The Set Up (40 page)

Silence falls between us as our eyes lock. Sex, lies, deceit, and murder might be all around us, but when he looks at me the way he does now, it all falls away. All that’s left in this room is him. The way he smells of sex and a hint of my lavender body wash. The way the slight rise and fall of his chest against my back alerts me to just how close we are. The way he knows just what to say to me at just the right time.

And to think I almost threw it all away. If he hadn’t come back this morning I’d be on a bus right now and not sitting next to him. Jasper wanting me to stay in Detroit, wanting me by his side, turns me into that kind of schoolgirl I never was. Giddy, bubbly, and happy. Still, I have to wonder if anything as good as this can last. Vacillating between the dream world I wish we lived in and the real one, I can only hope the answer is that it can.

Popping up, I turn to face him, to say something that might make sense out of everything, but the burn in his stare momentarily stuns me, and the words are lost to the moment.

His gaze slides achingly slow down my body, from head to toe, and I feel it as if it were his hands touching me.

Ripples of desire move through me, shooting tingles between my legs. “I should put the pizza in the oven.”

Taking hold of my wrist, he yanks me back down. “I have a better idea.”

My body is a little achy from all the sex we’ve been having, but I don’t care—I want more. More. More. More. “I bet you do.”

His sly grin is almost too much. “What do you say you pack a bag, grab that pizza, and we go to my place?”

I blink in surprise; because that was not what I expected him to say after the way his eyes had just devoured me. “What about the press camped outside your building?”

“We can park in the garage and go up through the tunnel. The reporters won’t even know I’m back.”

I look at the pyramid of reality on my wall and think a little time away and a change of pace wouldn’t be so bad. “Good idea. Give me a few minutes to take a shower.”

His grin is even more wicked than that of just a few moments ago. “What do you say we do our part and conserve water?”

Feeling that look from the top of my head to the tip of my toes, all I can think is that I’m not really that sore after all.

Ninety minutes later we’re in his spacious loft and I’m sliding the frozen pizza into his oven. It looks brand new, with walls that gleam and sparkle. “It looks like you’ve hardly used your oven,” I say over my shoulder as I close the door.

Jasper is opening a bottle of red wine. “It’s had a few frozen pizzas tossed in it, but that’s about it. I go to Will’s when I want a home-cooked meal.”

“So you don’t cook?” I ask, rummaging through a cupboard in search of his plates.

The cork pops from the bottle. “Nope. No one ever taught me.”

I turn with a cute glass plate in my hand. “I love to cook, but I had to teach myself. When my aunt cooked, everything had at least one stick of butter or was flooded in oil, because that was the way my uncle liked it. The greasier the better, he used to say. And she kept it up for the inn as well. It was either learn to cook healthy on my own or die of a heart attack at a young age. I decided on the former.”

Jasper grabs two wineglasses and pours us each a glass. “After my father died, my mother stopped cooking. We lived on cereal, canned soup, sandwiches, and Swanson’s frozen dinners. My mother said it was all she could afford, but I think it was more that she missed my father raving about what a good cook she was. I was always fussy and complaining.”

This confession about his past takes me by surprise. “All kids are picky, Jasper.”

He shrugs. “It wouldn’t have killed me to eat the meat in her spaghetti sauce, though, and maybe even tell her it tasted good.”

I stop before I pull open the bag of carrots I’d brought over and walk toward him. Lifting on my toes, I softly kiss his lips. “No, it wouldn’t have, but when we’re kids we’re not programmed to think that way.”

He shakes it off and hands me a glass of wine.

I look at the glass. It’s the same pattern as the dishes I found. Clear, with a slight silver ring around the edge. Barely noticeable but adding a hint of sparkle nonetheless. Hidden beauty. Looking back at the plate and then at the glass again, I know I’ve seen it before. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve drooled over this pattern. Uncertain if I should change the topic, the melancholy look on his face tells me I should try to lighten the mood. So I raise my glass. “Do you shop at Crate & Barrel?”

He blushes. Actually blushes.

So adorable.

I look around and notice things I hadn’t before. Notice a lot. All from Crate & Barrel. “You do.”

Sipping from his wine, he speaks over the rim. “Drew’s mom works there. She helped me out.”

Walking back to where I’d been, I scoop the hummus I brought into a cereal bowl and toss the carrot sticks onto the cute plate. “I call that store the holy land.”

Striding toward me, he dips a carrot in the hummus and crunches on it. “I’ll take you sometime. You can help me finish outfitting my kitchen.”

“I’d love that,” I tell him, already taking inventory of what he might need.

That smile sparkles and gleams just like the oven and he kisses my mouth. He tastes like the garlic and onion in the hummus and I want to lick every inch of his lips. “I’m going to change—I’ll be right back,” he says.

“I’ll be here, slaving over the hot stove, waiting for the timer to go off.”

With a cute shake of his head, he starts for his bedroom, turns back, kisses me one more time, and then disappears down the hallway.

I watch that stride. The way his laces hit the wooden floor. The way he disappears, and I feel a little lonely with him out of the room. I walk over to the picture of Jasper and his father. When I pick it up, I remember the very first time I saw Jasper’s go-cart.

Mr. Storm and one of his friends are unloading a small car from the back of his truck.

“Wow, what’s that?” I ask through the fence.

“It’s my new go-cart.” Jasper comes running over to the fence and opens the part that is broken. “Come see it.”

I glance back at the house. My dad is at work and my mother and Mr. Worth are inside. Tory is playing on our swing set and I’m under strict orders to watch her, and that means not leaving the yard.

“Come on, Charlie,” Jasper says. “Really fast. She won’t know.”

I look around. “Okay.”

Mr. Storm puts his hand on Jasper’s mop of brown hair and squats down. “Hi, Charlotte, want to sit inside it?”

“Can I?”

“Of course you can.”

I look at Jasper. He nods. “Don’t be afraid. It’s fun.”

So I do. I sit in it. I turn the wheel. I pretend I’m driving it.

Mr. Storm’s friend approaches. “Now listen, Jasper, some advice,” he says. “After a few laps, you’re going to want to hustle and go flat-out. Don’t. Full power, flicking the car like a demented rally driver, is exciting, but it really slows you down. Carting is a game of momentum, where the guy who lifts slightly to avoid sliding, and has silky-smooth steering, will be the fastest.”

Jasper’s face is lit up like a Christmas tree. “I can’t wait to try it out on the track. Thank you, Mr. Harvey.”

“You’re welcome. My son doesn’t use it anymore, so I figure why not let someone share in the fun? When you’re done with it, give to someone you know who will love it too.”

Jasper looks at me. “I’ll give it to you,” he mouths.

“Charlotte! I’m telling my daddy you left me alone.”

Tory is only five, but she likes to get me in trouble. I hop out of the cart and rush for her. “No, Tory, don’t! I’m coming back right now.”

She’s heading toward the back door.

I run faster and faster, but when I try to open the spot in the fence that’s broken my foot gets caught and I fall.

Jasper rushes over to me.

I look at him. “If Tory tells my mother, she’s going to lock me in the closet again.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“How?”

“Hey, Tory!” he yells.

She turns around.

“Want to sit in my new go-cart?”

She eyes him.

“It’s really fun.”

Instead of turning the screen door handle, she turns around and walks toward Jasper.

“Thank you,” I mouth.

He pulls me to my feet and holds the fence open for Tory.

Once she’s sitting in the go-cart, Jasper looks down at her. “You know, Tory, if you tell Mrs. Lane that Charlotte left the yard, Charlotte will have to tell her that you left the yard too, and you will both be in big trouble.”

“Oh, I won’t tell,” she says.

Again, I look at Jasper and mouth, “Thank you.”

The oven beeps just as Jasper comes back into the room. My eyes take him in. He’s wearing a pair of worn jeans and a Rolling Stones T-shirt.
Sexy. Sexy. Sexy.
I bite my lip to stop from screaming it. He rubs his hands together. “Was that the oven?”

“Yes.” I grin, already grabbing for the pot holders. “I got this. You set the table.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says.

I laugh. “Don’t call me that or the next thing you know I’ll be telling you to eat all your veggies.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” he says with a smirk.

Still laughing, I concentrate on cutting the pizza with a bread knife. I couldn’t find a pizza cutter anywhere.

First item on his list.

When I turn around, I look at the kitchen table and it’s the same way it was before he came back into the room. Just as I’m about to chastise him, I spot him busily lighting a candle near the coffee table. He’s grabbed the bottle of wine and thrown pillows from the sofa on the floor around it.

Nice.

Together we sit down Indian style and eat one of our favorite childhood foods.

“More wine?” he asks, raising the bottle.

I am buzzed enough from my first glass, so I shake my head no.

He pours me more anyway.

Feeling full, I push my plate away.

He leans over and steals a piece of pepperoni I’d plucked off my slice and sticks it in his mouth. “Best part.”

“I know, but I try to stay away from really unhealthy foods.”

Those eyes are half-lidded and lustful when they glance up at me as he rubs his extremely fit stomach. “I should probably try that.”

A flutter of nerves awakens in my belly. “You . . . you don’t look like you should be worried, but for your own health you should focus on the healthier food groups.”

With a raised brow, he points to what’s left of the pizza. “But you said this was one of them.”

Grabbing his hand, I bring it to my mouth. “I was kidding,” I tell him, licking the grease from his finger.

Crawling closer to me, he sweeps the hair from the side of my neck and his hot lips brush my ear. “Maybe you could cook for me now and then.” He trails light kisses down my neck. “Help me change my unhealthy habits. Get me on track.”

Is he trying to tell me he wants to change more than just his diet? Is he referring to the endless parade of women he has had in life?

“Jasper.” Desire bolts through me, dampening my thighs.

Because he is fast as lightning, he’s standing with an outstretched hand before I can even calm my rapid breaths. I look up. His eyes are low-lidded with lust as he waits for me to take his hand. For a moment, I hold his heated gaze and feel my body go taut with need.

“Come on,” he says in a voice very different from when he was eight.

But just like when I was eight, I follow. I think I’d follow him anywhere.

Cool air whispers between us as he tugs me toward his bedroom. Once there, I look around. At his giant bed. At his masculine bedding. At his clothes strewn across the floor. We’ve had sex more times than I can count on my hand in a single day, and still the thought of being with him again excites me. Thrills me.

The heat of his hard body presses against my back, his fingertips coast lightly over my bare arms, and as he moves my hair to the side his breath ghosts across the back of my neck.

Butterflies and goose bumps at the same time.

The fabric of my top tightens across my chest at the gentle tug on it. While he waited back at my place, I’d dressed nicely. Put on a sleeveless cream-colored chiffon top, my best trouser-like jeans, and my silver sandals. Even did my hair. Put on makeup and jewelry, too. I like looking good for him. Like the way his eyes glisten when he first sees me, the way he licks his lips as if I’m his favorite food, the way his body reacts to me.

Jasper’s hands go to the hem of my flowy top. My breasts swell and my nipples peak with anticipation. I’d gone braless because earlier he’d told me how sexy he thought that was. I won’t do it all the time, but once in a while, just for him, I will.

I cover his hands with my own and together we leisurely remove my top. “Let’s take this slow.”

He nods.

“Slow,” I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper. He doesn’t even know it, but he has my world spinning. One moment I’m resigned to leaving town, the next he’s accusing me of a hideous deception and then begging me to stay, now I’m here with him and not going anywhere. Here because he wants me.
Me.
He’s trying to be casual about us but serious at the same time. It’s confusing and a lot to take in. But I want to take it in. I want to take him in. I want to so much.

“I can do slow,” he murmurs against my neck.

That’s all I need. The sound of his voice and my thoughts disappear.

Slowly, together we pull my top over my head. When the fabric hits the floor, Jasper grips my hips and gently pulls me back against him so I can feel the hard, rigid length of his arousal against my bottom.

After a beat, he takes a step back. “Turn around.” His voice is husky with desire.

Hesitantly I turn. This time not because I’m nervous, but because I know his eyes will be so filled with lust it will make me want to abandon my plan for slow and easy.