Careless Rapture (3 page)

Fortunately, Brian had broken that pattern.
He’d taken her to events at the Kennedy Center and dinner on the
Potomac. He’d taught her about the finer things in life. She
glanced down at her stockings and groaned when she noticed a run.
Too bad she couldn’t always imitate the finely dressed, coiffured
women he was used to. But she would continue to try.

When she finally reached the restaurant, she
was surprised to see Brian with a look of preoccupation instead of
his usual harried expression. She walked toward the
leather-cushioned booth, curious as to what was on his mind. The
pensive gaze gave some personality to his boringly handsome, neat
features and trim mustache. At times she still couldn’t believe
he’d been dating her for four months.

She kissed him on the cheek, then sat. “Sorry
I’m late. Have you ordered yet?”

He didn’t meet her eyes. “No.”

“Good, then we can order together.” She
picked up the menu. “What are you going to choose?”

“I’m getting married.”

Jackie turned the page and ran her finger
down the selection of pasta. “That sounds good.” She tapped her
chin. “Let’s see what I’ll get.”

He lowered the menu, forcing her to look at
him. “Jackie.”

“Yes?”

“I said I’m getting married.”

She stared blankly. “That had better be a
euphemism for something else.”

“It’s not.”

Her gaze fell back to the menu. “I see.”

“I know you’re upset.”

“Upset isn’t the word,” she muttered.

“But this is for the best. I’m sorry. You’re
a great woman, but Darlene and I—”

“Did you say Darlene?” she cut in, her eyes
turning to stone.

He nodded.

She snapped the menu shut. “You’re marrying
your ex-wife?”

He glanced around to make sure no one
overheard, conscious of his image. “Yes, we both realized that our
divorce had been hasty. We are well suited in all the important
areas. That’s what counts in a relationship. You and I had fun,
but—”

“I understand.” She grinned bitterly. “Tom
drunk, but Tom nuh fool.”

He scowled. “I hate when you talk that lingo.
It’s common and makes no sense. What does that mean?”

“It means things are not what they seem. I
know I’m not as well suited to a man hoping to establish a career
in politics. I have no real connections. I’m just a Jamaican
immigrant of unknown parentage.” She nodded. “Yes, I understand
more than you know.” She took a sip of her water and glanced around
the elegant atmosphere. “I also understand why you brought me
here.” She placed a finger on the back of his hand and drew little
circles. To an outside observer, it looked like a loving gesture;
Brian knew it was not. He swallowed, nervous. “It’s to deter me
from causing a scene. Such as throwing water on you, smashing a
plate of food in your face, or even stabbing you with a fork.” She
patted his hand and withdrew. “You’re right. I won’t cause a
scene.”

He visibly relaxed. “I knew you
wouldn’t.”

“No, you didn’t. You just hoped so. I can be
so unpredictable.” She lowered her lashes. “I will be expecting an
invitation in the mail.”

“I’m not sure Darlene—”

Her eyes glittered. “
I
will be
expecting an invitation in the mail for myself and a guest.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t cause a scene there
either. I only want to be there for this joyous occasion.” She
jerked her glass toward him. He jumped. “Good, you’re nervous. That
means you have a conscience.”

“I don’t think you should be too upset. We
only dated casually and never even . . .” He let his words trail
off, recognizing it wasn’t the proper topic for a dinner
conservation.

“Well, you certainly made me glad of
that.”

“Now, Jackie—”

“I suggest you stop talking.” She opened her
menu and selected an item.

“Why?”

“Because you only encourage my desire to cut
out your tongue. I believe they serve tongue here. I would love to
chop it into little pieces.”

Brian adjusted his collar.

The waiter approached the table. “Are you
ready to order?”

Jackie smiled at Brian with freezing disdain.
“I hope you brought your gold card. This dinner is going to cost
you.”

***

Jackie spent most of Sunday morning running
errands. She didn’t want to be at home—she’d only end up thinking
about Brian and getting angry. Four months she’d devoted to him and
he’d dumped her for a woman he’d married before. It was insulting
and humiliating. By late afternoon she was finally forced to return
home, and halted when she saw Clay leaving her building. She called
out his name. He stopped and turned.

Jackie greeted him with a smile, oddly glad
to see him. “Hi,” she said. “How are you? What are you doing
here?”

“I’m fine. I was just—”

“I’m glad I caught you.” She raced inside the
lobby, then pushed the elevator button. “I’ve been out all day. So
do you have something about the case?” The elevator arrived. She
stepped in.

He hesitated, then stepped in also. “No, not
yet. Listen, I—”

Jackie shrugged. “Never mind. I know it will
take time. We only met on Friday, right?” She didn’t give him a
chance to answer. “Yes, I should remember because Saturday was
dreadful. The day was fine, but that night went to hell—but I won’t
bore you with the details.” The elevator stopped on her floor.

Clay grabbed her arm before she got out. “I
only came by to give you something.”

“That’s fine, I’ll take it.” She slipped out
of his grip and went to her apartment. “But since you came all this
way, you might as well come in. I’m sure you can spare a few
moments.” She inserted the key in the lock.

He glanced at his watch. “Not really. I—”

“Good. I could use the company.” She opened
the door, and flipped on the lights.

The apartment looked as though it had been
ransacked.

The couch cushions
lay across the room, frames were shattered with glass scattered on
the floor. CDs, videos, and books littered the ground, two side
tables lay upside down with their legs in the air like dead
cockroaches.

Clay shoved Jackie behind him with such force
that she crashed against the wall. “Stay here.”

“Relax.” She stepped in front of him “I
haven’t been robbed. I did this myself. Brian and I broke up.”

He surveyed the damage, stunned. “What?”

She walked over a book and picked up a
cushion. “I was upset. He’s marrying his ex-wife.”

“Upset?” he choked. “Looks like you went mad.
Did you foam at the mouth as well?”

She sent him a sly grin. “Now that you know
what I’m capable of will you help me clean it up?”

“No.”

“You can stay and watch, then.”

He headed for the door. “No.”

Jackie jumped in front of him. “I just need
the company, please. You won’t have to clear anything.”

He sighed fiercely, then took off his jacket.
“I’ll stay five minutes.”

She replaced the cushion on the couch.
“Fine.”

He crossed the small living room, briefly
skidding on broken glass, then glanced out the window. “Not a bad
neighborhood.”

“Worried about your car?”

“Anyone who takes my car would be doing me a
favor.” He turned and spotted her curio in the corner. It held an
assortment of glass figurines from horses to unicorns, birds to
castles to fairies. His mouth kicked up in a quick grin. The touch
of whimsy was very fitting.

She placed the last cushion on the couch.
“The couch is back to normal. You can take a seat.”

Clay did and picked up the remote. “I’m
surprised you didn’t kick in the TV.”

Jackie came out of the kitchen with a broom
and duster. “It was tempting.” She swept up the glass. “Can you
cook?”

He sent her a suspicious glance. “Why?”

“Because you could make lunch while I clean
up.”

“I only know how to cook dinner.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” He stood. He was a bit peckish.
“I’ll see what’s in the kitchen.”

“It’s still early, perhaps we could have
brunch.”

Clay raised a knowing brow. “I suppose you
have a preference?”

“I would love Swedish pancakes, but I’d
settle for French toast.”

“Wonderful,” he said sarcastically. “Two
meals that take no effort. You like to make a man’s life easy.”

“There’s nothing wrong with requesting what
you like. You know I'll eat whatever you make. I’ll even pretend to
like it if it’s horrible.”

Clay grunted and opened the fridge, pulling
out a carton of milk.

“So why did you come over?” she asked after a
few minutes.

He turned on the stove. “Because I wanted to
make one big mistake this week and I thought I’d start with
you.”

She wagged her finger. “Be nice, little boy,
or I'll tell my big brothers on you.”

Clay knew it was an empty threat, but didn’t
want to encourage her to say anything to Drake and Eric about his
coming over. “You left your scarf at my office.”

“Thanks.” She dumped the debris in the trash
bin. “That’s odd, though. I don’t usually leave things. Why would I
do that? I must have been more distracted than I thought.”

“Or you like to make me suffer.”

“It’s a possibility. I enjoy annoying
you.”

“You can congratulate yourself on
succeeding.”

Jackie grinned at his playful tone and
watched as he placed a bowl in the sink and turned on the faucet.
The simple movement stretched the fabric of his T-shirt,
emphasizing his wide shoulders. She’d never looked at Clay as a man
before, just as Cassie’s older brother. Now she did. She had to
admit, it was a nice view. For a man past forty, he had no right to
possess a body that stood over six feet with a tough, lean quality
that could give a woman ideas. Not the obvious kind of ideas,
something more pervasive, more deceptive, more enticing. He was
interesting and that held its own kind of danger. She returned to
cleaning, listening to him move about in the kitchen. After a few
moments, she said with a note of surprise, “You’re a very
comfortable man to be around. Even though your head nearly touches
the ceiling. ”

He glanced up. “A gross exaggeration. I have
a few inches yet.”

“Well, you’re a giant compared to me.”

“A stool is a giant compared to you.”

“Mind your manners. Some men prefer petite
women.”

“I know. I’ve met them.”

“But you’re not one?”

“No.”

Jackie sighed. “Brian liked petite women. His
ex-wife is four-eleven.”

“How do you know?”

“He told me.” She paused. “Come to think of
it, he talked about her a lot.” She chewed her lower lip. “I
suppose that was a sign.”

“Hmm.”

“Is brunch ready?”

“In a minute.”

Jackie rested her chin on the top of the
broom. “So why don’t you like petite women?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like them. I said I
didn’t prefer them.” He pointed to the table with his spatula. “Sit
down. Brunch is ready.”

She sat at the table. Clay placed a Swedish
pancake with peach slices and blueberries in front of her.

She pointed. “What is this?”

He frowned. “What does it look like?”

“Swedish pancakes.”

“Exactly. That’s what you wanted, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Nothing, but—” She stopped, knowing she was
insulting him. She’d been joking about the pancakes, but forgot
that men took things literally. Fortunately, having two older
brothers helped her to learn how to soothe the male ego. She
crooked her finger as though she wanted to tell him a secret. He
bent down.

She kissed him on the cheek. “It’s wonderful,
thank you.”

Clay only grunted, but she knew he was
mollified.

Jackie took a bite, then moaned in pleasure.
“This is delicious. I am now officially your love slave.”

He sat. “Have you been drinking?”

She made a face. “Leave me alone. I’m
enjoying myself.” She closed her eyes and wiggled in her seat.
“Hmm. Absolute heaven.” She pointed her fork at him. “I didn’t know
you could cook.”

He shrugged. “I get by. Truth is, I have only
seven meals I can cook really well. And I learned them all with one
purpose in mind.”

“What’s that?”

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “To
impress women.”

“And from that twinkle in your eye, my guess
is you’ve succeeded. I should be offended, but I’m too in awe of
your skill. So what are we to have to drink?”

Clay pointed. “I’m sure you have glasses in
the cupboard and can find juice in the fridge.”

Jackie stood. “You’re supposed to supply the
drink with brunch.”

“I cooked. The rest is self-serve.”

Jackie crossed the room, took down two
glasses, then opened the fridge. “What would you like?”

“Orange juice.”

“I don’t have orange juice.”

“What do you have?”

Jackie looked at the various containers.
“Everything but.”

“Grape, then.”

Jackie poured the drinks then returned to her
seat. “So when do you usually serve Swedish pancakes?” She handed
him his glass. “Is it an after-sex treat in the morning?”

“No. They are not good after-sex food for
me.”

“Why not?”

“I end up eating them alone.”

She stared at him. “Why?”

“Because my companion is no longer
there.”

“Your women leave after sex?”

“Either they do or I do. It’s a mutual
understanding.”

Her eyes widened. “Every time? You never
stay?”

He leaned back and thought for a moment. “I
find that mornings tend to shine too bright a light on a
relationship.”

Jackie wrinkled her nose. “But that isn’t a
relationship if you always leave.”

He took a sip of his drink. “You may have a
point.”