C's Comeuppance: A Bone Cold--Alive novel (11 page)

Just jitters. Surely, he told himself, it was just jitters. Just fear of becoming T, of becoming settled, of tying the knot and having to be responsible for someone other than himself. Hell, he’d tried that: it had lasted all of one month and he could still hear the scathing recount of his misdeeds and neglect that she had leveled at him across the lawyer’s table. Did he want to hear all that from Abby?

Well, why would he have to? That was ten years ago and he was certainly more mature now. He’d not do those things to Abby. Hell, she’d have him dismembered so fast—and the pre-nup, no telling who she’d get for a lawyer!

He felt a headache coming on and took a gulp of coffee, scorching the back of his throat. This was not going to do.

But it has to, he reminded himself. It has to because Jemma isn’t going to have you. And as for you, you poor bastard—you’d be bored within a week. Admit it! Just as soon as she said yes, you’d bail. And who would that be fair to? Abby’s forgiveness has reached the bottom of its reserves, and Jemma will find someone she needs and who deserves her. And that isn’t a wretched rock star with a permanent hard-on!

He gave a start as smooth hands curled themselves around his neck and ran themselves down his chest. “Morning, C.” Abby’s voice was sleepy, her very essence scented of sex and perfume. If not for the multitude of media helicopters, he’d take her there on the round glass-topped terrace table.

Take her and drive the very thought of Jemma Lovelace from his mind.

***

C didn’t get away from Abby’s condo until midafternoon. By then, he was as satiated as he had been in months and wondered how Abby was handling it herself. It was as if she’d decided to bring in the heavy artillery and wage the final assault on C’s senses and sense. If so, it was certainly working. It was almost as if she’d been warned he was vulnerable.

He got to his condo fifteen minutes before the diamond man. Two armed guards and a man of Fletch’s age and demeanor arrived, three black jewelry cases of merchandise between them. He had briefly described what he was looking for when he’d talked to Mr. Sherman the night before while he waited for Abby to dress.

Ten minutes into the presentation, C was bored. Nothing sang Abby’s name and there was plenty of it trying to. He was hunkered down in the three to four carat range, and at that, thought it a push for Abby’s small hands. Mr. Sherman sighed deeply, gave an if-I’m-boring-you-I’ll-go-it-is-Saturday-afternoon look and flipped open the third case.

There it was. C’s fingers trembled over the perfect diamond in the perfect setting. He reached for it and plucked it from the case.

“Ah, Mr. Samuels, you choose well. A spectacular and, might I add, rare stone. The lucky wearer certainly won’t see its double on any other hands. This is a three-point-two-carat emerald cut canary—”

C didn’t hear anything else. The faintly yellow stone perched in the eighteen-karat gold band and practically screeched for him to buy it. There were pink undertones and a brilliance matched only by the gold flecks in the eyes of the woman who should wear it.

No, not her again, not Jemma beckoning at his thoughts, pulling his mind out of the proper gear. He carefully replaced the ring.

“Where’s that three carat marquis in platinum? I think Abby would like that.”

He settled the transaction quickly, if somewhat painfully. There were definite uses for a no-limits credit card. He watched Mr. Sherman position the ring in his signature box. The appraisal papers would be sent in the next day’s mail and all Ms. Sander had to do was give his office a call to have it properly sized. A courier would pick it up and deliver it back to her the same day.

C thanked him and closed the door softly behind the men. He felt no pride in the purchase he’d just made. Only regret. But it was the right decision, he reminded himself. The only decision.

No room for regret.

Chapter Ten

W
hatever was she thinking, promising to take Mandy shopping on a Saturday morning? Jemma poured another cup of coffee and took the toast over to the table. Two sleepless nights in a row and she knew of at least four clients that were showing up by nine o’clock this morning. She glanced at the kitchen clock. 6:30. She’d give Mandy another hour or so, then call her and beg off until at least this afternoon, preferably tomorrow after church.

It wasn’t her dad that had kept her up last night. Unlike the early hours before, this time he had slept like a baby, was still sleeping when she had checked on him about six. His soft snuffling snore was almost a comfort. She didn’t fear losing him for herself, so much as she feared what her mother would do when he was gone. Jessie Lovelace was going to need a project and Jemma feared it would be her only daughter.

No, what had kept her up last night were C’s parting words. Like she should care. Then why did he fascinate her? Why did she wonder if those cold blue eyes could grow warm, if those arms were really as strong and comforting as they looked, if those fingers could play a woman’s body as skillfully as they played an instrument?

Was the thought of the rest of her life in the house she’d been brought home to from the maternity ward finally beginning to daunt her?

Jemma drizzled honey on the wheat bread and licked her fingers. She needed to get her head on straight.

She studied the mini-blinds on the back door and let her eyes lose their focus. There was one sure way to bring herself down to earth and quiet her roaming thoughts. This wasn’t the first time her life had resembled a theater of the absurd.

***

Wiley Rose was an unlikely date for Jemma, but they’d both wanted something the other could easily offer that February night their junior year in college. Theirs was the tentative truce of people with a common background who find themselves away from home and in the same place. Whereas neither of them would have walked across the street for the other in Jinks, in Austin at the University, they were at least acquaintances.

She had dated a boy from Oklahoma most of the last year, but he’d heard the siren call of his home state and transferred there to finish his studies. Wiley had acted like the female population was his to enjoy, a trait he’d shown in high school and would continue through his adult life. But on this particular evening, he had no desire to go to his fraternity bash alone, and she had no desire to stay in her dorm room, so he asked and she accepted.

The party was held in an old warehouse and once they were inside, Wiley had disappeared. Only to reappear with a beer in each hand. He had danced with her once, then, his duty to her completed, disappeared. Jemma knew enough people that she’d not have trouble getting a ride back to campus and so worked her way over to the makeshift bar for another beer.

She never caught his name. He was tall, broad-shouldered, blond, with eyes so deep brown they seemed like holes behind his luscious long eyelashes. He’d called her “gorgeous” right off and she’d responded with “well, you ought to know” and the flirting had gone on from there. They’d visited with friends of his she didn’t recognize. It was a campus with departments larger than her hometown, so finding a stranger she’d shared a freshman English class with was no rarity.

He wanted to talk where it was quieter. That suited her. She’d reached her limits with the smoke and noise and was grateful for the cold night air. They wandered out to his car, a late-model foreign sedan that said, at the very least, someone had credit enough for a lease.

She’d expected to be kissed, even touched. But when she told him no three times and he didn’t seem to understand the word, she’d struggled. A few minutes and it was all over.

Two months later, she brought a home pregnancy test back to what little privacy her room afforded and found out the awful truth.

She never saw him again.

***

“Jemma, catch!” Jemma turned at the sound of Lyla’s voice and caught the decorator pillow. “You’ll need it if you’re taking up residence in that chair.”

Jemma studied the object of Lyla’s derision. “It’s not just a recliner?”

“No, it shakes, rattles, and rolls. It’s off-limits to me until after the baby’s born. Just don’t touch any buttons unless you want a little extra zing in your evening!”

“Well, there’ve been evenings when I’ve needed that!” Bertie hummed around the corner of the sofa and set the bowl of popcorn and stack of napkins on the coffee table. “Damn, but it’s good to get back home and get separated from those men! Don’t you agree, Red?” She searched around a stack of magazines and ran her hands under a cushion or two. “Where’s the clicker, Lyla? Got to get this awards show on!”

“I see it.” Jemma walked over to the large screen television and picked up the remote control from on top. She was glad to be of help. Being invited out to Lyla’s to watch T host the music awards show had come as a surprise. Had she stayed home, she’d have had to find an excuse to be in the kitchen and watch it on the small set in there. Her mother wasn’t about to give up an evening of A&E on the den TV for this.

“Thanks, Jemma.” Bertie sat down on the end of the sofa and made herself comfortable. “What else has that man brought into this house besides this TV and chair?”

Lyla pointed to her rounded middle.

Jemma sat in the recliner and realized why she needed the pillow. She crunched it into the hollow of the chair’s lower back and carefully eased herself into a suitable legs-raised position. To her left, Lyla sat on the sofa next to Bertie. Beside her, Melinda and Doree shared a cushion. The new decorating business partners had a vested interest in this evening: the better T did, the happier Lyla would be and the more that next house would get decorated. Or so sister-in-law Doree had confided to Jemma on the way over. Mandy had pooh-pooh’ed the whole notion from the back seat and declared that Lyla Samuels could spend what she wanted because Sam loved her so much he’d make sure she never wanted nor worried. After all, wasn’t that what it was all about? Loving someone so much you’d sacrifice anything for them? Neither Doree nor Jemma had voiced a response to that.

Now Mandy lounged on pillows against the coffee table with Ari. The college girl, expert on all matters BCA and favorite baby-sitter to Harrison—banished for the evening to his grandfather’s—had made it a point to come home from college so she could watch the show with Lyla.

Over on the loveseat, Red perched on one end. Mar-Mar and Sally joined her as they brought in bottled waters and soft drinks just as the announcer’s voice began. The tantalizing smell of “the ultimate apple pie” was beginning to make Jemma’s mouth water.

Not that looking at Lyla’s Sam wouldn’t do the same. She’d never seen him in a tux, but when Bertie cleared her throat, Jemma stole a look at her companions. Did she have her mouth open just the tiniest bit, too?

“Damn, Lyla. If I was a man and he was a woman, I’d have to adjust myself he looks so good.”

“Alberta Osborne, only someone of your advanced years could get away with that,” Mar-Mar chided her.

“Well, honey, you look at that hunk of manhood and you tell me. God knows, you’ve had enough experience.”

T was descending a long staircase to catcalls and rousing applause. The bespoke tuxedo fit every plane of his body and the vest and bowtie sparkled when the light hit them just right. The diamond earring played to the audience.

“Oh, yeah, Lyla, he’s hot.” Ari took a long swig from a water bottle without moving her eyes from the man in front of them. “And I know there’s another at home just like him, but there’s no way he could look that good.”

Jemma didn’t say a thing.

“What a difference a year makes, huh?” More applause as T settled into the role of emcee. “Thank you, thank you so much for the welcome.” He braced himself on the edge of the Plexiglas podium. “A little over a year ago, neither you nor I would have given me a rat’s chance of being in this position. Let me stand here as an example that no reformation is impossible!”

There was some laughter from the audience. T had spent the year living his redemption to the hilt, being, as C had proclaimed loudly and publicly, the poster child of a sinful life redeemed. It seemed to be working. Perhaps C should take a hint, Jemma thought.

T continued. “The care of friends, the love of a wonderful woman—so much more than I had the right to ask for.” He paused and looked somberly downward. There was a mischievous glint in his eye when he brought his head up to the camera. “But trust me, I’ll be in serious trouble at home, if I don’t blow my wife a kiss!” He did so to a chorus of catcalls and Jemma heard Lyla give a little squeak.

“Damn, girl, you still got it bad.” Bertie reached for the popcorn and pulled the bowl into her lap.

“I don’t see why you didn’t go with him.” Melinda reached for the popcorn. “What an experience!”

“Yeah, Lyla.” Ari twisted up from her position to peer at her hostess over the top of the coffee table. “You could’ve been wined and dined and had everyone fawning all over you. And you could’ve got a new wardrobe—”

“Precisely why I didn’t go.” Lyla made a spot on the table for her feet and propped them up. “And yes, he did ask,” she responded to Melinda’s raised eyebrows. “In fact,” she added airily, “he begged.”

Both Ari and Mandy groaned. “Eddie T begging…” Jemma heard Mandy’s wistful tone.

Jemma looked over at Red during this exchange, wondered what she thought of her former daughter-in-law verbally fawning over a man Red herself had wanted to keep out of the family. She’d lowered her eyes and found something to fiddle with on her jeans. Red looked back up and her eyes seemed to search for a topic. “Ari,” she settled her attention on the girl, “I hear your grandmother Mary Nell’s moving back.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ari reached for another handful of popcorn. “She says now that husband number three has died and left her really rich, she’s swearing off men and coming home. She’s redoing the old cabin on Wood Hollow.”

“Swearing off men. Not the Mary Nell I knew.” Mar-Mar chuckled. “And Ari, honey, I wouldn’t bet on it.”