C's Comeuppance: A Bone Cold--Alive novel (33 page)

“Shhh.” She touched his lips with her fingertips. “I’m a big girl. I know what—” she drew a quick breath as he was fully inside her “—what happens.”

He moved and she with him. She watched his face as his thinly-held restraint gave way to lust. She felt his resolve break apart as he pushed farther and faster, as he held her tighter and breathed more deeply and then gave his own version of the cries she knew she’d issued.

He lay upon her and held her and then eased from her.

“Jemma, you okay?”

“Yes.” She turned toward him and they faced each other and mingled their legs and arms. Jemma nestled into him, kissed his chest, wasn’t sure where she ended and he began.

Some time later, he stroked her cheek. “Jemma—”

“If the condom broke, I don’t want to know.”

“No, you’re safe there.” He pushed her hair away from her forehead, kissed her brow. “Do,” he hesitated, “do you want me to take you home? Do I need to?”

She tilted her head. “Do you want to? Is that what you usually do?”
Was this wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am?

“Take a woman home?” He gave a little laugh and Jemma felt the reverberations in his chest where her hand rested. “Not hardly. They stay the night, leave themselves in the morning. I’ve not taken someone home since high school.”

“Then why ask?”

“Because you’re different.” He scooted down in the bed so their eyes were level, so her head rested on his outstretched arm. “Because I’ve caused you so much grief with your mother and family that I don’t want to cause you any more.” He cupped her hips and pulled her closer to himself in invitation. “But do I want to? No, Jemma. You’re right where you need to be tonight. With me.”

“Having sex?”

“If you wish to term it that way. I was leaning toward making love myself.”

“You’re splitting hairs, Charles.”

“It is a game of subtleties, Jemma.” He rolled on top of her, pushed a leg between hers, covered her mouth with his whisper. “And hard as it may be for you to believe, I’m a master of subtleties.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

T
he ringing of the phone broke through Jemma’s deep sleep. How strange, she thought, Mother never lets the phone ring this long. She rolled onto her back and opened her eyes, sitting up with a start as she focused on the ceiling. Since when did her bedroom have peeling wallpaper on the ceiling?

A quick assessment of her surroundings and Jemma remembered where she was. Norm’s. With Charles. All night.

All blessed night.

But where was he? The sheets beside her were crinkled, bunched up. She peered over the side of the bed: the candles had burned themselves out at some point. Her clothes were primly arranged on the room’s antique oak washstand. She clutched the sheet and dragged it off the bed with her, wrapping it around herself as she moved toward the sound of Charles’ voice in the kitchen.

“Who wants to know?” he was asking.

She stood in the doorway and watched him pull two mugs from the cabinet, pour two coffees. He turned her direction and beamed a smile that warmed her to where her bare toes touched the cold kitchen floor.

“Okay, if that’s the case, T, then yes, she’s here with me. Don’t call out the state police.”

“What?” Jemma eked out the question. What time was it that someone was looking for her? From the look on her mother’s face last night, she’d have thought that worrying about Jemma was the farthest thing from Jessie’s mind. She found the kitchen clock: eight thirty. She hadn’t slept till eight thirty in years.

“It’s nothing.” C said to her. “Yes, bro, she’s up. Sure, sure, I’ll remind her that she’s fetching Fletch today.” He waved her to the table where he’d set two cereal bowls. Haute cuisine this was not. He paused as he listened more intently to T. “Do you think that’s on the level or it’s a ploy?” He set the coffees on the table, opened the refrigerator for the milk. “Good sport is my middle name right now. I’ll be there at four then, too.” He hung up the phone, leaned over and kissed her. “Did you know you snore?”

“I do not.”

“Babe, trust me on this one. You snore. But very ladylike, very genteel.” He sat beside her. “Would you like cereal—or cereal—for breakfast?” He shook the one box.

“I’d like to know why Sam was checking on me. I’d like to know what the ploy is.”

“
Sam
is checking because your mother finally did a bed check. The ploy is the homecoming committee wanting to do a run-through of the queen ceremony at four.”

“Oh, criminey. Mother.” She tapped on the table with her fingernail. “And if Mandy had anything to do with that run-through business I’ll have her head. I promise.”

“At least, she called Lyla before she called the police.” He poured cereal for himself, reached for a banana. “It could be worse.”

“I’m not going to think about how it could be worse.” She sipped the coffee. “Thinking about what Mother will say when you take me home is somewhere I don’t want to go before noon.” She concentrated on the cereal box and a smile crooked her lips. “Hurry up and eat so you
can
get me home. It’s Friday morning and Mother always has her beauty shop appointment on Fridays. If I’m quick, I can be in and out and never see her.”

She smiled a Mona Lisa grin at him and reached for the box.

***

“So what would it cost to tear it down and start over?” Jemma watched Fletch contemplate the peeling sideboards of the Newton cabin, the dock with its every other plank missing, the deck where they stood, the one redeeming part of this property. The view from it through the autumn-hued trees was of a lake calm in its midmorning. The sun sparkled and two fishing boats anchored a quarter mile from shore. She could tell he was itching to buy it but had determined to make this a game.

“Like anything else. How much are you willing to spend? I guarantee you we can find someone to spend it for you.”

Fletch dragged a wrought-iron chair from under the garden table. “Have a seat. Let’s figure this out.”

She obliged him, opened her leather portfolio and flipped to a fresh page. Uncapping her pen, she started making notes, tending to business. “They’re asking—”

“That’s not what I want to figure out.” He laid a hand on her jacket sleeve and she cocked her head at him. “I’ll take the property. I’ll negotiate because it’ll be fun. Nothing one lawyer likes better than beating another one, and if there are three in the family—it will truly make my welcome home complete.” He removed his hand and closed her notebook, turned his chair to better face her. “No, I want to figure out you and C.”

“What’s there to figure out?” It took two tries for her to cap the pen. She laid it aside and licked her lips, concentrated first on the neglected geraniums in the window box then met his eyes. She should have known this was coming, that he’d try a sneak attack.

“When you left last night, I suppose the main thing on my mind was whether or not Lyla would invite me to take over my old room rather than drive back into Dallas. So I didn’t realize all the ramifications of you and C leaving together until your mother called Lyla’s this morning. The conversation between my hosts in the wake of her call was most enlightening.” She set her jaw. “It does prove the old adage that while the cat’s away, the mice will play, and it seems that C, at least, has been playing all over the place. God knows what the rest of BCA has been up to.” He sighed. Was he going to try and garner her sympathy? “If someone had told me a year ago that T’d be the one I’d never have to worry about again, I’d have called him a liar.”

She wove her fingers together, started a small swing with her foot. There would be no sympathy from her.

“Long story short, you spent the night together. This does not raise eyebrows in the C world. I gather it does in yours.”

“And where is this going?”

He took a deep breath. “Precisely, Ms. Lovelace. Where
is
this going? Do you think to marriage?”

He looked at her over the rims of his glasses. Was he dispensing grandfatherly advice or calling her on the carpet for some misdeeds? Was he looking for regret?

“Manager of BCA or no, I don’t believe you need to be privy to what Charles and I say to each other.”

“I know about the debacle with Abby.”

“As do I.”

“Are you in this for marriage?”

“Is that why women usually go to bed with the illustrious Eddie C?”

“No. They go to bed with Eddie C because he’s Eddie C. It’s a mutual notch-on-the-bedpost situation. And you don’t look like a notch-on-the-bedpost type of woman.” She shrugged. “On the other hand, I dare say very few women have gone to bed with Edward Charles Samuels.” Jemma felt herself redden. “And that you are in that number.”

She pinched her lips together, stared at him.

“Therefore, I’d say I have a very dangerous situation on my hands.”

“Dangerous because you think he might marry? A stable Eddie C bad for business?”

“He’s never liked being confined. Let’s just say I’m trying to save you a major heartbreak.”

“And a major division of property in the inevitable divorce, pre-nuptial agreement notwithstanding?”

“As you wish.”

“Why don’t you just ask Charles all this?”

“If I told him marriage would save his soul, he’d leave you. If I told him to leave you, he’d have you in the Caribbean so fast you’d be married before your plane landed.”

“So tell him to marry me if the idea of such is so repugnant to you.”

“And hurt you?”

“Tell me, Fletch.” She leaned forward and balanced her elbows on her knees. How many times had she heard her dad say it: “Fish or cut bait.” Time to fish. “I know you don’t care about me, but how about them? About Sam and Charles and the rest of BCA—do you really care about them? Are they just the means to a very comfortable financial end for you? Do they perform better for you when they’re unhappy?”

He straightened in the old chair, then leaned over and mimicked her posture. “You’ve known him two weeks. I’ve known him almost half his life. He’s never been happy. He’ll never be happy. It’s not in C’s nature to genuinely love and be loved. He’s just having trouble adjusting to the fact that T doesn’t need him any more. Baby feels abandoned. Trust me, that’s all this is. Take up with him and in six months you’ll be back here living with your mother and slinking to your office every day with your tail between your legs.” He sat back and a look of satisfaction crossed his features. “Consider yourself warned.”

Jemma took a deep breath and slowly straightened up. “Is this the same speech you gave Lyla?”

“The circumstances were different. T was never as callous as his brother. I think it was his music that saved him.”

She stood up and looked down at him. “I’ll get in touch with the Newtons, give them your card.” She picked up the pad and pen. “It’s a pity you followed me this morning rather than riding with me, Mr. Fletcher. I’d have liked nothing better than to have left you here on foot.”

***

“Bring back any memories? Fond or otherwise?” C leaned down to whisper in Jemma’s ear as they stood in the double doorway of the high school gym. His soft breath only served to remind her what she hadn’t had in almost twelve hours: him, his intimate touch. Oh, he’d kissed her when she’d joined him in his car at her house. But it hadn’t been the same, not with Jessie looking down on them from her bedroom window. Jemma had been sitting on the porch swing waiting for him, wanting to call and tell him to hurry up, that she’d meet him halfway. Life with her mother had just become intolerable. As soon as Norm got back into town, she was changing her life and her address.

She leaned back against him slightly as they watched the calm before the storm in the gym. In winter, their kiss in his car would have fogged the windows. As it was, he’d suggested they take a quick—
and trust me, Jemma, it will be quick!
—trip out to Norm’s. One bounce onto the kitchen table and, he’d assured her, she’d be good to go for another three or four hours without him. He’d narrowed his gaze at her then and run his tongue slowly over his lips. Or, if she were hungry for food, they could wait until after supper.

She’d changed the subject by haughtily suggesting they go somewhere else to dine besides the Lily Pond. But she had two new fortunes in her pocket and a leering lover trailing in her wake instead. She rubbed the two pieces of paper together while she contemplated the answer to his “bringing back memories” question. Two “fortunes” she’d have sworn he’d planted if she hadn’t picked them out of the overflowing basket herself:
Actions speak louder than words
and
A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

In bed
. He’d laughed his fool head off, drawing attention to them in a restaurant that had quickly adjusted itself to its most infamous customer. The owner had saved the back booth for them—just in case. She’d refused to go to Norm’s with him afterwards, during the football game. They could just go to the gym and kill time there.

So they stood in the doorway and surveyed the party site. Streamers hung from the rafters and balloon clusters decorated the ends of the food tables and the occasional chair. A disco ball spun in the center and light bounced off the walls and the unopened bleachers. The disc jockey was putting the final touches on his platform by the stage and a handful of teachers and chaperones milled about awaiting the arrival of the teens.

“Memories? Oh, fond, I guess. A new dress, the thrill of the invitation from some boy you thought you fancied, a homecoming corsage.”

“And were you homecoming queen?” He laid his hand on her waist and began to maneuver them inside.

“No. I managed to stay out of that.” Her tone was sarcastic, as if to imply that would have really been a miracle, Jemma Lovelace as homecoming queen.

“Well, your escort tonight was a social pariah whose bad reputation was exceeded only by his brother’s.”

“Jemma!” A sixtyish woman came out of nowhere to greet them. She stopped in front of C and folded her hands, awaited her introduction.