His eyebrows shot up. “Well, not camping, exactly. Going someplace I’d never been. Having adventures.”
She nodded; it was what she’d suspected he meant. “Because your father died when you were so young, you probably didn’t have much opportunity to travel before you became an adult.”
His sudden laughter surprised her. “I did a lot of traveling, starting when I was six. I’d go off on foot or on my bike and end up in some neighborhood I’d never been before. My mother had to come with the car to retrieve me on more than one occasion.”
Violet understood then just how firmly his wanderlust was entrenched. Even if he wanted to stay in one place, he probably couldn’t do it.
She moved on to the next question on her list, the one she liked the least because it was going to affect her life too. Not that she wanted or needed Jake around, but the routine they’d established was working well. She’d been told she didn’t handle transitions well and knew it was true.
“Your books have been very successful. I understand you recently returned from Russia and Tibet, and will have two books coming out next year. Where are you heading next?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He bit his lip, frowning in concentration, and finally laughed. “I guess we’ll have to tape this part over, because I’ve forgotten! I’ll have to call Millie and ask her, but she’ll probably kill me.”
“You’re going to Peru,” she reminded him, having gotten the information from his agent when she prepared for the interview.
“Oh, right.” He grinned. “I should have known you’d do your homework.”
She repeated the question, and he told her about his plans to explore the Incan culture, growing more animated as he talked. She didn’t know what it meant that he had forgotten his destination, but she had no doubt he was eager to go.
“I just have one more question. You have a reputation as a man’s man, someone who will go anywhere and do anything. I wondered if you have a phobia, one thing that really scares you.” She expected him to say no, or reply with a joke. Once again, he surprised her.
“Yes, I do. Fire.”
Jake had been about to tell Violet — and the Boston viewers — about his fear of being confined. That would have been bad enough, but at least it would make sense to people. The guy camps by himself in the wilderness, okay, because he’s claustrophobic and likes a lot of space. Why, then, had he said fire? It would make people wonder what had happened to him, Violet included. Nosy types might even ask him to explain. In fact, that would probably be her next question.
He cleared his throat. “Umm, could I ask you not to use that part? We can do it over if you want. As it turns out, I have a lot of phobias.” He flashed what he hoped was a charming smile, showing lots of teeth. He’d given Violet veto power over the photographs he took of her, but she’d made no similar offer. He was forced to throw himself on her mercy.
To his surprise, she let the issue drop. “I think we have enough without it. It has to be cut down to ten minutes anyway.” She stood up and held out her hand the way she might to any interviewee. There was no chance Violet’s staff was going to suspect they had a personal relationship. Her hand was warm and dry, but his palm was sweaty.
“Thanks for giving me your time, Jake. I think it’s going to be a great segment.”
He hoped so, given the risk he’d taken asking Carrie to sit for Daisy. “It was my pleasure.”
Violet walked away to confer with her producer, leaving Jake feeling abandoned. He’d considered asking her to go to dinner with him between newscasts, but it was probably best he get back home — to Violet’s, rather — and relieve Carrie. The less time she spent with Daisy, the less chance Violet would find out what he’d done.
Everything was fine back at the townhouse. Daisy was all smiles, and so was Carrie. She thanked him effusively for giving her a chance to make amends, and refused his offer of payment before taking off in his uncle’s truck. So he was feeling smug when Violet walked in at midnight carrying a chilled bottle of champagne.
“It was a gift from my producer. Will you join me in a celebration?”
“Of course. But what are we celebrating?” He worked on removing the cork while she went to the cabinet for the fluted glasses.
“He liked the segment and wants me to do more. In fact, we talked about the possibility of my own weekly program.”
“Would you still anchor the news?” The cork came out with a subdued pop — he didn’t want to wake Daisy — and he filled their glasses.
Violet’s smile was radiant. “No, that’s the best part! My hours would be more flexible, and I could spend a lot more time with Daisy.”
“Won’t you miss it?”
She sat down next to him on the sofa and sipped her wine before answering. He was reminded of her farewell party in Wickham, although she hadn’t been sipping that night. She’d drained her glass in two swallows and then he’d handed her another. Tonight he’d make sure she either stayed sober, went to bed alone, or both. As tempting as it was to let history repeat itself, he believed in learning the lessons history presented.
“I realized when I was interviewing you today just how bored I am with anchoring the news. You’re so passionate about what you do. Even a stick-in-the-mud like me could see the attraction of traveling and creating art.” She set her glass on the table and leaned back against the cushions.
“I’m very fortunate to be able to do what I love. My mother never got to travel, although it was her greatest wish. Well, second greatest. I know wanting me and Jamie to turn out well was number one.” He’d wished his mother could have seen the turnout at the gallery for his exhibit; she’d have been amazed at far he’d come since the day she handed him the Instamatic.
“I don’t know Jamie very well, but I’m sure she’d be proud of the way you turned out.”
“Thank you. But you must be tired. I’ve already bored you with my life story enough for one day.”
She smiled and shook her head. “I’m wide awake. I’d like to hear more about your mother.”
“The first pictures I took, on my travels around the neighborhood, were for her. And the pictures I take now, in all the exotic places she never got to go, they’re for her too.” He emptied his wine glass and set it on the coffee table next to Violet’s full one. He was still sitting on the edge of the sofa when he felt her shift forward and place her hand on his forearm.
“Jake, will you tell me why you’re afraid of fire? I’ve always wondered how you got the scar on your back. You were burned, weren’t you?”
In over twenty years, he had never told anyone how he got the scar — Jamie and his uncle were the only living people who knew. Ellsworth, the slimy scumbag, had finally died last year. Of an especially nasty type of cancer, he’d heard, which made him believe in divine retribution, or karma, depending on which hemisphere he was standing in when he thought about it. He took a deep breath and began to tell his story for the first time.
“My mother’s second husband was an abusive alcoholic. One night, after he was done slapping her around, he passed out on the sofa with a lit cigarette in his hand. It dropped to the carpet, and smoldered there for hours.”
He took a deep breath, and she squeezed his arm in encouragement. “I woke up and went down to the kitchen for a glass of water. I discovered the fire, which by then was making its way up the end of the sofa and the pillow the creep was snoring on. I yelled for Jamie and my mother to get out while they could still get to the front door, and I had every intention of following right behind them. Ellsworth was going to roast in hell anyway, I figured he might as well get a head start.”
“How old were you?”
“Twelve. But I was a very old twelve.” He smiled at her, and she nodded that she understood.
“Did your stepfather die in the fire?”
Jake’s heart raced. Just as he had that night, he saw Ellsworth wake with a snort and turn his head jerkily from side to side, disoriented and confused. When Jake passed him he accidentally made eye contact with the man, and saw the dawning panic in his eyes.
“George!” his mother screamed as she came down the stairs.
“Ma, keep moving,” Jamie yelled back. “You have to go next door and call the fire department. We’ll get him out, don’t worry.”
Jake, rooted to the spot next to the now-flaming couch, watched his mother run out the door through the growing haze of the smoke. Jamie, standing near the door, shook his head, and gestured with his hand for him to come. But Jake turned back again to Ellsworth, who was yelling and brushing at his clothes, which were now on fire.
“Jake, leave him! Save yourself!”
Ignoring his brother, he ran upstairs and pulled the blanket from his bed. With smoke beginning to burn in his lungs, he tried to take shallow breaths as he returned to the living room and threw the cover over Ellsworth, wrapping him in it as best he could to smother the fire. He wanted only to get out, to run and run and never stop, but he pulled on the older man’s big legs with his twelve-year-old arms.
“Jamie, help me pull him out!”
Then his brother was at his side, but instead of helping him drag Ellsworth off the couch, he grabbed a throw pillow and beat at Jamie’s back with it. “Your shirt’s on fire! We have to get out, now!”
Hearing sirens, he’d let his brother pull him by the arm and out of the smoke-filled house.
By the time he finished his story, Violet had moved closer. Her arm was now around his back. “Did he live?”
He ran a shaking hand through his short curls. “Yes.”
“Was he grateful to you for saving his life? Did he treat your mother — and you and Jamie — better after the fire?”
She sounded so hopeful, he wished he could give the story a happy ending. “He was scarred and deformed and in pain the rest of his life. Somehow he managed to blame us. He was more abusive, not less.”
Violet clung to him so tightly her hand dug into his side. “Did your mother ever get away from him?”
This time he could give her the answer she wanted. “Yes. She got cancer, and he took off. He left me and Jamie to take care of our dying mother, and it was a blessed relief for all of us.”
When she said nothing more, he finally turned his head. Her blue eyes swam with tears. He raised a finger to her cheek and caught one as it dropped, then touched it to his tongue and tasted its salt. Violet took hold of his finger and pulled it away, replacing it with her lips. Instead of her tears, he savored the sweet-salty flavor of her mouth.
Although he longed to take her in his arms, to let her kisses and caresses erase the ugly memories, he held back. He didn’t want her to make love to him out of pity; that would be even worse than the first time, when she’d done it under false pretences. There could be no more misunderstandings between them.
Her kisses grew more intense, and she pressed herself against him while clutching the back of his head. When he still failed to respond, she groaned in frustration and pulled back to peer into his eyes again. “Is it because you have another woman?”
He shook his head. “No. I know what you thought, but I can explain about the hotel receipt. And I will, but not tonight.” Telling her about Carrie might be harder than telling the story about the fire, because Violet was single-minded when it came to keeping the nanny away from Daisy. But at least now she would understand why he’d felt he had to help Carrie, who was a victim of abuse like his mother.
“Then I want to make love to you. Don’t you want that too?”
He grasped her hands, the only part of her he could safely touch. “More than anything. I’ve wanted it every day since I came home, even the day I came here and yelled at your brother and threatened to get a lawyer. And I wanted it before that, when I was away. The memory of our one night together has haunted me for a year.”
“Then why are you resisting?”
“Because now I know you want more than a fling, and I can’t give it to you. You deserve more than I can offer.”
She guided his hands inside the jacket she’d worn to work, and he was helpless to resist the opportunity to cup her warm breasts in his hands once more. “Violet,” he groaned.
Her breath was warm against his ear when she whispered her response. “I don’t know what I deserve, but I know what I want. Another night with you. Tonight.”
“It isn’t because you feel sorry for me after I told you my sad story, is it?”
The sound she made was a cross between a groan and a laugh. “Oh, Jake, I could never feel sorry for you.”
Reassured — or maybe just too desperate with desire not to believe her — he undid the three large buttons on her jacket and slipped it off her shoulders, then reached behind her and unhooked her bra. Just when it would have fallen free, she pinned it back in place with both hands.
“Oh, there’s something I forgot.”
It was his turn to groan. “What?”
“I had my lawyer write up a contract. It spells out what will happen in the case of accidental pregnancy.” Her eyes danced with mischief.
“Do you have fresh condoms?” he asked her.
“Yes. Well, fresher than the last time, anyway. But they’re completely untested.”
“Then I’m willing to take my chances. I thrive on danger.”
He pulled her hands away. When the lacy bra fell, revealing her beautiful breasts once again, he took first one rosy nipple and then the other into his mouth. He planned to taste every inch of her and couldn’t do so in such cramped quarters, so he forced himself to stand and hold out his hand to her.
“Would you care to join me in my dangerous venture?”
“Will there be treasure at the end?”
He pulled her up and into his arms, unable to wait until they reached the bedroom to kiss her again. “I’ve already found the treasure.”
• • •
Jake held out his hand to her, and Violet let him lead her up the stairs. She’d only had a few mouthfuls of her wine, and knew she was in complete control of her decision-making capabilities. In fact, she’d made up her mind hours ago that the night would end this way; when her producer presented her with the chilled champagne she’d considered the reminder of that fateful night last summer a sign.