “Let’s play again!”

  Jordan’s sharp “No!” would have been funny except for the sad fact that part of him wanted to override her with a “Sure thing, Max. I’ll play this game right through dawn if it means having your mom’s body against mine.” How was that for pathetic?

  Jesus Christ, he was becoming desperate and he didn’t like the feeling one little bit. What the hell was wrong with Jordan that she couldn’t just give in to what was a perfectly natural urge and take him into her bed?

  But no, she was only interested in children’s bedtimes, he thought sourly, as she said with truly obnoxious calmness, “No, Max, it’s time for bed now. Remember, you have a playdate and a riding lesson tomorrow. You don’t want to be tired on such a big day. Come on, we’ll walk Owen to his car. He needs to get home, too.”

  Yeah, so he could stand under an ice cold shower until he forgot how Jordan had felt lying beneath him.

  OVER THE NEXT WEEK Jordan hardly recognized herself. From Margot, Jade, and Travis’s reactions, it was clear that the careful, composed façade she’d created over the past year had developed some very visible cracks. With everyone except the children, with whom she managed to exert a modicum of self-control and behave like the mother they knew and not some monstrous impostor, she was cross, impatient, irritable … a truly nasty piece of work.

  Her newfound meanness followed her like a shadow, making Margot and Travis skirt her warily and prompting Jade to pronounce with astonishment on Thursday morning, “Wow, Jordan, you’re really tapping into your inner witch.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere, Jade. And I still won’t go to Steadman’s to pick up a ratcatcher for you. I’ve got Max’s picnic, the kids’ stuff to pack, and I have to get the orders in for all the bathrooms because Owen’s moved ahead of schedule in the demo work.” Owen, suddenly obsessed with getting the renovation completed in record time, was pushing everyone hard, including himself. She suspected that the only reason the master bathroom was still intact was because he used it.

  “Fine. Whatever. I guess I’ll find time between school, teaching your kids to ride, and helping Travis and Andy out while Margot’s in New York doing the shoot for W with Charlie Ayer. Oh, and did I forget that AP exams are coming up? Guess I’ll manage to squeeze in a couple of hours reviewing for them.”

  “I’m sure you will. And don’t forget your appointment with the college counselor. You might want to crack open the college guide Margot bought for you.”

  For that reminder Jordan received a look that, had she been on the receiving end of it a week earlier, would have sent her running to Steadman’s and buying every sleeveless ratcatcher Adam had in stock. Today she didn’t back down an inch, merely raised a mocking brow in return.

  An irate Jade had stomped out of the kitchen, slamming the back door to the mudroom with enough force to rattle the windows. That she didn’t flinch was additional proof that Jade was right: Jordan had discovered her inner witch. Not only that, she could point to its cause. Men.

  Two in particular were to blame. For when Jordan wasn’t giving Jade serious competition in aiming knife-sharp comments at nearly anyone within range, she was indulging in truly bitchy thoughts about Richard and Owen.

  With each passing hour, she resented Richard’s plea to begin taking the children for the weekends more and more. Anticipating the pain of being without them was bad enough. She knew that when Friday afternoon came and they all drove off, her heart was going to be ripped out of her chest. Her identity, her sense of self, would be torn from her, too. How was she to survive the seventy-two hours they were gone? How was she going to endure this happening repeatedly? Every time Richard telephoned, to check on food preferences for the kids, what size diapers to buy for Olivia, and their current favorite movie, she had to tamp down on the urge to snarl that nothing he did or bought could make up for destroying their family, so it hardly mattered if he and Cynthia stocked the creamy peanut butter and blueberry jam that Max loved.

  As for Owen, where to begin with her list of grievances? How about the fact that whenever he came near she became as twitchy and jumpy as one of their mares coming into heat. If she disliked the condition, she positively despised its cause: her inability to stop thinking about the weight of Owen’s solid length covering her. Because of him, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to play Twister again. So damn him for that.

  Owen’s kiss in her bedroom—Lord, that day seemed so long ago, yet it was as fresh in her mind as if it had occurred only minutes before—had rocked her with its potency, her first sensual encounter since divorcing Richard. Jordan recalled how disconcerting it had felt to be in his arms, to have his lips touch hers, to taste him while the intoxicating strength of his body pressed into her. Owen’s clever mouth and hands had thrilled her, and yet the foreignness of his embrace had been troubling, too. When she felt the unmistakable evidence of his arousal, she experienced a surge of panic at the passion flaring to life inside her for someone who was a virtual stranger. Someone she wasn’t even sure she liked.

  Owen was no longer that man. He was more familiar and far more attractive to her. Not physically more attractive, a near impossibility considering how much his dark chiseled features, keen gaze, and honed physique appealed to her. While he had character flaws aplenty, who didn’t, it was difficult to focus on them when all she could think of was the glorious sensation of his weight on her, the heat of his body melting hers. Although he’d been sprawled over her for at most three seconds, within that brief space of time she’d felt so deliciously alive. So double damn Owen for making her achingly aware of how desperately untouched she felt, for forcing her to confront the dry desert her life had become, and for making her realize how much she thirsted for the delicious pleasure of making love to a man.

  And triple damn him, because while she desired him, she was painfully conscious of how ill-equipped she was to go about rectifying the current situation.

  It was one thing to be an unattached, vigorous, sexy, too-hands
ome-for-his-own-good, thirtysomething male; Owen had no worries about his desirability. But she’d had three babies and, as she’d taken to undressing to stare broodingly in her bedroom mirror before crawling under the bed-sheets, had the body to prove it. Her breasts had changed size and shape so many times, it was a miracle they weren’t hanging down to her belly button. In this age of silicone and surgical enhancements, they would no doubt appear to an experienced and discriminating eye as worn and used as the rest of her. Owen, damn his gold-chipped eyes, was far too discerning not to notice.

  But even if by some miracle of nature she’d gone through childbirth three times and emerged a toned, bouncy-buxom, red-hot mama, she doubted that she’d be better equipped mentally to go about ending her celibate status.

  What was she supposed to do? March up to Owen and demand to do it on the Oriental? Yeah, right.

  Which meant her new mean-bitch attitude was here to stay.

  Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing, she thought when Friday afternoon arrived alarmingly quickly and Kate and Max had now become as off-kilter as she, rushing to the window every other minute in the hopes of catching sight of Richard’s car emerging from the allée of chestnut trees. Olivia, who, of course, had no real conception of what was going on, happily joined in the tearing to and fro of her older siblings. When their twentieth trip to the window hit the jackpot, Kate and Max let loose with happy cries of “He’s here! Daddy’s here!” as their sneakers pounded the parquet in an ecstatic jig. It was only the foulness of her mood that kept her from bursting into tears and clutching her babies to her breast.

  Richard had a new Volvo SUV that would easily hold the kids and their paraphernalia. She steeled herself for the sight of him and Cynthia exiting the upscale family car, ready to take her children away and begin their new happy shiny relationship, and expelled a relieved breath when she saw that instead of Cynthia it was Susannah, the sitter they’d had in D.C., who was accompanying him.