Making Over Maris

by Sabrina York

  He set his teeth. “They’re nonrefundable.”

  “They are?”

  “Yes. And I want you to go.”

  “You do?”

  He kissed her. And kissed her again. “I do.” He did. As difficult as it would be with her gone, as hard as it was to put her on a plane, she wanted this. Had dreamed of this. And by God he was giving it to her. “You should have a wonderful thirtieth birthday. You deserve it.”

  Why tears sprang to her eyes, he didn’t know. But then there was so much about women he simply didn’t understand.

  Like why her lip trembled as she looked up at him. Why she asked in a wobbly voice, “Won’t you come with me?”

  The egg foo yong curled in his belly. “To Paris?” What was that, an eleven-hour flight?

  “Oh yes, Jack.” Her eyes shimmered. “Think how much fun it would be. We could—”

  “I can’t.” Even thinking about it made his pulse race.

  Her face fell as she remembered.

  What a coward he was. A quivering, gutless wonder who couldn’t get on a plane without having a panic attack.

  “Of course.” She crumpled the tickets in her lap.

  “But that you’d like me to go, to spend that special day with you, Sara, that means a lot.”

  She tipped up her chin. Hell. The tears were back. He kissed them away. “What if I ordered you to?” Her voice quavered when she said it.

  He chuckled but it was a lame attempt at humor. “I can’t.”

  Her sigh tugged at his heart. “I don’t want to go alone.”

  “You won’t be alone, remember? I hired you an escort.” Yeah. Another guy. To squire her around town. In his place. He was delighted about that. But she’d asked for it.

  She gaped at him and then smacked him. “You didn’t.”

  “You said you wanted one.”

  “I was kidding, Jack!”

  He blinked. “How was I supposed to know that?”

  “Seriously. You didn’t hire one.”

  “I did.” She’d said she wanted one, for Christ’s sake.

  She dissolved in a laugh. “Oh Jack.”

  “You are still going to go, aren’t you? It is your dream? I booked dinner for you on your birthday. For you and—what’s his name, Philippe?—at Le Jules Verne Restaurant on the second level of the Eiffel Tower. It’s fancy, tablecloths even, so you’ll want to dress up.”

  “I don’t want to have dinner with Philippe.”

  “He’s super hot.”

  “But he’s not you.”

  Aw. Now that made him tear up.

  She tried to shove the tickets back at him but he wouldn’t take them.

  “Sara, you held up your end of the bargain. Now I’m holding up mine. I want you to go. I want you to have fun.” And not think about what a sniveling yellowbelly he was.

  It had only been a little plane crash. And he’d been pretty young. Why the hell wasn’t he over it by now? Every plane that took off didn’t plummet to the ground. There was evidence to that fact. People walking around who had lived to tell about it.

  Still, the memories of the sickening plunging sensation, the horror of the oxygen masks popping out and dangling down, all the screaming. Aunt Linda’s sharp claws sinking into his arm… He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t.

  “Jack, I can’t.”

  “You’re going, Sara.” And, by God, she was.

  Even if he had to get bossy.

  When Sara walked into her office Monday morning, flowers were waiting for her. Lots of flowers. It was like a florist’s shop. She smiled at the bouquets and sniffed a rose.

  Bless Jack. He was so thoughtful. She’d only just left his place but somehow he’d managed to have these flowers delivered before she arrived.

  As though she had conjured him up, he stepped behind her and slipped his arm around her waist. “Mmm. Flowers.” His voice rumbled in her ear.

  “They are beautiful. I love roses.”

  He nibbled on her neck the way she liked. “Who are they from?”

  She spun around and gaped at him. “These aren’t from you?”

  He blinked. “I don’t think so.”

  Her fingers trembled as she fumbled through the blooms and found a card—

  Oh. Crap.

  She blanched. “They’re from Todd.”

  Jack stilled. He stared at her. His mouth opened. Closed. Same deal with his fingers. He paled. “Why…why would Todd be sending you flowers?”

  She sat in her seat with a thud. “Apparently he wants me to call him back.”

  Jack swallowed. His Adam’s apple made the long, slow journey down and back. “Are you going to? Call him?”

  Exasperation curled in her gut. “I wasn’t. But now…”

  “But now? A couple dozen roses—”

  “Six.”

  “Six dozen roses and now you’ll call him back?”

  “Only to tell him—”

  A muscle bunched in his cheek. “Nah. That’s okay. I get it.”

  Her heart hitched at his expression. “No. Jack. You don’t.”

  “Sara—”

  “No. Sit down and shut up.” He didn’t look as if he was going to obey so she repeated herself in a sterner tone. In that tone.

  Like a puppet, he dropped into the chair by her desk. She got up and closed the door then came back to her desk and sat facing him.

  How was she going to say this?

  He deserved the best she had to offer—and that meant honesty. As difficult as that would be for her.

  “He broke my heart, Jack. I offered him something I thought was very special and he tossed it back in my face.” God, those words were tough to say. But they became easier. Easier as the truth spilled out. “I don’t want to be with him. I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t even want to see him.” She took his hands in hers. “I want to be with you. Can you understand that? I love what we have. But more than that, I love that you love it. Does that make any sense?”

  His nostrils flared but he said nothing. His eyes, however, glowed.

  “You don’t make me feel bad about myself. You don’t make me want to crawl into a hole and hide. He did. I like who I am with you. Okay?”

  “O-okay.”

  “So you’re not allowed to be jealous of Todd. Not allowed to even think about Todd. He no longer exists to me.”

  “But what about all these flowers?”

  “I’ll throw them out.”

  His nostrils flared. “They were expensive.”

  “I don’t care.”

  He took one of the exquisite blooms from the vase and pulled off a velvet petal. Rubbed it between his fingers. She could tell he was thinking, that an idea was simmering in his brilliant mind.

  “What?”

  He shot her a scorching leer. “I’m thinking we should get into the hot tub tonight.”

  She blinked. Not what she’d expected but… “Okay.”

  “The hot tub filled with rose petals.”

  “Ah. That would be interesting.” And then she barked a laugh. “But Jack, what would that do to the alkalinity?”

  His gaze spoke volumes. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a shit.”

  * * * * *

  “I need to talk to you.”

  Sara blinked and struggled to emerge from a fog. She’d been engaged in an intensive review of the Sydney presentation and this interruption shattered her concentration.

  When she realized who was standing in the doorway of her office, her jaw dropped. Todd, holding yet another bouquet of flowers. He was tall and handsome and sexy. She waited for her heart to thump.

  Nothing. Not so much as a quiver.

  He shot her that here-I-am-you-lucky-girl smile he’d perfected. “Hi, baby.” He froze when he noticed six dozen rose stems poking from the vases—all completely denuded. Her desk looked like an angry hedgehog. She and Jack had played a game of “She Dominates Me, She Dominates Me Not” in preparation for this evening, collecting the harvested p
etals in a bag for a later frolic. She was very excited about their date—the last before her trip to Paris. “She Dominates Me” had won.

  “Todd, what are you doing here?”

  “I came to talk to you.”

  She set her teeth. “I thought I told you. It’s over.”

  He shut the door then plopped down in a chair. “I know you weren’t serious.”

  “Wasn’t I?” She was pretty sure she was. Serious.

  He thrust the flowers at her. She didn’t take them so he dropped them on her desk. On a spot that was not already littered with vases. “Of course not, baby. We were so good together.”

  “Were we?” Funny. She didn’t remember it that way. She remembered always feeling inadequate. As though she was never quite good enough for him.

  “Sure we were.”

  She glared at him. “Listen, Todd. When I told you it was over, I meant it.”

  “You’re pouting because I didn’t play along with your stupid game.”

  “My…stupid game?” Yeah. He’d called it that once before. “It’s not a game. It’s something I enjoy. And frankly,” she spat, “I’ve found someone who enjoys it as much as I do.”

  Todd gulped. “What?”

  “Yep. I’m seeing someone else, Todd. So when I say it’s over, you can believe it. Now get out.”

  “But, Sara. Baby.”

  She nearly snarled. She hated when men called her “baby”. She always had. She’d told him not to call her that a thousand times and he still— Oh what the hell. Why was she even bothering?

  She stood and crossed to the door. Flung it open. “Leave.”

  “But—”

  “Leave or I’ll call security.” By security, she meant Jack. She’d call Jack. He’d probably enjoy smacking the crap out of this worm.

  “Okay. Okay. Jesus, Sara. No need to be a bitch.”

  Seriously? Did he just call her a bitch?

  She set her teeth. “I guess I am a bitch, Todd. Now fuck off.”

  He stood and stormed from the office toward the elevators. He only winced a little when she bellowed, “And stop sending me flowers!”

  * * * * *

  Jack tried to calm his heart. Nothing was working. Not the yoga breathing, not the mantra thingy, not the visualization crap. Nothing. Panic skirled in his soul.

  He’d gone by to take Sara a midafternoon coffee and been poleaxed to see Todd sitting with her in her office.

  It hadn’t been the sight of that asshat in her office with her—with the door closed—that had devastated him as much as the expression on her face when she spoke to him.

  He knew that expression.

  He’d thought it belonged to him and him alone.

  Apparently he’d been wrong.

  He’d contemplated marching in there and coldcocking the fucker but his courage had flailed. He couldn’t bear it if Sara had changed her mind. If she chose Surfer Turd over him.

  She’d insisted she wanted nothing to do with him. She’d been fairly adamant. But Jack just couldn’t banish that niggle of doubt. He’d always suspected he wasn’t good enough for Sara. He’d hate to have his doubts confirmed. Losing her now that he’d had her would destroy him.

  Goddamn Todd for coming back now. Right when he and Sara were starting to gel. Their relationship too new. But so sweet. So comfortable. And sometimes not comfortable in the slightest. At least for him. But damn it, he liked it that way.

  He swallowed the bile surging in his throat.

  Goddamn it. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t.

  He would do whatever it took to keep her. Win her.

  Anything. Anything.

  Trouble was, she was leaving tomorrow for a week in Paris.

  She’d have a week to think about Todd. A week to compare them.

  Jack was sure the comparison would not be in his favor. And that sucked.

  But he had tonight. He had tonight.

  He would invest every ort of his being into convincing her he was the man for her.

  He stilled as an idea, a wonderful, horrifying, scintillating idea blossomed.

  Could he? Dare he?

  Fuck yes. He would.

  Flooded with sheer determination—and a healthy dose of terror—he went in search of Jenny.

  * * * * *

  That night they made love in the hot tub surrounded by rose petals and then, because Todd had been so generous, they made love in a bed filled with rose petals as well. Jack made a point of sprinkling them all over the room.

  He dedicated himself to Sara’s pleasure, to adoring her, to showing her everything he felt and more.

  He hoped it could be enough to tip the balance in his favor but he wasn’t the kind of man to leave anything to chance.

  Plan B was in effect. Jenny had come through in spades.

  He could only hope it would be enough.

  And that it wasn’t too late.

  * * * * *

  Tuesday was a bad day. Partly because Sara had taken the day off to pack—Jack had always hated it when she wasn’t here but now it was even worse, knowing she wasn’t fifty-five-and-a-half paces away.

  But the real reason Tuesday sucked was because that morning Kenny called.

  “Jack…” His voice trembled over the line.

  Jack’s heart thudded. Kenny never called in sick. “What is it?” he croaked through a dry throat.

  “It’s Calvin. He won’t wake up.”

  “Shit.” Goddamn Calvin. “Did you call 9-1-1?”

  “Yes. They’re sending an ambulance. But…”

  Jack could hear the grief, the anguish in Kenny’s tone. “Yeah, Kenny?”

  “Can you come?”

  Fuck, yeah. “I’ll be right over.” He dropped his cell phone on the desk and scrambled for his jacket and was out the door in two seconds.

  He didn’t even tell Tristan he was leaving.

  * * * * *

  Sara checked her watch.

  She stood on her porch surrounded by her bags, waiting.

  Jack was supposed to pick her up and take her to the airport at six. It was a quarter past. She fished out her cell phone and checked her messages. She had one call from a number she didn’t recognize and three from Todd but nothing from Jack. With a growl, she punched in his number but it rang and rang and then went to voice mail. When she called his home number, she got the same response.

  Damn it. She’d miss her plane if he didn’t come soon.

  Traffic in the Valley—especially around Bob Hope Airport—was awful at this hour.

  In the end she called Kat, who came over and drove her to the airport. But they got there too late and Sara missed her flight. Thank God for Kat, Kat who could flutter her eyelashes at a ticket agent and convince him to get Sara on a flight to Chicago that arrived in time for her to make her connection to Paris.

  Sara fumed that Jack had forgotten to pick her up. But twined with that annoyance was a trickle of concern. And confusion.

  Jack had never let her down before. Not like this.

  She wasn’t sure what to make of it.

  But it didn’t feel good.

  She stewed about it. All the way to France.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Paris was beautiful. Everything she’d always dreamed it would be. Charming and continental and romantic. The food was delicious, from the croissants and chocolat chaud at the street-side café to the crepes to the coq au vin at the bistro across the street from her hotel. The shopping was phenomenal. The sights were fascinating…

  And Sara was miserable.

  Because Jack wasn’t here. And she couldn’t reach him. And she missed him terribly.

  And he hadn’t even said goodbye.

  Philippe, her gigolo, was nice, if a tad too young. And perhaps a bit too familiar at times.

  Jack had certainly done a good job picking him out. He was handsome. He was charming and suave and a very good tour guide. He was able to gauge Sara’s mood and suggest the right clubs, the right re
staurants, the right pursuits to please her.

  It was damn annoying. She longed for someone to misunderstand her cues or say something utterly ridiculous. Or fart like a motorboat.

  She longed for Jack.

  She tried to enjoy her birthday. It fell on the midpoint of her trip. That morning Philippe picked her up at the hotel and took her on a brunch cruise on the Seine. And then they visited the Basilica of the Sacré-Cœur. And then they took a stroll in the open-air art displays of Montmartre. When she got tired, he took her back to the hotel for a nap.

  “I will return at six,” he said, bending to kiss her hand. She tried not to be irritated by his chivalry. “Tonight I take you to la tour Eiffel pour le dîner.”

  “Bon,” she said with a sigh. But somewhere along the way, she’d lost her enthusiasm for this trip. Without Jack it wasn’t…it just wasn’t. In fact nothing was remotely exciting without him.

  But this had been her dream for a lifetime. She owed it to herself to enjoy the hell out of it. She owed it to Jack.

  So she’d go to the stupid Eiffel Tower for her stupid birthday dinner with a stupid, annoying hand-kissing Frenchman and she’d eat outrageously expensive snails or frog legs or some shit like that. And she’d like it.

  In a fit of determination, she got all gussied up. She put on the dress Jack had bought her for this occasion and the pretty earrings and the necklace he’d given her. And she did her hair and put on makeup and the whole time she couldn’t help thinking—she was doing this all…for Philippe.

  He was impressed. His eyes widened when they met in the hotel lobby. He murmured she was “très belle” and bent over her hand—again—and then escorted her to the waiting horse-drawn carriage.

  She almost burst into tears. Because she knew Jack had arranged for it. And she hadn’t even asked for that. It was so incredibly romantic.

  And he was missing it.

  The weather cooperated. It was a lovely, balmy evening for October in France. The sky was clear and the moon shone down, limning everything with a silvery light.

  So beautiful.

  It really pissed her off.

  As they approached the Eiffel Tower, all the tourists gaped at her as though she were an arriving princess. She certainly felt like one.

  Philippe leaped down as the carriage rolled to a halt and then he raised a hand to help her descend. He tucked her arm in his and led her to the elevators.