Lake Magic (11 page)

“I don’t think many clients come here looking for the ‘Top Five Hair Removal Secrets,’ ” he read from one of the magazines. “Or,” he thumbed down the pile. “‘Six weeks to a perfect body.’ ”

Her face flushed pink.

This time, when she grabbed for the magazines, he let her take them.

“Every office has magazines.”

“Lady, this isn’t an office. It’s a dump.” He leaned back in the chair, enjoying watching her squirm. In a small way, it made up for all the garbage he’d just spent the last couple hours wading through. “It worked, just in case you were wondering.”

She clutched the magazines to her chest and eyed him warily. “What worked?”

“The six weeks.” He raked his eyes over her body, making sure he paused in all the right places to fully admire and appreciate her God-blessed assets. “You are perfect, Cotton Tail. I’ll give you that.”

Her face burned a crimson red. “Don’t call me that.”

“And if you need help with the other thing, you just let me know. I’d consider it my civic duty to volunteer.”

He could see she didn’t want to ask, could tell how hard she struggled. But in the end, curiosity won out. “What
other
thing?”

Before she knew what he was doing, he pulled one of the magazines from her tight grasp. There, on the front page and in letters large enough to grab attention at the grocery checkout stands, was the headline: “Ten Positions Guaranteed to Drive Him Wild.” “Believe me, sweetheart, it would be a night you’d never forget.”

“You are insane.”

He flashed her a smile that had opened more bedroom doors than he could remember.

“Insane,” she repeated, crossing her arms under her chest. The action molded her long-sleeved shirt tight against her, pulling the V neckline down until the tops of her full breasts were exposed. As clothing went, there was nothing provocative about what she wore. But try telling that to his body.

Jesus, what in the hell was wrong with him? He’d been tossing out sexual innuendos for more years than he could remember, and a helluva lot more explicit ones. Until now, they’d never boomeranged back around to him. But there was something about her . . . something that pushed him off center and made him think about things that were better left alone.

“Before you leave—”

“Who said I was leaving?” she interrupted.

He cut off his smile. She was tough; he’d give her that. But not tough enough. “Before you leave, I have something for you.”

“You have nothing I want.”

He hid his grin and opened the bottom desk drawer. It was full of crap. Female crap. Makeup. Nail polish. A plastic bottle labeled Polish Remover that smelled like shit. And a whole lot of other unnecessary stuff. Sliding the drawer all the way out, he upended it into one of the empty boxes he’d found earlier. The tiny glass bottles clinked together.

Too late, she realized what he was doing. Trying to stop him, she grabbed the box, and glass bottles of nail polish fell onto the floor. “What are you doing? You have no right.”

“Lady, until you come up with my money, I have every right. And from now on, no personal shit in the office. And one more thing.” He ripped a piece of paper off the pad he’d been writing on. “Here’s a list of supplies I’ll need to get this place into shape, and when you bring me my lunch, I like white bread. None of that whole wheat shit.”

“Go to hell.” Without taking the box or the slip of paper, she left.

Jared watched her go, smiling. Like taking candy from a baby. By this time tomorrow, she’d be begging her parents for the money.

Jenny slammed her front door behind her and instantly wished she hadn’t. She grabbed her head and groaned. Drinking that bottle of wine last night had been a mistake. Naively she’d thought it would help. Help her get Jared out of her mind, help her deal with her sister, help her sleep. But it hadn’t done any of those things. She’d spent yet another sleepless night walking through the dark and painfully quiet house, trying to forget.

There had been a time right after Steven’s death when she’d wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. While she didn’t wish for exactly that anymore, she did crave the sweet oblivion of sleep at night. Most days, that was the only way she could make herself get up, by promising herself that at the end of the day, she would be able to go back to sleep and forget, even if only for a few hours.

But last night, Jared had robbed her of even that small comfort. Because of him she hadn’t been able to fall asleep until well past dawn. No doubt that was the reason she hadn’t heard him arrive. She wondered how long he’d been there without her knowledge. Judging from the drastic change to the office, it had been a couple of hours at least.

Releasing her hair from her ponytail, she massaged her aching scalp and went in search of Excedrin. Locating the bottle in the kitchen, she downed two. She leaned against the kitchen sink and closed her eyes. God, what a mess. What a complete and utter mess. And what a coward she had been to flee, but there was no way she could stay in that office one more second.

She tried to block out the image of Jared sitting at Steven’s desk, in Steven’s chair.

It wasn’t fair. Everyone told her the pain would fade, that as time went on, she wouldn’t feel it so deeply. But they were wrong. The pain didn’t leave. As weeks and months passed in agonizing slowness, she soon realized a person just learned to do whatever they had to, to get through another day. And for Jenny, that meant avoiding the places and people who reminded her most sharply of Steven.

It hadn’t taken her long to realize she couldn’t work in his office. Everywhere she looked, she saw him. It had been easier to close it off, to fill the space with as much stuff as she could so she didn’t have to see . . . didn’t have to remember. She started running the business from the front room in her home and avoiding the office at all costs. But now all her hard fought for distance was being stripped away, leaving her raw and exposed.

Tears pressed against the backs of her eyes and made her head throb all that much harder. Damn him for making her hurt like this. But she knew the real issue wasn’t the office, it was the man himself. Because no matter how much she tried to fool herself, she knew the truth: it wasn’t
what
Jared had done that had left her shattered—it was how he had made her
feel
.

Heat spread through her body again as she remembered how his eyes had raked over her with a boldness that bordered on obscene.

Believe me, sweetheart, it would be a night you’d never forget
.

She forgot to breathe as she remembered his words, the way his eyes had darkened with something almost like desire. But she had to be wrong, she realized with painful mortification. She’d never been able to arouse anything more than a lukewarm of wanting in any man—not even Steven.

That thought smacked of betrayal and brought with it a deep sense of shame. What she and Steven had—or didn’t have—wasn’t up for comparison. And how was it that in the space of less than a day, Jared Worth had made her feel and remember everything she’d fought to forget? That scared her more than anything.

Needing to do something—anything—she turned on the kitchen faucet, held her hand under the soft flow, and waited for the old pipes to produce hot water. After what seemed like an eternity, the cold water slowly warmed, and she washed the wineglasses from last night and the few other dishes in her sink. Finishing, she rinsed out the dish-rag and began wiping down the already clean countertops. It wasn’t until she reached the toaster sitting in the corner that she paused.

I like white bread. None of that whole wheat shit
.

A reluctant grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. It would serve him right if she brought him a sandwich. With her track record, he’d get botulism. Even the cheerful thought of giving him an awful disease couldn’t propel her into action. She had her limitations, and after their earlier confrontation, she knew she was in no shape to confront a poodle, let alone a panther.

Her phone rang, startling her. Putting down the rag, she glanced at the caller ID. She groaned. Great. What a perfect way to round out a perfectly awful morning. She eyed the bottle of Excedrin and wondered how many constituted an overdose. “Hello, Mother.”

“Jennifer.”

It was an art, really, how one word could hold so much recrimination.

“I was starting to worry I’d never get ahold of you.”

Not up to another verbal battle, Jenny gave in with all the grace and humility she could muster. “I’m sorry, Mom. I should have called you earlier.”

The apology went a long way to mollifying her mother. “It would have been nice, dear, but I understand you’ve been busy.” There was a pause, as if her mother was waiting for Jenny to fill in the silence. But when Jenny didn’t rise to the bait, her mom went on. “I was calling about tonight. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

Tonight . . . tonight. Jenny flipped through her recent memories like a mental card catalog. She struggled to remember, was just about to admit defeat when, “Dad’s birthday party. Of course I haven’t forgotten.”

“I thought we’d have dinner at seven. Nothing fancy. Your dad wants to try out his new grill.”

“Seven. No problem. And, Mom, don’t worry about the cake. I’ve decided to surprise Dad and bake him one from scratch.”

There was a short, horrified pause, and even after everything that had happened this morning, Jenny had the urge to laugh. “Just kidding. I’ll see you at seven.”

“Perfect. Oh, and Jennifer?”

“Yes?”

“Make sure you invite your new partner.”

 

 

 

 

It was after eleven when Jenny pulled into her driveway. She took the keys out of the ignition, started to open the car door, then paused. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the Corvette’s soft leather seat and let out a deep sigh. She was exhausted. Sleepless nights, battling with Jared, and then having to endure four hours of interrogation by her family had wrung her dry. The Spanish Inquisition had to have been a walk in the park compared to what she’d endured tonight.

She’d known there would be a high price to pay for ignoring her mother’s request to invite Jared to her father’s birthday celebration, but there had been no way she’d been about to spend one more moment in that man’s company than was absolutely necessary. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

Briefly, she deluded herself that he wouldn’t show. Tomorrow was Saturday. But deep down, she knew better. He’d be here. After their encounter earlier today, it was only too clear he enjoyed wreaking havoc on her already shaky world.

She let out another sigh. Thinking of him—of today— was a subject she’d been dancing around all afternoon. Remembering how she’d run like a coward didn’t sit well. She wasn’t proud of her reaction to finding him in the office, and it was a reaction she didn’t plan on repeating. Somehow, before tomorrow morning, she was going to have a plan on how to effectively deal with him. Thank goodness for insomnia. At least she’d have plenty of time to figure out what to do.

Jenny grabbed her purse and the leftovers her mom insisted she take home and got out of the car. As always, the first thing she looked to was the lake. At this late hour and with no bright moon high in the sky, the water was nothing more than a smooth black canvas that stretched as far as she could see. But just knowing it was there, waiting for her, was all she needed. In the quiet she could hear the water brushing against the pilings.

She was halfway to the front door when she knew something was wrong.

The porch lights.

They were on.

For anybody else, that’s how it should be. But Jenny could never seem to remember to turn the outside lights on when she left, a fact Steven and her whole family had berated her for on more than one occasion.

Panic squeezed her. The last night she’d come home and the lights had been on, her parents had been waiting for her inside her house.

“We’re so sorry—” her dad had begun, only to be stopped by her mother’s heartbreaking sobs.

“What?” Jenny had demanded.

“There’s been an accident.”

“Not Paul. Or Anna, or—”

“It’s Steven,” her dad had said softly, reaching out to her.

Jenny had stared at her father’s outstretched hands, shaking her head, refusing to hear what he was saying. She backed away from his embrace, blocked out his words . . . her mother’s cries. She felt frozen as if she were in some horrible nightmare and couldn’t wake up. Then the dam burst, and she’d turned, started to run back to her car. “We need to go. Tell me which hospital.”

Her mom’s sobs had grown louder.

Her dad reached out, stopped her. Gathered her in his strong embrace. “Honey, he didn’t make it. Steven’s gone.”

She didn’t remember much after that. She didn’t remember collapsing or her dad carrying her to the couch or her parents trying to console her. Later, she’d been told all of those things. What little she did remember were words like “drunk driver” and “he didn’t suffer.” And she remembered the horrific truth she’d learned that night: there were degrees of grief. Some sorrows could be compartmentalized, tucked into a corner of your heart where, while they still made you ache and pray for the time Before, you could go on. You were still whole. But other griefs destroyed you. Left you a hollowed shell of your former self. Before that night, Jenny had had everything. On nights when the pain became more than she could bear, she told herself she’d been lucky; some people went a lifetime without knowing the kind of happiness she had had. And some nights she almost believed it.