Like Jazz (27 page)

I closed my eyes and covered them with one arm as I tilted my head back to rest more comfortably against the pillow. Moments later, I heard Sarah set some objects onto the bathroom counter and start to run a bath. Shortly thereafter, her footsteps disappeared into the bedroom.

I started at the sound of her voice close by, unsure how long I’d drifted off.

“Cazz.” She extended a hand. “Come.” She jiggled her fingers in my direction. I took her hand and she pulled me up and into the bathroom. She bent down over the tub and turned off the water, then grabbed small metal scissors from the counter. Taking turns with each wrist, she cut off the tape and gauze the hospital staff had put on a few hours ago, then held my wrists up between us. “It’s going to sting when you first get in.”

She spoke as she pointed to a tube of antibacterial ointment, a package of Band-Aids, and the bandage covering my stitches. “Pat that on when you’re done, cover up with some of those, and try not to touch that.” Partially closing the bathroom door, she nodded to a plush white hotel robe hanging on the back. “Put that on when you get out. I’m ordering room service.” She closed the door behind her and left me to my bath.

By the time I finally finished, the hot water had turned lukewarm. I’d washed my hair and found my own hairbrush waiting for me on the counter. I brushed back my wet hair and donned the luxurious robe. Pushing back its sleeves, I lightly dabbed some ointment on my wrists where the skin had been sliced, then covered the worst spots with a few bandages. I felt almost human again, but the heat of the bath and the steam in the air, combined with my ordeal and what I suspected was a very late hour, nearly put me into a catatonic state.

When I opened the bathroom door, Sarah was sitting on the couch, a glass of wine in her hand, two clean plates in front of her, and various round silver dishes covering what I assumed was food. She’d been thumbing through a magazine and looked up expectantly.

“Better?” she asked.

“Tired.” I noticed the half-full wineglass waiting for me. “I’ll fall asleep in your lap if I have any of that.”

She smiled. “Worse things could happen.” She patted the empty seat cushion next to her, but I remained standing.

“Sarah…” I didn’t know what I wanted to say.

“Cazz, you need to eat.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
You don’t know what I need.
“I’m not hungry.” I practically whined, praying she wouldn’t argue. I didn’t have the energy for another tussle with her about feelings: mine or hers. The sound of her getting off the leather couch prompted me to open my eyes.

She stood in front of me and took both my hands, lightly rubbing the backs of them with her thumbs. She searched my eyes for a few moments before softly responding. “Okay.”

Slipping her fingers farther into my left hand, she turned and tugged me gently toward the bedroom. Once she pulled the covers and sheets down from one side of the bed, she kissed my cheek sweetly. “Get some rest.” She walked to the doorway, flipped the light switch, and closed the door behind her.

I tossed the robe to the other side of the bed, pulled the sheet and covers around me, and fell asleep instantly.

*

I woke up disoriented, finding myself in an unfamiliar room. Groggily, I sat up on my elbows and let my eyes adjust to the dim light peeking in through the curtains and under the door. The robe on the bed reminded me I was in a hotel room. I rubbed my face, got out of bed, laced my arms into the sleeves of the robe, pulled it on, and opened the door. Propelled by my insistent bladder, I went straight to the adjoining bathroom before washing my hands, popping two ibuprofen pills, and walking into the suite.

I stopped short when I heard Sarah’s voice. “Sleeping Beauty awakes. Or should I call you Belle?” She was lying on the couch, propped up on an elbow with her legs tucked under a blanket and a magazine in front of her. She smiled radiantly and my knees weakened as I stared at her.

“You stayed?” I asked stupidly, caught off guard by her presence and her beauty.

She sat up and scanned me from head to toe. “How are you feeling?”

“Starving.” It felt like forever since my last meal. She reached in front of her to the coffee table, on which I now noticed two silver serving trays similar to those of the night before. Lifting off each cover, she offered its contents.

“Bagel? Fruit?” She tapped a stainless carafe. “Coffee?”

“God, yes.” I sat on the chair adjacent to the couch and snatched a bagel, tearing into it with my teeth.

“We have toppings, you know,” Sarah said, poking fun at my ravaging. I reached for the knife, slapped some cream cheese onto the rest of the bagel, and continued chewing my monstrous bite. She poured a cup of coffee from the carafe. “Cream, sugar, or both?”

“Eem pweese,” I replied with my mouth full, though she understood what I’d said because she poured some cream into my mug. I finally swallowed my bite of bagel and doused it with a swig of coffee. I didn’t have a chance to filter what came out of my mouth next. “You’re a godsend.”

She sat back and watched me, her eyes full of pleasure. “We can order something hot if you’d rather. Eggs or potatoes or something.” The something hot was sitting next to me, looking ravishing in a pair of my old navy-blue Columbia sweats and a faded, formerly red now pinkish Redskins T-shirt I recognized. She must have borrowed some of my things when she packed the overnight bag for me.

“Nice outfit,” I said. How anyone could look so good in ratty old clothes was beyond me.

“Hope you don’t mind?”

I shook my head.

“They’re comfy.”

“They’re worn and bleached and would look like hell on anyone but you, but they are comfy.” I took another bite of bagel.

Sarah cupped her coffee mug with both hands and watched me take a few more bites. “You’re good at what you do.” She waited for a reaction.

I swallowed my bite, wondering if I was ready for whatever confrontation this might turn into.

“Uncle Jim says you’re one of his best, and he’s not the kind to dole out praise.”

“Uncle Jim?”

“Ashby. Though, as I said, he’s not really my uncle.”

“Oh, right.” I remembered our conversation in the car and how she said she’d known Commander Ashby since birth, which is why she had his cell-phone number—a small fact that probably saved my life.

“Do you like it? Being an investigator?” She sipped her coffee.

I reached for mine. “Until yesterday,” I replied, cupping my mug between my hands, too.

“Would you stop doing it if someone asked you to?”

I shifted my gaze from my coffee to her face, searching for, but failing to find, the underlying meaning behind her question, though I understood when she said “someone” she meant “someone special.”

“It’s not usually dangerous.”

She returned my gaze. “That wasn’t the question.”

“Sarah…” I turned away, biting my lip and wondering where this was going. Feeling her hand on my arm, I met her eyes.

“Please.” Her eyes implored me to respond.

Caught in a web, I didn’t want to say anything that might drive her away, but I’d been too honest with her about my feelings to lie to her now, not counting my nod—made under duress—at her house.

“No, I don’t think I could. I’m good at it, and I help people. Yesterday was an anomaly. You have to believe me.” I was desperate for her to do so on the off chance she could be the “someone” who might ask it of me.

She removed her hand from my arm. “I do. I couldn’t either.”

I eyed her in confusion.

She sipped her coffee. “I’m good at what I do, too, Cazz. The Kindle Hope Foundation does exactly that: it gives people hope. Second chances. What I do helps people, lots of them, and I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. I could never give it up, even if someone asked me to.”

“I know.” That was all I could say. I understood how much her work meant to her; I’d known since high school when she would exude happiness at mentioning her father’s work and anything associated with the Foundation. I had no idea where this was coming from or why she was telling me this. Then suddenly I had a hunch.

“Someone asked you to?”

She nodded. “My fiancé.”

My eyebrows shot upward, which slightly tugged at my bandage and made me wince.

“Former fiancé.”

I’d hit brick walls with Sarah before, and recently, so I wasn’t sure she was ready to divulge any more. “Sarah, you don’t owe me any explanations.”

She laid a hand on my arm again. “I do. If you’ll let me.”

I searched her eyes, which were searching mine, and saw nothing but sincerity. I nodded.

Setting her coffee down, she sat cross-legged on the couch and laid her hands in her lap, studying them. “He was an investment banker. Still is, I imagine. The son of one of our most loyal donors. We met at a fund-raiser three years ago and were inseparable after that. Eight months later, we were engaged.” She looked up at me. “His parents come from old money, so I should have expected his traditionalism.” Returning her attention to her lap, she rubbed the base of her fingers with the thumb of her other hand. “He wanted me to stay home and take care of our children. He didn’t like the hours I put in for the Foundation. The early mornings, the late nights, the weekend events. He said I didn’t need to do it anymore.” She raised her eyes again. “I thought he knew it was never a matter of need. It was what I wanted to do. He said any wife of his was going to put his children first, and that once I had kids, I’d understand. So I broke it off.” She shifted the blanket in her lap and her gaze to the window. “I know what you’re thinking. That we could have figured it out. Hired nannies for the kids, hired more help at the Foundation. Something.” She flicked her eyes back to me. “But Cazz, I can’t do it half-assed. It has to come first. And I know that’s too much to ask of anyone.”

Rewrapping my robe around me, I walked over to and leaned back against the desk, gathering my thoughts. It was all starting to make sense: Sarah’s unwillingness to get involved with someone, her irritability on the subject of children, her distrust. She had believed this guy understood her devotion to her father’s foundation, and ultimately he had belittled it.

“So,” I said, “you don’t ask it.” I focused on the wall opposite from me, trying not to fall into the pit of hopelessness suddenly surrounding me. She was telling me I had no chance.

“I haven’t been willing to.”

I shook my head as I listened. She was playing judge and jury, without bothering to find out if anyone was willing to accept her conditions; she was taking the decision away from anyone else. As if I would ever want her to give up the most meaningful thing in her life in order to be with me, when her passion for her work was one of the most beautiful and attractive things about her.

Noise from the couch cushion caught my attention, and I watched as she rose and came over to me. She took my hands, looked down at them and bit her lip. Then she met my eyes.

“Until now,” she said.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to follow what she was saying. “Until now…what?”

“I’m asking.”

I blinked. Maybe the smack I’d taken to the head was a harder blow than I realized. There was no way I could have heard her correctly. It was only as I searched her eyes and saw the unguarded appeal, the sincerity, the desire for connection that it all clicked into place. My eyebrows leapt up in astonishment, and this time I was numb to the tug on my bandage.

She caressed the back of my hands with her thumbs. “I know I shouldn’t.”

I fought to keep my jaw attached since it wanted to drop to the floor. I was momentarily incapable of speech, such was the rush of hope and relief that filled me.

“I know it’s not a very appealing offer.” She again lowered her gaze to where she held my hands.

I was beside myself with joy.

When I found my voice, it was low and playful. “Well, maybe you should ratchet up the appeal factor.” I gave her a look of challenge.

She stopped her hand caresses and regarded me. Her left eyebrow went up and she tilted her head slightly as she considered my response. “I should, should I?” she asked, as a tiny smile pulled at the corners of her mouth.

I nodded and gave her a mischievous grin. “Might help land you a favorable reply.” I briefly dropped my gaze to her lips and back.

She searched my eyes for a moment before she lightly brushed my lips with hers as she spoke, her breath hot against my mouth. “You think so?”

“Mm-hmm.” I was nearly swooning with anticipation.

Reaching for the lapels of my thick cotton robe, she grabbed each side in her fists and yanked me toward her, crushing my mouth with hers. Our lips and tongues danced, and I gathered her closer by wrapping my arms around her waist.

After several glorious minutes, Sarah pulled away slightly. “Is this helping your decision?”

“Uh.” I had trouble focusing since the blood in my head had moved swiftly south. “I’m on the fence,” I couldn’t help but grin again at my patently false statement.

The smile she gave me nearly knocked me off my feet, as it contained a heady mix of lust and seduction. I was her clay to be molded as she pleased. She reached up and lightly traced a finger over my bandage.

“How’s your head? Am I hurting you?”

I shook my head. It could have been stuck in a vise and I wouldn’t have wanted Sarah to cease her attentions.

With her eyes still on mine, she moved her hands to my waist, where she tugged at my belt and sent my robe falling open to my sides. She slid her hands inside my robe, gently moved them along my stomach and under my breasts, and placed wet, open-mouthed kisses along my neck and collarbone. She was sending me into sensory overload, as every touch and every kiss made me shiver with a combination of delight and desire. As she moved her face in front of mine, her thumbs brushed my nipples, making them hard with arousal.

She looked deeply into my eyes. “You’re so beautiful, Cazz.” An instant later, she was claiming my mouth with hers. She rolled one of my nipples between the thumb and forefinger of one hand and trailed the other down my body until it lightly grazed the coarse hair below. I moaned with pleasure, wet between my legs. “I’d like to take you to bed,” she said.