Jinxed (4 page)

An old man walking a poodle in a Santa Claus sweater paused by the porch. “Missus throw you out?”

“Something like that.” Jinx found and pulled on his boots over damp socks. “It’s just a tiff, we’ll work it out.”

“Well, good luck. Spent many nights on the couch myself but still managed forty-three years with my wife. Flowers help some but the only thing to do when they’re this mad is say you’re sorry and you’ll never do it again. Lie if you got to.”

“It would be a lie because I’m not the least bit sorry.” Jinx pulled his coat on and released a chuckle. “Not sorry at all. I’m right and she’d going to see that.”

“Well, good luck to you. If you love her, make it work. Too many marriages just throw in the towel these days.”

“Oh, I love her.” Stepping onto the sidewalk, he turned his head up and saw a light blazing through a window. Her bedroom, he guessed with a small sigh of regret. He’d almost found out. “And I don’t give up. When I know what I want, I go for it. Getting her to come along is going to be the challenge.”

“I’ve got my dog to ‘come along’ but never the wife.” The old man sniggered while his dog sniffed around Jinx’s feet. “‘Course, can’t swat your wife with a rolled-up newspaper either.”

Jinx zipped his jacket and fished in his pocket for his keys. He raised his eyes once more to the lit window and a grin lifted his lip. “No, and I might end up getting my nose whapped a few times, but I’m going to have her eating out of my hand before it’s all said and done.”

“Just make sure she doesn’t bite your fingers off.”

Chapter Two

“Suddenly he stops. He looks up. For, lo, there she stands. The girl of his dreams. Who she is or whence she came, he knows not, nor does he care for his heart tells him that here, here is the maid predestined to be his bride.”

—Grand Duke in
Cinderella

“There’s a Mr. Sullivan on line three.”

Frannie dropped her head on her desk and groaned. She’d been waiting for this moment all morning. She knew Jinx wouldn’t just drop it. He was crazy; crazy people had more stick-to-it-ness than Elmer’s glue. She didn’t even bother raising her head.

“Tell Mr. Sullivan I’m not at my desk, Tracey. Send him to voicemail hell.”

“Having a pre-mid-life crisis?”

Standing in the connecting door, Steve McAlly chuckled at the scorching look she sent him. He intercepted her hands as she reached for her coffee mug and handed her a takeout bag from the corner diner. “Eat. You put too much caffeine in your system. By the time you’re forty, you’re not going to have a stomach lining left. Selfishly, I don’t want my partner getting sick on me. Who would go on all those last minute ‘save my adorable ass’ trips for me?”

Steve looked like your typical California surfer heartthrob and knew it, relished it even. His purposely disheveled blond hair and twinkling blue eyes had people forever fawning over him. He liked the attention. Frannie teased him about using more hair product in a year than she did. He simply laughed her off and called her jealous. She called him mirror-obsessed. She’d never buttered him up and it allowed their friendship to grow flawlessly. He loved her like a little sister and teased her relentlessly. She in turn had adopted him and pestered him like family.

“Yeah, about that—” she dug hungrily into the bag, “—next time Alvarez gets all panicky, you go hold his hand. That man gives me the creeps.”

“But that ‘creep’ brings in
mucho
dinero
for this company. Thanks for bailing me out and going on such short notice.”

Steve sat in the dark blue upholstered chair beside her desk and watched her eat her breakfast sandwich. Frannie fought the urge to fidget under his perusal. The violet smudges under her eyes had taken two coats of makeup to hide and she prayed he wouldn’t notice. But he knew her well. He’d been her study partner in college as well as her best friend. When the financial group of McGee, Thompson and Fitch looked to expand the accounting department, he lobbied hard for her acceptance. It had been her ability and tenacity, though, that propelled her through the ranks until she became his assistant. She’d earned her place. He and Frannie worked well together, read each other’s body language and she thoroughly enjoyed being on his staff most days. But today he seemed too nosy.

“You okay?” His question was too probing to be casual.

Her shoulders lifted in what she hoped was nonchalance. “I’m fine. Maybe a bit jet-lagged is all.”

Her eyes darted to her phone and a niggle started at the base of her neck. He’d noticed the move.
Dayum
.

Steve stuck out his leg, pulling his pants up to show thin brown socks. “Here pull this one. The other leg has a bum knee.”

“I’m fine. Honest.” She smacked at his calf. “Put that away. You want somebody to sue your ass for sexual harassment?”

Again her eyes went to the phone. Steve snorted. “Meet anyone interesting while you were gone?”

She blanked her face and avoided looking at him. “What gives you that idea?”

“Because you’re acting like my sister did when she gave Cory Mitchum her phone number in ninth grade.”

Busted.

She threw a crumpled paper napkin at him and wrinkled her nose. “Butt out, Steve.”

He caught the paper ball midair and tossed it into the can with a bit of a flourish. “Now who is sexually harassing whom, asking me to stick my butt out? Have you no shame, Ms. Sullivan?”

“Shame on you for being nosy.” She pulled a manila folder across the desk and asked an obtuse question to divert his attention back to work. It worked. Within minutes, she had him buried under so many work details he had totally forgotten her preoccupation with the phone.

The telephone’s intercom toned with a loud noise, drawing Frannie and Steve’s attention from the spreadsheet they were bent over. Tracey’s voice filtered through.

“Mr. Sullivan’s on line four. He says your voicemail’s full.”

That’s because I turned it off to avoid listening to your sweet Southern charm.

With a fierce scowl, Frannie crumbled a yellow sticky note and replied through clenched teeth. “Tell Mr. Sullivan I said to drop dead.”

“Well, that certainly sounds like a story I want to hear.” Steve laughed but the intercom cut off any response Frannie might have been about to make.

“Mr. Sullivan advises that he loves you, will you marry him and what time do you get off work?”

Stars swam in front of her eyes. She sank to her chair, covering her face in embarrassment.
Did he have to show off his craziness to everybody? Why couldn’t he just go play in traffic or something?

“Tell Mr. Sullivan I said he’s a lunatic, no I will not and not until the second Tuesday of next week.”

“Mr. Sullivan advises he’ll be waiting.” The crackling phone line couldn’t hide the amusement in the young office manager’s voice. It was echoed in Steve’s bright blue eyes.

“Not. A. Word,” she threatened him with a pointed finger. Holding his hands up in surrender, he backed out of her office.

“Not a word. But I can’t wait to see what happens next.”

“Mr. Sullivan on line two.”

“Tell him to leave me alone!”

“Mr. Sullivan advises he loves you, will you marry him and wants to know if you prefer veal or lamb?”

“Tell him he’s a fruitcake, no I won’t and I don’t eat baby animals.”

“Mr. Sullivan advises that’s very sweet and you’re a truly compassionate woman.”

“Tell him he’s a complete jackass in need of a lobotomy.”

“He’s on line three this time.”

“What can he possibly want now? He’s called every half hour on the hour.”

“Mr. Sullivan advises he loves you, will you marry him and you’re out of coffee creamer.”

“Tell him he’s bonkers, no I won’t and to get out of my refrigerator…and get out of my house for that matter!”

{

Frannie arrived home with tense shoulders, a stiff neck and a bottle of coffee creamer. Her front door was unlocked and the sound of Christmas carols on the all-music channel blared from her TV. The treacherous leap of her heart wasn’t from happiness he was here, she told herself. It was anger. No, it was fury.
Yeah, fury is good.
Fury would keep her from remembering the taste of his mouth or the feel of his hands.

Entering her kitchen, she glared at a pair of very well-filled-out jeans sticking out from under her kitchen sink. Last night’s dishes had vanished and the trash had been taken out.
Well, at least he’s housebroken.
The refrigerator door swung widely under too firm a hand. Jaw clenched, she moved a six-pack of beer she hadn’t bought out of the way so she could put her creamer on the top shelf.

“I could have you arrested for breaking and entering, you know that? And I never said you could store your beer in my fridge.” At her voice, Jinx’s dark head popped up and he smiled at her. He dried his hands on one of her flowery dishtowels. Her eyes flew to his long fingers and her nipples puckered in memory. A gulp stuck in her throat. She refused to let her eyes drop to the way the denim hugged his thighs when he stood.
Nope, not going to look. Too late. Dayum
.

“The beer is yours, I just bought it and I didn’t break anything. I fixed something. Last night I noticed your faucet had a slow drip. So I came over and fixed it. But I dropped the old washer down the drain and had to remove the trap to get it out. Everything’s working fine now.”

“Wonderful. Just call you Mr. Plumber. Now how did you get into my house?”

Arms crossed, he leaned on the sink and sizzled her with a sultry look. “You tape an extra house key to the inside of your mailbox, just like I do.”

“Great. Don’t let the doorknob hit you in the ass on the way out.” Frannie turned and flounced up the stairs. Each silent step she expected Jinx to follow her, but he didn’t. Changing into a pair of casual jeans and a sweater, she strained to hear any sound he might be making below. She heard nothing over the sound of holiday music.

Bent at the waist, she peered over the railing on the way down the stairs.
Come in, sit a spell, make yourself comfortable, why doncha?
Jinx was sitting in her living room reading her newspaper. He’d made himself quite at home. His boots rested on the rug just like last night, his coat lay across the back of her couch and his feet were propped up on her coffee table. Molded to his body, his dark blue jeans and pale gray sweatshirt highlighted every inch of masculine beauty. Lust slammed into her like a freight train and her bones rattled in her skin. The force of desire hit, leaving her bruised and aching with want.

I so need to buy batteries in the worst way.

“Hey.” Jinx folded the paper as she entered the room. “Where do you want to eat? There’s a new Thai place down on Markwood Street we could try.”

“Go ahead. Enjoy it. I already ate,” Frannie lied, determined to ignore him. Like a pesky fly, maybe he would buzz off if she didn’t play his game. She grabbed the romance novel she’d been reading off the corner of the coffee table and curled up in the armchair beneath the lamp. Never once looking in his direction, she buried her nose in the pages.

“Want to catch a movie?”

“Nope.”

“Want to go upstairs and play doctor?”

“Nope.”

“How about running off to Vegas for a quickie wedding by an Elvis impersonator?”

“Nope.”

At her silence, he grew quiet and studied her. Feeling his eyes, she focused her gaze to the printed page. Although not reading, she turned the page after a few minutes. Hocus and Pocus waddled into the room, not sparing Jinx a glance. Hocus jumped up on her lap and purred like a diesel engine. Pocus stood looking at them both before falling over with a dull thump.

Jinx jumped to his feet. “Frannie, what’s wrong with your cat? Is he having a seizure?”

“Nope.” Lips bit against her grin, she turned another page.

“Is he dead? He’s not moving.”

“He’s asleep.”

“Asleep? But he just keeled over.”

“Pocus has narcolepsy.”

“Narcolepsy.” Jinx repeated the word in stunned bewilderment. Frannie hid her face behind the book, peering over the top covertly. Shaking his head in confusion, he moved closer to the armchair. Hocus stood up and hissed at him.

“He doesn’t like men,” Frannie offered, not moving her eyes from the page.

“I see that.”

She continued to pretend to read but watched him out of the corner of her eyes. Jinx seemed at a loss. He didn’t know exactly where to turn next. He finally settled himself back against the couch and looked at her. She turned yet another page.

“You really don’t believe me when I say we’re supposed to be together, do you?” Jinx’s voice was a puzzled and quiet whisper.

Sighing, Frannie dropped the book and turned to face the absolutely gorgeous nutball in front of her. “No. Just because we have a few things in common does not mean we’re destined for anything. Go Google Frannie Sullivan. There are thousands in the world, I’m sure. Go find one of them. As similar as we are, there are too many things different about us. It wouldn’t work. Somewhere out there’s a wonderful woman meant just for you. I’m not her. You need to move on and leave me alone.”

Jinx stared at her a long minute before he swallowed and nodded. With a defeated look in his eyes, he rose and walked to the foyer. Frannie closed her eyes in both relief and misery. He was going. Out of her house and out of her life. Sadness crashed down on her like a wool blanket.
Stop it
,
there’s no future with him. He’s crazy and you don’t need the heartache
.

Turning her head to watch him leave, she was shocked to see his legs disappear up the steps.
Now where does he think he’s going?
She tripped over a waking Pocus in her scramble to follow him. With one quick eye roll at her pet, she bounded to the top of her stairs and looked around.
Where is he?

He wasn’t in her bedroom or the guest room, and the bathroom was empty. But the attic door stood wide open. The attic steps were narrow and rough under her sock-clad feet. A bare bulb shone harshly but did little to brighten the cold darkness of the unfinished room. A few old boxes and some camping equipment lined one wall but the rest of the space was bathed in freezing shadows.
Why is it so cold up here and what the hell is he doing?

The answer to both of those silent questions was directly in front of her. Jinx had opened the large eastern window and stood on her roof. Glacial air poured in around her feet, raising goose bumps along her arms. Night had completely fallen and the moonlight, joined with the glow from the neighbors’ Christmas lights, cast an eerie green-tinted aura onto the rooftop. The cold temperature coated the shingles in a fine glistening array of shimmering ice crystals.

Ramrod stiff, with arms outspread and face turned up into the wind, Jinx stood at the edge of her gutter, high above the shrubbery. The poetic beauty of his posture stole her breath. So still and dark against the night sky, eyes closed as if in prayer, he could have been a modern-day prophet listening to the Almighty’s whisper. Twisting her head, Frannie could see or hear nothing that could have captured his interest. Panic seized her chest in a painful grip as he took a final step towards the edge of her roof.

Oh my Gawd, he really is crazy! He’s going to jump off my roof!

“Jinx, get in here! You’re going to break your neck!”

Over the rustle of the bare tree limbs in the growing wind, Frannie heard a group of carolers come up the street. Someone noticed the man standing atop the roofline and the warbling chorus of “Oh Come, All Ye Faithful” died out. A harsh whisper barely reached her ears.