by Edie Claire
In one swift movement, he pulled her close again and kissed her soundly.
He seemed determined to prove how much he wanted her, and his effort was impressive indeed. It would have been the perfect tonic had she not been reminded of the considerably less impressive peck on the cheek he had delivered a few hours earlier.
It had bothered her then, but she hadn’t been sure why. Now she knew. Pecks on the cheek were not her husband’s style, regardless of circumstances or audience. He had avoided kissing her on the lips because his own had just been elsewhere.
“Teagan! What’s wrong?”
She had pulled away from him without thinking.
He exhaled with frustration.
The annoyance in his eyes jerked her back to reality. Yes, of course Jamie had wanted to kiss him; he was gorgeous, what woman wouldn’t? And of course he wouldn’t want to make things any more complicated between the two women than they already were.
It didn’t matter, did it? He hadn’t kissed Jamie back.
Not even for a second?
Teagan forced back the unwelcome thought. Eric was her best friend, their marriage was rock solid, and if she was stupid enough to risk alienating him over a crime he didn’t commit, she didn’t deserve a faithful husband in the first place.
She did not answer the question, hastening instead to pick up where they had left off. But although Eric was cooperative, his ardor seemed to have cooled, and when they broke apart he turned away from her and wordlessly fetched the box of dish detergent from under the sink, poured it in the holder, and shut the dishwasher door.
Teagan stood silently herself, her heart thudding. She wasn’t used to things being awkward between them. She certainly wasn’t used to his being angry.
But he was. He did not look at her as he pushed the start button on the machine and then turned around to lean against the counter. He folded his arms over his chest, his eyes focused on some distant point in space.
“Just ask me,” he said finally, his voice brusque.
Teagan lifted her head to look at him, but his gaze remained elsewhere. “Ask you what?”
“Whatever it is you want to ask,” he retorted. “You obviously can’t let it go.”
En garde!
Teagan’s ego may have been cowering since the tea kettle whistled, but with that accusation of weakness, it rallied and sprang back for the challenge.
She turned toward him and placed her hands on his shoulders. “I can let it go,” she declared. “I said I trusted you, and I mean that.” Her voice caught a little, despite herself. “I know you can’t control what Jamie does.”
Eric’s gaze softened. He smiled at her. “Thank you for that.”
She should have shut up then. She really should have. But there were too many other unanswered questions torturing her mind, and the elephant was already in the room. She might as well get a good look at it before shooing it away.
“I do want to ask you something else, though,” she said quickly, before she could think better of it. “You don’t have to answer me if you don’t want to.”
Eric exhaled uncomfortably. “What’s that?”
Fabulous. Now he’s mad again.
Teagan forged on. “It’s about the past; not the present. I just want to know why the two of you broke up.”
Eric’s eyes rolled. “Why is it that both—” he bit off the words sharply. Only after several second’s worth of inner struggle did he begin again. “If I satisfy your curiosity on that one point, will you promise to drop the subject?”
Teagan nodded mutely.
He stared back at her with skepticism, but to her relief, he kept talking. “It was pretty straightforward. When she was working as a waitress she flirted with all the men, but with the biggest tippers, she could be shameless. If you know her at all, I’m sure that won’t shock you. But one night I walked in and found her sitting on some middle-aged man’s lap, and I called her on it. I thought I was being protective; honestly, the guy looked like bad news to me. But she thought I was being controlling, and she flipped out. We got into a shouting match right there in the restaurant, and that was the end of it.”
Teagan digested the information silently, trying to picture her mild-mannered husband yelling at a waitress in a restaurant. She had a difficult time doing so. The fleeting thought that perhaps he had been more passionate back then made her guts twist, and she dismissed it.
“Did you talk afterwards?” she asked carefully, not knowing how long his willingness to share was going to last. “Try to patch things up?”
“No.”
He said nothing else immediately. His brow was creased in concentration, as if he were trying to figure something out for himself.
Teagan was leaning against the counter beside him, and although her body was within inches of his, every millimeter seemed a mile. She wanted to press herself against his chest and feel his arms around her, but she feared that any move on her part might make him stop talking.
“I thought about it,” he said finally. “But I guess I figured that if she cared about me at all, she would have understood why I reacted the way I did. I could have made the first move myself, apologized for making a scene. But at first I was too angry; I really did think she was out of line.”
“She was,” Teagan agreed. Possessive behavior was a red flag every woman should watch out for, true. But how Jamie could mistake a simple case of jealousy and wounded male pride for anything more sinister was beyond her—not when Eric clearly hadn’t a controlling bone in his body. If Jamie hadn’t realized that, she didn’t know him at all.
Eric turned to his wife with a smile, and her heart warmed. He reached out a hand and brushed a lock of hair behind her shoulder. “You’ve never been one to play mind games, Teagan. That’s one of the things I love about you.”
She grinned back. “Name something else.”
“That you don’t ask me a lot of dicey questions about my past?”
She pursed her lips. “Hmm. Better try again.”
He frowned. “I was hoping we were done.”
“Almost,” she said quickly. “But you were about to say something else. After you got over being angry, what then? You—” Teagan swallowed. Damn, this was hard. But she had to know. It was the wondering that was killing her. “You don’t usually give up easily, and you obviously felt something for her.”
Eric rubbed his hands over his face in a gesture of weariness, then turned again to face her. “Look, Teagan. If you want to know the truth, what attracted me the most about Jamie was the same quality that attracted me to you. You both have this… fighting spirit, I guess, that’s incredibly strong. You’re independent, you’re self-confident—you make a person believe that if you set your mind to it, you can move mountains. I like that. If you think about it, it’s probably a big part of why you like each other.”
With a swift movement, he put one arm around her waist and brought her closer. “But hear this. There are also huge differences between the two of you, and one of the biggest is that whereas you feel this crazy need to save the world, all Jamie’s drive and ambition is dedicated to Jamie. I knew the woman was self-absorbed five minutes after I met her, but it took that ridiculous argument to bring home just how little I really mattered to her. She had no interest in committing herself to a long-term relationship—not to me, maybe not to anybody. Not that I was looking for marriage at that point, but I knew what I wanted down the road. I am the marrying kind, as you know.”
Teagan smiled and melted against him.
He kissed her lightly on the lips. “Now are we done? Are you satisfied?”
I wish.
She could not think what to say. She was relieved to know that the breakup had been mutual, that Eric wasn’t still holding a torch for a woman who had dumped him. She was deeply touched by his perception in comparing her character to Jamie’s, and she even appreciated his unwillingness to sow further discord between the women by dwelling on Jamie’s misbehavior.
>
But she still felt sick inside.
Eric did not wait for an answer, but pulled her to him and kissed her again. He seemed more relaxed now, no doubt relieved to be done with the burden of talking. Teagan should have been relieved too. Yet as much as she craved the comfort of being close to him, she remained inexplicably uneasy. The more passionate he became, the more she felt herself stiffen, her mind plagued with thoughts she had no business thinking.
Jamie didn’t want him then. But what if she does now?
He knew what she was like—he slept with her anyway.
She had ways of keeping him happy.
Eric let go of Teagan abruptly and walked out of the kitchen.
Teagan stood frozen a moment, staring after him, her pulse pounding in her ears. He hadn’t rejected her; she had just rejected him. She’d been fighting him the whole time, could she really expect him not to notice?
“Eric, wait!” She followed him into the living room. He dropped onto the couch without speaking, and she hurried to his side.
“I’m having a hard time with this,” she confessed, all ego temporarily banished. “I’m not blaming you for anything, I swear. But I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t get these images out of my head.”
He turned to face her. His blue-gray eyes were angry, but she knew his anger wasn’t directed at her. She understood it because she shared it. Having the specter of Jamie drive a wedge between them in such a primal way, despite both their best efforts, was beyond infuriating.
“She has a better body than I do,” Teagan blurted.
The words reached her own ears before she knew she was saying them. The voice doing the talking was so pathetic, so insecure, she felt a strong urge to hit the floor running and not stop till she was out the front door. Eric did not respond immediately, and in the single second before he turned to her with an expression of shock, she fantasized that maybe he hadn’t heard her.
But he had, of course. And just as she was deciding that the best course of action was indeed to run for the door, he caught both her arms and swiveled himself to face her.
He shook his head in disbelief. “What did you just say?”
Teagan sighed and gave up. “You heard me.”
He had every right to look shocked, and not because what she had said was untrue. That she was flat-chested and had hips as straight as a boy’s was a fact. What she shouldn’t be, what Teagan Raye Hansen had never been, was insecure about herself. Other women might throw out such statements of humility just to fish for a compliment, but Teagan loathed such neediness. She was perfectly happy with, and proud of, her own body—whatever its imperfections.
Just so long as she was not imagining her husband running his hands over a better one.
Eric’s mouth opened, but she seemed to have left him speechless.
She stood up. “Can we both just forget I said that?”
He found his voice and stood up next to her. “Is that really what’s bothering you?” His tone was suddenly lighter, almost humorous.
She didn’t know whether to be offended or relieved.
“Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Teagan,” he said incredulously, “I’m sitting here thinking that deep down you’re hating me, that you’re never going to forgive me for all this mess… and you’re worried about—”
“Don’t say it,” she barked. “Once was enough.” She forced herself to hold his gaze, even though a part of her still wanted to bolt for the door. How had this conversation gotten so out of control? “I do not hate you. How could you even think that? I told you I don’t blame you for any of this.”
“And I told you that you have nothing to worry about,” he retorted. “But you keep pulling away from me. What am I supposed to think?”
“That I’ve lost my freaking mind? I don’t know!” her strangled voice was catching again. Embarrassed, she launched herself into his arms and pressed her forehead to his shoulder, hiding her face. “Why, Eric?” she muttered into the fabric of his shirt. “Why do you have to have an ex with the body of a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model? How am I supposed to compete with that?”
She could feel laughter rumbling in his chest; his arms squeezed her tight. “You don’t have to,” he said gently. “You’ve already won.”
Good answer.
“But,” he continued more sternly, pushing her away from him just enough to look at her. “I should be insulted you think I’m so shallow. You can’t seriously think body type is all I care about?”
If it is, do I still win?
He pressed her close to him again, and the last of Teagan’s defenses, if not her mental qualms, were overpowered by his sheer physical allure. “If you’re going to accuse me of not being attracted to you, Mrs. Hansen,” he murmured in her ear, “you’ve got a very poor case. Have I not been presenting clear evidence to the contrary, at least once every twenty-four hours for the past six months?”
Teagan let out a chuckle. He had her there. God knew she wanted him just as badly—to hell with the rest of it.
She looked up at him with a wet-eyed smile. “Case dismissed.”
Chapter Nineteen
Jamie got up and turned off the ancient television. She had hoped that the lame antenna with its digital converter box might pick up something that would capture her attention, but it had not. Her attention remained where it had been all day—inside herself. The process of rediscovery was brutal, heady, and exhausting at the same time. She had enough of her memory back that she knew where she had come from, and she knew who she was. But the closer her memory inched toward the last year of her life, the more the same vague, haunting fear gnawed at her insides like a piranha.
She knew who she had been, yes. But she was not at all sure, on the night she nearly died, who it was that she had become.
She sat back on the bed and chewed a fingernail. It was Saturday night. She had been taken to the ER in the wee hours of the morning on Thursday. If she had a job, she had missed at least two days of it. If she had friends, they had been out of communication for three. Her neighbors wouldn’t have seen her, either. Surely a roommate would be wondering.
Did she have a roommate?
Her brow furrowed. She had always had roommates; ever since giving up that first apartment she couldn’t afford. But she had never wanted them. Having a place of her own was another fantasy of the future, along with managing a restaurant and telling other people where to shove it. Had she gotten her wishes?
Or was her “roommate” the one who had split her head open?
Her good hand flew to her scalp. The stapled wound was less sore now, but it was beginning to itch. Ten staples had been required to close the skin; she must have bled like a gusher. Her arm ached almost constantly, but she was getting used to that. She had a high pain tolerance, born of years of aching back and feet and a deep-seated fear that medication would dull her much needed wits.
She fell back on her pillow with a bounce. She was exhausted, but she couldn’t sleep. The hot soup hadn’t helped, and neither had the shower. An urge persisted within her, an urge with which she was unfamiliar. She wanted to talk to someone.
She was lonely.
She stared up at the ceiling in the darkness. She and Teagan had often talked late into the night while gazing up into the rafters of the loft in Teagan’s grandparents’ cabin. Jamie had slept over nearly as often as not, and it was at night that they became real confidants. Teagan didn’t ramble and boast so much when she was tired, and Jamie was braver about voicing her fears. Never mind her grief.
It meant a lot to her, in those first horrible months after her mother’s death, to have Teagan to cling to. Even though Jamie didn’t always talk about exactly what was bothering her, Teagan had been willing to listen and had always seemed to know—whether with a touch of the hand, a smile, or a laugh-out-loud joke—just how to make her feel better.
That Teagan should amazingly appear again now, in the midst of the second most traumati
c event in Jamie’s life, was enough to make her reevaluate her doubt of the supernatural. Without Teagan, she would be living in some women’s shelter now, listening to other people’s babies cry and begging for cab fare. With Teagan, she had more than safe shelter. She had a sister again.
The image of mud raining down on two giggling twelve-year-olds made Jamie chuckle to herself, shaking the mattress. Did Teagan remember that, too?
The ceremony might have been done in fun, but Jamie had meant every word of it. She had wanted Teagan as a blood sister, even more than she wanted an adoptive parent. No one could ever replace her mother, but the link to Teagan and her grandparents would have been enough, had it lasted. It doubtless would have served her far better than the parade of uncommitted foster families with which she had actually grown up.
Jamie’s heart warmed at the memory of sit-down meals with Teagan’s grandparents. She had had her own spot at the table, where she sat every time, and Teagan’s grandmother had always made sure the pepper shaker was within reach. She had not only felt welcome, she had felt wanted. She wondered if the whole family got together for holidays. It would be so wonderful if—
Oh, hell.
Jamie groaned and rolled over onto her side.
How could she forget?
It was like one big, cruel joke.
Why, oh why, did Eric have to turn out to be Teagan’s husband? He could have been her brother, her neighbor, her boss, her plumber… but no. He had to be the one thing standing in the way of Jamie’s second—and perhaps last—chance at family.
Her thoughts flew unwittingly to the feel of his lips in that accidental, ill-advised, and yet very satisfying instant before he had pushed her away. It had taken him at least a second to do so. Perhaps because he was shocked. Perhaps because he was enjoying himself.
He had loved her once; she was sure of that. If not for Teagan, Eric might be back in Jamie’s bed right now. And this time around, things could be different with him. She wouldn’t freak out over a little possessiveness; maybe she would even encourage it. What if, instead of guarding her independence so fiercely, she allowed herself to return his feelings? Surely, if she made a point of trying—