Bachelorette for Sale (19 page)

“You’re still moving ahead with work on the center, which means if it wasn’t kids, they’ll be back. We need a plan to catch these bastards.”

“Daniel,” Kitty admonished.

“What, woman? They’re messing with my Cherry Bear, you’re lucky that’s all I said. Why don’t you serve your delicious apple pie and coffee while Jason and I work out a plan?”

Kitty Ryan stood and tossed her pristine napkin down in the middle of her brown gravy. “You want pie and coffee, serve it yourself.”

All eyes followed as she stormed out the back door. The people left at the table sat in stunned silence, no one moving, no one saying anything, simply staring at each other as the vibrations of the door rattled the china throughout the room.

“What the devil has come over that woman? Cherry, you better go see to her, but first, honey, can you cut us a couple slices of pie and put on the coffee?” Daniel pushed his plate away and focused on Jason, missing his granddaughter’s squinty-eyed death stare.

Jason nodded toward the door, trying to tell Cherry to go after her grandmother. He could deal with Daniel for a few minutes, let Cherry calm her grandmother down. It wasn’t like he’d never witnessed a family squabble before. This didn’t even count when compared to his family. This would have been a normal family discussion, his dad telling his mom to do something, her yelling in response before storming off and slamming doors, just at a decibel level ten times higher. With more obscenities involved.

“Get it yourself, Gramps. If I made it, I might poison it for Gram.” Cherry followed her grandmother out the door, leaving Jason with the cantankerous fool.

“Moody females.” Daniel got up, scooped up two plates full of steaming-hot apple pie, and handed him one.

“Shouldn’t we wait until they get back to eat this?” Jason scooted his plate to the side.

“If I wait, she’ll either put arsenic in it or take it away. Never piss off an Irish woman, my boy. They don’t get mad. They get even. Now, let’s come up with a way to catch these bastards.”

They discussed, debated, tossed ideas back and forth like freaking hot potatoes with none sticking, especially the idea of Daniel’s old crew coming up and patrolling the grounds at night. Visions of senior citizens passed out or worse on the grounds of the center were enough to spoil Jason’s appetite for the amazing-smelling pie in front of him. Unlike Daniel, he was waiting for Cherry to return before he ate his slice.

Booby traps were also out of the question; with his luck it would be kids who had destroyed the place and they’d come back and end up in the hospital. Through the conversation he’d learned that in Daniel’s younger days he’d seen a little time with the IRA before moving to America. What the older man knew scared the crap out of Jason.

Daniel sat down with his second helping of pie when a quiet voice from the hall caught his attention. “Nanny cams,” Kitty said.

Both men turned to the door as the women came in. Kitty picked up Daniel’s pie and took it with her to the counter, where she took out a container of ice cream. She took her time, scooping up a plate for Cherry, topping both with vanilla before joining them at the table.

“I was eating that.” Daniel scowled.

“You already had a slice. Cherry mentioned nanny cams earlier, which made me think you can get the kind that come on when something moves in front of the lens. Hunters use them. Why not place them around the doors and record anyone who comes near the place at night?”

A game camera. Why hadn’t Jason thought of it? Because the obvious was usually the most elusive answer, and they’d been planning on installing a full-on security system later on. Yet this was simple. A quick stop at the sporting goods store, bait the traps and wait for the rats.

 

During the ride home, Cherry was lost in her own world. Her grandmother refused to talk about the incident with her grandfather, instead turning the conversation back on her and Jason. The Ryans were passionate people, and as such had had their fair share of arguments over the years. For her gram to lose it in front of company, that was akin to the queen getting her groove on in public. Simply not done.

Family. Community center. Vandals. Money. All of these concerns swirled around inside Cherry’s brain, each pushing its way to the front, begging to be her top priority.

Darn fairy godmothers, never around when you need them the most. Hers better show soon or Cherry would fire her lazy butt, right after her head exploded from the pressure. The committee had moved ahead with one fund-raiser, but it wouldn’t cover the damage, and quite frankly this . . . drama wasn’t what she’d signed on for. If she wanted excitement she’d agree to go on
Love in Shangri-La
. At least there she had a potential for a huge paycheck for her troubles. And that was another thing. The show was pushing for an answer.

She needed to talk to Jason about the decision, as it wasn’t hers alone to make. Granted, they hadn’t been dating all that long, and neither had proclaimed any commitment to the other. Still, they were sleeping together. And he’d met her family. In her book, that counted as more than a casual fling.

They got back to her place to find Tucker doing the I’ve-got-togo-now happy dance, so she clipped on his leash and out the three of them went for a walk. Jason hadn’t said a word during the ride, and other than greeting the dog and a few comments about the weather, he remained quiet.

Watching him from the corner of her eye as they followed the dog, she wondered if she didn’t have to worry about discussing the show with him. Frowning, hands shoved into his front pockets with his shoulders slumped forward, he looked like a man about to deliver bad news. Maybe all of her grandmother’s prying into his family had chased him off? Or it could have been her grandfather and his inquisition. She was sure their little tiff at the dinner table hadn’t helped. The guy probably saw what kind of crazy he was getting himself mixed up with and was now trying to figure a way out.

Once back in the apartment, Tucker trotted off to the bedroom, leaving the two of them standing staring at each other.

“Jason, is everything okay?”

“Sure, dinner was great.”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind dining with the nuts. I’m sorry about my grandparents. I’ve no idea what was up with them tonight. Honestly, they’re crazy, but they normally keep the drama behind closed doors. And what was with my grandfather and the suit, I have no idea.”

“Don’t worry about it. He was just pulling my chain to see how I’d react. They’re great, both of them.” He shoved his hands back in his pockets, stared out the front room windows. “I should go. It’s been a long day.”

Yes, it had been, and she had a feeling it was about to be a longer night. One without much sleep.

“Are you upset because my grandmother brought up your mom?”

“No.”

“Is it my grandfather prying into our relationship?”

“No. Look, I’m fine. Just tired.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine. Thanks for going to dinner with me.”
Say it. Get it over with. Tell me we’re through.

He pulled her into his arms, kissed her on the forehead before leaning his head against hers. “I know that word. What’s wrong?”

“You’re upset about something. You’ve hardly said anything since we left, and your body language is all uptight and pissed off. Talk to me, please.”

“I don’t want to talk.” His voice was low and husky with emotion.

“What do you want?”

 

What did he want? To hear his name on her lips as she came, as he pushed her over the edge. To run first his fingers, then his mouth across her creamy, soft flesh. To trace the sweet curve of her hips, the slope of her breast, the long column of her neck up to her sensitive ears. He wanted to taste her, to feast on her, to feel her surround him with her warmth and the intoxicating scent of Cherry and vanilla.

To forget about his past and not to think of the future.

They didn’t make it to the bedroom. Jason backed her up until her legs hit the kitchen table, trapping her between the furniture and him. He peeled off her shirt, unfastened her bra, and dropped it on the floor. He took in the beauty that was Cherry. All smooth, velvety pale skin dotted with freckles.

With one hand he captured both of her wrists behind her, not letting her explore. Taking his time, he laid assault to her mouth and she responded instantly; hot, wet, demanding. His free hand slipped down to play with her breasts, alternating between kneading and pinching the rosy buds until little whimpers escaped from Cherry. Slipping his knee between her legs, he rubbed back and forth, increasing the pressure on her mound with each stroke.

When her whimpers turned to growls, he dropped in front of her, sliding her pants down and off, pressing kisses to her exposed skin. She stepped out of the pants and he worked his way back up to her hot, damp center.

“Sit on the edge of the table,” he ordered.

Cherry clutched at his shoulders, holding on to his shirt with a death grip as he spread her legs and built the pressure, stroke by stroke, with his tongue, stoking the fire until it grew like an out-of-control forest fire and she broke, screaming his name.

Wrapping her in his arms, he laid her back against the cool wood. Quickly he unzipped his pants and slipped inside while she was still riding the waves of her orgasm and joined her. Her muscles clamped around him, almost taking him over before he’d taken two steps on the climb.

He pulled back to where he was barely in her and she whimpered. “Tell me what you want, Cherry.”

“More.”

He slipped in farther, taking his sweet time even though it was killing him. “Like this?”

She growled and tried to scoot closer. He pulled back out and every muscle in her tightened around him. “Tell me what you want.”

“All of you. Hard and fast.”

It was one of the traits about her he loved—she knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to demand for it. Harder, deeper, faster he went. He watched the play of emotions across her face. Saw her bite down on her lower lip as her breathing became shallow and quick. A primal part of him needed to claim her, to bring her pleasure like no man ever had before. To drive the past into the darkest recess of her mind, so the only thing left was images of him.

He altered his tempo, bringing sweet little moans from Cherry. A sheen of sweat covered her body and he leaned forward, running his tongue over each nipple, tasting her. Heard his name whispered over and over. Felt her fingertips press into his back, her legs wrapped tight around him.

She fit perfectly against him, around him.

She gave. He took.

Together they danced, their rhythm in perfect unison. A driving force as old as time. Faster, harder, hearts pounding against each other.

Cherry whispered, “Only you,” again and again.

In those moments his heart tumbled, realizing what she was telling him, what she offered, and he took it, took her, all of her, and together they fell.

C
herry took a deep breath, found her balance, and let it out. Glancing out the front doors of the rec center, she wished she were somewhere else, anywhere else right now. The last thing she was in the mood to do was talk to the media, but they needed the PR for tomorrow’s fund-raiser if they hoped the tag sale and telethon would bring in a decent amount of money. As the only committee member with flexible hours, it fell to her. So here she was.

In the last two weeks—since the vandalism—her life had spiraled out of control. Meetings, phone calls, running errands to pick up supplies and equipment to save on delivery costs, not to mention her own work schedule and worry about her grandparents, had drained her. All was not copacetic on the home front, no matter what her grandparents claimed. They could preach it from the mountain. Something dark lurked in her family’s paradise.

Another mental appraisal of her clothing; conservative black slacks, low-heeled pumps, ivory button-down shirt—only one button left undone—covered by a black blazer screamed professional businesswoman. That was the message Ford would get when he arrived in (oh, crud!) five minutes, Cherry realized, looking down at her watch.

“You know you don’t have to talk to the creep. Make one of the other committee members speak with him. They can give him the interview at their office, far away from you.” Jason tugged her to a back hallway with no windows or workmen. “Stop fussing with your hair, you look beautiful. Kind of like a naughty librarian with your hair pulled back in that thing—”

“It’s a French twist.”

“Okay, a naughty French librarian, one who I want to undress down to those erotic stockings and garter belt I know you put on this morning. Then when you’re standing there in nothing but your stockings and heels—although you should switch those out for the red ones with the four-inch heels. Yeah, that’ll work.”

A glazed look stole over his eyes and Cherry watched as the pupils enlarged, the green-blue becoming the vibrant color of the Mediterranean Sea.

“Where was I? Oh, yeah, stockings, high heels, nothing else. I’d pull out each pin and let all that beautiful, silky hair of yours cascade down until only your luscious little buds were poking out.”

She laughed and pushed him back against the wall. “Be a good boy during the interview and maybe, just maybe you can live out your fantasy later. Right now I have to go make nice-nice with the nasty reporter.” She nipped his lower lip before kissing it lightly to take the sting away.

Cherry stepped away, intending to wait by the front doors for her appointment, when Jason pulled her back. She looked up expecting to see his playful, sexy smile, hear some quip or promise for later tonight. In the past week and a half their lovemaking had taken a different route. Still hot and heavy, but the urgency, the overwhelming fear that at any minute everything would come tumbling down on top of them and one or the other would walk away, was gone.

Most nights Jason stopped at home after putting in eighteen-hour days at the center, grabbed a shower, and then he and Bam would make their way to her place for the night. Other nights, it was Tucker and Cherry staying at his place. She was still careful to keep their relationship as private as possible, not wanting the tabloids to get wind. She considered herself old news, but as
Love in Shangri-La
geared up for the next season, rumors were flying wild about who the participants would be. She needed to send her reply soon.

In just a few more days, once the insurance company gave an official decision, she’d give the show an answer. Maybe by then she’d figure out what this thing between her and Jason was. She’d been wrong before. Granted she and Jason were practically playing house, although it hadn’t gone beyond leaving a spare toothbrush at each other’s places.

But did that mean . . . what? A really good case of like? Of lust? Or was it the beginning of love?

She wished she could trust her heart and her head. Too bad no one had created an app that could tell you if it was the real deal or out-of-control hormones. She could have used it when Ari swore his love to her.

She could picture it now. Press the button when they said the magic L-word, wait ten seconds, and your answer pops up. In her case it would have read:
BEEEEP. Hormones.

Man, it would have saved her a major heartache.

What would it say now?

Uh . . . nothing. Jason hadn’t sworn his love and he’d declared marriage out of the question. He’d given her countless orgasms, made her laugh, and she knew she didn’t want to be with anyone else. What she felt with him, for him, from him seemed real, so incredibly heart-wrenchingly real, at times she couldn’t breathe. But she’d felt that once before too.

“Hey, you okay? You look about a million miles away,” Jason whispered in her ear.

“Lost in my own head.”

“Thoughts of me, I hope.”

She gave him a playful smile, a quick eyebrow wiggle. “You dressed as a cabana boy, a cold drink in one hand, a fan in the other.”

“As long as it’s not a Speedo, I can work with that. Seriously, why don’t you slip out the back? I’ll walk Ford through the improvements, give the interview.”

Now she raised both brows, eyes popping wide, and had to open and close her mouth a few times to find the words. “Are you crazy? Every time you talk to the guy, you want to punch him in the face.” She grabbed the front of his shirt and brought him down to her eye level. “Jase, have some faith and trust in me. I can handle Ford and his trained monkey. Let’s get through tonight. He’s promised to run the story first thing in the morning. After you’re done here for the day, you can take me out to dinner in Warwick and then we can flip a coin to see who plays out whose fantasy.”

He grumbled his agreement and she left him standing in the hall when Dave called out to her that her four o’clock had arrived. She greeted the two men at the front doors of the center, handing each a hard hat and reminding them of the safety waiver they’d signed the first time they visited. To keep them off balance and the ball firmly in her court she kept them in one place during the majority of the interview, stating it wasn’t safe yet to enter the building while the men worked.

“How’s the repairs coming along?” Ford asked with a touch of smugness to his voice that Cherry suspected he thought was sympathy.

“Surprisingly well. All of the crewmembers of Valentine Rehab Services have been putting in a hundred and ten percent, and we’ve had a lot of community members stop by and volunteer their time and skills. We’re almost back on schedule.”

“I’m surprised to hear people are giving their time freely to help out around here,” Ford said.

“This center means a lot to the people around here and it shows, as they’ve pulled together.”

She stepped to the side to allow the photographer to look into what would be the “Welcome Center” once they opened. The room had sustained little damage during the hurricane and vandalism attack and now, thanks to their helpers, was ready for the final touches.

“Right after your story ran, we had a group of senior citizens show up.” Cherry pointed to the room again. “They might not have been able to do heavy lifting, but they could sweep, take out the trash, sand plaster, and in no time had this room back up to speed.” No need to point out that the senior citizens in question were her grandparents.

“You put a bunch of old geezers to work around here? Isn’t that kind of dangerous?”

“Mr. Ford, I think the point is, and the focus of your next article should be, how much this place means to the residents who use it. The center’s board and fund-raising committee appreciate your help, Mr. Ford, and we really need to get as much attention as we can. We’re hoping once people read how others have stepped up and what still needs to be done, more people will volunteer their time, skills, and monetary donations.”

The man preened like a peacock on the prowl. “Just doing my job.”

“Of course. Is there any other information you need for your article?”

The man scribbled a few lines in a notepad before looking up. “I hear Ally from your first season is getting married in a couple of weeks. Going to be a big-time cast reunion at the event. You planning on attending, and if so, are you planning on taking Valentine as your date?”

Yep, yep, nope, no way in hell. She’d love to attend Ally’s wedding. They’d become fast friends and had been each other’s support through the weeks of doubt, turmoil, and drama. Unfortunately, the wedding was taking place in Florida and (yes!) the number of former cast members attending would assure the tabloids plenty of conflict-filled pages. As much as she wanted to share the day with her friend, she wasn’t ready to step back into that piranha-filled pool, definitely not with Jason in tow.

“No.”
Please take a hint and drop the subject.
“If you want more details on the telethon, you’ll need to talk to Holly Kimball.”

Feeling like she’d given him everything she had to make the article beneficial, she led them toward the main room, where the photographer could take pictures of the work and Ford could note everything that had been done, along with what was left to do.

Jason and his crew were busy at work, doing their best to ignore the visitors. All the men had their backs to them. None were looking for pats on the back, just a job well done. They’d all worked hard to rectify the damage, to get back on schedule, and by the end of the day they should have achieved it.

Come Monday they could start with a fresh slate and a healthier bank account. Hopefully.

“They’ve done a lot of work in two weeks. I’m impressed,” Ford said as he directed his photographer to the shots he wanted. “It seems Mr. Valentine is very motivated to complete this job as promised.”

Jason’s gaze shot straight through her, proving he was paying attention to every word and move from Ford. Great, and it had been going well until now. What was the weasel up to anyway?

“Valentine Rehab Services prides itself on always finishing a job on time, Mr. Ford. I can’t see why this project would be any different. If anything, I can understand why they might be more motivated than usual, given their past connection with the center and the community. As you know, both Mr. Valentine and Mr. Farber grew up a couple of streets over from here. Both hung out here as kids, and like so many others in the community, they’ve given of themselves to reverse the damage done.”

Dave reached out, clasped Jason on the shoulder, and pointed to a spot in the opposite direction from Cherry. Bless Dave and his nose for knowing when Jase was going to blow.

“I don’t doubt his passion for the project, Ms. Ryan. Based on what I’ve seen and heard, it seems he might be a man with a more than one passion. Working eighteen-hour days, seven days a week, takes a special kind of commitment, one most people don’t give without a real reward waiting for them.”

“Isn’t a job well done living up to your word a real reward?” It took everything she had not to go off on the jerk.

“Hey, Ralph, make sure you get a lot of shots of the guys working. We want to have those on the website for people to see.” Ford turned back to Cherry, apologizing for his interruption. “Of course it is. Can we get real for a minute?” He scooted closer, invading her bubble, tainting her air with his foul stench. “You’re a beautiful woman, single and looking for your Mr. Right. Valentine is a reasonably decent-looking guy, if you go for that tall, built, rugged look. He’s single. The two of you have spent a lot of time together on this project. You like him, don’t you?”

Of course he went there, how could he not. After all, there was nothing more interesting or important going on in the world than the social life of a has-been reality star and a contractor. No way could rebuilding a community center that would help keep kids off the streets and away from gangs compare. How blasé, reporting on the efforts of a community coming together to take care of their own, to feed those in need, to educate, to provide counseling to those suffering, when you could fill your website and newspapers with stories about who was dating whom and who’d cheated on whom.

“Come on, you can tell me. I know you like him.” Ford pushed, trying to find the right button, the one to make her lose it and spill her guts.
Good luck, buddy, it’ll take more skill than you’ll ever acquire.

“Mr. Ford, there is no story. Give it up.”

“No, you’ve got it wrong. I’m looking for the human-interest angle for the article. You know, let our readers really get to know the people behind the work. You should check out Yelp or Google sometime. There’s a lot you can learn about a business or a person on the Internet.” He paused long enough for his words to sink in and pique Cherry’s interest before going on. “I understand Mr. Valentine was engaged before, to a woman from the neighborhood. Wouldn’t happen to know her, would you?”

Engaged? Holy cow, talk about dark secrets.

“It’s a big neighborhood, so no. If you don’t have any more questions regarding the progress on the building or tomorrow’s telethon, I have an appointment to get to.” Someone ought to give her a ribbon for keeping it under control, because she was anything but.

The photographer joined them, indicating he’d taken all the shots Ford had asked for. Cherry stepped toward the main door intending to escort them off the premises, but Ford held fast.

“Mind if I ask Mr. Valentine a few questions?”

Cherry glanced over to Jason, who stood in the far corner with Dave. His arms were folded over his chest, hands clasping his upper arms, and even from this distance she could see the tic by his right eye.

She smiled. Ford, thrown off balance at her reaction, stepped back. “I don’t mind at all if you speak to him, but you may want to remember he is holding a rather large hammer right now.”

 

It took everything in Jason not to pick the weasel up by the back of his three-dollar suit and toss him out the front door. Knew he’d go there, trying to dig up dirt on him and Cherry. Where in the hell had he found out about Steph? And frickin’ Bronson, with his negative reviews. He needed to get Brody to do something about the guy and get him to stop spreading lies. Jason got why they needed Ford and the rest of the media for the center, but man, give it a rest already and leave the past the frig alone.