Summer Vows (Arabesque) (10 page)

“Why aren’t you married?”

Ana’s question caught Jacob somewhat off guard, but then he quickly recovered. “I really don’t know.”

“Are you anti-marriage?”

Shifting on the bench, he turned to face her. “No. I suppose it’s just that I haven’t met a woman I feel I could spend the rest of my life with. When I put a ring on a woman’s finger I don’t want it to be for right now but forever, because I don’t believe in divorce. I want what my parents had before my father died.”

Ana turned to stare at the large orange sphere sinking lower and lower in the darkening sky. Jacob didn’t believe in divorce or the death penalty. “Sometimes I think what your parents had and what my parents have doesn’t exist anymore. Nowadays people marry with the notion that if it doesn’t work out, then they’ll divorce and try it again until they feel they can get it right.”

“Why are you so cynical, Princess?”

“I’m cynical because I look at my friends and girls that I grew up with and most of them are divorced or on their second or third marriages.”

“Are you telling me you don’t believe in marriage?”

Smiling, Ana shook her head. “No. All I have to do is look at my family to know that marriage works. This is not to say there weren’t divorces before they became Coles, but once they marry a Cole it is for life. I have a cousin who lives in Chicago who married, got divorced and then remarried his wife.”

“That just proves that they were destined to be together.”

“I agree.”

“Are you going to marry Sam?”

Ana removed her glasses, staring at Jacob as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “What did you say?”

He leaned closer. “I know you heard me, Princess.”

“Why would I want to marry a woman? I’m not gay.”

“Sam is a woman?”

“Of course she’s a woman. Her name is Samantha, but everyone calls her Sam for short.” Suddenly realization dawned. “That’s what you get for eavesdropping on my conversation,” she said, accusingly. “My house, my phone and my rules,” she intoned sarcastically.

Jacob cradled the back of her head. “Okay, Princess. You’ve got me. If you promise not to disclose where you’re staying, then I’ll allow you some privacy whenever you make a call. But, I’m going to have to know who you’re calling in advance.” He extended his right hand.
“Trato.”

Grinning, Ana took his hand. “Deal.”

Chapter 5

Los Angeles

C
amille parked her car in her assigned space behind her apartment building and cut off the engine. Reaching for her handbag on the console, she pushed open the driver’s side door but it wouldn’t budge. It wasn’t until she glanced up that she saw the face of a man from her past. When he realized she recognized him he stepped back and opened the door for her. She got out of the low-slung vehicle. His top lip disappeared against the ridge of his upper teeth when he flashed a feral smile.

“How have you been, Doll Face?”

She hated his name for her, and she’d lost count of the number of men who’d referred to her as a black Barbie doll. “What are you doing here, Fletcher?”

Gerald Fletcher dipped his head and pressed a kiss to her cheek. He had to admit the woman responsible for him losing his government job was as stunning as she’d been when he first saw her in the club where he’d go whenever he was off duty. Her round dark brown face with perfectly symmetrical delicate features was hypnotic. He stared at the cloud of curly reddish-brown hair framing her face before his gaze lowered to the swell of breasts under a conservative white blouse she’d paired with a black pencil skirt. They lingered briefly on the expanse of slender legs in a pair of black patent-leather pumps. She’d cleaned up well.

“I came to see you, baby. Aren’t you glad to see me?”

There was no way Camille was glad to see a man she’d slept with, and then robbed of his gun and wallet. It wasn’t until she was on the other side of town and went through his wallet that she realized she’d just robbed a special agent with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives. Camille kept the cash and sold his credit cards, government-issued automatic, ID and badge to a local hustler who used the gun and credentials when he went on an extended crime spree.

She swallowed to relieve the constriction in her throat. She couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark glasses, but remembered their icy blue coldness. They were dead eyes, eyes that didn’t look at you but through you. He came to the club on the days she was scheduled to work and instead of the dollar bills the club’s patrons tossed up on stage Gerald always gave her tens and twenties. After she’d begun working the champagne room he continued to pay the required fee, but also added a generous tip for her services. It had been naïveté that had permitted her to fall under his spell where she’d agreed to sleep with him. Of course she didn’t take him back to the apartment she shared with another exotic dancer after he’d given her a fistful of bills to
‘make him feel real good.’
Once she’d counted the money she knew she’d be a fool to reject his offer. They’d checked into a rundown hotel and after she gave him what she called her special lovemaking he fell asleep. It was the last time she rolled a john; she quit dancing at the club, because the word on the street was that he was looking for her. It had taken him more than a year to find her and she didn’t want to think of how he would exact revenge.

“No, I’m not,” Camille whispered.

“Well, I’m glad to see you. It’s taken a while to track you down,” he lied smoothly.

“What do you want?”

Gerald cupped her elbow. “Let’s go upstairs where we can talk in private.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

The sinister grin was back. “That’s where you’re wrong, Doll Face. We have a lot to talk about.”

Camille tried freeing her arm, but the effort proved futile when his fingers tightened like a manacle. “I don’t dance anymore.”

“I know that.”

“I’m expecting company,” she said quickly, hoping to change his mind if he thought she was going to sleep with him again.

“I know,” Gerald repeated.

Her heart pounded so hard in her chest Camille was certain he could see it through her blouse. “You know?”

“Yes. You’re expecting Basil Irvine. I can assure you I’ll be gone long before he gets here.”

“How do you know he was coming here?”

“People pay me well to know. Now, let’s go, Camille, before I’m forced to break your arm. And that will pale in comparison to what you did to me.”

She knew she didn’t have much of a choice but to let him into her apartment. She’d thought she had left her old lifestyle behind. However, it was back in the form of Gerald Fletcher. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Placing an arm around her waist, he led her to the entrance to her apartment building. “I’m not going to hurt you. Not unless you don’t do what I tell you to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Easy there, baby. I’ll tell you everything once we’re upstairs.”

* * *

Ana felt as if the parole board had approved her request. It’d been four days since her life had changed forever, and even though she still wasn’t free to come and go or do anything she wanted at least Jacob had relaxed the rules.

She lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. After they’d returned from their walk Jacob had asked whether she’d wanted to watch a baseball game with him, but she’d refused with the excuse that she was tired.

It wasn’t fatigue that plagued Ana and wouldn’t permit her a restful night’s sleep. It was guilt. She’d told herself she could play in the same arena where powerful men played and negotiated multimillion-dollar deals for centuries, yet the difference was a very powerful music mogul had found himself outsmarted by a woman. Instinct told her that if Jason had been the one to woo Justin the outcome would’ve been vastly different. It would’ve resulted in one man challenging another. The better of the two would’ve been declared the winner and the loser would’ve retreated with dignity.

Turning, she stared at the clock on the bedside table. It was nearly one in the morning and still she couldn’t sleep. Tossing back the sheet and a lightweight blanket, Ann swung her legs over the side of the bed and turned on the table lamp.

Walking on bare feet, she walked out of the bedroom and made her way down the staircase. A cup of warm
café con leche
would be the perfect remedy for her restlessness. The hanging fixture, turned to the lowest setting, glowed in the hallway off the kitchen. There was another light—this one from under the range hood. She flipped a wall switch, flooding the kitchen with light.

The house was eerily silent as she turned on the single-cup automatic coffeemaker, dropped in a pod for a rich dark roast. Placing a large mug under the unit, she pushed a button. The aroma of brewing coffee wafted in the kitchen as she opened the refrigerator and took out a container of milk. The brew cycle ended and Ana added a generous amount to the coffee, then sugar. Stirring the mixture, Ana placed the mug into the microwave to warm it. The beeping sound echoed loudly and as she reached for the mug she felt movement behind her.

She froze, her fingers tightening around the handle of the mug. “Jacob? Is that you?”

A soft chuckle caressed her ear. “Were you expecting someone else?”

Turning, she saw him standing a few feet away. She forced her gaze not to stray below his neck. His body was so beautifully proportioned that her mouth went suddenly dry. He wore a pair of navy-blue-and-white striped pajama pants that rode low on his slim hips. “Oh...oh, no,” she said hastily. “I couldn’t sleep so I came down to make coffee.”

Crossing muscled arms over a furred chest, Jacob angled his head. “I thought you said you were tired.”

She knew she’d been caught in a lie and there was no way she could extricate herself except substitute that lie with another one. “I said that because I didn’t want to impose on you.”

Jacob lowered his arms and stared at the petite woman in a skimpy cotton nightgown ending at her knees. Her tiny compact body was definitely a turn-on. He smiled when noticing the bright pink polish on her groomed toes. “How would you be imposing?”

Ana lifted a bare shoulder. “You’ve made it quite known that I’ve ruined your vacation, so instead of compounding it I decided to make myself scarce.”

He took a step, bringing them less than a foot apart. “Do you think hiding out in your bedroom is making yourself scarce? Even if I didn’t see you every hour, I’d still know you’re here.”

With wide eyes, she said, “I bother you that much?”

A smile softened the angles in his face. “No, Princess. You’re not a bother.”

“Then what am I?”

“You’re a reminder of how much I’ve cut myself off from the real world. I go to work, do what has to be done, then go to the gym to workout. After that I come home to shower off the reminder that I’m responsible for people who’re locked up because they’ve committed unspeakable acts. After that I flop down in front of the television to watch a number of news channels and then it’s ESPN for a few hours. I go to bed and then get up and do it all over again. If I’m not at a game, I may drive up to Winter Haven to visit my mother. So, you’re not a bother but a welcome distraction.”

Ana cradled the mug, enjoying the warmth seeping into her palms. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but never a distraction.”

“Don’t forget I said a
welcome
distraction.” He peered down into her mug. “That looks like milk.”

“It’s
café con leche
. Are you familiar with it?”

Jacob nodded. “My friend’s grandmother used to make it for me.”

“Would you like to share mine? There’s enough here for two.”

“Seguro. Conseguiré otra taza.”

She placed the mug on the cooking island, staring at the broad expanse of Jacob’s shoulders and back. She wanted to tell him he should be arrested for looking so deliciously sexy. “I can’t believe how well you speak Spanish.”

“It helps whenever I’m on the job.”

“Exactly what it is you do as a marshal?”

Jacob retrieved a cup from an overhead cabinet and poured some of the
café con
leche
from Ana’s mug into it. “I used to be assigned to the Violent Crime Fugitive Task Force before I was promoted to an administrative position.”

“Do you miss not being in the field?”

He smiled. “Somewhat. Come with me. We can sit in the family room and talk.”

The ball game had gone into extra innings and it was almost 12:30 a.m. when he’d finally turned off the television. After checking on Baron, who slept outside on the deck, he came back inside, activated the security system and took a shower. Jacob was already in bed when he detected the smell of brewing coffee. Slipping into a pair of pajama pants, he headed in the direction of the kitchen, surprised to find Ana there.

She’d admitted to not wanting to bother him when he wanted to tell her she did bother him in the worse way. Having her live under his roof was a constant reminder that it had been a long time since a woman had crossed the threshold to where he lived. Even in Miami he’d endured long droughts without female companionship. Jacob wasn’t certain whether he was getting old, in a funk, or that his outlook on life had changed wherein he didn’t want to contend with a merry-go-round of women in his life.

He’d had one or two serious relationships, but none progressed to the point where he considered marriage. He knew his mother was concerned that she would die without him giving her grandchildren; however, his comeback was that she had four other sons who could fulfill her most reverent wish. Her response shocked Jacob when she stated that her husband’s sons were not her flesh and blood.

He didn’t know what had made him so reluctant to commit, because his parents’ marriage was filled with overt displays of love and affection. And if they did argue or disagree it was never when he was present. Stephen Jacob Jones’s sage advice was: always let the woman believe she’s right even if she isn’t. After a while she’ll realize she was wrong even if she won’t openly admit it
.
That advice had made for a solid marriage for twenty-one years.

Touching a wall switch, the family room was awash in a soft glow from recessed ceiling light. The space had become his sanctuary. Someplace where he could relax and forget about everything going on outside. Something he wasn’t able to do at his Miami apartment. The noise from pedestrian and vehicular traffic and the wail of sirens from emergency vehicles was a constant reminder that he lived in a thriving metropolitan city.

Here in the Keys the order of the day was to kick back and let the world pass leisurely by.

* * *

Ana stared at the room with a leather seating grouping, a large flat screen mounted above a fireplace, two walls with built-in bookshelves crowded with books, and a large colorful jukebox filled with CDs. Another corner near the sliding glass doors held a pool table, dart board and portable bar. A large Tiffany-style light fixture was suspended above the pool table. There was even a popcorn machine.

“Incredible,” she whispered under her breath.

Jacob gave her startled look. “You like it?”

She flashed a dimpled smile. “I love it. It’s the perfect sports bar. The only thing missing is peanut shells on the floor.”

Throwing back his head, he laughed loudly. Here he thought Ana was a girly-girl, but apparently there was another side to her obviously feminine persona. Then he had to remember she was a female doing business in what was deemed a man’s world.

“Do you play pool?”

“I’ve been known to dabble in it.”

Taking her free hand, Jacob steered Ana to the sofa, easing her to sit before he sat beside her. Pulling up her legs, she pressed the soles of her feet against his thigh. “That noncommittal answer tells me you do.”

“Let me warn you that I only play for money.”

He took a sip of the perfectly brewed milk and coffee, staring at her over the rim. “I don’t think so, Princess. There’s no way I’m going to let you hustle me.”

She pushed out her lower lip. “You took my credit cards, so I’m going to have to try to get some cash any way I can. How can I shop in Key West if I’m flat broke?”

“How much do you think you’re going to need?”

“More than I have on me. And I could get a lot more if I had access to an ATM.”

Attractive lines fanned out around his dark eyes when Jacob smiled. “Do you actually believe I’m going to give you back your credit cards?”