Weathering Jack Storm (Silver Strings G Series) (11 page)

Wrapped in her warm towel she paused mesmerized. All mass and muscles; had she ever seen a body so beautiful? Her gaze lingered on the well-blended tan line at his waist remembering how defined it had been that day in the tour bus, and she wondered what went on in that pool outside that caused the line to blur.

Shaking those thoughts because it was the last thing she wanted to envision after spending a day with Randi, she moved toward the room that he called his closet.

“I’m going to borrow something of yours. For my date with Thomas.”

“Watch it Mariss!” The joke rebounded quickly, but it was faint as if he were drifting into a doze.

THE STYLIST WAS JUST FINISHING
Randi
when Marissa returned to the first floor. “Oh, Mariss, perfect timing!” Randi’s hair actually bounced as she spoke, and her face was expertly made up in an elegant look of flawless perfection.

Randi introduced Thomas, and Marissa tried to ignore the stylist’s blatant stare as he appraised the work cut out for him.

Interested, she examined the portable set up station. A tall canvas director type chair, similar to the ones in Jack’s music room, awaited her. His cosmetics and hair accessories were at his fingertips in some type of upright combo carrier with flip out trays, and holsters of curling irons, blow driers, and straitening irons.

“You look pretty.” Tristan was still in his place at the table with a paper plate of pizza crusts before him and his guitar in his hand. Shyly, he spoke while avidly watching Randi who was primping in a large mirror perched like an easel on a tripod.

“Thank you sweetie pie!” Randi beamed the young boy a runway smile.

Dax, who had never been far from Tristan all day, looked up from his phone, and although he said nothing, his eyes shared Tristan’s observation.

Halfway hesitant at putting her appearance in the hands of someone else, and halfway hoping he could turn her out even half as good as Randi, Marissa took the seat. Seconds later, she was blinking in the portable light and marveling that such a setup could be carted around at whim.

Jack’s Aunt Candi and her husband arrived while Marissa was still being groomed. Thomas stepped back while the striking woman introduced herself as Candace and then introduced her tall and tanned husband, Marc. Neither batted an eye at the pajama bottoms and tee shirt, obviously Jack’s, swallowing her frame.

“And you must be Tristan.” Thankfully, they both were more interested in their blood relation, and they moved past her to the tot that was likely getting accustomed to that phrase. “Your daddy told me you like Bandit. Do you have these books?”

Tristan perused the books as Candace knelt in front of his chair. Her husband gave her shoulder a squeeze and watched, equally infatuated with Tristan. Marissa relaxed some about leaving Tristan in their care.

Dax stood at the bottom of the stairs texting. Minutes later, Jack appeared throwing her an apologetic look as he threw his arms around his aunt’s neck, then shook his uncle’s hand.

“You guys are early.”

“Thought it would be a good idea to get acquainted with this little guy,” his aunt smiled.

Marissa winced as the straightener caught a couple of strands of hair wrong.

“Congratulations.” Candace’s husband gave Jack a friendly slap to his back. “On the new album...and everything.”

Small talk went on around her as Thomas worked his magic. Randi readied to leave while jabbering with Candace. Jack and his uncle moved deeper into the kitchen where she heard the clink of ice against glass. At this time, she wasn’t allowed to move her head, and it was irritating, especially when she was brought briefly into the conversations.

“Stunning!” Thomas loudly proclaimed, stepping back as if she were a sculpture he had just completed. The talk ceased, and to further her chagrin, there was a chorus of agreements as if it were a Hollywood studio set and the clap sign flashed.

Focusing her eyes, she froze while taking in her reflection. Who was that glamorous woman peering back?

Only once, ever, had she worn false eyelashes, and then for almost a full five minutes before tearing them off under Olivia’s protests. The ones affixed on her lids tonight were different, fanning out to the outer corners for an exotic look.

Her eyelids blinked under more color than she had applied even in her awkward teen years. A sheen of the barest sparkle dust glistened on her cheekbones, but disappeared when Thomas switched off the spotlight.

Her hair was as sleek as Randi’s without a single flyaway and the varying strands of highlighting color blended in an extreme way not achieved even on the first day she had received the salon treatment–the week Jack first came to her home. The layers fell in a defined way, here and there, one almost over a sculpted brow.

“Thank you!” She strove to sound professional and not awed as Thomas was putting his things away, but knew the excitement rang loud in her voice.

The stylist actually paused to make eye contact when answering. “You’re very welcome. It is a pleasure, as always,” here he included Randi, “to work with such beautiful women.”

“You look pretty Momma!” Tristan sang out as he slid from his chair with a handful of books. Already showing signs of being the charmer his father was, he went on, “You are always pretty!” With that, he transferred the new books to one hand, grabbed his crutch, and made a very uninhibited trek to the den, leaving the adults to their amused comments at his antics.

Jack pulled her into the curve of his arm, declaring he could finally make the introductions, and Candace gave him a hard time saying he was already too late.

“You do look stunning,” Candace declared. “You two will have a wonderful time. I know it is impossible not to worry about the little guy. Jack told me he has never had a babysitter before.”

“That’s true,” Marissa replied. “My best friend, his godmother, is like a second mother, so she doesn’t count. And,” she stopped before saying Jack.

Jack was his father. However, even before Tristan knew that, Jack was the one exception. Selfishly, she had left her son with someone he liked, but barely knew, in the interest of playing her head games with Jack by going out with Joel.

“Here is my cellphone number, call me anytime tonight and I will give you a full report, put him on the phone, whatever.” With a reassuring smile, Candace passed over the business card, and as Marissa took in the name of a popular lingerie line, the older woman went on. “My daughter, Robin, and Jack’s sister, Meg, were going to bring their kids by for a bit. But that was before they realized you guys were not leaving until nine. Maybe Tristan can meet his cousins in a few days.”

“Sure. It is already an adjustment. These hours. I may not stay awake all night!” Then, in all seriousness, she said, “Thank you. For doing this. And for coming by early like this.”

“Not a problem dear.” Candace assured. “I never wanted to leave any of mine until I knew they were comfortable with who was keeping them, and I was comfortable with who was keeping them.” Discrete eyes dropped from Marissa’s face to the pajama attire.

“I’m going to finish dressing...”

“Oh, I thought that’s what you kids were wearing these days!” With a wink, Jack’s aunt turned to the den.

In Jack’s room, music still thumped from the tower speaker. She recognized the end of the current song as one from the album that was about to drop.

Several minutes later, she was standing in front of the full-length mirror absorbing the full effect of her reflection. The dress, the gleaming earrings, and the shoes that were a mutant between ankle boots and glam heels.

‘
Clearly from the first kiss I knew; how to hold on, I had no clue.
’

In a contrast to his other songs, the song now playing had easily audible verses layered with the deep growls and screamo verses.

‘You came in, you came again and again, you blew, you blew my mind; I thought I owned my own time.’

The stockings on her legs, called tattoo hose because of the wild or subtle designs, in this case a swirl of musical notes climbing the right leg, were silkier to the touch than any she had ever worn. Beneath the dress, elastic garters secretly kept them from slipping down.

‘I loved you, I fucked you; I loved you, you fucked me.’

It wasn’t the raunchy lyrics that halted her look at the mirror, chilled her veins, and froze her feet to the floor. By now, she was accustomed to the X-rated assault on the ears to a crunchy drumbeat, a thunking bass, and screaming guitars.

The first few verses with their brilliant use of synonyms were poignant, sad, and deep. Yet, that last verse.

It was twisted, and twisted.

Was it about her?

He had already told her she had been his muse for a few songs.

Was this one of them?

Love?

Had he loved her that far back? That didn’t fit in with her definition of love.

One thing she did know was that she had felt bonded closer to him after only an hour than any man she had ever thought she loved after many months.

Love at first fuck? Maybe it was possible to see love when staring into someone’s soul for an hour. Or, maybe it was possible to take the way that person handled a casual hook up and imagine who they were as a whole enough to love them.

How foolish it would be to think one couldn’t fall in love in an hour if she had felt love in a week or less.

‘...my soulmate, my soulhate, leave me as you left me...’

Over the last week, she had listened but somehow never made it to this song–a fact he would have known when she had joked about needing a lyrics sheet. Now, she felt bad for not noticing enough to talk to him about this song, or any of his songs.

In particular, she felt like an abhorrent fiancée for not caring enough to listen, from beginning through end, to an album that would be dropped tomorrow.

The door swung open, and she swung around.

Guilty. Remorseful. Ready to throw herself in his arms. Yet, the loving adoration in the dark depths of his eyes stopped her.

Possibly, because of her self-revelation, she was suddenly as emotional as if this were her wedding day.

“You so rock that dress Mariss.”

THE SARDONIC SPARK
in Jack’s eyes
and the shared joke between them, inched the intimacy of the moment up several degrees.

“Damn, you’re beautiful...” The thump of her heart was a blissful pain. She would never grow tired of his sweet words. His eyes were all over her as he advanced. “How attached are you to those earrings?”

Her smile broadened. Maybe she did know him better in a week, than Randi did after years.

“I was kind of forced into them...” Stopping herself, she joked, “Why? You want to wear them?”

“Maybe.” He shot that smirky smile. Heaven help her, she couldn’t kiss him twenty-four seven...but she wanted to, again...

Jack made the decision leaning down enough to plant a quick one on her lips before moving away. He returned with a gift wrapped box.

Wanting to savor the moment, she back stepped to the bed and sank to the mattress while pulling at the elaborate ribbon. Beneath the flip-up lid, displayed on a bed of black velvet, the diamonds were ice. Tilting the box caused them to glitter and refract the light in brilliant shimmers.

She hadn’t been around real jewelry enough to even guess at the carets of each earring stone. The two band bracelets contained smaller diamonds mixed with beautiful black stones, and she wondered if there was such a thing as a black diamond. A full diamond tennis bracelet also rested in the box.

Incredulously, she touched each earring and ran her finger down each bracelet.

“They come out of the box,” Jack quietly joked, and that was all it took for the tears to break free jeopardizing Thomas’ makeup. Dropping to sit beside her, he viewed the jewelry but left them for her to extract. “Three bracelets, because we are a family of three. If you like them, and want another, well, you know what to do...”

The tease came a few hard heartbeats before the kiss, and overwhelmed, she gave up the tongue match dropping her forehead to his neck with no care of her hair or makeup.

“You always make me cry.”

“Always? Is that good or bad?”

“Good. Bad. Ultimately good.” A sniff punctuated the unmediated admission. She had cried more in the last week over things Jack did, things Jack didn’t do, good and bad, than she had cried in her lifetime.

“I’m not sure how to take that answer.” His words were soft and sweet, his breath warm and light against her cheek.

“It’s a good answer,” she assured.

When she used her fingertips to dab at her tears, he shucked his tee shirt off and used a corner to help her.

“We are ultimately good, Mariss.”

“I know.”

“Remember that even when I do stupid stuff. Okay? Remember it even when things are just crazy.”

“I will,” she promised. His words brought front and foremost their conversation earlier in the bathroom downstairs, and the drop party. With a last pat at a damp eye, she centered her gaze on his face. “I like this new album. I meant to tell you before. And I meant to listen to it all the way through. Before now.”