Lost in Love (20 page)

Chapter Twenty-six

The letter was sitting on her desk when she arrived at work.

Frowning, Meredith picked it up. Expensive linen paper, sealed, no address or postmark. It simply had her first name scrawled across the envelope.

Maybe her assistant knew who it was from.

Or she could just open it and see herself.

Shaking her head, she slid an opener under the flap and pulled out the folded note inside. It was on the sort of fancy stationary she always wanted to buy but knew she’d never use. Running her fingers over the smooth texture, she unfolded the note.

It was handwritten. She didn’t recognize the handwriting, but she knew instinctively who it was from.

Meredith ~

I’ve tried calling you, but you don’t answer my calls. I wanted to come by to see you, but I knew you wouldn’t appreciate that, and the office isn’t an appropriate venue for what I need to give you.

An apology.

I’m sorry, Meredith. I realize now that I should have been clear in my intent from the beginning.

You see, I’ve been waiting for you since the day I met you. When I saw you in the conference room my first meeting, it was all I could do to pay attention to what Jackson was saying.

It killed me that you were his.

I’ve been waiting for an interval of time to pass, for you to get over Jackson and any feelings you had for him. I don’t want to be your rebound fling. I want to be your forever.

And then I saw your list, and I knew it was my time. I know you think I was pushy, but, Meredith, I’ve been waiting for you for so long, and you know being patient isn’t in my nature.

In case my actions weren’t loud enough, I’ll state it here: I love you.

Now it’s up to you to decide, but I hope you take a plunge with me.

Q.

Pulling out a tissue from her desk, she reread the letter through her tears. Clasping it to her beating heart, she opened a drawer and took out the Polaroid Quinn had taken of her.

She looked so happy, and it was all because of Quinn.

If he stayed with her, he’d be miserable, because last night she’d found another lump.

Lowering her head, she wept for the loss of hope and love.

The next afternoon, the flowers began to arrive.

First, there was a bouquet of purple tulips with a note in the handwriting she knew by heart now. It said,
I’m not good at waiting, I’m good at action. So I’ll show you how you make me feel, in case there was any question in your mind.

An hour later, another arrangement arrived: yellow Gerber daisies.
This is the color I feel when I see your beautiful face.

Stargazer lilies next.
Turned on, because I see your lush sensuality echoed here.

White orchids.
Hopeful, with a clear vision of the future.

Three dozen deep red roses.
Love.

She surveyed the sea of flowers. He’d made her feel touched and hopeful.

Damn it—she couldn’t be hopeful. She was scared. She thought maybe she’d been overreacting about the lump, but she’d examined herself again last night when she’d gone home. It felt bigger than the night before, and she knew it was growing bigger by the second.

No man wanted defective merchandise, especially a man like Quinn, who could have anyone he wanted.

Someone knocked on her doorframe.

She looked up to see Jackson poking his head in. He looked wide-eyed at all the flowers. “Who died?”

“No one.” Meredith shivered, hugging herself, knowing she was lying.

Chapter Twenty-seven

If Catherine Summerhill were in her shoes, she’d go take what she wanted.

What did Portia want? Celebratory sex with a cowboy.

Making sure she was wearing her raciest lingerie, she went to the Waite offices. In the elevator, she smiled, remembering the first time she stood in there and everything that had happened.

She was a different person now. She’d asked for what she wanted and she’d worked hard to get it. Her mother gave her direction, but she’d traveled the path herself. Now even her walk had a confident saunter it didn’t before. She knew without a doubt that Catherine would have been proud to call her a descendant.

Jackson’s door was closed, the white briefs still on the door. In the absence of his assistant, she knocked and waited.

“Come in, damn it,” he called from inside.

She opened the door and peeked in. Jackson sat hunched over his laptop, a scowl on his face. His hat was on the floor and his hair looked like he’d tortured it.

“Is this a bad time?” she asked.

He closed the laptop and stood, his face brightening. “Not at all. I thought it was Quinn.”

“I’m not Quinn.” She locked the door behind her.

“I can see that.” He rounded the desk. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

She opened her coat and let it fall to the floor.

Jackson stopped in his steps, his eyes eating her up. His drawl deepened. “That’s a mighty intriguing offer you’re making there, sugar.”

“I hope it’s one you can’t refuse.” Emboldened, she ran her hands down her sides. She knew he’d like the set when she picked it. The red satin set was the closest thing she had to hooker underwear. Not that it was gaudy. On the contrary, the demi bra, basque, panties, and garter had been expensive.

Based on his expression, it was worth every penny.

She strutted over to him and began to undo the buttons on his shirt. “You owe me a celebration.”

“I do at that.” His hands slid behind her, roving over her bottom. “I like this.”

“I know,” she said, channeling Catherine’s flirtatiousness.

Jackson lifted her, and she straddled his waist as he turned and set her gently on his desk, over paperwork and pens. She didn’t mind. She leaned back, feeling decadent and wanton.

“You’re a sight, duchess.” He stood over her and just looked at her.

The appreciation in his gaze was heady. She lay there and reveled in the hunger in his eyes.

He ran a hand down the center of her body, stopping right over the satin triangle that hid her womanly delights.

“
This
is so much better than drinks with my family,” she said as his long finger pressed the right spot. She laughed, giddy with desire and pleased with herself. Sitting up, she reached for his belt buckle. “There’s something to being a siren, isn’t there?”

“I think so.”

She grinned up at him as she unzipped his jeans and pushed them down. “This would be perfect if you had your hat on.”

“I’m happy to oblige, ma’am.” He pulled her forward until her hips were on the edge of the table, his fingers gripping her like a lifeline.

Laughing, she let her head fall back, her arms wide. “This is so much fun. Who knew?”

“I knew from the first moment I met you.”

Her heart flopped over. “I didn’t. I was such a loser before.”

He frowned at her as he pulled a condom from his jeans. “Don’t talk that way about yourself.”

“Oh, I don’t believe it anymore. I think I’m just a late bloomer. I went for years without any accomplishments but then I did it. I wanted the museum job, and it’s going to be mine in a matter of days.” She beamed at him, moving a binder-clipped packet from under her behind and spreading her legs wide so he’d hurry up. “I’m just about done in the warehouse.”

He stopped cold as he was about to unroll the condom over himself. “Damn it.”

Frowning, she propped herself on her elbow. “Did it tear?”

“No, damn it.” He tossed the condom aside and tugged her up to a sitting position. “We need to talk.”

She nodded. “We do, because you’re going to go back to Dallas as soon as the resort is opened, I’m sure, but we can—”

“Portia, the tiara is gone.”

“Gone?” She shook her head. “What do you mean the tiara is gone? Where is it gone to?”

He racked a hand over his already disheveled hair. “I have no idea.”

Shaking her head, she scooted back and crossed her arms over herself, suddenly feeling very exposed. “But we put it in your vault. Where could it have gone?”

“I think my father must have had something to do with it,” he said with remorse.

“So you’re going to ask him where he put it, yes?”

“I’m not sure he ‘put’ it anywhere.”

She hugged herself tighter. “What does that mean?”

Jackson took her arms, chaffing them with his palms. “I think it may be gone, Portia.”

“No.” She shrugged out of his embrace and stood. “But you promised it to me. I was going to help organize everything, and in return I got the tiara back. We had a deal.”

“I know.” He refastened his jeans. “But the tiara is gone now, and I can’t do anything about it.”

Gone. Numb, she picked up her coat and put it back on. “But my job at the museum hinged on the tiara. Without it, there’s no job offer.”

“Maybe you can—”

“Do what?” she interrupted, wrapping her coat around her tight. “Look for a different job? Do you know what I’m qualified for? Nothing. I have no schooling, I have no experience, I have no talent. The only thing I’m good for is history. I can’t teach because I don’t have credentials.”

“Calm down, Portia. We’ll come up with a solution.”

“This is my life,” she said, enunciating carefully. She picked up her purse and unlocked the door. “I think I’m pretty calm considering my future’s just been destroyed.”

“Portia—”

She didn’t stop to hear what he was going to say. She walked briskly to the elevator, none of the sashay in her step any longer. She pressed the button, steeling herself for him to come stop her.

But he didn’t, and that made her feel more hopeless than anything.

In the elevator, she slumped against the wall. Her fingers closed around her pearls. Now what would she do?

Chapter Twenty-eight

She needed to call.

She didn’t want to call.

Meredith stared at the phone in her hand. The lump was growing as she sat there—she could feel it in her body. Throbbing. Getting bigger by the second. Taking over.

Her oncologist in Dallas gave her a referral for a doctor in London. He said he didn’t want her to wait until she returned to be checked out, given her history. He wanted her to go in as soon as possible.

Anger overcame her, and she debated throwing the phone at the wall. It wasn’t fair. She took care of herself. She worked out; she ate well. She didn’t drink excessively, nor did she smoke. Why was this attacking
her
?

Furious, she punched in the number to the oncologist here and made an appointment.

As soon as she hung up the phone, she wilted in her seat, head in her hands. What if it was really bad this time? What if this was it?

Last time, she’d done it alone. She broke up with Jackson and then went on a “vacation” for a couple months. At least that’s what everyone thought, that she was escaping to get over the break up, but she was really going in for surgery and radiation. She’d been so brave, determined not to bother anyone with her issues.

But this time she knew what to expect. She knew how the surgery would hurt after, and she knew how sick the radiation was going to make her feel. This time she was in a foreign country, without the possibility of someone to help even if she asked for it.

There was Quinn.

She shook her head. She couldn’t tell Quinn. She didn’t want him to be with her out of pity. You didn’t start a new relationship sick—it was supposed to be all hearts and candy in the beginning, not bedpans and vomit.

Quinn was out.

Her eyes filled with tears. One escaped before she could blink them back.

Her door opened and Jackson stormed inside. “Meredith, I need—” He stopped suddenly, frowning at her, obviously worried. He rushed to her side and took her hand. “What’s wrong? Did someone actually die?”

“Not yet,” she tried to joke, but a couple more tears dripped down her cheeks. She swiped at them. She would
not
be maudlin.

He crouched down next to her, still holding her hand. “Tell me what’s going on. Something obviously is. You’re in here crying, and Quinn’s acting like a caged tiger. Was he an ass to you?”

“Of course not. He’s so great.” She sniffed sadly, feeling the loss of him all over again.

“If he were great, you wouldn’t be crying like this.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with him,” she said, blotting the tears with her fingertips.

Jackson studied her for a long silent moment. “Why don’t you just tell me what we’re talking about? You know I’m not going to let it go until you do.”

She gave him a watery smile. “I always had a love-hate relationship with how relentless you are.”

“You aren’t going to distract me. I’ll sit on you until you tell me what’s going on.”

“I have cancer.”

He froze. Then he blinked slowly. Then his face drew tight with anger.

She cleared her throat. “It’s not entirely true. I’ve been in remission, but last week I found a lump. I’m going in for a biopsy tomorrow.”

“When did you find out?” he asked tightly.

“Last week.”

“No, the first time.” His eyes narrowed. “It wouldn’t have been around the time you broke up with me, was it?”

Why did he care? “Maybe.”

“Did you break up with me because you thought I wouldn’t want to take care of you?”

She didn’t answer that, but he must have read the answer on her face.

“
Damn it
, Meredith.” He stood and began to pace, sweeping his cowboy hat from his head and whacking it against his leg. Then he pointed it at her. “I’d have taken care of you. I hate that you took that decision from me.”

“Your father’s sickness—”

“Has nothing to do with you. You’re a
friend
. You help friends.” He glared at her. “When is your appointment?”

“Tomorrow. Two in the afternoon.” She shook her head. “I’m going alone.”

“Yes, you’re going alone. With me.” His tone brokered no argument. He pulled a chair right up next to her and took her hand. “And now you’re going to tell me everything that’s happened since the first time you found out.”