Turn My World Upside Down: Jo's Story (25 page)

Once the door closed behind him, Jo took Sam’s arm and half dragged her to the kitchen. Mike was seated at the table, a half-eaten carton of ice cream open and waiting and a bowl of whipped cream right in front of her.

“What’s going on?” she asked, licking her spoon before dipping it back for more.

“That’s what I want to know,” Sam said, grabbing a spoon out of a drawer before sitting down beside Mike. She dipped into the ice cream, pulled out a tablespoonful and stared at Jo. “So. You gonna talk, or what?”

“Yeah,” she said, lifting her chin and swallowing, despite the suddenly dust-dry condition of her throat. “I am.”

“You wanna sit down?” Mike asked.

“No.”

“You want some ice cream?” Sam offered.

“No.”

“Must be serious,” Mike muttered.

“God, will you two shut up and let me
talk
?”

Now that the moment was here, Jo’s tongue felt thick and her mouth was dry. But she’d done enough hiding. Enough lying. She grabbed another spoon and went to join her sisters. After a big bite of chocolate chip ice cream, she blew out a breath and hit the highlights.

“Two things. First, I went back to school to get my degree. I’ve been going nights for almost two years. I graduate in two weeks and I want you guys there.”

Both of her sisters erupted into applause and Jo felt a swell of pride and pleasure that almost helped her say the rest of what she’d come here to say.

“And the reason I
left
school ten years ago, is . . .”
God. Why am I still so damn ashamed?
Papa was right. Cash was right. She’d done
nothing
wrong. It was all on him. All of it. And she’d let him get away with it for too damn long. “Because Steve Smith raped me.”

Stunned silence.

The kitchen clock, a parrot, naturally, swung its long tail feathers, making a tick, tick, tick sound that felt as though it were reverberating up through the floor.

Jo pulled in another shaky breath and waited. She didn’t have to wait long.

“The no-good, scum-sucking, lying, miserable son of a bitch bastard,” Sam said finally.

“Where is he now and how much can we kill him?” Mike wanted to know.

Releasing her breath on a sigh, Jo looked from one of her sisters to the other and knew that she was finally on the road to getting her life back.

“Next stop on the road to freedom.”

Jo said the words out loud just to remind herself why she was sitting in her truck, parked in Cash’s driveway. Since talking to her sisters the night before, she’d done a lot of thinking. True, they’d said almost the same thing her father and even Cash had said.

That as long as she hid away from life, Steve Smith was still winning.

So it was past time for her to take charge. To admit that she’d been wrong ten years ago and every day since. To acknowledge that on that long-ago night, Steve had stolen something precious from her.

Her ability to have a normal life.

Which was why she was here.

“So why aren’t you getting out of the truck?”

Fine. She could do this. Not saying it would be easy, but she could do it. She opened the door, stepped down carefully, and when her left foot slipped on some loose gravel, she cursed herself for going all out with high heels. But damn it, the man had never even
seen
her in a dress.

Smoothing her hands down the hips of her short,
black dress, she felt the wind’s icy fingers dip down the low-cut back before slipping under her hem to tease her bare thighs. Jo blew out a breath and glanced down at her less than impressive cleavage. The low-cut scooped neckline displayed her charms as best it could, but just for a minute, she wished she’d gotten some of the boobs in the family.

Mike, selfish bitch, had pretty much claimed them all.

“What’s going on?”

Her head whipped up as Cash stepped out of his workshop, dusting his palms together. In his worn jeans, battered cowboy boots, and dark blue T-shirt, the man looked almost
too
good. Almost.

“I need to talk to you,” Jo said, then cleared her throat, since she sounded as nervous as she felt. Which was just stupid since she’d already slept with him, for God’s sake.

He shook his head. “If this is another Marconi attempt to pay for the damn cottage, forget it. I already told your father I wasn’t interested.”

“No, I—”

“And if you’re here to tell me to stay the hell away from Jack, don’t bother,” he added, half turning to go back to the workshop. “I already figured that out for myself.”

“I didn’t say—” For Pete’s sake, would the man not shut up long enough for her to proposition him?

“And,” he said, cutting her off again and making her grit her teeth, “don’t worry, I’ll be at the Phillipses’ house tomorrow to help you with the roof.”

“Do I
look
like I’m here to talk about work?” she shouted, suddenly and completely out of patience. “Or
Jack? Or the cottage? Or any of the other damn things you’re going to say next?”

His gaze swept her up and down and she watched something flash in his eyes. Something hot enough to singe her even from ten feet away. “Then why are you here, Josefina?”

Here it is, she thought. The big moment. Make it count. “I’m here to go to bed with you again.”

“Who asked you?”

Another woman might have been insulted. But Jo was a Marconi, born and bred, and they fought fire with fire. Insult to insult. Eye for an eye.

“You want me bad and you know it,” she said, feeling a hell of a lot more at ease, now that she was headed into battle.

His mouth quirked. “I’ve had you bad, remember?”

“Okay, yeah. I do.” She took another step toward him and cursed her heels again when she wobbled. “The thing is, I want to have you ‘good.’ ” She frowned. “That’s not grammatically correct, but you know what I mean.”

He folded his arms over his chest and watched her, giving nothing away with his closed expression. “I don’t think I do. Why don’t you explain it to me?”

“I told my family,” she said, lifting her chin, just in case another salvo had to be fired. “About Steve. About what happened.”

“Good.” His features softened. “I’m glad.”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. And the thing is, you were right about something.”

One corner of his mouth tipped up. “Oh, this I’ve got to hear. Josefina Marconi admitting
Cash Hunter
is right about something.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I’m waiting.”

“You were right when you said that I was cheating myself. That as long as I didn’t enjoy sex, then I was letting him win.”

He straightened up and watched her through dark eyes that were suddenly unreadable.

So she kept talking. “The thing is, Cash . . . I
want
to know what it feels like. I don’t want to be cheated anymore.”

“Josefina . . .”

“And I—trust you.”

He blew out a breath, reached up and shoved both hands through his too long hair before letting his arms fall back to his sides. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Cash, I’m not asking you to marry me,” she sputtered. “It’s one night, for God’s sake.”

He thought about it. “Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure,” she said, then added her last bit of temptation. “I brought you a pan of Nana’s lasagna. I thought we could have dinner together—
after
.”

He gave her a slow smile. “What if you’re too exhausted to chew?”

She swallowed hard. “Maybe we should eat first.”

Cash looked her up and down, letting himself feast on her. Josefina in her ironed jeans and freshly pressed T-shirts drove him to distraction. In that little black dress, she damn near killed him. One look at her, and all he’d wanted to do was grab her and pull her close.

But he’d made his decision after the fire, after Jack was injured—nearly died: no more getting involved. No more idle fantasies about Josefina, because somehow
or other she’d become too important to him already.

Now, he realized that whether she knew it or not, she’d given him exactly what he needed. If he could heal her, help her to actually
enjoy
sex, to have the orgasm she’d avoided for years—then she’d leave.

Like everyone else had.

And his problems would be over. Not that he
wanted
her gone. But he knew she’d leave eventually and better that
he
decide exactly
when
.

“Are you gonna say something or what?” she demanded.

Cash smiled. The woman had a temper like a cornered rattler and the patience of a three-year-old. Damned if he didn’t like her.

“No more talking, Josefina,” he said, and reached out for her. Cupping his hand around the back of her neck, he pulled her to him and took her mouth in a slow, deep kiss that promised a glimpse of heaven.

“You okay now?” Papa asked, tucking the blanket and sheet around Jack until he was outlined on the bed like a perfect little mummy. “You need anything?”

Jack shook his head and looked up at his father. It was good to be back at home. And even better that nobody was mad at him or anything, because they felt sorry for him because of his broken arm, which was totally cool even though it hurt a little. Nana had even made him chocolate milk and lasagna and it was really good, except Papa’s lasagna got burned by accident or something. She’d promised Jack some cake, too.

But he was still worried about something. “Is Cash mad, Papa?”

“No,” his father said, easing down onto the side of the bed. “He’s happy you’re all right. Like all of us are.”

“Good,” Jack said, and pulled at the edge of the sheet. He didn’t want Cash to be mad ’cause he had a plan and he didn’t want to get it all screwed up before it could come true. “Papa?”

“Yes?”

“If Jo and Cash get married, can I go and live with them?”

“What?”

“Don’t be mad,” Jack said hurriedly, when he saw the shock on his father’s face. “It’s just that Cash knows how to play baseball and you’re all busy and stuff and I think it would be good if I lived with them because Jo might get lonely without me now.” He didn’t want to hurt his father’s feelings, but he really liked being around Cash. “You’d still be my papa and everything,” he told him, reaching out to pat the man’s hand reassuringly.

Papa shook his head, opened his mouth, closed it again and then opened it to ask, “Jo and Cash are getting
married
?”

“Maybe.” He hoped.

“And you want to live with them.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was only gone
three weeks
,” he muttered.

The lasagna was in the kitchen, there was an open bottle of wine on the bedside table, and Jo was thinking about getting naked.

Stupid. Stupid to be scared. She’d had sex
lots
of times. Hell, she’d had sex with
Cash
already. What’s the big deal? But even she wasn’t buying that.

Outside, clouds had rolled in off the ocean and even now the first drops of rain were beginning to pelt the wall of windows that overlooked the lake. The trees bent in the wind, the reeds at the water’s edge dipped and swayed as if they were dancing, and a swell of music rose up from the stereo downstairs.

Something soft, haunting. Violins and harps, bleeding together into a symphony of sound that sounded both joyful and desolate.

“Boy, he takes his work serious,” Jo muttered, and sat down on the edge of the bed, before hopping right back up again as if she’d been scalded. To calm herself, she looked around the room.

The huge master suite was completely male and yet warm and welcoming. The bed was one of Cash’s own creations—the headboard was carved with intricate vines of ivy that entwined and curled around each of the four bedposts and down to the footboard. Two tall dressers stood on either side of a flat-screen plasma TV hanging on the wall opposite the bed, and bookcases crowded with paperbacks ringed another wall.

“Dance with me.”

She started, then spun around to look at Cash, standing in the open doorway.

“Dance?” she repeated. “You want to dance?”

“For starters.”

“Ah. Like an appetizer.” Great. Talk about food. But that’s Italians for you—when things get tough, open a fridge.

“Dance with me, Josefina.” He crossed the room, took her hand and swept her into a slow, sensuous sway that both calmed and excited her. If she felt foolish dancing in the late afternoon wash of rain and watery
light, that feeling faded as soon as his arms came around her.

They swayed to the music, perfectly in synch. He held her close, one hand running up and down her spine in long slow strokes that kindled a fire deep within. A fire she’d always kept carefully banked. Until tonight.

Jo took a deep breath and told herself to relax. To concentrate on the feel of his hands on her, on the warmth skittering through her, on the soft sigh of the music surrounding them.

“You’re thinking,” Cash whispered, dipping his head to nibble on her shoulder. “No thinking allowed, Josefina.”

“Right.” She nodded and bit down on her bottom lip as his mouth trailed damp kisses along her throat and up to the curve of her jaw. “No thinking. Only . . .”

He lifted his head and looked down at her. Shadows crossed his face, flickering with the wavery light from outside. “Only what?”

“Only, I’m a little nervous.”

“Yeah? Me, too.”

Jo laughed and immediately felt better. “Sure. You. Nervous.”

His hands lifted to cup her face. His thumbs stroked her cheekbones, his fingers speared into the silky strands of her hair. “I’ve never made love to a virgin before.”

She stiffened instantly. “I’m not a virgin.”

He kissed her. Once. Twice. “In every way that really matters,” he said gently, “you
are
.”

Then he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. His practiced fingers moved quickly,
and before she knew it was happening, Jo was naked and lying back on cool, white sheets. She watched as he stood up, stripped out of his own clothes, and then stretched out alongside her, running the palm of his hand up and down the length of her body.