J.C. and the Bijoux Jolis: The Rousseaus #3 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 14) (7 page)

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I am in so much fucking trouble,
thought J.C., stepping forward as she scanned the platform, and he raised his hand in greeting.

***

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Thanks, Kate. Thanks a lot.

Though she’d firmly instructed herself on the train ride not to react to him, the second she saw Jean-Christian Rousseau standing alone on the Haverford train platform, her entire body surged with electricity like she’d touched a live wire. Her mouth watered, goose bumps rose up on her skin, her nipples tightened into hard points, and her clit throbbed for the first time in months, starting a chain reaction in her pelvis. Liquid and hot, she felt her body ready for him like he was about to drop trou in the middle of a public train station and she was going to mount him like a stud for hire.

She hissed a held breath through her lips, furious with herself.

It was a chemical fucking reaction over which she had zero control, yes, but it pissed her off mightily nonetheless. Narrowing her eyes and setting her jaw to irritated, she stood completely still as the conductor yelled an old-fashioned “All aboard!” before the double doors closed behind her. The train lumbered away from the station, and she and J.C. Rousseau were left staring at each other from a distance of about fifty feet away.

Taking a deep breath, Libitz walked toward him.

You can do this. You can do this. Be polite. Don’t let him get under your skin. Think of Noelle.

He stood still, facing her, waiting for her to make her way to him, looking as delicious as ever. Worn jeans fit him perfectly, molded to his body like a comfortable second skin, and on top he wore a blue-and-white gingham long-sleeved shirt rolled up to his muscular midforearms. His sunglasses hid his eyes, but the lips she dreamed about for months were still as sensual as fuck, tilted up into a small grin that made her insides clench with longing. His hair had grown a little since the wedding—it was wavy and dark, tamed into submission with some sort of gel, but a thick lock had escaped and hung over his forehead. Libitz rolled her eyes behind her glasses. Beside the word “sexy” in the dictionary, no doubt there was a picture of J.C. Rousseau.

“Hi,” he said as she approached. “How was your trip?”

“Fine,” she answered, stopping about five feet away from him. “Almost missed my connection in Philly but managed to run for it.”

“Good.” He nodded. “Can I help you with your bag?”

“It rolls.”

“Okay,” he said, reaching for it.

She jerked the handle back. “It
rolls
. I don’t need help with it.”

He raised his hands, palms up. “I wasn’t going to
steal
it, Elsa. I was just going to put it in my trunk for you, but suit yourself.”

Elsa. The ice princess.

It was bad luck that HBO Family had been showing
Frozen
for most of July and August this summer, and while flipping channels, Libitz had caught it at least twenty-eight (million) times. And of course, every time she saw it, her mind would return swiftly to thoughts of Jean-Christian.

The thing is? She liked the character of Elsa. She related to her. Because Elsa had special control over water, able to turn it to snow and ice, she felt different—knew she was different from everyone else around her…much like dark-haired, brown-eyed, Jewish Libitz, who had attended prep schools mostly populated by blonde, blue-eyed Christian girls like Kate English. Being a little different had often made Libitz feel separate from her peers, the same way Elsa felt separate from her people in the movie.

Feeling different was one thing, but it had been a long time since Libitz had felt inferior to someone else just because of her ethnicity. She refused to let anyone make her feel less-than when she was actually quite proud to be of European-Jewish descent. Not many of her direct ancestors had survived the brutality of World War II. Casting his comment in this light made her feel stronger, and she raised her chin, eyeballing him.

“You can call me Elsa all you want,” she said. “I don’t mind it. In fact, I take it as a compliment.”

“Is that right? Chilly appeals to you, does it?”

She shrugged. “I’m not chilly. But I’m different, and I won’t be ashamed of that.”

“Different from what?”

“From you and all your WASPy friends.”

“WASPy?” he scoffed. “I’m not Anglo-Saxon or Protestant, ice princess. More like Norman and Catholic.”

“Oh,” she said, lowering her glasses just a touch. “Okay. That makes you a W-N-C. A WaNC. Do you call yourselves ‘Wankers’ for fun?”

“You know what?” He lowered his glasses just as she had, staring into her eyes as his danced with something that looked a little like amusement mixed with admiration. Finally, with a bit of gravel in his tone, he said, “It’s good to see you again, Libitz.”

The unexpected emotion she heard in his voice set her a little off kilter when she was primed for a quarrel. And the way his dark-green eyes searched her face as though caressing it, remembering it, and finding pleasure in its recovery made her want to sigh.

“Oh. Well, okay then,” she mumbled.

He chuckled softly, reaching for her suitcase again, and this time she yielded it to him, but not before his fingers brushed hers, sending a jolt of awareness throughout her body. For a moment, they both froze, his fingers mingling with hers, barely moving, warm and welcome against her skin. When she pulled her hand away and turned toward the steps behind him, she damned the heat that was flushing her cheeks.

“So, um, how far is it to Kate’s?”

“Not very,” he answered from behind her. “Their new house is in the same general neighborhood as Blueberry Lane.”

She stepped down the stairs before him, careful to hold onto the railing so she wouldn’t totter in her five-inch Louboutins. At the bottom, he passed her, walking over to a darling red vintage convertible.

“A Citroen!” she exclaimed with a gasp.

“You know them?” he asked, looking up from the trunk, where he’d placed her suitcase.

“Of course! My dad’s a car nut.”

“What does he drive?”

“He
drives
a Mercedes S-class, but his true love is a fully restored 1955 Jaguar XK-140 in racing green,”
she said, caressing the hood of J.C.’s gorgeous car with both palms.
“He’d approve of this baby.”

She smiled down at the pristine paint job before raising her glance to find J.C. staring at her with barely restrained lust from the other side of the car.

“If I say something, can you try not to take it the wrong way?”

She tilted her head to the side and nodded once.

“I could listen to you talk about cars for hours.”

“Really?”

He nodded slowly. “It’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve heard in months.”

“What was the hottest thing before that?” she asked in a breathy voice, trapped in the intensity of his stare.

He shook his head like something was funny.

“You,” he said simply, “telling me I was a ‘disgusting egomaniac.’”

She bit her bottom lip and dropped his eyes.

“Lib,” he said, his voice rough, and it occurred to her that it was the first time he’d ever shortened her name like that…and she liked it. She liked it so fucking much.

Raising her chin, she looked up at him.

“I’m sorry for calling you a bitch,” he said. “You’re not. And even if you were, I was totally out of line to say that.”

He couldn’t have surprised her more if he’d pulled out a ukulele and started strumming “Blue Moon” while doing a soft shoe. She stared at him, so undone by his sincere apology, she was speechless.

“That’s all I wanted to say,” he added. Then, “No, there’s more. We’re going to be Noelle’s godparents, and I still don’t know why Kate and Ten would choose me for the job, but they did. And I just…I mean, it’s important to me. I don’t want us to hate each other and be fighting and…fuck. I’m not doing this very well.”

“No. You’re doing great,” said Libitz softly. “I feel the same way.”

“You do?”

She nodded. “We don’t have to like each other, but we can be civil. For her sake.”

He flinched as she spoke, his lips tightening as he opened his door and plunked down in the driver’s seat. His voice had lost all its previous warmth when he muttered, “Yeah. We
definitely
don’t have to like each other.”

She sighed, realizing where she’d gone wrong. Sitting down in the passenger seat beside him, she put her bag on her lap and touched his arm.

“Hey…I didn’t mean it like that. I was trying to say I agree with you. I want us to be really awesome godparents for Noelle. No matter what.”

He stared straight ahead, nodding distractedly like he was thinking about something or trying to figure out something that was troubling him. His profile was devastating, and she took some pleasure in openly gazing at him as they sat in silence with her hand on his arm and a tentative truce blooming between them.

Finally, he turned to her, pushing his
sunglasses on top of his head so he could look her in the eyes.

“
Hi. I’m Étienne’s brother, Jean-Christian. It’s nice to meet you,
”
he said, offering her his hand.

She took off her glasses too, folding them and placing them in her purse before reaching out to take his hand in hers. “Hi. I’m Libitz Feingold, Kate’s best friend.”

She knew that they were both remembering the way she’d capped off the introduction the first time they’d met—by telling him it wasn’t cold enough in hell for her to fall for him.

As they clasped hands, he raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Anything else?”

No matter how much of a jerk he’d been at Kate and Étienne’s wedding, he seemed different now. Mellowed out. Matured. More careful. Less smarmy. She assumed it was because of the responsibility they’d share for Noelle, and she respected that he was trying to turn over a new leaf with her. Plus, he was making it so much easier for her, since she’d promised herself to do the same, and he was doing most of the work. It made her feel grateful. It made her want to give him a chance.

“Yes.” She cocked her head to the side, offering him a small, warm smile as she pumped his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Lib!”

“KK!”

Kate, who was waiting outside the front door, put her arm around Libitz’s shoulders, ushering her inside the enormous brick house. “I see you survived the drive from the station.” She glanced over her shoulder at J.C., who was getting Lib’s suitcase out of the trunk. “And J.C. appears to have both eyeballs still in place.”

Libitz raised an eyebrow in question.

Kate shrugged. “You didn’t scratch them out.”

She chuckled softly and raised her hands. “Nails sheathed…for now.”

“Good to hear it,” said Kate, squeezing her shoulder with approval. “Do you want to freshen up before cocktails?”

“No way I’m delaying alcohol,” said Lib, grinning up at her friend.

“Where should I put Lib’s bags, Kate?”

Kate gave Libitz a look and mouthed
“Lib?”
before turning to her brother-in-law. “Would you be a darling and put them in the gray guest room at the end of the upstairs hallway to the right?”

“Sure,” he said, holding out his hand for Libitz’s black purse.

Looking into his eyes, she let it slip from her shoulder and handed it to him. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he answered, winking at her as he took the bags upstairs.

Kate put her arm around Lib’s waist, guiding her into a grand dining room and through swinging doors that led to the kitchen.

“Ummm…is it just me? Or did he have a brain transplant?” said Libitz, marveling over the changes in J.C. since the wedding in June.

Kate opened the fridge, took out a bottle of chilled Chardonnay, and poured Libitz a glass, gesturing to a round table for eight that sat in a round nook off to the side of the cooking area. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto a patio, pool, and expansive bright-green lawn.

“What do you mean?” asked Kate, setting the wine in front of her friend, then turning back to the counter for a prepared platter of grapes, cheese, and crackers.

“I mean…,” said Libitz, taking a sip of her wine as she sat down, “the level of smarm has been halved since last we met.”

Kate sat down across from her, tearing a sprig of grapes from a larger vine. “Are you sure you gave him a chance?”

“KK…believe me, he was disgusting.”

“Oh, come on. He couldn’t have been
that
bad.”

You’re a bitch.

“He was.”

“Maybe he was drunk at the wedding? Everyone gets drunk at weddings, and guys act like asses when they’ve had too much.”

Maybe
, thought Libitz.

But giving a moment of thought to their interactions that weekend, she quickly dismissed the idea that his behavior at the wedding was merely the result of drinking. It had been consistently smarmy all weekend. Nor did she believe that she’d misjudged him two months ago—he had acted like a predator and an asshole.

And that said, the J.C. she met today wasn’t a completely new person. He’d still called her “Elsa” earlier at the train station. He’d still bantered with her in the car as cleverly as he had at the wedding. The difference was in the delivery. It felt more playful now and less dirty. In the simplest possible terms, she felt less like a piece of ass and more like a person.

She sighed, annoyed to be spending so much time thinking about him. “Let’s talk about you instead. How are you feeling?”

“Changing the subject, huh? Okay. But when I’ve got you good and drunk, I’ll make you talk,” warned Kate. “And how do I feel? Fat. Well, fatter than I did before. And gassy. They never mention the gas.”

“You
look
beautiful,” said Libitz. “Pregnancy suits you.”

“I felt her kick last week,” said Kate, her smile dreamy and soft. “Can you believe I’ll be a mom by Christmas?”

“Chanukah. And yes, of course I believe it. I’m thrilled for you.”

Kate reached for Libitz’s hands. “The party’s on Sunday, which means lots of prep work tomorrow. How about we spend Monday shopping? Baby clothes, a bassinette—”

“Booties! Some soft blankets!”

“A little bathtub?”

“Yes! And fluffy towels.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Mind?” exclaimed Lib. “Are you kidding? I get to go shopping for my goddaughter! And you better let me spoil her, KK!”

Kate nodded solemnly as she made herself a cracker-and-cheese sandwich. “But of course.”

Libitz caught some activity on the lawn out of the corner of her eye and looked out the windows to see Étienne and J.C. scramble away from a sprinkler that suddenly shot a blast of water into the air. She turned to Kate and they giggled at the men, who were trying to sprint toward the sprinkler but were getting caught in showers every time.

“What in the world are they doing?”

“I mentioned something to Étienne about having a sprinkler set up for Caroline English, Fitz’s daughter, and he’s been at it all afternoon.” Her shoulders trembled. “I don’t think he’s ever set up a sprinkler before.”

“Why don’t you call Jax’s boyfriend to come over and give him a hand? Isn’t he a gardener?”

Kate gave Libitz a look as she stuffed another cracker sandwich in her mouth and stood up to look out the window. “What’s the fun of that?”

Libitz cackled as J.C. reached down to hold the sprinkler in place while Étienne leaned down to fiddle with the controls, which rewarded the brothers with a sudden stream of water that drenched them both.

“P-p-points for t-trying?” stuttered Kate through giggles, swiping at her eyes.

J.C. sprang up, gesticulating with his hands while yelling something that looked suspiciously like
“Merde! Merde! Merde!”
and Étienne kicked the sprinkler across the lawn while shaking his hair free of droplets.

A moment later, they heard the sound of water being turned off, and a few seconds after that, both men stood in the kitchen doorway with wet hair and soaked shirts, looking thoroughly disgruntled.

“
Pourquoi ne pas le tenir
?” Étienne demanded of his brother.

J.C. screwed up his face in annoyance. “
Est-ce que tu me le reproche
?”

“English,
s’il-vous-plaît
,” said Kate, heading for the door and leaning forward to peck her husband on the lips. “Don’t drip on everything. I’ll grab some towels.”

Libitz smiled at the men, holding up her wine in cheers. “Well done!”

“Why don’t
you
try it?” asked Étienne, putting his hands on his hips and looking pissy.

“No, thanks,” she said, taking a sip and trying not to notice the way the Rousseau brothers looked with droplets in their dark hair and their shirts molded to their cut chests like second skins. “I’m a city girl.”

“The fucking thing is slippery, and there are no goddamn instructions!” said Étienne. “What if the water comes shooting out like that at Caroline on Sunday? She could lose an eye!”

“How ’bout pouring two more glasses of wine, Elsa?” asked J.C., still standing behind Étienne on the kitchen mat, looking wet and delicious.

“
Qui est Elsa
?” asked Étienne over his shoulder.

Libitz grinned at J.C., placing her wine on the table and fetching two more glasses from the chrome rack hanging from the cabinets near the sink.

“
Ne t’en fait pas
.”
Don’t worry about it.

“So, Lib,” said Étienne as she approached them with the wine glasses. “How’s Ned?”

Why she flicked a guilty glance to J.C. was a mystery for the ages, but she did, and his eyes narrowed, searching hers, as he raised the glass to his lips.

“Who’s Ned?” asked J.C. after a sip, his tone chilly.

She cleared her throat, swapping J.C.’s intense gaze for Étienne’s more cordial one. “Do you mean Neil?”

“Yeah! Neil,” said Étienne, nodding. “Kate says he’s great.”

“Kate says
who’s
great?” asked Kate, returning with two towels, which she handed to her husband and brother-in-law, taking their wine glasses and setting them on the table.

“Neil,” said J.C., the way someone else might say “dog shit.”

Libitz sat back down at the table, wondering about the clenching feeling in her gut, the way her heart clamored as though in denial of something she’d never admitted. She gulped anxiously, finishing her glass of wine.

“From what you’ve told me, he sounds super, Lib,” said Kate, sitting across from her friend. “What’s it been now? A couple of months?”

Careful not to look up at J.C., Libitz nodded. “Yeah. About, um, five weeks.”

“Five weeks?” asked J.C. “Did you start dating him the day after Kate and Ten’s wedding?”

Libitz raised her chin, looking straight into his eyes. “Yes.”

J.C. nodded, his expression frosty as he took the glass back from Kate and sat down in the chair beside Libitz, though there were six others to choose from. “Interesting.”

“Kate says he runs a bakery,” said Étienne, grabbing a piece of cheese as he took a seat beside his wife.

“A bakery,” said J.C., his voice thick with sarcasm. “How glamorous.”

“It
is
,” insisted Kate. “It’s the largest kosher bakery on the East Coast.”

Libitz gave J.C. a sidelong glance, raising her eyebrows in challenge.

Game on.
He grinned at her. “Does he do a great
short
bread?”

“Nope. He’s known for his
long
baguettes,” Libitz shot back.

“Kosher bakery, right?” asked J.C., sipping his wine as he stared at Libitz over the rim.

She nodded, unable to keep her lips from trembling, because, truth told, at some point she had started to look forward to his quick retorts and whip-fast wit.

“So no pork in the pie, huh?”

Without being able to help herself, she snorted with laughter, grateful that she hadn’t risked a sip of wine before his comment, because J.C. and his brother would have had a second shower.

He was quick. Goddamn, but he was quick. And fuck, but she enjoyed it.

Staring up at him, she watched the last of his iciness thaw to warmth as his shoulders shook with laughter. “Good one, huh?”

She nodded through giggles. “Good one.”

Finally able to take a deep breath, she turned away from J.C. to look at Kate, only to find her best friend staring at her with wide, worried eyes and parted lips.

“KK?” prompted Lib.

“What is going on here?”

Libitz sobered. “Huh? What do you—”

“Mean? You just giggled, Lib.
Giggled
. You do not giggle. You occasionally chuckle like it hurts. What the—what the
hell
is going on between you two?”

“
Chaton
—”

“No, Étienne! I need to say this!” Kate looked back and forth between Libitz and J.C., and Lib had known Kate long enough to know that her friend was truly upset. “You two are
not
allowed to have a fling! Do you hear me? You can’t! Because it won’t work out, and you’ll end up hating each other, and then Noelle won’t have—I mean…sh-she won’t…” She stood up from the table, knocking the chair down behind her as she rushed from the kitchen.

Libitz bolted up to chase after Kate, but Étienne blocked her way. “Let me
go.”

“I didn’t meant to upset her!”

“I know.” Étienne reached for Libitz’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. “Nothing’s going on between you two, right?”

“Right!” said Libitz. “Nothing! We barely tolerate each other!”

“He gets it,” said J.C. quietly from behind her.

“She’s just”—Étienne shrugged—“pregnant. Superemotional. Worried about the party on Sunday. Still trying to get the house the way she wants it before then. And in about ten minutes when she stops crying, she’s going to be so embarrassed…Please, just—”

“We’ll act like nothing happened,” said J.C., who stood up behind Libitz. “Tell her not to worry.”

“Thanks,” said Étienne, giving them a grimace before heading for the door. “It’s not you. It’s her.”

Libitz watched the door swing back in Étienne’s wake, then reached up to press her hands against her hot cheeks. It had been a long time since she’d seen Kate so upset, but it was a good reminder that no matter how handsome or charming she found Jean-Christian Rousseau, nothing was allowed to happen between them. Absolutely nothing.

She turned to face him, uncertain of what to say in the wake of Kate’s exit.

“I feel terrible.”

“We didn’t actually do anything.”

“I know,” said Libitz. “But she’s pregnant.”

He cringed, shrugging his shoulders before sitting back down in his chair. “I didn’t see that coming.”

Nor had she. “It was a good reminder.”