Unsuitable

by Lavinia Kent

  Her step was determined as she turned and stalked out to the garden.

  Twenty minutes later she had her roses and the bushes were pruned. She gathered the trimmings and went to the compost bin. Then, picking up her basket and shears, she headed back to the house.

  The phone buzzed in her pocket.

  Clay.

  * * *

  —

  “I’m so glad you invited me over again,” Clay said as he closed the car door and walked up to the house.

  “I felt bad asking.”

  “Why?”

  They entered the living room, where the wide windows overlooked the rose garden. “It’s a long drive and I know you have work. You’ll have to leave so early. I should have offered to come in, but I wanted to cook for you. I guess I could have done that at your place but it wouldn’t have been the same.”

  “I really don’t mind the drive and it was a great excuse to leave work early. I’m tempted to make some comment filled with sexual innuendo, but I’ll resist. That’s not why I came—or at least not the only reason. I wanted to be here to see the sunset.”

  “Well, in any case, I’m glad you’re here. And I’ll resist making some comment about your wanting to see the sunset and not me. Wine?”

  “Please.”

  She poured him a glass of Merlot, and gestured to the stairs. “The best place to watch is the deck of my bedroom. I know that sounds like an invitation, but I really do intend us to eat. Let me just go turn on the water for the pasta and I’ll come up and join you.”

  He laughed and walked up the stairs. “Our whole conversation seems to be about avoiding the easy comeback, so I won’t say something about knowing the way.”

  She smiled in reply and turned to the kitchen.

  Settling on the deck, he looked about. This really was a piece of heaven, the spreading pink across the sky, the gentle pound of the waves on the white sand, and the endless ocean fading into the horizon. And that was without considering the beautiful woman who’d be joining him any moment.

  He continued staring out at the water, letting the sight calm him after a busy day and drive, until he heard her footsteps behind him. He turned and watched as she walked to the railing to stand beside him, her legs moving easily in denim shorts, her white T-shirt riding slightly off one shoulder. She set her wine on the railing and leaned toward him, her lips parted slightly, her eyes drifted closed.

  He leaned to meet her.

  It was a soft kiss. A sweet kiss.

  A welcome-home kiss.

  And yet behind it, held in check, was a wave of passion. He could feel it there, waiting, wanting. It was not quite the inescapable fire of their first encounters, but it lay in wait, ready to grow.

  Her eyes opened and met his. They both pulled back slightly, but not completely.

  This was a moment of decision. It would be so easy to let the passion loose, to lose themselves in the banked heat. Another kiss and then another. Clothing dropping to the floor. Bodies tangling. Her bed was not far away. A lounge chair was even closer.

  It would be so easy. And so wonderful. So very wonderful.

  He stepped back, reaching for his wine, almost tipping it over the railing.

  A great gulp. A slight cough as he swallowed wrong.

  She stood there, a brow raised, questioning and not at the same time.

  “I think you said something about dinner,” he said when he could speak comfortably. “I do want to taste your cooking.”

  Her lips quirked up. “And yet another reply I will resist.” She picked up her glass and took a delicate sip. “I take it you want to talk, then. Well, that sounds ominous. When did ‘want to talk’ become a burdened phrase?”

  “I don’t know, but I do get a sense of dread whenever I hear it. It always seems to mean ‘I want to tell you something you don’t want to hear.’ But in this case, yes, I want to talk. I want to get to know you better. I’ve enjoyed going out with you. I’ve enjoyed being here with you, but I’m afraid the sex has rather overshadowed things. I’d love for us to talk, to do nothing but talk.”

  “I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted. I love that you want to spend time on conversation, but are you implying the magic has worn off?” Her lips quivered as she spoke, making her humor clear.

  He reached out and ran a single finger over the bare skin of her forearm. It was like stroking silk—silk that sent flashes of electricity straight to his cock. He watched her eyes darken. “I don’t think we have to worry for a long time yet.” He stepped away again, letting his hips lean back against the railing. “Now, are you going to feed me?”

  “Would you rather stay up here and watch the sun go down or come and watch me cook?”

  “Definitely watch you. But stay for a moment and let’s watch the sun together. We’re in no hurry.” He reached out and pulled her to him, turning her slightly so that her ass came to rest between his legs, her back cozy against his chest. She tensed but then relaxed.

  And together they sipped their wine and watched the sky grow dark.

  * * *

  —

  “Tell me more about your childhood. I keep thinking about how hard it must have been once your mother died,” Clay said as he sipped his coffee.

  For the first time tonight she felt the age difference between them. As a teenager, he’d probably never considered that she had a real life before becoming Amelia’s stepmom. “I am not sure I ever really had a childhood. My father left before I can remember and I don’t recall thinking of my mother as someone I could depend on. I often felt like I was her parent. I know she worked hard to keep food on the table, but once she came home I took care of her. I can’t remember it ever being different.”

  “You make me realize how privileged I’ve been. And I’m not talking about money—not that I want to discount that. I mean, I can only try to understand what it’s like to want things that you really can’t afford. My folks were good at setting strict limits, but I always knew it was never about the money. They made me understand that life isn’t about stuff, it’s about living and being with the people you love.”

  And he was choosing to be with her. “I’m working hard at living life right now. Forgive me if I’ve told you that a million times. Until these last months I hadn’t realized exactly how frozen I’d let my life become. I think it’s because of how long I spent caring for Mark. It’s odd how comfortable it is to talk to you about him. Maybe because you knew him, too. I always thought that when I started a new relationship, I’d have to be careful with how much I talked about him, but I don’t feel that way at all.”

  “And you shouldn’t, although I know just what you mean. In theory I would have thought it would bother me, that I might feel jealous, always wonder if I compare, but I don’t.”

  “Maybe it’s because the relationships are so different. So much of the time I was with Mark was taken up caring for him. And I guess that’s what I was getting to. After his first heart attack I assumed that everything would go back to normal, and it did for a while, but then he had a second attack and then a third. I won’t go into detail, but while I don’t regret a single day that I spent caring for him—and wish there could have been even more—I realize now that I actually skipped by several years of my life. My whole focus was on him and on preventing the next incident. I never noticed the world going by.”

  Clay opened his mouth to say something, but she held up her hand. “Just let me finish. And then after his death I was numb for so long and I didn’t know what to do next. I sometimes feel that I went from being twenty-seven to thirty-seven in the blink of an eye.” She stopped and considered. “Maybe that’s part of what draws me to you, a chance to get those years back.”

  “I’m not quite sure how to take that.”

  “Only in the best way. With you I feel a chance to be young
and fun again. Because for all I’ve just said about how in some ways I skipped over everything after twenty-seven, in other ways I feel ancient. I was responsible for everything for so long and learned just how much I can do.”

  “You are pretty amazing.”

  And suddenly laughter bubbled out of her. “It’s strange. I’ve spent these last months feeling underqualified and indecisive and then you tell me how capable I am. And I believe you. You do see the best in me.”

  “Happy to oblige.”

  “But now we should talk about you. You’ve told me the basics, but what have you really been doing these last ten years? Of course, I know where you went to college and that you worked as a trader after that, but how did that get you where you are now? I mean, you can’t have been working that long.”

  “Well, I’ve told you that my father put me to work in a factory when I was just a teenager. It’s amazing how much of what I know I learned then. And the rest was mostly luck. I invested in a friend’s dot-com while I was still in college and that paid off big-time, and then I was a trader at the right time, when bonuses were big and nobody was crashing. But, of course, I do owe much of it to my dad. He decided to retire about a year and a half ago and within about three months I was in charge of everything he and my grandfather had built. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle it, but I did and I’ve loved it; although, it’s a good thing we didn’t meet again then. I’m not sure that I would have been able to make the time to drive out as often as I hope to.”

  She felt a light blush rise on her cheeks; maybe she could blame it on the wine. “I would have been sorry but perhaps I would have just decided to finally get an apartment in the city.”

  “Or you could have stayed with me.”

  For a moment they were both quiet. Surely Clay hadn’t been thinking before he spoke. Their eyes met, but the message he was sending wasn’t open to her.

  She cleared her throat. “You really should talk to Amelia. I think she went through a lot of the same things taking over from Mark and during the same time period. Although, she’d basically been running things the last couple of years anyway. It’s strange, but I’m not sure that even then she truly thought she’d be taking control of everything. She still tries to get me to join her sometimes, but…”

  “But what? You’d be great at it if you decided to.”

  “And there you go making me feel good about myself again.”

  “I’m happy to help make you feel good, although I can think of other ways to do it.”

  “Have we reached the point in the evening when it’s okay to go with the obvious comeback? Come help me in the kitchen and then I’ll let you show me just what you’re thinking about.”

  Chapter 20

  That had been one of the best nights of her life, Jordan thought as she watched Clay pull away. Light was only just starting to fill the sky and she should probably head back to bed. But she wasn’t feeling tired, though given how little sleep she’d had, she probably should be.

  She started to hum.

  And she really, really was starting to like him. More than starting. It was becoming quite impossible to deny.

  It was actually quite ridiculous how giddy she felt and it wasn’t just about the sex—although that had certainly been more than enough to leave her smiling.

  She glanced toward the kitchen. Coffee or sleep?

  If she had coffee she could start doing some real work. It was time to quit talking and start doing. She had the contacts to get things going and it was time to use them. She was more than capable. Clay was making her see that.

  Her phone rang suddenly, breaking the silence.

  Her heart skipped a beat. It was too early for anyone to call.

  Amelia? Was something wrong?

  She looked about the room, trying to figure out exactly where she’d put the phone. Where was it? Deep breath. Deep breath.

  It was probably Clay calling. Maybe he’d forgotten something.

  Early morning didn’t mean it had to be bad.

  Maybe a wrong number.

  There it was. She grabbed it just as it rang for the last time.

  Shit.

  She tapped the screen.

  Veronica? Why on earth was she calling? Jordan moved to call back and paused. What if it was the equivalent of a butt dial? A sleep dial? She glanced at the time. It was after six-thirty. From what Veronica said, she’d be heading out on her run, so she was up. But it still seemed unlikely she’d be calling. Did she call and risk interrupting her? Yes. And if she was still asleep, it would be far better to wake her than miss something important.

  It probably was an actual butt dial. Maybe Veronica had just shoved the phone in her running shorts and buttons had gotten pushed. She probably wouldn’t even answer.

  Jordan hit redial.

  Almost instantly Veronica’s voice answered, “Good, you’re there. I saw the light on when I ran out. I’m in town right now at the coffee shop. I’ll be at your place as soon as I can.”

  The phone went dead. What in the world?

  * * *

  —

  Never had the coffee dripped so slowly. What had Veronica in such a state? Jordan had tried to call back, but had gotten no answer. A low sense of dread formed in her belly. It was probably nothing. She’d just spent too many years when Mark was ill and every phone call could be bad news.

  It was certainly nothing. Veronica had most likely seen the light on and simply wanted to chat, either to lecture Jordan more on what she needed to do, or maybe she was finally going to share the secrets of her own life—there was clearly something going on.

  As the coffee finally stopped dripping there was a slight tap and then Veronica let herself in. Sweat pebbled her forehead, dark curls fought to escape the tie that held them, a few hanging in ringlets about her face.

  “Was it a good run?” Jordan asked, turning back to the coffee.

  Veronica walked up behind her, laid a hand on her shoulder. “You haven’t seen the paper, then? I didn’t think you would have, this early. I only saw it because I stopped for a coffee and somebody else was reading it.”

  Jordan shook her head slowly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why would I care about the paper?”

  Veronica stepped away. “Why don’t you pour yourself a cup of that coffee and we can go and sit down.”

  Now she was starting to get a little worried. “Do you want any?”

  “No, I had some…Actually, yes, I have a feeling I’ll need it.”

  And even more worry. She poured the coffee and held a cup out to Veronica. No condensed milk today.

  Veronica took the cup and went to the living room, sinking into a large chair, sliding off her shoes and pulling her feet up under her.

  Jordan found herself duplicating the same posture on the couch. “Talk.”

  “Just give me a moment.”

  Jordan swallowed. “Okay.” She’d always believed in ripping the Band-Aid off. Somehow, she knew she wasn’t going to like what was coming.

  Veronica faced her full-on, her fingers gripping her mug. “There are pictures.”

  That was not what she’d expected. “Pictures?”

  “Pictures of you and Clay.”

  For a moment it didn’t make sense. Pictures. Photos. Of the two of them? When could they have been photographed? Her mind jumped to the worst, to the museum. Had somebody managed to get a still from the security video? God, she hoped not. They’d been somewhat discreet, but it would have been undeniable what they were doing. She tried to remember if her breasts could have been captured on film. They probably had been. And the rest. This was not what she needed.

  Or what about Clay’s apartment? Could somebody have used a telephoto lens and seen her? That would be even worse. Those pictures would be downright pornographic. If she’d b
een photographed through the window it would have shown her full frontal.

  “Tell me everything,” she said as wrapped her arms about her knees.

  “It’s really not that bad, I just know you’re not going to like it. The pictures themselves aren’t bad, just normal gossip page stuff, but for some reason the comments are particularly nasty. Somebody knew how to go for your tender spots. Also…they have a copy of Amelia’s prom photo with Clay.”

  It was time to be calm. “I’m still confused. Do you actually have a copy of the paper?” Veronica hadn’t been carrying anything, but surely she wouldn’t have left it behind.

  Veronica slipped a folded piece of paper out from underneath the strap of her running bra. “I only brought Page Six. It’s really not that bad.”

  Jordan held out a hand to take the paper, glad that her fingers didn’t tremble. No matter what she said, Veronica was acting like it was that bad.

  With some trepidation she unfolded the paper. Her first thought was that maybe she was wrong and it really wasn’t. It was a shot of her and Clay outside the museum. Yes, they were kissing, lips barely brushing, and yes, she was wearing his coat, but that was all. Her eyes dropped to the picture lower on the page. “Shit, that must have been taken last night. Who the hell would be stalking me to take a picture like that?”

  It wasn’t a bad picture. Hell, in different circumstances it might have graced her mantel. The photo showed Clay leaning back against the railing of the deck, with her reclining against him. Yes, his fingers might be dipping into the waistband of her shorts, but it was far from indecent, far from what it could have been. Still, she somehow felt violated. Someone had taken that photo, invaded her privacy.

  Veronica let out a sigh. “It was most likely chance. You know we sometimes get paparazzi on the beach, just hoping to spot a celebrity. I admit it’s strange after Labor Day, but somebody probably spotted the two of you and took a chance that maybe you were somebody famous. And you were unlucky that it’s a slow news day, that none of the Real Housewives had drunk and disorderlies.”