Infamous (22 page)

“It’s after three.”

She pounded against the back of the seat, lost her balance, and wound up in a heap on the floor.

“Did you hear me? I don’t want to go home!”

“Where do you want to go?” Scott was too much a professional to sigh, but she thought she heard one in his voice anyway. The car continued through the night.

Home
. She shoved the thought back down behind the alcohol and tried to marshal rational thought.

“My condo.”

There was silence from the front.

“I think I’m going to be sick. Just take me to my condo.”

This time, the professionalism slipped and there was an audible sigh. To her relief, the car slowed, then changed course.

Relieved, she let herself slip back into the darkness.

• • •

When she came to again, she was leaning against the cool porcelain of the toilet. Black out. She had blacked out. The missing time played back in snatches, like she was reading her own memories in the tabloids.

Flash
.

Scott half-carrying her out of the car and up the steps.

Flash
.

Banging her shin on the coffee table as she careened through the apartment.

Flash
.

Arms around Scott’s neck, eyes flirting … . If he would just let her get
one
more drink from the liquor cabinet.

Flash
.

Gut heaving as she emptied way too much vodka into the porcelain god.

Flash
.

Nothing
.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Jessica Sinclair was back and in fine form.

She was sweating. She pushed damp hair out of her eyes, propped herself against the wall and tried to remember the missing bits of the evening. How bad was it? Surely Scott hadn’t … ?

No. She would remember. She would. She was still completely dressed, right down to the strappy ef-me sandals. So, one of them had a hint of decency. She was putting her money on Scott.

She pulled off the shoes and tossed them aside. Her stomach cramped with more than the after-effects of the binge. Flirting with Scott, trying to use her body to get
a stupid drink
when she was already well past her limit. She tasted bile. Classy move, Jessica. No wonder Morgan didn’t want her — trophy wife would be an upgrade after that little stunt.

Flash
.

Arms around Scott … . And she wanted Morgan. Wanted more than anything to be home with Morgan … and … maybe just one more drink would make all the wanting go away.

She ground her palms into her eyes to push back the hot tears and lurched to her feet. At the sink, she splashed water onto her burning face and rinsed her mouth. The room was bobbing and weaving when she stood back up. She hung on to the door jamb until everything was reasonably still then propelled herself toward the bed.

She curled around a pillow, eyes shut so she couldn’t see the room spinning around her. She could hear Scott’s low voice in the next room. Reporting in, she thought fuzzily. It was the last thing she heard before the whirlpool sucked her under.

• • •

The next morning smelled of coffee.

That was odd — the kitchen was across the house.

Then she remembered — she was back in her condo. Would anyone notice if she stayed in bed? Would Morgan care if she wasted away? She let the thought tempt her until her bladder forced her up. Taking to one’s bed didn’t seem so romantic when peppered with bathroom breaks.

After showering, she searched for something to wear. Most of her clothes had been moved, but a few older things had been left behind. She settled on a pair of loose-fitting pants and a T-shirt. It was time to face the music.

Scott was drinking coffee at the kitchen table with the paper spread out in front of him. He looked up.

“Good morning, ma’am.”

His face was bland, professional.

She wanted to say something flippant, something breezy and off-color that would give him just the right wrong impression of her.

She held his gaze.

“I’m sorry about last night. I was … .” She floundered. She had never done this before. Being Jessica Sinclair meant never having to apologize for bad behavior. “You were very professional.”

She might have imagined it, but she thought his eyes tilted up the tiniest bit at the corners.

“Don’t worry about it. We all need to blow off a little steam now and then. You were about due.”

He gestured toward the refrigerator. “I made a supply run earlier, there’s fruit and juice if you want it.”

She shuddered and headed for the coffee pot.

Scott folded up the paper, and got to his feet. “Just let me know when you’re ready to head home.”

• • •

It was happening.

She wasn’t coming home.

Morgan put down the phone.

Sure, she said she was just staying another night in town, a little break while Kinsey was gone, but he knew the truth.

It was over. He had lost her again.

He had been waiting for it; had tried to steel himself against the inevitability of it.

No good. He had been expecting the worst for weeks. Since he had finally gotten into her financial statements. What had he expected? That she would be living at the end of her credit limit? That he would be able to ride to her rescue?

He should have known better. Jessica didn’t need anyone to rescue her, she was doing just fine on her own. She wasn’t in his league financially, but her income far outstripped her expenses. There was absolutely nothing she needed him for.

Last night he had almost lost it when she told him she was going out. She had stood in the door of his office, wearing the shortest skirt he had ever seen and looking like a movie star — perfect and untouchable. He had wanted to throw himself at her feet and beg her to stay. Instead, he had watched her leave. Even then, he hadn’t been able to completely relinquish her, had insisted on the driver to keep her safe.

They had been in a horrible sort of limbo ever since New York. He didn’t understand why she had insisted on coming back. Duty? Commitment? Promises to Kinsey? He couldn’t fool himself those reasons were enough for him anymore, but he had latched onto them. He found himself in an emotional tug-of-war with himself — unable to bear her presence knowing she wanted someone else, equally unable to send her away again. For the first time in his life, he was completely unable to think, plan, take action.

He was in the den. How had he gotten here? With Kinsey and Jessica gone, it was lifeless, empty. He picked up a photograph at random from the top of the entertainment center — Jessica, Kinsey, and Rachel in front of the pool, water streaming from wet hair, tongues stuck out at the camera. He picked up picture after picture — Jessica and Kinsey, Jessica and him, the three of them together. Where had they all come from? Each was a shard of glass in his heart — little windows into a magical world he could see but not touch.

The last was the night they had gone out to dinner. Kinsey had snapped the picture as they came into the living room — Jessica looking like an ultra-sexy Audrey Hepburn in her little black dress and ridiculous pumps, him trailing behind her in his unremarkable black suit — a nonentity next to her brilliance.

He set the photo back down. He supposed he should gather them up. There was no way he could look at them every day. Right now it seemed like too much effort. Everything felt like too much effort.

The phone rang. He ignored it. The only person he wanted to talk to had already called.

A minute later there was pounding on the front door. He cursed; the phone had been security at the gate. Whoever it was, had been let through. For an impossible second, his heart leapt. Jessica?

No, she wouldn’t knock, would already be in the house, not at the front door.

He heard the door open, footsteps in the hall, a belligerent male voice calling his name. He turned, slowly, disbelievingly.

Mason Knight was framed in the doorway to the den.

He stared, synapses reacting sluggishly to the unexpected input. Then anger swept over him. How dared she send Knight here? It was more than he could take. He drew himself up and stepped forward, but Mason was already striding toward him. Then he stole the words right out of Morgan’s mouth.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Morgan’s brain froze at the animosity in the words. What did Knight have to be angry with
him
about? The brief hesitation cost him the advantage. The next thing he knew, Mason Knight, Hollywood’s golden boy, landed an overhand right followed by a vicious left hook that sent him reeling back against the wall.

Jessica was making a list. She stared at the notepad and slowly drew a circle around the number one at the top of the page.

She was in her office. It was currently the emptiest room in the house. Before moving back in with Morgan, it had been the room she felt most at home in. The room with her knick-knacks scattered around it, her computer, her ratty old office chair, and her picture of Kinsey and Sandy on the beach. The rest of the condo looked exactly like it had when she moved in. The apartment had come furnished and reflected the latest in west coast interior design four years ago.

What was she doing?

Making a list.

What was the list for? Was she moving back in here? Calling it quits? Cutting her losses?

Was she going back to Morgan? Consigning herself to endless days of
almost
being part of his family and nights of loneliness while sleeping two feet away from him?

She drew a line down the center of the page. Okay. Pros and cons.

Ten minutes later she stared down at her list — the number one and a vertical line.

She gave up. She wasn’t a list maker — that was more Morgan’s thing. Admittedly, hard decisions weren’t her forte, but she was pretty sure there was no right answer here. What she
wanted
… what she
wanted
was to be with Morgan and Kinsey. She was no longer sure that was the answer.
Wanting
wasn’t enough. She wanted Morgan and Kinsey to be happy. That didn’t seem to be possible with her around. She couldn’t spend her life sleeping two feet away from a man who ignored her. It was tearing them all apart.

Okay, that left moving back here. She felt a black wave of depression settle over her at the thought and tried to keep from sinking too far into the abyss.

She had done it before.

She held that thought like a lifeline. She had done it before. She would do it again. Drinking until she blacked out wasn’t the answer either. She had learned that lesson before she met Morgan.

She stared down at the paper, trying to drum up some enthusiasm for a future filled with parties and gossip and beautiful people who didn’t mean a thing to her.

The sound of the apartment door opening and closing jarred her out of her reverie. Was Scott back? She had tried to evict him earlier, but he had been adamant that his job was to stay with her. After a brief phone call about an hour ago, he had capitulated. He had extracted her promise that she would stay put until he or someone else showed back up to escort her wherever she wanted to go. Like her worst worry was some asshole snapping a picture of her buying milk.

She headed for the living room. Maybe she could talk some sense into Scott or whoever his replacement was. The apartment wasn’t big enough for her to have a full-time bodyguard underfoot. She really needed some alone time to sort things out.

At first she thought he was a hallucination — a cruel trick her mind was playing on her.

Morgan stood in the middle of her living room — only it wasn’t a Morgan she had ever seen before. His clothes were rumpled, like he had slept in them, he hadn’t shaved, and … was that a black eye?

She stepped toward him, wanting to get a closer look, to comfort and soothe, then stopped. He wouldn’t want her comfort.

“Morgan?”

Her bewilderment must have shown in her voice.

“Jess, I … .” He stopped, looked uncertain.

She waited. What else could she do? His presence here floored her.

His shoulders squared. “I came to take you home.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

This was going nowhere, and she couldn’t stand it. She was going to have to end things here and now. She opened her mouth, heart breaking, then paused.

She let curiosity and concern push aside words she didn’t want to say.

“What happened to you?”

His answer was oblique, “Knight says you’re like a sister to him.” His eyes were challenging, daring her to deny it.

She was nonplussed. “You saw Mason?” Her jaw dropped as his meaning registered. “
Mason
did that?”

He flushed a dull red, but didn’t drop his gaze. “He also said he left Susan for Kit Masterson, not you.”

So, Mason had told Morgan the truth. The same truth she had told him over and over. They were friends, not lovers. Apparently,
Mason’s
word made some kind of difference. Is that why he had come? He had decided she was telling the truth about not cheating on him?

She turned away. She heard her own voice uttering words she couldn’t contemplate.

“I think you should leave.”

• • •

Morgan stared at her ramrod straight back. What was she thinking? Was she this distraught because she couldn’t have her beloved Mason? Knight hadn’t thought so; had implied rather strongly, punctuated with fists, that he placed the blame for Jessica’s unhappiness on Morgan’s shoulders.

None if it made any sense, but he hadn’t come this far to leave without trying one more time.

“Why?” he asked. “Is it because you’re still in love with Mason?”

She rounded on him. He was amazed to see she was angry. No,
furious
.

“No, Morgan, it is
not
because I am still in love with Mason.” She stalked toward him, eyes flashing. “I have
never
been in love with
Mason
, as you may remember me telling you. How could I be in love with
Mason
, when I’m in love with
you
— You. Big. Stupid. Oaf!”