“I take it you didn’t tell your brother about our…situation?”
“That’s right. Though I trust him.” That was a rare thing, coming from Dekker. He was so cautious. He hardly trusted anyone.
“You know him that well? In the few days you spent here?”
“Yeah. I think I do. It’s crazy, I know. A lot of it’s just…a sense I have of him. An instinct. But there are also his actions. Like the way he handled himself when he tracked me down back home. He told me the facts straight out, no hedging around. When I refused to believe him, he didn’t argue, just gave me his card, with all his private numbers on it, so I could reach him any time I wanted to. When I showed up here a few days later, he was ready for me. He’s a very busy man, but somehow he found time for me. A lot of time. That’s how he’s been with me. Never pushing me, but right there, prepared to face whatever needed facing, as soon as I was willing.” He sent her a sideways look. “And I want to talk to him, about the problem with Robert Atwood. If that’s all right with you.”
“You think he could help us?”
“I think he has resources and…methods of action at his disposal that we wouldn’t even dream about. I have no doubt he could crush Atwood like a bug, if it came to that.”
Joleen looked at her friend with alarm. “Crush him?”
“I meant financially, that Jonas would know how to ruin him.”
She sent a furtive glance toward the other room and lowered her voice so her son wouldn’t hear. “I’m not having any part in crushing Sammy’s grandfather, financially, or otherwise, no matter how rotten a human being he might be.”
“Settle down, Jo. I said Jonas could crush him, not that I’d ask him to. I was trying to make the point that Jonas might provide other…options. Other ways to approach the problem.”
“Oh.” She dropped onto one of the beautiful sofas and stared up at him, contrite. “Sorry. I’m edgy, I guess. The plotting and planning just never seem to end.”
“I only want us to be as prepared as we can be.”
“I know you do. And I’m grateful, I really am.” He was a wonderful friend to her. The very best. She straightened her shoulders. “All right, then. I agree. We’ll talk to your brother.”
“Good—but I still think we should keep the exact terms of our marriage to ourselves, the same as you did with Camilla.”
Joleen had given him a complete report of her conversation with her mother. “I don’t really think it’s the same. You know how Mama is. Sometimes she talks too much. It’s different if your brother can keep the truth to himself.”
Dekker shook his head. “Why lay that on him? Why make him responsible for keeping our secrets? No. If we’re going to do this, we have to do it right. Everyone has to believe we are married in every way.”
But we are not married in every way, she thought, irritation rising again. Really, all they did lately was scheme. And since last night—their wedding night—it seemed that they were constantly dealing with the issue of sex, with the fact that they weren’t having any and no one was supposed to know that they weren’t.
Which was what they’d agreed on.
She’d better remember that.
Chin up, she told herself. It’s a reasonable plan and we’re going to stick to it. Stop feeling all put-upon and focus on solving the problem at hand.
She spoke briskly. “Okay. We have more of us than beds to sleep in. What do you think we should do about it?”
“I can take Sam’s room. And he can sleep in here with you.”
That sounded like a sensible solution. “Okay, that should—”
Someone tapped on the outer door. Dekker went and let in two maids who were carrying their luggage. “Just put it all right there.” He indicated a spot near the door to the closets and the bath.
Dekker waited until the two women had left them alone again before he turned to Joleen. “On second thought…”
“What?”
“This house is crawling with service staff. If we sleep in separate rooms, my brother might never know—but the maids will.”
She didn’t see how the maids would find out anything. And she also didn’t see that it mattered—which must have shown on her face.
He made a low, impatient noise in his throat. “Jo. They make the beds. They change the towels, empty the wastebaskets. They see everything. No matter how careful we are, after a couple of days, they will get the picture that you and Sam are sleeping in here—and I’m in there.”
“Oh, come on. Does it really matter what the maids know?”
“Use your head. Why would we let some stranger in on a secret we’re not willing to share with my brother or your mother?”
Scheming, she thought again. Plotting and planning. And always having to make sure everyone thought they were lovers when they were not.
“What is the maid gonna care?”
“The maid might care a lot. If the right person got to her. If she was paid enough to share what she knows.”
“This is too much. You are kiddin’ me.”
He just looked at her, wearing that stony expression he got when he was not going to budge about something. She threw up both hands. “Well, fine. So what do we do?”
“Sam will have to stay in the other room. And the two of us will sleep in here.”
Her heart did a funny little stutter inside her chest. “Together?”
He gave her a lazy grin. “Is that a request?”
She saw that he was teasing her, and felt relief—didn’t she? “Very funny.”
He was all seriousness again. “You get the bed. I’ll take one of the couches. I’ll just use a pillow and a blanket, and I’ll put them away every morning before we go down to breakfast. All my things, though, will be in this room, with yours. We’ll share the main bathroom. That should be enough to make it appear that we’re also sharing the bed.” He paused, then prompted, “Well? What do you think?”
“I think that you have been in the detective business for way too long.”
“Maybe I have. That doesn’t change the situation we have to deal with here. What do you say?”
What could she say? He was probably right. He usually was, in matters of this kind. “Okay, okay. We’ll share this room. But I’m smaller than you. I’d probably be more comfortable than you would on the couch.”
“Offer again, and I won’t say no.”
“We’ll switch off. That’s fair.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“Mama.” Sam came toddling through the door to the smaller room. “Potty?”
He was in training pants. And he was doing just great, too. Day by day, the accidents were fewer and farther between.
“Right this way.” She caught his little hand and led him back through his room to the bath on the other side.
They took Sam to meet Mandy and her nanny before they went down to join Jonas and his wife. Mandy was a beauty, with thick black curls and dark eyes.
She fluttered her impossibly long eyelashes at them, then picked up a stuffed dragon and bopped Sam on the head with it. Sam grabbed it away from her and bopped her right back.
They stared at each other for a long and dangerous moment. And then they both grinned.
Mandy turned for the stacks of blocks in the corner. Sam waddled right along behind her.
“He’ll be fine, señora,” promised the pretty young nanny.
Joleen’s gaze was still on her son. “Sammy, we’ll be back soon.”
Sam didn’t even glance her way. He was already squatted on the floor, helping Mandy add to her stacks of blocks.
Dekker muttered, “That kid really misses you when you go.”
“No separation anxiety,” she told him loftily, turning to look him square in the eye. “That is a good thing. My son is secure with his world and his place in it.”
Dekker kept a straight face, but those midnight eyes were gleaming. “I never doubted that.”
“You’d better not.” She reac
hed out, took his arm.
It was such a simple gesture, something she’d done a hundred times before.
But this time it was…different. A tiny thrill passed through her, a shiver laced with fire. And she found she was all too aware of the feel of his forearm under her hand, the texture of the hair there, the warmth of his skin, the hard muscle beneath.
And Dekker had picked up her reaction—though it was achingly obvious he didn’t understand it. He frowned down at her, baffled. “Jo?”
She laughed and tossed her head—to clear it of this sudden crazy notion that touching Dekker excited her.
“You okay?” He was eyeing her with extreme wariness.
She flashed him her brightest smile. “Better get downstairs, don’t you think?”
“But are you sure you—”
“Dekker, let’s go. Your brother is waiting.”
Jonas Bravo looked a lot like Dekker. Uncannily so, Joleen thought when Dekker reintroduced them. He had those deep-blue eyes that looked black as midnight from certain angles. And that cleft in his square chin.
The two were built a lot alike, too—big—with thick, wide shoulders and muscular arms. So odd she hadn’t noticed the resemblance that first time she’d met Jonas, a couple of weeks ago, when he and his wife had shown up at her mama’s door.
But she’d been so distracted that day, with all the details that went into planning a wedding. And she hadn’t been looking for Dekker’s long-lost big brother to come knocking out of nowhere. She’d believed as she’d always believed: that Dekker was Lorraine Smith’s beloved only son. And she had seen what she believed.
Amazing how much things could change in the space of two weeks.
Joleen had liked Jonas’s wife right from the first. At second meeting, she saw no reason to alter her opinion of Emma Bravo, who had chin-length hair the color of moonbeams, a taste for bright colors and tight, short skirts—and a smile as big as Texas, which was her home state.
Dekker teased Emma that he’d missed her the last time he’d been in town.
The beauty mark by Emma’s red mouth disappeared as she grinned. “Jonas and I had a few things to…work out.” She put her hand lightly on her husband’s arm. The two shared a look that made the air shimmer with heat.
Jonas said, “She’s decided she’ll never leave me again.”
Emma’s smile was slow and knowing. “He is stuck with me now.”
Joleen thought she’d never seen a man so happy to be stuck. And she felt a little stab of something that just might have been envy.
She heard her mama’s words in her head. Passion and excitement. And magic. I want those things for you—and I want them for Dekker, too….
It was about as clear as the view through the window that looked out on the pool that Jonas and Emma had all those things. And more.
Joleen slid a glance at Dekker, who was looking at the other couple right then. And she couldn’t help thinking of that moment upstairs in the nursery, when she’d taken his arm and shivered at the feel of him under her hand.
Had that really happened?
Well, of course it had.
She knew it had.
But what did it mean?
Oh, well, what a silly question. She knew what it meant.
Something had changed. Something had…shifted. It had started last night, with the long, sweet kiss at her kitchen table, the kiss he had intended only for the benefit of the man watching them from outside, the kiss that, Joleen was reasonably sure, had meant very little to her lifelong friend.
Too bad she couldn’t say the same thing for herself.
Since that kiss, she had started seeing her best-friend-turned-husband in a whole different light. They’d barely been married for twenty-four hours. And already she was changing her mind about a few things.
Changing her mind in a large and scary way—which was probably the reason she’d felt so edgy, back in their bed/sitting room, when they got into it, again, on the issue of sleeping arrangements.
She was starting to wonder why they didn’t just forget all about this big secret they were keeping. If they went ahead and slept together, there wouldn’t be any secret to worry about. They would be married, in every way. It wouldn’t matter who spied on them, who made the bed, or who changed the towels in the bathroom. It wouldn’t matter if reporters or private detectives crept around outside their windows trying to get a glimpse of what was going on in there. All anyone who watched them would find was a pair of newlyweds doing exactly what newlyweds do.
But there was a big problem with that idea: Dekker himself. She recalled the baffled look he had given her when she’d touched him and felt what she’d always sworn she didn’t feel—not with Dekker, not with her dear, dear friend.
He just didn’t get it, didn’t see what was happening to her.
He didn’t want to get it.
Not that she could blame him. It wasn’t part of the deal, for her to go and get turned on by him. She’d told him it would take her years before she’d allow herself to get involved with a man romantically again.
And he’d made it so carefully, painfully clear that he wasn’t interested in anything like that, either. That he didn’t believe he would ever be interested.
Dead meat, he had called himself. Emotional dead meat when it came to man-woman love…
What did that mean, exactly? She should have probed further on the subject, that night a week ago, when they’d first cooked up this marriage scheme in her mother’s dark backyard.
Was he…did he mean that he couldn’t? That he wasn’t capable, physically, of making love? Was it possible that the scars Stacey had cut into his heart went that deep? That he couldn’t even share pleasure with a woman anymore?
Looking back on a few things Stacey had said during the really rough time at the end of their marriage, well, maybe there had been some problem in that area. Back then Joleen had chalked up those remarks to Stacey’s natural tendency to overdramatize every little thing. And Stacey had been so…messed up, by then. So terribly confused and out of touch with reality. She had said a lot of things that bore no relationship at all to the truth.
So most likely Dekker had meant it more in the emotional sense. That, emotionally, he wanted nothing to do with man-woman love or anything that went with it. That was how he’d put it: emotional dead meat—or had he?
Had he been the one to use the word, emotional? On deeper reflection, she couldn’t be sure. It might have been Joleen herself, putting her own spin on what he had told her.
Down the table Emma laughed. She was talking about the business she owned, a pet grooming shop in Beverly Hills. She and Jonas were making plans to open more of them.
And Dekker had turned. He was looking at her now. He had one brow lifted. Joleen knew he was wondering what she could possibly be thinking about. She sent him a quick, tight smile, shifted her glance away, picked up her fork and turned her attention to finishing her meal.
At least, she pretended to concentrate on the food.
But her mind really was a thousand miles away, tracking the past—the events that had shaped them. The people who had made them what they were.
Well, not people. One person.
Stacey…
Chapter 10
Dekker rarely would talk about Stacey. But Joleen knew most of the story, anyway.
After all, Stacey had been Joleen’s friend first. And when things got bad, Joleen was the one Stacey came to in her misery, the one Stacey confided in.
And Stacey had not always been so…difficult. So desperate and sad. At the beginning, well, she was really something. So much fun…
Like a sudden light in a dark room, blinding but welcome. That was Stacey. Joleen had been drawn to her from the moment they met—at Central States Academy of Cosmetology, when they were both nineteen.
There was something purely magical about Stacey. Something bigger than real life. It was as if she wove a spell, with the music of her laugh and the aura
that surrounded her, an aura of excitement and…what? Specialness, maybe.
Stacey was everything Joleen wished she could let herself be. Stacey never had small emotions. She cried and laughed with total abandon. She never fretted. Never worried—or that was how she came across at first. She and Joleen were about the same size, both had brown hair and dark eyes. But the resemblance ended there.
Stacey was a little like Joleen’s mother and sisters. Prone to making big drama out of the smallest events. Stacey loved roller coasters, for heaven’s sake. And she had a tattoo, which had seemed to Joleen to be so wonderfully brazen and daring. At tattoo of a blood-red snowflake, low down on her back, so low down it was really more on her bottom—the left side, just above the dimple.
“Snowflakes are the most perfect, most beautiful thing in nature,” Stacey told Joleen. “And no two of them are ever alike. And they don’t last, they are gone in a moment, melting on your tongue. Except for my snowflake. I’ll have it my whole life.”
Which, as it turned out, hadn’t been all that long.
The truth was, Dekker and Stacey were a disaster together. Their love was hot and passionate and all consuming. Their marriage had been a runaway train—something big and powerful and out of control, plummeting down from the crest of a high mountain, headed for a crash of stupendous proportions.
And Joleen was the one who had introduced them. On Easter Sunday. At her mama’s house.
Stacey didn’t have any family to speak of. Her parents had divorced when she was seven. Her mother had remarried and lived in Colorado somewhere. Stacey didn’t know where her dad was. She hadn’t seen him in ten years, she said. Stacey said she loved how, even though Joleen’s dad had died, the family hadn’t broken up. Joleen and her mother and her sisters still shared the family home. Joleen had aunts and uncles, from both sides, and they all got together on a regular basis. Stacey said she longed for that kind of family connection.
Stacey came for dinner that Easter, when she and Joleen were both nineteen. And Dekker came, too.
He’d been a little late, as Joleen remembered it. He’d had his own place for four or five years by then. But he was a dutiful son and would often visit his mother—or, rather, the woman they had all believed at the time was his mother.
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