J.C. and the Bijoux Jolis: The Rousseaus #3 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 14) (12 page)

Monday night. Asking him to sleep over on Monday night. That’s what had changed things.

Apparently, sleeping together—or even the
promise
of sleeping together—was as good as a de facto engagement for Neil. Libitz’s breathing hitched uncomfortably as she picked up her phone and scrolled through the messages again.

No doubt. Neil’s whole tone had changed, and she grimaced darkly.

For Libitz, having sex would have been about testing the waters (and Neil’s goods). But for Neil, it was a lot more serious. In fact, she sensed that it would likely be the last step before he proposed marriage. Which meant that by asking him to stay over on Monday night, she’d inadvertently sent him the message that she was almost ready for…matrimony.

She groaned, furious with herself for not being more in touch with the situation and acting so impulsively when she called Neil from Jean-Christian’s car yesterday. Because she suddenly realized—with startling clarity—that she wasn’t interested in getting more serious with Neil.

Which meant that…

“Fuck,” she muttered.

…Jean-Christian,
damn him
, was right. She was only using Neil to push the man she wanted out of her heart and mind. And in fact, that’s what she’d been doing all along.

As soon as possible, she needed to end things with Neil before they got any more serious. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she feared that was inevitable now. She’d raised his expectations to a level she’d never intended, and it was entirely her own selfish fault.

Blowing out an exasperated breath as she picked up her phone to call Neil, it buzzed in her hands, and she checked out the screen.

JC: Elsa…you up?

As a rush of adrenaline made her skin prickle with excitement and awareness, she typed back,
“
Yes. Jus
t
.” Her heart practically beat out of her chest with anticipation.

JC: So I read through the journal, and I figured out something.

MyPhone: Tell me!

JC: First…I bet you’re hot in the AM.

Yes, she was superhot with her hair sticking up everywhere and her frayed cotton sleeping shorts halfway down her legs.

MyPhone: Quit it. Tell me what you learned.

JC: Second…I dreamed about you last night.

Libitz sucked in a gasp of breath, her inner muscles convulsing one last time just from reading his text.

MyPhone: You did?

JC: Third…the dream was crazy hot.

She lay back on the pillows, her fingers finding her still-sensitive clit and brushing it gingerly.

MyPhone: It was?

JC: You were the model, and I was the painter.

She whipped her hand back and scrambled to sit up, staring at the phone, goose bumps rising over her flesh. She’d had the exact same dream.

“Oh, my God.” She bit her lip, trying to figure out what to say. She couldn’t very well say “Me too!” Taking a shaky breath, she ran her fingers over the words before responding.

MyPhone: You were painting me?

JC: Every inch of you.

Her whole body blushed, and she grinned, thinking of how tiny she’d felt sitting beside him in the attic yesterday.

MyPhone: Must not have taken very long.

JC: I took my time.

As delicious as it was to flirt with him…one, she owed it to Neil to break off things first, and two, she needed to keep her wits. Jean-Christian was a minefield of a man. She needed to be very careful not to get swept away if she wanted any sort of real future with him; he was capable of breaking her heart in half.

MyPhone: Are you going to tell me about the journal or what?

JC: Ok. Ok. He paid out 290 Fr. to a C.T. on Aug 30, 1939. It’s in his notes on the side of his ledger where he itemizes the expenses for the portrait. I’m thinking that has to be the model. All the other costs are associated with an art store.

MyPhone. C.T.?

JC: Her initials?

“C.T.,” she whispered, nodding her head. “Who are you?”

MyPhone: I’ll e-mail some galleries now and see if they have any of Montferrat’s work on display. Maybe she appears in another portrait and we can figure out her name.

JC: Sounds good.

MyPhone: See you later?

JC: Can’t wait. Wear something hot.

MyPhone: Pig.

JC: There’s my Elsa
.


She grinned, placing her phone back on the bedside table as she hopped out of bed to take a shower.

***

J.C. chuckled at her text, then placed his phone back on the bedside table.

Under the sheets, his cock strained, tentpoling the fabric over his pelvis. He groaned, sliding his hands over the ripples of his muscular chest to flatten the thick erection against his stomach, rubbing up and down with the palm of his hand. Pre-cum lubricated his skin, and his fingers circled the throbbing head of his cock, pumping harder as his hips pushed upward and the back of his head smashed into his pillow.

He thought of Libitz…of her angles and softness…of the sounds she made when he kissed her…of the way her nipples hardened between his fingers. He saw her eyes flash with fire, saw her tongue lick her lips, and—

“Ahhhhh,” he cried out, coming in hot spurts on his chest as he pictured her head thrown back in ecstasy, her small body convulsing around his cock as he came inside of her.

“Fuck,” he groaned, whipping the wet sheet off his bed and throwing an arm over his eyes.

He had it So. Fucking. Bad. for this woman. He could barely remember what life looked like before wanting her.

When his phone buzzed beside him, he jumped like Pavlov’s dog, grabbing it with a pathetic hope that it was her, calling to talk to him.

“Hello?”

“J.C.?” purred a cultured voice he knew too well.

His heart plummeted. “Felicity.”

“Well, that
doesn’t sound like a happy voice.”

He didn’t know what to say. Covered with cum from an imaginary fuckfest with Libitz, he definitely didn’t feel like talking to Felicity.

“Just busy. What’s up?”

“Are we still on for today? Noon at the Morris House?”

Noon? Fuck. Had he made plans with her?

“I don’t—”

“It wasn’t in stone,” she said quickly, “but you mentioned it the last time we got together.”

No doubt he had, and actually, the timing was fine. Étienne and Kate’s BBQ wasn’t until five o’clock. Except…

Except he had zero—no, less than zero—interest in fucking Felicity. Frankly, much to his surprise, he had zero interest in fucking anyone who wasn’t Libitz.

“Sorry, Felicity,” he said. “I can’t make it.”

“Big plans?” she asked.

“Housewarming at Kate and Ten’s new place.”

“Étienne bought a house? I haven’t seen him in ages! What fun!”

He groaned inwardly.

This wasn’t something Felicity normally tried with him; they fucked and they occasionally socialized when one of them needed a date to an event, but he’d been careful to curb her expectations. He wasn’t her boyfriend or anything resembling it; he certainly wasn’t inviting her to his brother’s house.

“I’ll send your regards.”

“I’d love to give them myself,” she pushed. She followed this up with a nervous chuckle. “I know we’ve been keeping things casual, but…well, I wanted to tell you in person, but my divorce was finalized on Friday, and I thought…if you were interested…”

J.C. Rousseau didn’t believe in leading a woman on. Never had. He believed in ripping off the Band-Aid when called for.

“I’m not,” he said simply. “I’m not interested.”

“Oh,” she gasped.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Felicity, but we’re both adults. We knew what this was.”

“I just thought that maybe…”

“No,” he said firmly.

She was quiet for a moment before responding. “I misread the situation. I thought—well, I thought you might want—”

“No. I’m sorry. I think we both need to move on now,” he said evenly. “I wish you all the best, Felicity.”

Expecting her to say something similarly civil, he waited a moment to hear her say, “It won’t last.”

“What?”

She scoffed. “You think this is my first rodeo, J.C.? No, no, no, darling. Whoever she is? It won’t last.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, though his heart rate quickened uncomfortably.

“Yes, you do. You’ve found someone else.” She paused. “How do I know? I just do. I recognize it in your voice. But it has no legs, darling. It can’t because the only appendage you have dangling below the waist is your cock.” She chuckled softly. “Can’t move forward without legs.”

“You’re speaking in riddles, Felicity, and it’s—”

“I’ll put it plainly, then: you’re not the kind who commits, J.C. You’re a whore, and you like it that way.”

“I guess it takes one to know one,” he said, civil good-byes forgotten.

“Fair enough,” she said, “which is why it won’t surprise you when I say that my arms will be wide open to welcome you back to my bed once this little flirtation bores you. Your cock is…epic. I enjoy you. So give me a call when you’re ready.”

He took a deep breath and sighed, wondering how Felicity-fucking-Atwell had somehow managed to get into his head. It made him angry, made his heart throb in protest at her words, made him hate that she saw through him so easily, made him doubt that he’d ever find himself in the sort of safe, committed relationship his brother and sisters had managed to find.

He tightened his jaw, focusing on his anger, his voice sharp and cold. “Sorry to disappoint you,
chérie
, but that day isn’t coming.”

She chuckled again, the sound brittle. “Well, then, best of luck, darling. You’ll need it.”

“
Au revoir
, Felicity,” he said.

“Good-bye, darling.”

He sat up in bed, frowning down at his phone as he pressed “End.” Felicity’s words circled in his head, juxtaposed against Libitz’s little speech in the attic yesterday.
It’s a choice…It’s a choice to love someone and be faithful to them and do the work. We’re
all
capable of that.
With a heretofore unparalleled longing, he realized how desperately he wanted her words to be true. He wanted them to come true with her. And for that, he needed more time with her—more time he couldn’t have, since she was heading home to Nice Neil tomorrow.

But then again…
he thought, his eyes narrowing as his lips turned up,
Why couldn’t he have it?

Turning back to his phone, he scrolled through his list of contacts, finding the New York City number he was looking for and dialing it quickly.

“Jean-Christian!” exclaimed Mad as he pulled up in front of her building and she came bounding out of the lobby.

“Someone’s in a good mood!” he said, smiling at his little sister from his car by the curb.

She grinned, jumping in beside him. “It’s a beautiful day, we’re going to a BBQ, Ten’s having a baby, and…”

“And?”

Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “Cort’s coming home early! He and Vic were offered a record deal in New York, and they start laying tracks the week after next.”

“Hey!” he said. “That’s great.”

“I know. I could barely sleep after talking to him last night.”

“So I’m guessing you’ll be in New York a lot this fall.”

“Some.” She nodded as she buckled her seat belt. “There’s more…”

Her face was filled with such happiness, such profound tenderness, it made his heart ache. “Tell me.”

“We set a date, Jean-Christian. April 28.”

“For your wedding,” he said softly.

“For our wedding,” she confirmed.

“You’re really going through with it.”

“Are you kidding? I can’t wait to
go through
with it!” she said as he pulled away from the curb and waited at an intersection for a group of tourists to cross. “We want to have the reception at Greens Farms. The apple blossoms will be in full bloom.”

“Sounds beautiful, Mad.”

“It will be! And Jean-Christian,” she said, her eyes watering, “I want you to give me away.”

“Mad…” he breathed, the honor of her request taking his breath away.

“You’re my oldest brother. You always looked after me. Looked after all of us. Will you?”

He took a deep breath and nodded, not quite able to trust his voice as he stepped on the gas.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning over the bolster to kiss his cheek. “I’m putting my place on the market next week. We’re going to live in his house. It’s bigger, plus it has a recording studio. And there’s a courtyard for Chevy.”

Chevy was the mutt Cort and his sister had adopted a couple of weeks ago.

“So you’ll keep a place in Philly?” he asked.

“Of course! Cort has a pied-à-terre in New York when he needs it for recording or playing concerts, but Philly’s home for us. Always will be.”

J.C. nodded, swallowing over the lump in his throat. “I’m happy for you,
doudou
.”

“I wish…” her voice tapered off.

“What do you wish?”

“I wish you had someone too.”

It’s a choice to love someone and be faithful to them and do the work. We’re
all
capable of that.

He slid a glance to her before looking back at the road. “I’m working on it.”

“What?”
Her head whipped around so fast, her ponytail hit her in the face. “Wait a minute! What did you say?”

He took a deep breath and huffed softly, trying to organize his thoughts. “I just…I don’t know. Maybe I’ve been…Maybe I might want something—I don’t know—more?”

She was gaping at him. He could feel her eyes on him and see her open mouth out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re going to catch flies,” he advised.

She closed her lips, then opened them again, then closed them.

“Say something, Mad.”

“I’m sorry, but…this is a lot to digest.”

“Man, if you’re going to give me this hard a time, I can’t imagine what Jax and Ten will say.”

“I don’t mean to give you a hard time. I’m just…surprised.”

“I’m teasing,
doudou
,” he said, reaching over to pat her arm. “My track record doesn’t exactly scream ‘marriage material.’”

“But that’s what you want? Marriage?”

No. Hearing it said like that? “Marriage” all bold and bewildering? No, it felt terrifying. He definitely didn’t want that…did he?

A vision of Lib passed through his mind, her angles somehow soothing, her softness beckoning. He didn’t know if he wanted “marriage” per se. He only knew he wanted her.

He shrugged. “I’m trying to be open to more. That’s all.”

“Well, wonders never cease,” murmured Mad. “So tell me…has anyone in particular been the genesis to this remarkable change?”

“Can you keep a secret?” he asked her.

She leaned closer. “Of course!”

“So can I,” he said, chuckling at her instant frown.

“You’re a rat.”

He straightened in his seat as they stopped at a red light. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“
Maman et père
…you know that…”

“What?”

“Well, they weren’t very happy.”

Her face clouded over a little and she nodded. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“How do you let go of that? How did you trust Cort? I mean—Christ, Mad! Jax told me that Thatcher was cheating on you, and yet here you are! Talking about moving in with Cort and setting a wedding date. How did you…I mean, how can you be so trusting? How do you know it won’t all go to shit?”

“I love him,” she said simply. “And he loves me. If I love someone and I’m sure he loves me in return, I have to trust him. I have faith in him.”

“But what if he lets you down?”

She took a deep breath. “I suppose we could fall out of love someday. I hope not, but life is long, and I’m not such a dreamer that I would tell you it’s impossible. But, Jean-Christian, I have some control over that. Even if we do fall out of love, I can work to find it again. I choose
him
. I choose
us
. Forever.”

Work
and
choice
. Two words that Libitz had also used. Was it truly that easy? Was loving someone a choice? Was marriage work? And with love and work, could he have something that had eluded his parents?

“You know I’m going to find out who she is,” said Mad in a singsong voice, grinning at him.

J.C. chuckled at her minxy smile. “How about you tell me more about your wedding plans instead?”

***

Libitz had spent all morning and most of the early afternoon helping Kate direct caterers, choose music, and arrange centerpieces of mums for the round tables she’d had set up in her backyard. Luckily the weather had complied, and it was a gorgeous afternoon for a BBQ, complete with blue skies, sunshine, a light breeze, and the promise of a clear evening.

As the guests arrived, including Kate’s cousins, the English brothers, and their significant others, the backyard took on a festive atmosphere. They watched Caroline English frolic through the sprinkler with delight, her mother, Daisy English, giggling every time her soaked toddler rushed back into her arms.

Jessica Winslow English and Emily Edwards English, both expecting, sat at a table with Jessica’s sisters-in-law and new moms, Skye, Elise, and Margaret Winslow, cooing over the three baby cousins with delight. Christopher Winslow, who’d just won his first congressional seat in Washington last fall, had just proposed to his girlfriend, Julianne, while vacationing with the secretary of state on Cape Cod. Libitz waved at Julianne, who was speaking to Molly English, the new bride of the youngest English brother, Weston.

The only unmarried English brother was Stratton, who had his arm tightly around the waist of his girlfriend, Valeria, as they talked to his parents, Tom and Eleanora. But he was 100 percent off the market—it was just a matter of time until he popped the question and they started making
bambinos
of their own.

At a table off to the side were Alice Story and Bree Ambler, whom Libitz had met briefly at Kate’s wedding and liked instantly. Both were strong, savvy, single businesswomen.
My peeps,
thought unmarried business-owner Libitz, crossing the lawn to sit with them.

“Is this seat taken?” she asked.

“Nope,” said Bree, a striking platinum blonde with icy blue eyes. “It’s all yours.”

“Thanks,” she said, placing her glass of Chardonnay on the table and joining them. “We met in the receiving line at Kate and Étienne’s wedding, but I’m—”

“Libitz.” Bree shook her hand. “Bree Ambler. I recognize you. You were the maid of honor.”

Libitz nodded. “Kate’s best friend.”

“From New York?” asked Alice, shaking Lib’s proffered hand with a strong grip and a warm smile.

“I own a gallery there.”

“I work on Wall Street,” said Bree. “We should have lunch sometime.”

“I’d love it,” said Libitz with a grin. “In the market for any art?”

Bree shrugged. “My sister’s more the creative type.”

“I’m not sure I’ve met her.”

Bree and Alice shared a look.

“You’d know if you did,” said Bree with a sigh. “She’s…unforgettable.”

“Speaking of unforgettable, I think I see Priscilla,” said Alice, sitting back in her chair and rolling her eyes.

“What is she wearing? Is that a fucking muumuu?” asked Bree.

“Probably. She’s
so
embarrassing.” She turned to Libitz. “We both have what you’d call…‘black sheep’ sisters.”

“Pains in the ass,” corrected Bree.

“On the topic of pains in the…backside,” said Alice, who was definitely the more prim and proper of the two women, “look who just showed up!”

Bree and Libitz strained their necks to see Jean-Christian and Mad Rousseau walk through the French doors of Toujours and onto the brick patio. Libitz’s heart fluttered with happiness to see him, to be near him, to know that within minutes, she’d hear his voice again.

“What an asshole,” muttered Bree, lifting her wine.

“
D’accord
,” agreed Alice in French, clinking her friend’s glass.

Both downed the contents and placed their glasses back on the table in unison.

“A note of warning,” said Bree, turning her glance to Libitz. “See that hot piece of dark-haired, green-eyed ass over there?”

“J.C. Rousseau,” said Libitz, keeping her face carefully neutral.

“Oh, of course,” said Bree darkly. “You were in Ten’s wedding, so you’ve already met him.”

“Stay. Away,” said Alice dramatically, shuddering as she placed her palm over her heart. “He’s beautiful, but disgusting.”

“What she said,” added Bree with a knowing look. “Times a million. And he’s dirtier than a Manhattan port-o-john.”

Alice giggled but also nodded in agreement.

An unexpected rush of protectiveness stole Libitz’s breath as she turned to look at him again. “Maybe he’s just misunderstood.”

“No,” said Alice firmly. “Surprisingly, no. To his credit, he’s very upfront about what he wants.”

“And what he wants is cheap and dirty,” offered Bree acidly, “if I recall correctly.”

“You do!” said Alice with a knowing nod.

“He didn’t seem that bad to me,” said Libitz, turning to frown at the duo.

“Holy shit,” said Bree, reaching for Lib’s forearm and wrapping her fingers around it tightly. She leaned across the table, searching Libitz’s eyes urgently. “Has he already gotten his hooks in you?”

“Honey,” said Alice, her face concerned as she also leaned closer to Libitz, “You can’t drink that Kool-Aid. It’s spiked.”

“It’s lethal!” cried Bree.

“Don’t be distracted by the hotness,” warned Alice. “Just remind yourself that underneath is the devil.”

Bree nodded in agreement. “Scorching hot with a stone-cold heart.”

“Oh, God,” moaned Alice, her eyes widening. “Is he coming over here? Why is he coming over here?”

“Fuck,” muttered Bree, releasing Libitz’s arm like it was hot. “Are you involved with him?”

“I’m…” Libitz gulped. “Not officially…”

“Oh, Christ!” said Alice, standing up with her wineglass. “I’m not staying to watch this. I need a refill.”

“It’s your funeral,” said Bree to Libitz before standing shoulder to shoulder with her friend.

“Ladies!” greeted Jean-Christian, his eyes twinkling wickedly as he stopped at the table. “Hello.”

Alice turned up her nose like he’d just taken a mastiff-sized shit at her feet. “J.C.,” she said, nodding curtly. She looked down at Libitz. “Nice to meet you. Remember what we said.”

“I…,” said Libitz to her back as she hurried away.

“Hey, Bree,” said Jean-Christian.

Bree’s eyes were arctic as she stared at him.

“You’re looking good,” he said.

“Fuck you,” she bit out.

“You’ve met Libitz,” he said congenially, gesturing to her with his palm, as though Bree
hadn’t
just cursed at him.

Libitz stared down at the table. The tension between them was so palpable, so awkward, she almost wished she could excuse herself, but she thought that would make things worse.