Lovers and Liars (49 page)

95

“T
hat’s all right,” Belinda said, her hand reaching for the door handle. “You don’t have to get out.”

“Don’t you dare open that door!” Jack flashed, his hand already hard on hers.

“I thought you weren’t a gentleman.”

“I am when it suits me,” he said, jumping out and striding around the car.

Belinda stepped out and they walked up to the front door. She unlocked it and turned. “Well, thanks for a nice evening.”

His expression was incredulous. “A
nice
evening? Only nice? Lady, you have a tendency toward understatement. You’re not going to invite me in?”

“It was a very nice evening, Jack—don’t press it. And, no, I’m not inviting you in.”

“You think you’re so tough,” he murmured, leaning closer.

“Forget it,” Belinda said, stepping back against the door, pushing it open.

“Invite me in for decaf,” Jack insisted, flashing her a heart-stopping grin. “Don’t be afraid,” he added in a murmur.

“Let’s set the record straight. I am not afraid of anything with a prick.”

His grin widened. “So you’re going to invite me in?”

“After you,” she said. She marched into the kitchen and put on a kettle of water, letting him wander as he pleased. What would he say if he knew her mother was asleep downstairs in the guest room? When he reappeared she turned to him deliberately. “I only have instant.”

“Do I care? Are you going to change?”

“No, Jack, I’m not going to change.”

“I sort of like that sheer black lace negligee in your bathroom,” he said with a kind of pout that, unfortunately, made him close to irresistible.

“My mother’s here.”

She had to hand it to him: He was a pro, cool as a cucumber, unfazed. As if he didn’t know her—intimately. “She asleep?”

“Probably.” She waited another moment, but of course he wasn’t going to tell her he’d balled her mother seventeen years ago. Why was she disappointed?

Belinda put on a quiet jazz station and glanced at him cautiously. He had taken off his jacket, which was black silk with a silvery sheen. He looked very relaxed and collected—as if this were his home, not hers. He was removing his red tie, and Belinda watched, mesmerized. He caught her eye and smiled.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, she thought, but couldn’t move her eyes. He drew the tie off and casually let it slip to the couch. He was staring at her as he unbuttoned one, two, three buttons. And then his hands stopped; he patted the couch and smiled.

Such a simple act, but he made it into something incredibly sexy and sensual. “I’ll get the coffee,” she said.

When she came back she approached cautiously, carrying the two cups. As she handed him his she saw, to her dismay, a healthy bulge in his slacks, which she promptly decided to ignore. But he’d caught her attention.

“Sorry,” he said with a soft laugh. “Some things are impossible to control.”

She ignored the comment and sat in a chair facing him, crossing her legs. He eyed them—as she’d intended.

“What, do I have a social disease or something?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

“No, as a matter of fact, I don’t. Why don’t you come over here?”

“I’m quite comfortable right where I am, thank you. Do you think I’m an heiress, Jack?”

“What?”

She smiled. It was nice to see him off balance for a change. “I am not an heiress.”

“All right.”

“I thought I’d mention it. In case that’s what you’re after.”

Jack laughed. “Sweetheart, I’ve got enough cash to tide us over for a few years. And I don’t mind your being after
me
for
my
money.”

“You wouldn’t mind, Jack, if I wanted you for your money? Your connections?”

He grew serious. “I was teasing. Of course I’d mind. That’s one of the things I like about you, Belinda. Even though it’s taken a while to get used to, you really don’t care that I’m a star.”

“Bravo,” she said quietly. She was impressed. She stood up slowly. “Want to dance?”

Jack was already standing in front of her, pulling her into his arms. And then they were swaying to a soulful love song. His grip tightened. She could feel the whole length of his body. He had one hand on the top of her hip, the other on her bare shoulder, and his fingers caressed and burned into her skin. She had her arms around his neck, not exactly sure how this had happened, but it was the most natural thing in the world to close her eyes and lay her cheek against his chest.

This one timeless moment was the most exquisite she had ever experienced.

A kind of smoldering fire leapt and sparked and warmed between them.

It was so obvious. I love him. Terrifyingly obvious. I
would like to stay here, just like this, drifting in his arms forever.

She felt his breath on her temple; then he dusted her flesh with a kiss. His hands pressed, sliding over the soft leather of her skirt.

Belinda didn’t open her eyes. Drifting away … so warm … She could barely breathe.

His lips touched her cheek, another fragile whisper of a kiss. His arms tightened, and she could feel his chin and mouth on the top of her head. He rubbed his face gently into her hair. Inhaling. Another brief kiss.

The beautiful tragic music, bittersweet and melancholy, ended only to be replaced by something upbeat and incongruous to the mood and the fire between them. Jack had stopped swaying, had his hand on the back of her neck, was saying her name in a husky tone, pulling her head back.

“Belinda.”

She opened her eyes. His face was inches from hers, his green eyes heavy-lidded and glazed.

“I want a kiss,” he murmured before claiming it.

It would be so easy to surrender.

Conscious logic interrupted what they were doing, intruding, ruining everything. In one second she thought of all the men in her life. Of Rod and Vince and all the one-nighters and two-nighters and now Jackson Ford. A huge panicky fear engulfed her.

She pushed herself out of his embrace, wrenching away. “Not tonight.”

He stared at her.

“Go away, Jack, you’ve outstayed your welcome, damn you.”

He became incredulous, angry. A long moment passed before he spoke. “Why are you doing this?”

She absolutely could not tell him the truth. So she said nothing.

“We’ve already been together. I don’t understand.”

“Just leave.”

“Why are you doing this?” he demanded again. “You
want me. And if you think that you don’t, you’re lying to yourself. And God knows, Belinda, I want you.”

“The only thing I want from you, Jack, is something you’re incapable of giving me—or any woman.”

“And what exactly is that?”

“A real, honest emotion,” Belinda returned intensely, her gaze clashing with his. “Pricks are a dime a dozen, Jack.”

Confusion started to fade from his gaze. He smiled slightly, lucidly.

“Get out,” she snapped. “Just get out, Jack, now.”

“I think,” Jack said slowly, approaching her, “that you care for me.”

Belinda stepped backward, furious with herself for revealing too much and furious with him for being so insensitive and egotistical. “The problem is, Jack, that you don’t have a heart—or what heart you have is hanging suspended between your legs.”

“Low and mean,” Jack said, but he was smiling as he reached for her. She couldn’t evade him. “Give me a chance, Belinda.”

Eyes locked.

“If you don’t give me a chance, how will you ever know if I have a heart or not?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s late. Go home. Go back to L.A. Do us both a favor.”

“Why won’t you listen? I do care about you! I’m falling in love with you, dammit! Isn’t that what you want to hear?”

“You misunderstood what I meant. Go home.”

He was no longer smiling. “I could get down on my knees, couldn’t I, and declare myself the way they did a hundred years ago and you’d still think I was full of shit, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, I would.”

“When am I going to see you again?”

She almost gaped. He really had the tenacity of a pit bull. “I don’t know,” she said cautiously.

“Tomorrow night.” It wasn’t a question but a statement
of intent. He was heading for the door as if nothing had happened.

She felt disappointment.

And was angry at herself for feeling it.

96

F
or the occasion she dressed.

She wore a skintight T-shirt, braless, and a new jeans skirt that was a few inches above the knee. Medium-heeled sandals, silver bangles, and her hair loose. A touch of pale pink lipstick and blush. Mary had to admit she looked great—even if she was a bit plump.

Her legs had a nice shape; in fact, they were her best feature. Her arms were probably her worst feature, but no one would notice because of her breasts and hair. She had even invested in a new perfume, Nicki. She was nervous.

This time there was no wait. The bosomy blond receptionist ushered her straight in. Abe rose to greet her, his eyes flicking over her. Mary decided she was an absolute pervert—she couldn’t believe the thoughts that were rushing through her mind.

“Hello, doll,” Abe said. “Come on, sit down. Coffee?”

“No, thanks,” Mary said, sitting and crossing her legs. Her skirt rode up high on her thighs. Abe looked. He sat casually on the corner of his desk, facing her.

“What was this shit with you drawing a gun on Belinda?” His tone was suddenly harsh, his eyes hard.

And Mary was disappointed. “You lied,” she said tremulously. “So I decided to do something myself.”

“What are you, crazy?”

“I didn’t mean to shoot her,” Mary cried, upset. “I just wanted to frighten her away from Vince. That’s all.”

“Jesus, you could have killed her!”

“She shouldn’t have tried to grab the gun,” Mary half moaned. “I’m so sorry—believe me. It was the worst nightmare of my life.” To her horror a few tears trembled on her lashes.

“Christ, if you’d talked to me, I could’ve told you to lay low and let it die a natural death. I had plans for Belinda—marriage plans. And they didn’t include your husband.”

Mary blinked. “You did?”

“Next time you come to me first.”

Mary bit her lip. She looked at him. She felt thrilled—he hadn’t lied. Hadn’t used her. And he wasn’t angry any longer, just intent. “I was drunk,” she confessed. “Or it would never have happened.”