Patchouli For Christmas (3 page)

“Plan them,” he corrected her and started to elaborate. Then he stopped himself. He had no reason to be defensive. He glared at Jude, who had apparently known exactly how his friends would react to Michael’s profession. Which was why the brat had brought it up in the first place.

“It was nice to meet you,” he said politely and headed for the door. Jude followed him.

Michael snagged his jacket from the hook and turned to glance at the neighbors as they busied themselves in the kitchen. He eyed the woman’s long floral skirt and flat canvas sandals. “I feel like I’ve gone through a rabbit hole and landed in the sixties.”

Then he glanced at Jude, afraid he’d offended the artist, but the other man grinned.

“It’s the patchouli,” he said. Standing close to Michael, he had to look up a little. The top of his head only came to Michael’s nose. “Hippies used it to cover up the smell of pot smoke. I haven’t done weed since I got out of college. But I like the patchouli.”

“Yes, I can tell. It’s a bit strong.”

“I might have put on a little too much. I was feeling kind of down.” He trailed a finger along the side of his neck. Probably the spot where he’d put the scent.

One of the wooden beads on his hemp necklace hung down like a pendant and nestled in the hollow of his throat. Jude stroked it and then played with the beads as he tilted his head a little to stare at Michael. The movement made that damn T-shirt slip right off his shoulder again.

Michael looked away and cleared his throat. “Well…I hope you’re feeling better now.”

“You know? I think I am.”

Michael escaped before he could do something he would regret. Getting on the wrong side of his most influential client by having a fling with her precious grandson was the last thing he needed. Even if he had the time for a relationship, it seemed obvious he and Jude lived in different worlds. All there could ever be between them was a one-night stand, and he could get that anywhere. It would be beyond stupid to risk his business for a quickie.

His reasoning made perfect sense. So why couldn’t he get rid of the image of that well-defined, graceful curve of neck and shoulder? Or the startling transformation of the dark eyes when a smile lit them?

* * * *

“I don’t understand.”

“What’s not to understand, Michael? I’ve said it three times already.” Doug sounded impatient.

They had barely started their quarterly review of Cove’s Premiere Events finances when Doug broke the news of his impending divorce.

Michael still reeled from the shock. “But—”

“Lauren and I are done,” Doug said. “I’ve already moved out. I’ve got a little apartment not far from the townhouse in Brooklyn. It’s all I can afford right now until the papers come through and I know where I stand financially.”

“Financially?” Michael didn’t care if the neighbors heard him raise his voice. “Spoken like a true number cruncher. How can you even think about finances when you’re destroying everything you’ve built for the last ten years?” He paced his living room, unable to sit still and listen to his brother tell him his family was falling apart.

“It’s not my choice!” The veneer of calm finally cracked, and Doug jumped up from the table. “I’ve tried, but she won’t give me a chance to explain.”

“Explain what?”

Doug shook his head, looking miserable.

“Explain what?” Michael’s chest hurt as his breath came in quick, shallow bursts.

Doug strode to the window and gazed out at the traffic below Michael’s little condo in the Lower East Side.

Michael followed him. He grabbed Doug’s shoulder and jerked his brother around to face him. They were the same height, but Doug had a heavier build. Michael didn’t care. He pushed him against the wall. “Goddamn it, Doug. What did you do?”

Doug shoved him away. “Cut it out. I can still kick your skinny ass like I did when we were kids.”

Michael stumbled backward and steadied himself against the back of the chair. He didn’t understand how this could have happened. Doug, of all people… He should have known better. He should have known what this would do to his family.

Complete bewilderment slowly replaced the anger. His eyes began to sting. “But how can you? How can you desert your own children?”

“What?” Doug’s mouth dropped open in shock. “What the hell makes you think I’m deserting them? I’m still their father. I’ll see them all the time. We’ll arrange it through the courts.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

“It’s not bullshit. Why the hell would you say that?”

“Because that’s how it works.” Michael’s voice was barely above a whisper. “You start out saying you’re going to visit, and then you get busy and then you never…you never…” His voice hitched. He turned away, unable to look at Doug.

“Is that what you think?” Doug grabbed him and spun him back around. “You think I’m like him?” Doug’s voice rose as he shook Michael’s arm. “You asshole, I’m nothing like him. How can you even think that?”

Michael couldn’t stop the wetness spilling down his face. His brother’s grip softened, and the anger seemed to drain from him. He let Michael go and then smacked him on the back of the head. “Drama queen. Cut it out or you’re gonna have me bawling like a little girl too.”

Doug ran a hand through his short blond hair—so similar to Michael’s—and then went back to his chair. He sat with his elbows propped on the table and his face buried in his hands.

Michael stared out the window at the building across the street until his breathing steadied, and then he also moved back to the table and sat. “Okay. Now tell me.”

“It’s all so stupid. Nothing even happened.”

Michael waited.

Doug rubbed his face. His eyes had the dark circles under them that spoke of more than one sleepless night. “There was a woman at the conference in Denver. She works for an accounting firm in Los Angeles. Young, beautiful, smart.”

Michael groaned. He did
not
want to hear this.

“Hear me out, damn it.” His brother’s voice was sharp.

Michael swallowed hard and then nodded for Doug to go on. He’d asked for the story after all. He could at least listen without interrupting.

“I’ve seen her before at other conferences but never did more than trade hellos. This time, we were in a lot of the same sessions, so we started talking. She asked me for a drink in the hotel bar, and of course I went. That’s what you’re supposed to do at these things—network, get to know people in the profession. I thought there would be others from the conference there too.”

“But there weren’t?”

“No one I knew. But apparently someone recognized me. A friend of Lauren’s. She saw us together in the bar. In Denver, for Chrissakes. Who the hell would expect that? But she’s an auditor with a firm here in New York, so it’s really not that big a coincidence. Anyway, she jumped to all the wrong conclusions and told Lauren she saw me with another woman.”

“It must have been more than just a drink. What were you doing that would give her the wrong impression?”

Doug bit his lip and looked down at the table. A blush crept up his neck.

“Doug?”

“She put her hand on my thigh,” he admitted. “I know there’s no excuse for it. But I let her.” He shook his head. “I don’t expect you to understand. You’re younger than me. You’re still out there, playing the field. I’ve been married a long time. It is—was—still good with Lauren and me. But to have a young, beautiful woman look at you that way—like she really wants you—you have no idea how powerful that is.”

He fell silent for a moment and then continued. “A little harmless flirting. One too many drinks. Then before I knew it, she kissed me. Or hell, maybe I kissed her. I don’t really know who started it. But as soon as she stuck her tongue in my mouth, I came to my senses. She just tasted…wrong. Nothing like Lauren. I don’t know how else to explain it. So I apologized and left her there in the bar, but it was too late.

“I didn’t even know Lauren’s friend had seen us until no one came to pick me up at the airport. I called Lauren, and that was when she told me she’d already called the lawyer. She didn’t even let me try to explain. What does that say about her faith in me? How could she take her friend’s word for it without even talking to me, after ten years of marriage?”

Michael’s heart ached. Not only for the kids, but for the lost expression on his brother’s face. Doug had indeed kicked Michael’s ass when he’d thought he needed it, but he’d been the only one allowed to do so. Their parents were sure never around to keep them in line. But Doug had spent a lot more time fighting the bullies who wanted to pick on his queer, skinny little brother.

“I don’t get it.” Michael shook his head. “You made a stupid mistake, and I can see why she’d be mad. But it doesn’t seem like enough to completely throw everything away.”

“She doesn’t know I left the bar without doing anything else. I tried to tell her it ended there, but she’s too upset to listen.”

“I know it wouldn’t be quick or easy, but the two of you should be able to work through it. Or at least give it a good try.”

“I think it’s too late for that.” Doug sounded forlorn but resigned. “I’m sorry, Mike. I was only thinking about myself and my family. It didn’t occur to me how this would affect you.”

“They’re my family too,” he answered quietly.

“I know.” Doug leaned forward. “Just because Dad left us doesn’t mean I’m going to do the same. And Lauren is nothing like Mom. She’s not going to leave the kids on their own while she’s off working or running around.”

“Have you told Mom yet?”

“No. She’s pretty happy with husband number three. I don’t want to burst her bubble right now.”

Michael nodded. Their mother had remarried the previous year and moved up to Albany. He didn’t call her often, and she almost never called him. He thought it was the same with Doug.

Speaking of multiple marriages…this wasn’t the first time he’d been through this with Doug. But there was one big difference between Doug’s first divorce and this one. “At least when you and Beth got divorced, you didn’t have any kids.”

Doug grimaced. “Guess I don’t have much of a track record, do I?”

“No. You don’t.” Those words shouldn’t have sounded so bitter, but he still felt angry.

His answer sparked a defensive retort from Doug. “At least I tried. Where’s your partner or significant other or whatever the hell you call it? You’re almost thirty-three. Aren’t you a little old to be cruising the clubs?”

That stung. “We’re not talking about me. Don’t try to change the subject.”

Doug sat back in his chair. He looked defeated. “I don’t know what else to say. All I can do is promise you and everyone else I’ll be there as much as I can for my family.”

Michael still had his doubts, but he nodded.

They tried to get back to the accounts, but Michael had a hard time focusing, and Doug seemed to have the same difficulty. After Doug left, Michael wandered through his small apartment, unable to focus on the pile of paperwork waiting for him.

He sat on the couch and stared at the small television in the corner of the living room. He pulled out his phone and thought about calling Lauren. But what if she thought he was interfering or taking Doug’s side? What if he made her so mad she wouldn’t let him see the kids anymore? Wouldn’t it be better to wait until she had time to cool off a little?

Glancing at the clock, he saw it was almost eleven. How long had he been sitting here staring at a blank television screen? It was too late to call now anyway. He’d wake the kids, and tomorrow was a school day. Reluctantly, he put the phone away.

He’d never noticed how quiet it was in his apartment here in the middle of the city. For once he regretted not having an event booked to keep him occupied. He considered going to a club to find a little company but couldn’t even muster the enthusiasm for that.

Or maybe it was the memory of brown eyes half-hidden in a tumble of chestnut hair that stopped him.

Chapter Two

Michael finished ordering the small festive centerpiece cakes Mrs. Kendrick had chosen for her Christmas Eve party. As he walked out of the bakery, his phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. Speaking of Mrs. Kendrick… Michael paused on the sidewalk to answer the call. “Good afternoon.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting, dear.”

“Not at all. What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to tell you how grateful I am that you were able to help my grandson select the paintings. But I’m afraid he hasn’t done a thing since, and we need to get them moved over here, don’t we?”

Michael had a bad feeling about what was coming next. He’d done his best to avoid thinking about Jude over the last few days. With any luck, he’d never meet the young man again. There was too much temptation in that tight body and those big brown eyes.

He mumbled his agreement. “I suppose we do.”

“I know I’m asking you to go above and beyond, but he doesn’t even have a car. Be a dear and go over there this afternoon and talk to him about it, would you? Perhaps help him arrange for a truck?”

“I could make the arrangements over the phone, if that’s all right.”

“I tried calling him, but he didn’t pick up. He doesn’t answer his phone half the time. I think he gets involved in his work and forgets to charge it. Perhaps you could pop over there and talk to him for a moment.”

Michael muted the phone just long enough to hide the slight groan that escaped him. Then he unmuted and said, “I’d be happy to help.”

After flagging down a taxicab, he settled in and checked his messages. Still no return call from Lauren. He’d left her two messages and was afraid to leave another one. She might think he was stalking her or something. But he only wanted to see if he could help. Okay, maybe not only that. He did want to try to talk her into reconsidering. No doubt she knew that and didn’t want to deal with him yet. He might have to drop by the house if she didn’t call him back in another day or two.

The cab deposited him at the building in SoHo. The doorman called up and then waved him toward the elevator.

Jude opened the door with his usual annoyed expression. His face looked a little flushed, and sweat stuck a strand of hair to his cheek. He wore the same loose linen pants, but the T-shirt was really tight this time and clung to his skin, showing the well-defined muscles of his chest.