“I’m afraid I don’t, but Mum’s told me about it.”
“How is your mother? I have a song called ‘Mama’s Girl’ that makes me think of her every time I sing it.”
“My mum? Not your own?”
“No. Well.” Good going, Morgan. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut? Then she squared her shoulders and met Esme’s gaze head-on. “I was a thirteen-year-old who’d been thrown out of my house when I met your mother and saw how much she loved you. It made a lasting impression on me.”
Esme reached out and touched her arm. “I’m sorry. That was frightfully rude of me. Mum would be really honored to know you feel that way.” Her gaze dropped to P.J.’s denim and froth skirt. “What a smashing piece.”
“Isn’t it great?” Running her hands down the garment she’d bought on the Los Angeles shopping trip, she smiled. “I was telling my friend Nell just last week that Gert started me on my love affair with skirts and dresses.”
“You knew Mac before today then?”
“Yes. I lived with her for a short period. She bought me my very first non-hand-me-down dress.”
Esme turned to the old woman. “You never told me that Priscilla Jayne lived with you.”
“Yes, there’s a surprise, dear. That I don’t tell a twenty-one-year-old girl everything about my life.”
P.J. grinned and gave Gert’s hip a little bump. She knew the old lady’s gruffness rubbed some people the wrong way, but she loved it. Because she knew it for what it was: a very thin layer over a solid-gold core.
“Is that what brings you here? A visit with Gert?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know my dad, too?” Without awaiting an answer, she whirled off down the hall. “Daddy! You’ll never guess who’s here!”
“You might not surmise it from her constant chatter,” Gert said wryly, “but she’s a very bright young woman.”
P.J. hadn’t really considered the fact that she might see John, and her heart took a funny skip. She’d had such mixed feelings about him as a kid. Mostly she’d admired him and felt grateful to him for getting her and J off the streets. But a big chunk of her had been pea-green jealous of the way Jared had hero-worshipped the man who would become his brother-in-law.
But when he sauntered out of his office, fifteen years older but still lean and tall and easy in his skin, she smiled, her momentary unease dissolving. His black hair was dusted gray at the temples and was no longer worn in a long ponytail. But he hadn’t lost an iota of the cool she remembered and still carried the same air of confidence and competency that even her thirteen-year-old self had known defined him.
“Well, look who’s here,” he said with a warm smile. “Little Priscilla Jayne Morgan, all grown-up.”
“Hello, Rocket.”
“Omigawd,” Esme said. “Nobody calls him Rocket anymore.”
“Except your mother and Jared,” John said dryly, hooking an elbow around his daughter’s neck and scrubbing his knuckles over her scalp. “And Coop and Ronnie and Zach and Lily and all their assorted kids.”
She grinned. “Yeah, except for them.”
Sliding his arm down to circle her shoulders, he hugged her to his side and directed his attention back to P.J. “So where’s Jared?”
Her heart gave another of those funny skips but she gestured vaguely. “Out at the amphitheater. It’s so big that the security walk-through should take up half the morning.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie—a walk-through would take half the day…if such a thing existed. She flashed him an insouciant smile. “Besides, there’s nowhere safer than with you, don’tcha think?”
“I suppose that’s a point. Congratulations on your success, by the way. Tori and I have been loving the hell out of watching your career rise.” His cell phone rang in his pocket and he pulled it out to check the screen. “Excuse me for a minute. This is a call I have to take.” He loped back down the hall and disappeared into his office.
Esme came back to P.J. and for a moment simply stood gazing down at her. “You’re so tiny.”
“Compared to you and your father and Jared, I am,” she agreed. “I feel like a munchkin.”
“I didn’t mean that rudely. It’s just that your voice is so big I assumed you would be, too.” Esme gave her a crooked smile. “Which merely proves that axiom about what assume makes of you and me, I suppose. Speaking of Jared—”
“Did your mother get the tickets I sent?”
Esme’s face lit up. “Yes! How lovely of you. Mum had already bought some, but not in such a premium area! My best friend Rebecca is so jealous. We gave our old tickets to her and her parents.”
Conversation around Esme never lagged, and P.J. found it easy to allow the young woman to take it where she would. She squeezed in chats with Gert in between Esme’s topics and found herself having a perfectly lovely time. When the front door opened behind her she was seated in a chair pulled up to Gert’s desk, her feet propped up on a pulled-out file drawer while she sipped iced tea from a tall, frosty glass. As she laughed a big belly laugh at an acerbic comment Gert had just made, it occurred to her that this was the most relaxed she’d felt all week.
A condition that promptly imploded when Jared’s irate voice growled, “Security walk-through, my ass! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Headline, Country Billboard:
Priscilla Jayne Concerts Playing to Sellout Crowds
“HEY, UNCLE JARED!” Esme rushed over, her face alight with her habitual enthusiasm.
“Hey, pipsqueak.” He leaned down to give her a fleeting peck on the lips, but barely broke stride in his unwavering advance on P.J.
He stopped in front of her, his hands firmly in his pockets to keep from doing her bodily injury. When he’d realized she was no longer in her dressing room—that she hadn’t been in the room the entire time he’d been sitting guard outside of it—his gut had turned into a mass of screaming nerve endings. She’d willfully put herself in danger on his watch.
That he wasn’t happy about it was an understatement. “Say goodbye, P.J.”
She looked up from her conversation with Mac, meeting his gaze dismissively. “When I’m ready.”
He knew that stubborn look, but he was royally pissed and that trumped mulishness hands down. He wasn’t about to take no for an answer. “Say. Goodbye,” he commanded through gritted teeth, hauling her to her feet.
“Jared,” Esme said uncertainly and Mac’s eyes narrowed. But his willingness to carry little Miss Escape Artist out the front door—thrown over his shoulder like a sack of spuds if necessary—must have shown. P.J. turned to Mac.
“Thank you for treating me to the most fun I’ve had all week,” she said warmly, rising onto her toes to plant a kiss on the older woman’s cheek. “You come see me tonight after the show.” She turned to his niece. “You, too, Esme. It was so good to see you again. Tell your mama I’m looking forward to seeing her tonight, as well.” Projecting her voice to reach down the hallway, she said, “You can come, too, Rocket. If you absolutely must.”
John’s laughter floated out of his office.
Jared said his own goodbyes, then marched P.J. out the agency door, across the porch and down the steps to the Jeep he’d retrieved on his only detour between the amphitheater and here.
Tense silence filled the Jeep as he drove them out of the parking lot. The more he thought about the worry she’d caused him, the more his neck muscles tightened. If he hadn’t finally called John to admit he’d lost her, he’d probably still be tearing the venue apart looking for her.
To his surprise, P.J. broke the silence between them. He’d have sworn she’d rather choke than cave first. “Take me to the Teatro.”
Okay, so it was a command rather than an attempt to escape his displeasure. Clenching his teeth against the urge to snarl, he said in a neutral tone, “You’re going back to the amphitheater with me.”
“No, Jared, I’m not. I’m already checked into the hotel. Tak
e me there.”
“You are not staying at a goddamn hotel,” he barked. “I won’t have it.” Hearing himself, everything inside him stilled.
Then the nerve endings that had begun to settle down recommenced their hot, mortified dance of agitation. Jesus. He sounded exactly like his father at his autocratic worst. He might have been channeling the old man from the grave, so closely had his tone come to the one that had hounded his adolescence.
Sucking up all his ire, he stuffed it away. Then he took a deep breath and blew it out. But it didn’t matter what he did, because he recognized this for what it was: one wrong comment, one sideways glance away from blowing sky high. He drew more air into his lungs. I am a glacier peak, impregnable and remote.
“We’ve been through this before,” P.J. snapped. “Same song, same dance. Read my lips, Hamilton. You don’t get to dictate where I can or cannot stay. I need a break from living with a busload of people and I’m taking one. Drive me to the Teatro. For the next few days you can consider it my home base.”
What he considered was just flat out disregarding her wishes. But maybe she could read his mind, because she said flatly, “I’m tired and cranky and you do not want to blow me off. Because I’m warning you, J, I’ll pick up the phone and call Wild Wind so fast it’ll make your head swirl. And who do you think they’ll choose if I demand that either you go or I will?”
He drove her to the Teatro.
He was so angry, though, he could barely see straight. Unleashed emotion was unlike him, and he drew in several deep, silent breaths, trying to get a handle on it. Refusing to let his temper show, he turned his car over to a valet and walked P.J. to the hotel entrance, his clasp on her elbow courteously loose.
“This really isn’t necessary, you know,” she said, extricating her arm as they entered the lobby. “You can leave me here.”
“I need to know where your room is so I can see about getting one nearby. You may have forgotten the threatening note you received last week, but I haven’t.”
“Of course I haven’t forgotten it. But neither have I heard another word from the whack job who sent it.”
“And let’s hope that continues. But we don’t bet your safety on the assumption. You don’t have to spend time with me while you’re here.” He gave her his best ask-me-if-I-give-a-damn look, the one he’d perfected on his father. Then he let his eyes go hard. “But I will do my job.”
When she argued no further he accompanied her to the elevator, then down the hallway of her floor. He stood back while she slid the key card into the door slot of her room. But when he followed her inside, she sighed.
Not just your average everyday sigh, either. A woman sigh. One of those long-suffering exhalations that only females of the species were truly good at. It was wordless, just a breath of air, really.
Yet it still managed to say, What have I ever done to deserve being saddled with this horse’s ass?
Temper ratcheting another degree higher, he eyed her butt, noting how firm and round it was, how satisfying it would be to apply the flat of his palm to it. Forcefully.
Jesus, Ace. Shoving his hands deep in his pockets for the second time that day, he followed her into the suite’s sumptuous sitting room without noticing the first thing about the decor. What was he thinking? Losing control was not in his makeup. And he sure as hell didn’t manhandle women! I am a glacier peak.
Impregnable.
Remote.
“No, you know what?” he said aloud. “To hell with that.”
P.J. swung around to stare at him. “What are you babbling about?”
“I don’t babble. And you owe me an apology. I searched every fucking inch of that amphitheater looking for you.” He crossed the room to tower over her. “And, baby, you at least told John one truth. The place is immense.” He’d never felt such immediate fear as he had upon discovering she was missing. Furious to know he’d suffered that hot gut and cold sweat over what had basically been P.J. messing with his head, he crowded her against the wall. If she had a working brain cell in her head she’d be afraid.
She’d be very afraid.
“Well, boo hoo.” Leading with her chin, she scowled up at him. “For the past five days you haven’t had two lousy minutes to spare me—so ask me if I give a rip that you had a few bad moments trying to track me down. I’ve had a lousy week and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you make me feel guilty about my visit with Gert. It’s the first decent time I’ve had since—” Cutting herself off, she slapped hands to his chest and shoved. “Get out of my way. In fact, get out of my room.”
He didn’t budge. But neither did he put his hands on her. He wanted to, though. Man, did he want to! He’d spent way too much time the past several days reliving their time in that Los Angeles dressing room.
He wasn’t stupid; he knew he never should have touched her. Getting her naked, getting inside her, had been unethical squared.
But, damn. Merely thinking about it almost blew the top of his head off. Which just went to show that it didn’t pay to jump the gun patting yourself on the back. He’d been so cocksure he could hold her at arm’s length after holding her skin-to-skin close as she’d gone up in flames. And he’d done it, too, by God. Except…
All he had wanted to do, itched to do, was dying to do, beneath all that self-congratulatory restraint, was take her back to bed.
Glacier, Hamilton. Remember the fucking glacier.
But that was hard to do when the thing was evaporating like mist in the jungle, turning his brain into one big steam bath. His anger was gone, his cool shot to hell. All he had left was a raging red-hot case of lust. “Is that what you really want?” he asked her hoarsely. “You want me to leave?”
She obviously read his mood, for her eyes changed, went dark and aware. But she angled her chin up at him. “Yes, I—”
“Because I want what we had in that room in L.A.” Only he’d have more control this time. He’d make her come again and again and again while staying a little bit removed. While staying in command.
“Oh, now you’re interested in having sex again?” Her eyes narrowed. “What, you suddenly decide I wasn’t so lousy at it after all?”
“What?” He stared down at her in shock. “Who the hell said anything about you being lousy at it?”
“You’ve been avoiding me ever since we did the deed, haven’t you?”
“Because I’m supposed to be keeping you safe, not fucking you!”
“Which—let me guess—became a consideration only after you discovered how lousy I was in the sack.”
“No, which became a consideration when I quit thinking with my little head long enough to realize how unprofessional I’d been. But you…Damn, Peej, where do you get these ideas? You are so far from lousy I can’t believe the thought even crossed your mind.”
“I am?” The heartbreaking hope in her golden brown eyes gave him a flashback to the thirteen-year-old he’d once known. Then she gave him another shove. “Yeah, right. You’re just saying that now because you’re horny.”
“I’m saying it because it’s true.” He held her gaze, thinking surely she couldn’t look into his eyes and doubt that. In the spirit of full disclosure, however, he did admit, “I confess to being horny, too, but that’s hardly new territory. It seems to be a constant state around you.”
She blew a short, pithy raspberry.
“What, you think I’m kidding?” Bending his head, he pressed his mouth to the side of her neck. Her skin was smooth and fragrant and he flicked it with his tongue.
Shivers raced down P.J.’s thighs, a condition that only grew worse when he moved his lips to her ear.
“You remember the night we spent in that new construction site?” he asked. “The night of the storm?”
“Of course I do.” She remembered every moment of every day they’d spent together. The night he was talking about had been dark, wet and chilly, with wild displays of lightning and thunder that had scared her silly.
“We’
d been cuddling to try and stay warm and you got mad when I moved away. You thought it was because I was getting ready to leave you. But you wanna know the real reason I quit holding you, P.J.?” He didn’t wait for her to say yes or no. “I moved because the feel of you against me was starting to give me a hard-on.”
Her head reared back, smacking the wall. “Did not!” Fingers automatically homing in on the spot she’d just hit, she gingerly massaged the hurt away. But her attention was fixed on Jared.
“Did so. You were only thirteen and I felt like a perv, but I had a boner a cat couldn’t scratch.” Brushing her hair aside, he resumed kissing her neck.
Heat shot down her spine and she jerked skittishly. “What are you doing?” She batted at his shoulders. “Two seconds ago you were giving me your big screwing-you-is-unprofessional spiel. What happened to that?”
“It went up in smoke.” He took the step closer that brought their bodies together and bent his knees until their eyes met. “And you know what? I don’t care. Hell, I pretty much patterned myself after Rocket and he slept with my sister when he was working for her. It didn’t seem to hurt his professional image any.”
“Yeah, well, weren’t they pretending to be engaged? You plan on sacrificing yourself on the altar of matrimony for the sake of a little nookie?”
“No.” He stepped back smartly. “Uh-uh, no, ma’am. Listen, Peej, you were everything to me as a kid and you’re more special than any other woman I know. But I’m not the marrying kind. Trust me on this—I don’t have the chops to make a woman happy for more than a week or two running.”
Somehow she doubted that. He was handsome, he was rich and he was rock steady. Looks and money might disappear over time, but the steadiness, his sexy competence…that would be with him forever. It would always make a woman feel safe.
Still, all the places made warm by having his body pressed against hers felt downright chilly with the distance he’d put between them. And who the hell asked him to marry her anyhow? “Do I look like I’m dying to have you drop to your knees and propose?”
Coming Undone Page 17