He didn’t reply right away. He stepped even closer. His lips were a breath away from hers. He drew her arms from their defensive position and held her hands. “Tell me this, love. When there are no cameras to smile for, do we smile anyway? What do you make of what happens between us when no one’s watching?”
She peered over his shoulder to avoid his piercing eyes. Real, pretend, rebound. Her head spun like a deranged ballerina. “I don’t know.”
He dropped her hands. “Right.” The word dripped with disappointment. “Listen, you call this pretend if you like, but me, I recognize the real thing when it’s standing right in front of me.”
He whirled away and muttered something about his “rotten publicist” under his breath before slamming back through the front door.
Jack, the human tornado, had struck again.
His dramatic exit, second only to his entrance, left the place with a vague emptiness like the color in the room took its leave when he did. She’d never met a more laid back guy. A guy who believed wholeheartedly in a guiding fate that promised to take care of the blips and bumps along the road. He dedicated himself wholly to the influence of his emotions, whatever they may be, throwing them around like lightning bolts—anger, frustration, determination.
He brought every one of her senses to life regardless.
She cracked her knuckles. No more writing today. She needed a more physical outlet, and with a canceled lunch date, she had a little time on her hands.
Madeline picked up on the third ring, probably a split second before Jack would’ve hung up and redialed to avoid leaving a voice mail. This required direct assistance.
“Mum, I need help again. I’m losing my bloody mind with this woman.”
“Calm down, Jack.” She sounded more annoyed than soothing and just what he needed to hear. “What’s got your trousers in a knot?”
“Quinn, who else? I can’t figure her out for the life of me. I think I read it all wrong, Mum. It’s like she’s with me when the moments are happening but won’t acknowledge them. Won’t acknowledge us. She thinks I’ve been pretending this whole time! I can’t believe her. I can’t fathom how she’d—”
“Jack. Shut up. This isn’t Vickie you’re dealing with.”
“Oh, aye. Compared to her, this courtship is an intricate ballet of—”
“You’ve got to stop flying off the handle with these crazy metaphors. Have you considered Quinn spends half her time with you simply confused?”
It was possible, yes, but he wasn’t going to interrupt his mum a second time.
“You feel stupid not seeing through Vickie, aye? Well, imagine, if you can, how much more so for Quinn. Five years, lad. That’s an awful long time to play the fool. Try to understand what it might do to a woman’s confidence and her trust in her own instincts. And look at what the poor woman has to work with! A bloody movie star, aren’t you? You think you’re in love with her?”
“I’m absolutely in love with her.”
“Then slow down. Small steps, little reassurances every day. You’re not getting the whirlwind romance you expected, but who the hell says you’re entitled to one, eh? You found your way to her. She’s got to find hers to you. All you can do now is be there when she does.”
Quinn didn’t have Jack’s flair in the kitchen.
Actually, she didn’t have any flair in the kitchen. If it didn’t say Helper on the box or come with printed instructions, call her useless. The one exception was her mother’s brandied chicken. Her secret weapon.
Her only weapon.
Shopping in a foreign country made for an interesting life lesson. An orange was still an orange, but asking where to locate the zucchini might earn you a puzzled glance from the produce boy since the English called them courgette.
She loaded down a basket for what would be her great cooking adventure, at the same time praying she didn’t mess it up. Her cell phone chirped from her purse, but she ignored it. Food shopping demanded her full attention.
It rang yet again while she struggled to enter her apartment with an armload of grocery sacks. Jack would have to cool it. She didn’t sit around waiting for the latest gossip, and she didn’t really care how his publicist had decided to handle the matter.
The third time her phone sounded she was elbows-deep in raw chicken. She rolled her eyes. The timing of some things had to make her wonder. After she rinsed the chicken and patted it dry, preparing it for a marinade, she checked for messages.
Every call had been from Blake.
Well, she didn’t want to talk to Blake. The blame for the media storm she weathered daily sat squarely on his shoulders.
She silenced the phone and opted for an hour of editing and a quick shower while the chicken roasted. By the time she scrubbed herself clean, it might be ready. She’d only need to toss together a salad with whatever she had in the fridge.
Jack had taught her anything covered in oil and vinegar passed for a salad. No lettuce required.
She had her hair up in a towel turban and stood applying lotion to her freshly shaved legs when the phone made a jarring whirring sound as it vibrated against the hard surface of her nightstand where it sat charging. She quickly wiped the lotion from her hands and frowned at Blake’s name popping up a fourth time.
She hoped against the odds Seth was on the other end this time and answered. “Hello?”
“About time!” Blake’s thunderous shout caused her to rear back. “I’ve been trying to reach you for hours!” he boomed.
She fumbled with the phone. “Excuse me?”
“It’s Seth.” He explained through laborious huffing. “Seth ran away.”
The world stopped spinning on its axis, the heavens crashed into the earth, and she’d stepped into an alternate reality. “What?”
Seth didn’t run away. Seth didn’t cause problems and act out.
Something was terribly wrong. “Why are you calling me? Call the police! Why aren’t you out searching for him?”
“He’s home now. He’s safe.”
Relief soared through her, followed by an instantaneous urge to grab Blake by his delicates and shake him. “What’s the matter with you?” she shrieked. “You might’ve mentioned he was safe before telling me he went missing.”
“I didn’t want you to completely miss out on what a terrifying few hours it’s been. I’d hoped you might have an idea of where he’d take off to. Instead, I had to get the police involved, who luckily found him at some park down the road sitting on a bench blocked from the street.”
“There’s something going on, Blake, something you’re not telling me. He wouldn’t take off without a good reason.”
“There’s a reason, all right. He’s an emotional kid who misses his mother. How’s that for a reason? What’s it going to take for you to call an end to this little party you’re having and come home?”
“Put him on the phone.” She wouldn’t be guilt-tripped. Not by Blake, not by anyone. She’d given Seth the choice and was no less of a mother for doing so.
“He locked himself in his room. Maybe now’s not a good time.”
“Then why’d you call me? Put him on the damn phone.”
Blake’s muffled voice convinced Seth to unlock the door and take the phone. The door slammed, and he came on.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Tell me you didn’t slam the door on your father.”
“He did it, not me!”
“Okay, okay.” She adopted the same soothing tone she’d used his whole life. “What I need from you is an explanation. What’s going on over there, Seth? Your dad said he’s having problems, and this isn’t like you. Talk to me.”
A dramatic groan. “First, promise I’m still going to London when they go on the honeymoon. It’s not fair I have to stay here.”
“Stay there? You can’t stay there if you wanted to. No one will be in town to take care of you.”
“Dad said if I didn’t go to Lewis’s tonight, he wouldn’t buy the plane tick
et.”
A few beats passed. Dots refused to connect. “What’re you talking about?”
Seth groaned again, an impatient teenage groan he was welcome to outgrow any day. “Dad and Kira were supposed to go to a party tonight. Hunter stays with Kira’s sister, but I go to Lewis’s on the weekends. When I called, Lewis said his mom has the flu, and I can’t stay over. When I told Dad, he got mad and said I had to, or he wouldn’t send me to London.”
Quinn pulled the towel from her head and shook out her hair before it dried in the shape of a funnel, wrapped it around her body, and sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re joking, right? What about Aunt Em? Can you stay with her tonight?”
“She’s at a conference in San Francisco. Grandpa went, too.”
That explained the lack of sisterly phone calls lately.
“Dad said it was probably a cold, but it’s not like I can make her say yes. She’s been getting upset anyway because Lewis never stays over here anymore. Kira says no every time I ask.”
Quinn rubbed her forehead. “Okay, listen to me. You’re going to put your dad back on the line, but first, let me be clear, Seth. The next time you pull a stunt that requires the police to get involved, no matter how justified it seems, there will be consequences beyond losing video-game privileges. Got it?”
“Got it.” The confirmation was appropriately solemn.
More muffled sounds and a short pause brought Blake back on the line. “I hope you read him the riot act.”
“You son of a bitch.”
“What? Quinn, he—”
“Where in the hell do you get off judging me on my parenting? You threatened your own child because you can’t go out, which, unless Seth is a big, fat liar, is something you and Kira do every weekend. Lewis’s mother has the flu, Blake. The flu.” She paused to catch her breath.
Blake took the silence as an opportunity. “It’s not even flu season. Besides, you don’t know Kira when it comes to getting what she wants.”
A bitter chuckle escaped her. “Well, that’s odd. I believe I know better than most. I’ll admit I’m being selfish for once in my life, but you’re just being a bastard.”
“You’re overreacting.”
Her jaw worked, and she stood on unsteady limbs, trembling with ire. She wouldn’t do this any longer. Not to herself, not to her son. “You win, Blake. I’m done fighting. You don’t want him around, and he isn’t your biggest fan, either. When you buy his ticket don’t bother purchasing round-trip because he’s not coming back. Make sure your good-bye is the real deal, you understand? You won’t be seeing him again. You and Kira deserve each other. Neither of you is worthy of a kid like Seth.”
“You can’t keep him in London. I still have primary custody, remember? No judge will allow it.”
She’d have to try a little harder to shake him of his iron confidence. “There’s going to be a new judge soon. I’m going to go for full custody. This is what you’ve wanted from the beginning; let’s not pretend otherwise. You might as well sign over your rights now and send them on over with Seth.”
“Then what? I’ll pay child support?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. This was the man she’d been crazy about? “You won’t have a child. No child, no support. Get it? I’m. Taking. Your. Rights. Away. It also means you’ll no longer be getting a check from me each month. I hope you and Kira are prepared for a bit of a lifestyle change.” She tapped her lip with her index finger. “Let’s see, what else? Oh, yeah, my name is still on the house deed, and I want my half. I guess this means we’ll have to sell and split the assets.”
“But you love this house.”
“Sure, but I don’t live there anymore, do I? How do you suppose Kira’s going to feel about downgrading? Not that you don’t make a fine income, but a house like that’s a little outside your budget once you lose the lovely little cushion my child support’s been providing.”
It had never occurred to her how easy it would be to turn Blake’s world upside down. She had an entire store of weapons she’d never considered using until now. “I’ve never thanked you, have I?”
“For what?”
She didn’t blame him for the suspicious note in his voice.
“For everything. Your public affair freed me from alimony payments to a slimy, cheating husband, for one. Special thanks to Kira for her sloppiness, forgetting to delete those very interesting e-mails from the company server. There’s also the prenup you convinced me to sign. You remember, don’t you, how you were going to be the big breadwinner?” She let out a long, winded laugh. “Isn’t it funny how things work out?”
He didn’t sound amused. “Hilarious.”
“I mean, I came out of the divorce with every penny I’ve ever made off book sales. It’s quite a lot of pennies, isn’t it? You should’ve done some skimming when you had the chance, but maybe you never imagined you’d need to with your quiet mouse of a wife. Give you my house, give you my son, walk away without asking for a thing. Well, now I want what’s mine.” She lowered her voice. “Your next call should be to your lawyer.”
The only reply came from the click of Blake hanging up.
For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction; for every up, a down.
Therefore, it stands for every healing tirade against a worthless ex-husband, there is a roasted chicken becoming tire rubber in the oven.
Quinn gripped the towel still wrapped around her damp body and made a mad dash for the kitchen. She almost ran smack into Jack as he stood over the perfectly roasted chicken with a mean carving knife in his hand and a wicked grin on his face.
His head-to-toe perusal made her skin tingle. “If I assigned you a dress code, that right there would be it.”
From cold to hot in point-three seconds. Had to be a new record. She rolled her eyes in an attempt to cast off some of the heat in the room and shuffled away to get dressed. Another smoldering glance from those incredible eyes and she’d have dropped her towel, no questions asked.
When she returned, donning yoga pants and a formfitting scoop-necked T-shirt, Jack surprised her by taking her hand, twirling her around once, bringing her in close, and planting a spectacular kiss right on her lips. She suspected he’d meant it as a quick smack of a thing, a playful smooch. Instead, their lips met like rising dough, clingy and warm.
Heat started low in her belly and climbed, making a furnace of her body. When it reached her face, she broke away to issue a breathless cry. “What on Earth was that for?”
His hands on her arms kept her from moving too far away. “This.” He indicated with a nod the meal he’d helped make table-ready. “And you’re stunning. And I quite fancy you.”
She took a step back. Thank God she’d swapped in the towel for real clothes. How much could a warm-blooded woman be expected to take without falling prey to her baser instincts? Jack was trouble; delicious, delicious trouble. Time for a safer topic. “I had lettuce after all, huh?”
He didn’t say anything. He studied her for a moment as if trying to read her mind.
Good luck with that. Even she didn’t have a clue what was going on in there half the time, especially now with half her brain still lost in the kiss and at least a third of it experiencing a full-blown panic attack.
He pressed his lips together, nodded once, and sat. “Lovely color.” He filled his plate with one of everything: thigh, leg, wing, and breast.
“Thanks.” She sat next to him and took the other thigh before he went for seconds. “Brandy. It’s the only true recipe I have in my arsenal.”
“You don’t need an arsenal. I’ll share mine.” He licked drippings from his thumb and closed his eyes. “Hmm. This is great.”
The rest of their meal proceeded in comfortable silence, a silence that lasted up until Jack’s curiosity had met its threshold for patience.
“Want to tell me about it?” He stood by the sink drying the last dish while she prepared the kettle for tea.
She mustered her most wide-
eyed, slack-jawed expression of innocence. “About what?”
A pointed glance informed her he didn’t find her the least bit amusing. “I seem to learn more from walking in on your conversations than I do from speaking to you directly.”
“There’s an easy fix for that. Quit eavesdropping.”
Not an ounce of shame showed on his face. “I keep telling myself I should, but I’m so terribly curious. It’s a disease. And you make it wonderfully easy, leaving doors ajar and whatnot. Say no if you don’t want to talk about it, but don’t pretend it didn’t happen.”
She let out a puff of air that sent a strand of hair flying toward the ceiling. “C’mon, Dr. Phil. The couch awaits.”
With their mugs of tea in hand, they congregated to the living room and took places side by side on the couch. “Whenever you’re ready.”
She sipped the hot chamomile tea. “Yes, thank you, Doctor. Um, where to start?” She glanced at the ceiling. “Oh, yes, my son ran away from home because my ex-husband is a douche. My son. My darling, well-behaved son is turning into a kid I don’t even recognize. He doesn’t call like he used to; he’s surly and unhappy. Something is going on, something no one in L.A. wants to tell me about.”
Starting with a joke hadn’t helped. She set her mug down on the coffee table and pulled her hands into her lap. “I’ve made a huge mistake leaving him behind. I chose being a friend over being his mother. I wanted him to be happy, to have his friends, to stay in the same school. I hoped Blake might—”
“Hold on, there. Let me ask you something, Quinnie. Is it your fault Blake is a crap father?”
She shook her head. “No, but it’s my fault I left Seth with his crap father, isn’t it? What does Blake know about taking care of him? Nothing. Not a thing. I taught Seth everything. How to ride his bike, how to bait a fishing hook, how to check the breaker box when a fuse goes out. Blake was never home to do any of those things.”
Men Like This Page 15