J.C. and the Bijoux Jolis: The Rousseaus #3 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 14) (18 page)

They hadn’t dated that long—a little over two months. And they hadn’t slept together, thank God. But Neil was, as her mother had pointed out in no less than eight e-mails and texts between last night and today, a “catch,” and Libitz knew it. He was hardworking, thoughtful, kind, and steadfast. He’d help her raise their Jewish children in a Jewish home, and their families would be overjoyed by their union. He was an organic choice—smart, seamless, and practical.

Jean-Christian Rousseau, on the other hand? He was, as he’d always been, a minefield. But more and more, he was
her
minefield, and she didn’t want it any other way. He was sexy and charming, devilishly handsome, and a match for her wit. But it was more than that—the way he loved his family, the way he looked at her like she could give him the world, the way he made her feel when he touched her—it didn’t hold a candle to the way she felt about Neil. Libitz wanted J.C.’s heat and passion. She wanted it forever.

When the security system beeped quietly to alert her that someone had entered the store, she looked up, half-expecting Jean-Christian to materialize from her thoughts, but her eyes widened in dismay. Standing just inside the door, holding two dozen roses pageant-style, with a massive, beaming smile on his face…was Neil.

Two hours early, at her place of business instead of the privacy of her home.

Her stomach fell, and all the wonderful butterflies that had taken up residence there over the last few days flew upward, catching in her ribcage and compressing her lungs. She gasped unpleasantly, putting her hand over her heart. She wasn’t ready. Shit. She wasn’t ready to do this.

“Libitz?” said Neil, approaching her, a concerned look on his face. “Honey?”

His voice forced her feet forward, and she greeted him with an awkward hug. “Neil. You surprised me. You’re early!”

He hugged her back, and Libitz took a shaky breath as he transferred the roses from his arms to hers. As she backed away, she had a ridiculous notion that she probably looked like Miss America and squelched the urge to wave.

God, I’m losing it.

“Are you…okay?” asked Neil, looking into her eyes.

“Yes!” she chirped. “Just…surprised.”

“
Good
surprised?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

Her lips parted, but nothing came out. She just stood there like a mackerel, staring at him.

“Lib?”

“These need water!” she said. “I think I have a…a vase. In my office.”

“Let’s go find out,” he said, and if she wasn’t mistaken, a touch of suggestion had entered his voice, as if he interpreted her quest for a vase as a ruse for alone time in her office.

“Stay here,” she commanded him. “I’ll be right back.” But as she turned and walked away, she realized that if she was going to break up with him, her office would afford them the most privacy. She pivoted to face him. “Nope. Come with me.”

He gave her a look, then grinned indulgently as he followed behind her. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re acting a little funny, Lib.”

Calm down
, she told herself.
Calm down. You can do this.

It’s not that Libitz hadn’t broken up with a guy before, and Lord knew she was a frank-spoken woman, but this felt mean somehow, because Neil had done nothing wrong. She dreaded hurting him. She wished there was another way to let him go, but there wasn’t, and she hated the conversation they needed to have.

They entered her office and she closed the door, beelining to the bathroom in the corner of the room and finding a vase under the sink. She filled it with water, calling to Neil, “I’ll be right there. How was Vermont?”

She plopped the roses in the vase, set it on the shelf behind the toilet, and then turned back to the room, surprised to find Neil blocking the doorway.

“I missed you, honey,” he said, reaching for her. “That’s how Vermont was.”

Libitz lurched back into the bathroom, out of his reach. “Oh.”

“Hey. Are you okay?” asked Neil, taking a step back.

She used the gap between Neil and the doorway to make her escape and crossed the room, sitting down in her office chair behind her desk. Gulping as Neil followed her and took a seat in one of the mod-style guest chairs, she nodded.

He chuckled awkwardly. “I feel like I’m interviewing for a job.”

Libitz winced. This was the moment.

“Neil,” she said. “You’re amazing. You’re kind and sweet, and you’ve been nothing but—”

“Holy shit,” hissed Neil, recoiling in the clear-acrylic chair. “Are you breaking up with me?”

Libitz blinked at him, trying to retrieve her train of thought. “I just…”

“You just what?” asked Neil, leaning forward, his warm blue eyes taking on a cooler hue.

“I met someone else,” she murmured, forcing herself not to look away.

“Someone else?”

She nodded. “Mm-hm.”

“In five days?”

Her brows furrowed. “What—what do you mean?”

“You basically invited me to fuck you when we talked on Saturday…What changed in five days?”

She gasped at his language. Although she didn’t mind cursing, Neil had never cursed in front of her, so it sounded extra angry coming from his mouth.

“Oh, wait,” he said, nodding as he sat back in the chair. “It’s been more than five days, hasn’t it? In fact…oh, my God, I’m the biggest moron who ever lived,” he muttered. He looked up at her, his eyes hurt and angry as he put the pieces together. “You already knew him. You finally said yes to going out with me
because
of him, didn’t you?”

“Neil…” she started.

He sighed. “I couldn’t figure it out. I thought…maybe she’s sick of fucking random guys she meets in clubs. Maybe she wants something real; that’s why she finally said yes.”

Libitz winced. She honestly had no idea he’d known about her pre-Neil extracurricular activities, and it cast their time together in a new light to know that he did.

“No, honey,” he said, as though reading her mind. “I didn’t want to be a notch on your belt. I
liked
you. I saw something in you. I was willing to
overlook
your history.”

“My…history?” she asked, sitting up in her chair, a defensiveness she hadn’t anticipated somehow making her spine straighter.

“It never mattered to me!” he shouted. “I liked you for you!”

“I know that,” she said softly.

“I thought there was more to you, but clearly, I was wrong.” He paused, and his eyes narrowed. “Did you fuck him?”

“Neil!”

“Did you fuck the other guy?”

She stared at him in silence, unwilling to answer his vulgar question or be slut-shamed any further. Her heart ached for his hurt feelings, because they must be terribly raw for him to lash out at her like this, but Libitz Feingold knew who she was, and she refused to let anyone belittle her. For
any
reason.

“I’m very sorry about it,” she said, standing up. “But you’re being insulting. I need to ask you to leave.”

Neil lowered his head, scrubbing his hands through his reddish-blond hair.

“I’m sorry, Lib,” he said, looking up at her. His face was shattered and his voice broke on her name. “I had no right to—I just didn’t see this coming.”

“I know,” she said, emotion making her voice shaky too. She’d hurt him, and it occurred to her that maybe she’d ruined him a little for the next girl. It would take him longer to trust, and that was her fault. She had surprised him and hurt him, and she felt awful about it. “You
are
great, Neil.”

He looked up, his eyes bitter. “But not great enough.”

She clenched her jaw because her own eyes were starting to burn.

He stood up and held out his hand, which Libitz took and shook.

“Neil—”

“Good luck, Lib. I hope it works out with…whoever he is.”

And for just a moment, holding Neil’s hand, she had an urge to tell him to stay. She was choosing Catholic, barely reformed manwhore Jean-Christian Rousseau over kind, solid, steady Neil?

Bad choice
, screamed logic.

The
only
choice
, whispered her heart.

“Thank you,” she said, dropping his hand and giving him a slight smile. “Good luck to you too.”

He nodded sadly, turned around, and left her office, closing the door behind him.

For a moment, she stared at the door before she realized that she was crying, tears spilling from her eyes in rivulets as she relived his ugly words. So she rested her head on her desk and cried—for Neil and for her, for the model in the painting and all those who shared her fate. The world had so much ugliness in it, and she’d just added to it.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Once she was all cried out, she wiped her eyes and took a deep breath, reviewing their short, painful conversation in her head.

No matter how much it hurt her to hurt Neil, she quickly realized that he was absolutely not the right man for her. Whether now or later, her penchant for casual sex as a single woman would have come up. It would have been a way in which Neil felt superior to her, tried to control her, and made her cede to his judgment. It would have been a way that Neil kept them oh-so-slightly on uneven footing—him as the holier of the two, the absolute head of household, the de facto better person. For the rest of her life, she’d be made to feel inferior, and one day, she might have even believed it.

But right here, right now, Libitz
didn’t
feel like she was inferior to Neil, and she certainly didn’t feel inferior to Jean-Christian. She had made her decisions as a responsible adult and had always insisted on protection and safety. She didn’t feel bad about her choices, nor did she fault Jean-Christian for sampling his fair share of women. And in a blinding flash of sweet realization, she knew that Jean-Christian would never judge her or belittle her as Neil just had—he would never, ever make her feel “less than” or “not as good as” him…and not because they had a history of casual sex in common, but because Jean-Christian wasn’t a judgmental asshole. He was an adult with faults, just like she was. And he was the adult-with-faults that she wanted.

Buzz, buzz. Buzz, buzz.

She reached for her phone and opened the screen to a new text that made the growing smile on her face broaden with joy.

JC: One, I figured out something about LBJ.

JC: Two, are you ready for your convo with Neil?

JC: Three, in case you’re having cold feet, let me remind you that I am crazy about you, Elsa.
All
of you.

JC: Four, I’m dying a little waiting to hear from you, so if you ever wanted to torture me, this is an ideal opportunity.

JC: Five, my offer to fuck you hard stands, but if you need something else from me tonight, just tell me. I can be whatever you need. I promise.

They came in quick succession, text after text buzzing in her hand, making her laugh and cry at the same time, her heart soaring with the kind of forever-love she hoped she’d only feel about one man for the rest of her life.

When she was sure no more texts were coming, she wiped her eyes and freshened up her lipstick. Then she grabbed her phone and threw it in her bag, asking Duane to lock up as she sailed out of her gallery and hailed a cab.

J.C. checked his phone again, then threw it down on the bed in frustration.

He hadn’t heard from her all day.

Not once.

Clenching his jaw, he picked up his glass of scotch on the rocks and crossed the suite to stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows. It was almost five o’clock, and late-afternoon shadows were setting in over Columbus Circle. With a fine mist of rain falling, New York looked gray and gloomy, and it matched his mood.

She’d been upset last night. Maybe he should have overruled her request for alone time and insisted that he stay with her?

“You’re
shit
at this,” he muttered, wondering if he should call Étienne for some advice. His little brother knew far more about relationships than J.C. ever would. But surely Kate had shared that they’d moved beyond flirtation, and he supposed Étienne wasn’t thrilled about them upsetting her, so he couldn’t imagine his brother would be a very sympathetic ear.

Maybe she’d decided that since he didn’t stay with her last night, he didn’t care about her on an emotional level. And maybe she’d thought about Nice Neil and how much more caring
he
was. And maybe she’d decided that she’d be better off with Nice-
fucking
-Neil in her life over J.C.

“
Fuck
,” he cursed. “Nice Neil can suck it.”

Crossing back over to the bed, he grabbed the phone again and unlocked the screen only to throw it back down with a grunt when he saw that there were still no messages waiting. He checked the time on the digital clock beside the bed. Five ten.

Five ten meant that she was still at work, meant that there were still about two hours before she talked to Nice Neil at seven. Making a quick decision to go plead his case, he grabbed his blazer and shrugged into it as he headed for the door. He’d explain that agreeing to give her space didn’t mean he didn’t care about her feelings. Not at all. In fact, he was trying to respect her feelings by—

Yanking open the door to his room, he gasped and stopped short. Libitz was standing in the hallway, her fist poised in midair as though she was about to knock on his door.

“Wait!” he demanded, blinking at her. “What are—You’re here?”

“I’m here.” She smiled at him, lowering her hand. “Are you going somewhere?”

“I’m going to you.”

“To me? Why?”

He nodded, still stunned by her sudden appearance. “I’m going to tell you every reason why Nice Neil is wrong for you and I’m right.”

“So tell me,” she murmured, holding his eyes with hers.

“Come in?” he asked, taking two steps back, still turned around by her unexpected arrival.

She hesitated for only a moment, searching his eyes before stepping into his hotel room. As she untied the belt of her short, khaki-colored raincoat, he watched her, every cell in his body at attention, dread and hope fighting for dominion.

She could only be here for two reasons: one, to tell him that she’d broken up with Neil and she was free, but that was unlikely because Neil wasn’t coming home until later…or two, to tell him that she’d decided not to take a chance on him after all and to let him know that she’d decided to stay with Neil.

His heart clutched as he considered option two, and he forced himself to take a deep, cleansing breath. Whatever it took, she was here now, which meant that some part of her still had feelings for him. This was his chance. Maybe his last chance. He needed to convince her that he was the right man for her.

Whatever it takes.

With a shimmy of her shoulders, the coat slid down her back, and he caught it, savoring the warmth transferred from her body as he turned to hang it up in the closet. Looking over his shoulder, he watched her pass by the bed and stop in the small sitting area by the windows.

“Nice view,” she said, turning slightly to give him a small smile.

Was there sadness in the smile? Fucking
sadness
? Like she was here to tell him good-bye? Goose bumps rose up on his skin like falling dominoes, and he shut the closet doors, making his way to her.

“Yeah. Uh, yeah. It’s good. The, uh, the circle.” He sounded like an idiot, all the suaveness he’d perfected over the course of his lifetime failing him now when he needed it most. “You…do you want a drink?”

She turned to look at him again and nodded. “Sure. That would be good.”

He turned toward the wet bar, his blood running cold.

Good? Why would it be good? Why did she need a drink? For courage? Probably for courage. Fuck. No doubt courage to tell him that she had come to her senses, and she didn’t need a retired manwhore in her life when she had a good, decent man who hadn’t fucked half of Philadelphia.

Squatting down, he opened the minibar and took out a small bottle of white wine, standing up to pour it into a stemmed glass. Bracing his hands on the black marble counter over the fridge, he looked up at himself in the mirror. His eyes were dark green and wild, and he was holding it together, though he was certain he stood on the very brink of disaster.

I’m not losing her
, he thought desperately.
She’s the only woman who’s ever been in color in a sepia world. I can’t lose her now.

Then you better talk fast.

He stood up and crossed the sitting area, handing her the glass.

“Ready?” he asked her.

“Umm…?” She cocked her head to the side, pausing midsip. “For…?”

“For the reasons I’m a better choice for you than Neil,” he reminded her.

“Oh,” she said, her cheeks flushing pink. “Well, actually, I have something to tell you first. It turns out—”

Talk fast. Now!

“I’m falling in love with you,” he blurted out, cutting her off and effectively flaying his heart wide open with a verbal bisection he hadn’t prepared for and had never seen coming. The words reverberated between them, coarse and jagged and painfully inelegant. And his heart bled out with every fast, throbbing beat as he stared at her, waiting for her to say something.

To say
anything
.

“W-what?” she sputtered, her eyes impossibly wide, her lips parted open. Her voice was soft and breathless when she followed up with a stunned, “
Whatdidyousay
?”

“I…”

Bewildered by his outburst, he couldn’t form words and was left to stare at her helplessly. Furrowed brows. Brown eyes so deep and confused and shocked, they gazed up at him in disbelief. Her lips moved like they were trying to form a word, but she didn’t say anything.

His heart was beating so fast now that his chest hurt. Ached. And his head. Fuck, his head throbbed like it had been repeatedly hit with a sledgehammer. He pressed a hand to his chest and forced himself to take a deep breath, reminding himself that he was a fit young man, and this wasn’t a heart attack. It was just a panic attack brought on, he realized, not by the gravitas of the words he’d just uttered for the first time in his life, but by the crippling fear of losing Libitz now that he’d found her.

So
do
something about it. Let her know that you meant it.

He stepped around the coffee table between them and sat down beside her on the couch, holding her eyes. Unlike the rest of his body, which had been shared so freely, his heart was unused, untried, unsullied, and unspoiled, never having been given to anyone. And he hoped—God, he hoped with a desperation he’d never known—that if he gave her his virgin heart, it would be enough for her to choose him, to stay with him.

She reached for his hand, and a sudden burst of confidence made the ache in his chest subside. He reached out with his free hand to thread his fingers through her hair, the heel of his palm resting on her temple to force her not to look away. He watched, his heart in his throat, as she leaned into his touch.

“I’m falling in love with you,” he said again, his voice soft but firm. “And I don’t have much experience with fighting for the woman I want, but I will rip Neil apart if that’s what it takes, and I swear to God, I will be the last man standing.

“Because
I
am the man for you, Libitz. I am the
right
man, no matter how deep my faults. I will keep trying, and I will not quit, and I will never, ever cheat. If you just give me a chance, you’ll see. I’m not being an asshole giving you a line when I tell you that I can—I
will
—be whatever you need me to be. You said that people can change and people can choose. Well, I’m changing and I choose you.

“And—and—and you are the
right
woman for me, because you are the
only
woman for me. Because thirty-four years of playing the field tells me that you’re a fluke, an anomaly, a mermaid, a fucking—a fucking
unicorn
. You know why? Because since you, I don’t remember any of them. Not one of them matters. Because there is
only
you. My heart wants you. My heart wants to give itself to
you
.

“Let Neil find someone else. There are a million other girls who could make Nice Neil happy…but you’re it for me. Besides, you don’t belong to him. Whether you like it or not, Elsa, you belong to
me
.”

“I like it,” she whispered, her voice so soft, he almost wondered if he imagined it.

“You like it?”

She nodded against his palm, opening her eyes slowly. “I like it that I belong to you.”

“Were you coming here to break things off with me?” he asked, slightly surprised by the efficacy of his clumsy, heartfelt, impromptu speech.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Neil got home early. I broke up with him. I was coming to tell you that I’m free.”

I broke up with him. I’m free.

If there were sweeter fucking words in the English language, he didn’t know what they were.

“No, baby,” he growled, untangling his fingers from hers so he could cup her face with both hands, “you’re not. Weren’t you listening? You’re mine.”

His lips crashed down on hers with a possessive kiss meant to brand her as his, to promise her that he was hers for as long as she wanted him, for as long as she would have him. Her fingers plunged into his hair, her nails razing his scalp as she opened her mouth to his, sliding her tongue against his with a moan of satisfaction. And because he wanted her—because he needed the affirmation of physical love after sharing his feelings with her for the first time, he scooped her up in his arms and made it to the bed in seconds, lowering her to the soft duvet without ever letting go of her lips.

Settling his body over hers, his elbows bracing his weight on either side of her head, he took his time kissing her thoroughly. Whether he knew it in his head or only in his heart, he was about to learn what it meant to love someone with his body—not just to give and seek physical pleasure but also to declare his feelings for her, to give and receive not just because his dick was hard but because his heart ached for the closest possible connection he could forge with her.

Rolling to his side, he gazed down at her bee-stung lips and glazed eyes with a grin. His fingers grazed the pearl buttons of her blouse, giving her a moment to protest, because he started unfastening them slowly.

“When did you know?” she asked, raising her arms over her head after he’d opened the silk so that he could pull it over her head.

“At Ten’s wedding,” he said, letting the fabric fall with a whisper to the floor.

“That early?”

He nodded. “I was jealous of you talking to your prep-school friends. I’d never felt jealousy like that before.”

With a flick of his fingers, he opened the front clasp of her bra, gently spreading the fabric open to reveal her small, pert breasts capped with dusky areolas and large, light-brown nipples. They strained toward him,
small but fierce
, he thought, bending his head to take the top of one between his lips.

“Unh,” she moaned, arching her back, her high heels hitting the floor as she bent her knees and slid her feet up the bed.

He drew back and flattened his tongue at the base of her breast then licked up, the erect nub interrupting the smooth sweep of his tongue. Sucking it strongly into his mouth, his cheeks caved at the same time Libitz’s back rose off the bed, and J.C. repositioned himself between her bent spread knees. Licking his fingers, he reached for her throbbing nipple, rolling the slick flesh as he swirled his tongue around its twin.

“Fuck,” she breathed in a guttural moan, trying to lower her hands to push him away. With his free hand, he grabbed her wrists and held them tightly, pinning them back over her head as he sucked her other nipple between his lips.

Her skirt had ridden up around her waist when she bent her knees, and now she pushed against his chest with her pelvis, whimpering as she squirmed beneath him. With one last flick of her distended nipple with his thumb, he flattened his palm under her breast and sucked hard on the other as he smoothed his hand down the soft, flat skin of her stomach and under her white satin panties.