What the Heart Wants (11 page)

The next weekend was really hot, a freak throwback to the dog days of August. After he finished raking the leaves again and giving her grass a needless winter trim, his tee was virtually plastered to his body.

Dressed in shorts, a blouse loosely tied under her breasts, Marguerite had come out on the back step to invite him in. As soon as they were through the door, she swayed toward him and ran her hand down his chest.

“Jase, we must get this shirt off,” she'd said with a throaty laugh, plucking at the shirt and lifting it up. He'd obliged, of course, pulling his tee over his head and draping it on the back of a kitchen chair.

Then she strolled casually over to the back door and locked it, turned to smile at him, and, just as casually, untied the front of her blouse and dropped it on top of his shirt. Her full, tight-nippled breasts lifted with the motion, a mouthwatering feast to his hungry eyes.

He was frozen to the spot as she raised herself onto her toes, ground herself into him, and pulled his head down for a full-tongue kiss.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in her big bed in the attic bedroom. Afterward she'd told him how mature he was, what a terrific lover, what a man, that she had known from the first moment she set eyes on him that it would be like this. But it was “our secret” of course, because “ignorant people with small minds” wouldn't understand the “sophisticated relationship” they had.

She paid him for the lawn mowing. Overpaid, in fact. He'd protested, embarrassed, and tried to return the money, but she'd insisted he keep it. “Don't be silly, darling. You're worth it.” She tapped his bare chest. “You mow a great lawn.”

“I was an easy mark for her,” he admitted to Laurel. “She knew what she was doing. By January, I was in her bed on a regular schedule—Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday, to be exact.”

Laurel looked up at him. “She should have been the one who had to leave town, not you.”

His voice grew softer. “I know what the man on the street would say, that I hit it lucky when an older woman, a looker like Marguerite, took me on as her lover.” He shook his head. “Maybe for some other guy, but I was already damaged goods. Growler resented me from day one, and the kids at school had all been warned by their parents to steer clear of me.”

Of course, when adolescence hit and he suddenly stood a full head taller than the rest of the seventh grade, the coaches came a-courting. Sports had served as an outlet for his anger and ensured him passing his courses, but didn't help him much socially. He established casual friendships with a few of the guys on the team, but no decent girl wanted to be seen with him, whether he was on the team or not. And he wasn't interested in the other kind.

No, he hadn't hit it lucky with Marguerite Shelton. He wouldn't wish her on anyone.

“I was no more ready for sex than you were back then, at least not the sort of sex Marguerite introduced me to.” He reached for Laurel's hand. “I was just sixteen. I didn't belong in the big time. Oh sure, I'd had some experience with the girls who hung around the tavern, but they were amateurs compared to Marguerite. I should have been stealing kisses in parked cars, trying to get inside my date's bra, not functioning as Marguerite Shelton's prize stud. That woman had me so well trained I could have won a gold medal at the Indoor Olympics.”

His mouth tightened to a bitter line. “She had total control over me—I couldn't escape. I felt dirty—used—but I was addicted. I couldn't break it off. If Nyquist hadn't busted us, I might still be swinging myself over her fence three times a week for a fix.”

“I'm so sorry, Jase.” Laurel leaned her head against his shoulder, then stepped to the side, out of his arms. Standing naked in a side window was one thing, but having sex in the window was another. “Let's go down and have some lunch first. I'm starving.”

“Well, now I know how I rate with you.” He pulled up his slacks and shrugged his shirt on, not bothering to button it. “One step below pizza.”

Laurel drew on a light summer robe, and the two of them grandly descended the elaborately carved staircase, arm in arm.

Since there wasn't much left over from last night's dinner, they made themselves peanut butter sandwiches and washed them down with a pitcher of iced tea. Jase was surprised at how bare Laurel's pantry was. Even for just one person, she should keep up her supplies better. And the kitchen seemed to be in retro mode, the counter occupied by a few bins and a disheartened-looking microwave. He spotted a dishwasher under the counter next to the sink, but its controls seemed strangely askew.

“It's broken,” Laurel explained airily, following the direction of his glance. “I haven't had the time to get it fixed.” The heck she was going to let him know how dire her circumstances were.

He rose from the table to drop their paper plates and cups in the trash can. “We'll have to do last night's dishes by hand, then.”

Her eyes went wide with shock. “The dishes—I totally forgot about them!” The dining room had been closed for so long that she hadn't given it a thought. Good grief—the mess might have stayed there until the house sold if Jase had left last night like he'd planned.

She hurried to the dining room to look the situation over, but no good fairy had cleaned up the table overnight. Everything was exactly as they had left it. And even though the drapes were closed and the air conditioner was still chugging away like a trouper, the room was beginning to heat up.

She sighed. If it was this hot at noon, the afternoon would be a real scorcher, maybe up to a hundred ten. Usually she just toughed it out, but today she'd have to turn on all the air conditioners if she wanted Jase to be even moderately comfortable. It would send her electric bill into the stratosphere, but she'd rather have her utilities turned off than let Jase know how broke she was.

He came in behind her and started stacking plates. “You go back to the kitchen and start running the water while I bring everything in. I've got plenty of experience in this area. Used to moonlight in a restaurant for my supper.”

She gathered the silver and returned to the kitchen to turn on the hot water. Jase arrived with the plates, cups, and saucers, setting them down next to her, then went back for more. Thirty minutes later, everything was washed, dried, and returned to the china cabinet.

Laurel gave him a coquettish glance. “You're very handy to have around.”

He grinned at her. “Maybe you should keep me.”

Her heart fluttered. Was he sincere? Or was it as meaningless as saying “I love you” after they'd had sex?

While she tucked away the protective pads in the bottom drawer of the buffet, Jase took the linens to soak. He came back from the laundry room with a light sheen of perspiration on his face.

“Whew. That place is hot!”

“There's no window.”

“Have you ever considered central air?”

“Mama and Daddy were going to put AC in a couple of years ago, but it didn't work out.” Let him make whatever he wanted to out of that.

He nodded. “It'd cost a bundle with a house this big. Might as well let the next owner do it.”

“Exactly.”

As if she were that much of a skinflint. The house would have central air in a New York minute if she had the money. “Let's go to the den.” Insulated by being at the center of the house, it stayed cool in the summer and warm in winter.

Jase settled down on the leather couch and pulled out his phone. “I need to report in to Maxie and check up on Lolly.”

Okay—so maybe he was going to stick around for a few more days, but Laurel knew there was no use bargaining with God for any extra favors. She'd already been given more than the few hours she'd asked for.

She picked up a romance novel she'd been reading and made herself comfortable in the recliner as Jase called home.

“Yeah, Maxie, Laurel's okay now, but I'm gonna camp out in Bosque Bend for a while to be keep an eye on her.” He grinned from across the room and winked. “Scouting out some real estate too, the usual thing…Is Girl Child there?…May I talk to her?”

“Hi, sweetheart. Hope you're doin' okay…Tennis? I didn't know you were interested in tennis…How much will it cost?…Who else is taking the class?…Where is it being held?…Well, okay…Love you too, baby.”

He put his phone down and looked at Laurel. “I think Lolly's put the mother business behind her. She's enrolling in a class ‘a real hottie' is teaching at the country club. Let's just hope this roots crap has been postponed for a while.”

Laurel made herself relax back in the chair. Judging by what Jase had told Maxie, the length of time Jase would stay in town would depend on how long it took him to check out the local real estate market. But sooner or later, he'd return to his home in North Plano. After all, that's where his home was.

She took a deep breath, determined to embrace the inevitable, and gave him a bright smile. “It must be hard for you, even with Maxie helping. I mean being a single father—the bottom-line decisions are all up to you.”

“Yeah, there've been times that were worse than others, but all in all, it's worked out. Lolly's a really great kid.”

He held out his hands to Laurel and pulled her up to him, front to front. His chin rested comfortably on the top of her head.

“Com'ere, woman,” he growled, smiling broadly and joining his hands behind her back to mold her against himself. “I helped with the dishes, and surely the laborer is worthy of his hire.” Grinning wolfishly, he cupped her breasts, then circled the rising crests with his thumbs. “And you know what I desire in payment.” He raised her up a little and butted himself against her hips.

Bending her head back to see her lover better, Laurel was hit by a wave of desire so scorching that her eyes closed and her body went limp. Jase quickly transferred her to one arm and used his other hand to release his slacks. They fell to his ankles and he stepped out of them, ready for action.

Before she could even begin to protest, he'd peeled her out of her robe.

Her ego flared with indignation. Did he take her so much for granted already? Well, she had other ideas! Her cheeks flamed with excitement, and her gray eyes sparkled black.

Twisting away from his embrace, she grabbed her robe and backed toward the doorway, her eyes shining with challenge. “But I did more cleanup than you did. I washed—you just carried!” With a roar of frustration, Jase leapt after her.

Giggling with delight, she danced out of reach and flapped her robe at him as if it were matador's cape, daring and taunting him.

“Toro! Toro!”

Jase stood still for a moment, the shirt hanging loose from his shoulders. Relaxing onto one hip, he pretended he'd lost interest in the game, but Laurel could tell that his eyes were tracking her every move.

Closer and closer she came, flirting with him, watching him, brandishing her robe, teasing him to action, but he knew to bide his time.

Finally she moved close enough that he thought he had a chance. He lunged for her, but she laughed and eluded him easily, scampering down the wide front hall just out of reach of his fingertips.

Jase roared and ran after her. He hadn't played strong-side linebacker for nothing.

Laurel liked this titillating new game, sort of a remake of Daphne and Apollo, but unlike the stupid wood nymph, she wanted to get caught—eventually.

She glanced back at Jase, enjoyed the sight of his nudity in action. The furniture was fully clothed, but Jase was naked, naked, naked.

And so was she. Her full breasts jiggled against her chest as she ran, and her thighs rubbed against each other. She had never done anything like this before, and part of her was aghast at her daring. The other part of her was stimulated beyond belief.

Panting with exertion and excitement, she ran into the dining room, where Jase almost cornered her behind the mahogany table at which they had dined just the night before.

They dodged back and forth twice. She feinted to the right but ran to the left, past the tall china cabinet and down the hall to the drawing room. There at last, in the jungle of Victorian furniture, Jase caught one of her arms and hauled her against himself, bearing her down to the thick oriental carpet, half under the piano.

Laurel wound herself around his neck and kissed him as if the world was coming to an end.

“You vixen.” He nibbled at her ear and tossed her robe out of reach. “I'll fix you so you never try to get away from me again.”

She gave him a challenging look. “How?”

His eyes glowed with wickedness and his voice was a dark, hoarse whisper. “By fucking you so thoroughly that you never want to get up from this floor again.”

F
uck
—when Sarah had first discovered the silly-sounding word and told her what it meant, they'd snickered about it for weeks. By the time they hit high school, it had become a casual adjective Laurel heard every day, but Dave had been surprisingly squeamish about using “dirty words,” so this was the first time she'd ever heard the word used in context. It was delicious, shocking—and exciting.

Jase held her in place with his big body and lowered his head to her lips. When his tongue snaked into her mouth, she drew back with a scowl. “Ummph—you taste like peanut butter!”

“I thought you liked peanut butter.”

“To
eat
, not to—to—”

He raised his head, and his black eyes glittered at her in wicked amusement. “Then let's just try it the other way around.” He reversed himself on her.

Laurel was startled. “No, Jase, I—I…”

His mouth claimed her body as it had her lips, and she caught fire. Her flesh didn't exist anymore, and neither did her mind. The only thing left was a burning, shimmering heat consuming all that lay in its path.

“Jase, Jase,” she chanted mindlessly. “I want—I want—” But she didn't even have the words for what she wanted, because there were no words.

But he knew, Jase knew.

Then it was her turn. She opened her mouth to his male flesh.

An hour later, Jase lay exhausted on the floor, watching the dust motes dance in a sunbeam. It was a good that those lacy curtain things were drawn, but he wasn't sure it would have mattered one way or another. He wasn't acting sanely as far as Laurel was concerned.

What was it about her? He rolled onto his side and studied her as she slept, curled up on the jewel-toned carpet, the afternoon sun dappling her skin.

Her eyes were gray, he knew, her nose straight, and her mouth soft and inviting. She was pretty, but in a quiet, subtle way, not like the brassy, come-hither looks that dominated beauty pageant runways. And she was—well—
nice
, that much-overused word that covered everything from her loyalty to him sixteen years ago to her kindness to Lolly this weekend. There was a certain aura about her too—almost a regal air. That came from her heritage, of course. She was a lady, from the top of her head down to the tips of her toes, but she was also sexy as hell. And she was all his. He smiled in satisfaction, stretched a little, and sat up partway, leaning back on his elbows.

Damn. This was a first—the front room floor.

What if Laurel had after-church visitors? He snorted to himself, picturing a mad scramble as they ran upstairs to get some clothes on. Or maybe he'd saunter down the hall and answer the bell with a pillow strategically placed and inform Mr. and Mrs. Hoity-toity that the notorious Jase Redlander was back in town, thank you, so they'd better lock up their wives and daughters.

He bent his legs and leaned forward to rest his arms across his knees. The sad fact was that, at one time, a warning like that would have been accurate. Marguerite had awakened an appetite in him that, in the beginning, needed constant appeasement. The second he hit Dallas, he took every female he could get, with a decided preference for older women. It started out as a winning combination on both sides, but the relationships were never more than physical—and fleeting.

He was damn lucky that one of the women he'd had a fling with not only told him off good and proper, but also gave him the name of a top-notch therapist. Otherwise he might have been on the town forever, perpetuating Marguerite's legacy. He'd tried to be more selective of his bed partners from then on, more considerate, but he'd never developed deep feelings for any of them.

The only woman he'd ever loved was Laurel Harlow, the most popular girl in the sophomore class.

So why wasn't her doorbell ringing? Why weren't people calling on her after church?

He looked over at her. She'd pulled her robe across herself in a belated attempt at modesty before she fell asleep, but one rose-tipped breast had escaped its cover. He considered the possibilities. Tempting, but he was thirty-two, not sixteen. Enough was enough—for now.

His eyes roamed the room. It looked different somehow. Those creepy naked statues, the ones that always made him uneasy, were missing from the entrance to Reverend Ed's study. Had she sold them? He was more convinced than ever that Laurel was having money troubles. The economy had been down lately, and maybe her father had lost a bundle in the stock market or gotten sucked into a Ponzi scheme. Life could be hard without money, he knew, but at least he'd never had to keep up appearances.

He glanced around the big room again. In the bright light of day, he could see details he'd missed before. The place looked downright shabby.

Maybe he could help her out, loan her money to get the house back in shape. Hell—he'd
give
her the money. But she wouldn't take it, he knew, not after last night. It would seem like payment for services rendered.

He recovered his trousers from the den and returned to the front room to awaken Laurel by running his hand down her shoulder. “Rise and shine, sweetheart. We need to do some serious grocery shopping.”

She yawned, and sat up. Taking both her hands, he helped her to her feet, growled, and nipped at her neck.

“If I'm not fed at regular intervals, I get ver-r-r-y hungr-r-r-y.”

She yipped appropriately and drew her robe on the rest of the way. He draped his arm over her shoulder as they walked up the stairs.

Laurel looked at the family portraits along the way, wondering what her forebears would have said about their naked romp. The girls were smiling at her, but their mother seemed disapproving. Why? Even Victorians had sex. In fact, from what she'd read, they were obsessed with it.

Upstairs, she slipped into a wide-necked tee and a colorful cotton skirt while Jase buttoned his shirt and rolled up the sleeves to accommodate the weather, but he didn't bother to tuck in the tail.

With the day as hot as it was, Laurel wished she could get up the nerve to wear shorts to the store. There were a few pairs stuck in the back of her bottom drawer, leftovers from high school physical education classes that might still fit, but not wearing them had somehow become a way of honoring her mother's memory.

On the other hand, Mama used to pull on pantyhose whenever she went out, which Laurel could never imagine doing. Times change. Maybe someday she'd try wearing shorts in public and see if the world would come to an end. But not today.

She sat down at her dressing table. Sunscreen, lipstick, her favorite gold hoops in her ears, and she was ready. As she gave herself a final check, posing in front of the cheval mirror in the corner, Jase moved behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. She smiled at their reflection.

Was it true that some mirrors could retain images forever?

Fifteen minutes and one long shopping list later, they were in the car. Jase backed Laurel's Escort out of the garage, turned it around in the brick-paved parking area, and drove to the edge of the street to ease his way into the traffic.

A redheaded woman in white capris and a yellow tank top was playing three-sided catch with two boys in the front yard across the street, while an even younger boy, a carrottop like she was, clung to her leg. She looked vaguely familiar. Damn. What was her name?

He nodded in the mystery woman's direction. “That woman over there—she looks like someone I used to know, but I can't place her.”

Laurel froze and her voice turned brittle. “Sarah Edelman. She used to be Sarah Bridges. She was All-District in softball.”

“Yeah, now I remember.” Sarah Bridges was also a cheerleader and played the lead in the class play. In fact, she did pretty much everything in Bosque Bend High School that Laurel didn't do. Between the two of them, they had the school all sewn up. He made the turn and gave Laurel a questioning glance. “You two hung out together all the time. Wasn't she your best friend?”

“I guess so.” Laurel stared down at her hands, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Well, what happened? I mean, she stared at us for a second there, then looked away. Y'all have a fight or something?”

Laurel tossed her hair in an I-don't-care gesture.

“I guess we grew apart. She married a doctor and lives in Austin now. They have three children. Eric, the eldest, is my godson. Then there's Luke and—and…I don't know the name of the youngest.” She smiled—a little too brightly. “It's hard to keep up with everyone.”

Jase frowned. What was going on here? Another mystery? He mentally shrugged his shoulders. It was none of his business who Laurel chose for her friends.

He drove down the street for several blocks and turned left into the Piggly Wiggly parking lot. The little Escort fit easily into a space that a bigger car could never have managed, which reminded him that he needed to pick up his Cadillac at the airport tomorrow. He wasn't going to let himself run into anybody he used to know without the luxury car somewhere in the background. Let them all see what Jason Redlander had made of himself.

As they walked toward the store, Laurel seemed to hesitate, to hang back. Jase was instantly suspicious. Gossip systems function quite effectively in towns the size of Bosque Bend. Was she ashamed of being seen with Growler Redlander's spawn?

But she wasn't like that, he told himself. Laurel had been willing to stand up for him sixteen years ago, and she wouldn't let him down today. Besides, it'd been a long time since he'd been in Bosque Bend. No one would recognize him. Probably she was just shy, embarrassed that people might guess he'd spent the night in her bed.

His protective instincts caught fire. No one was going to make any snide remarks about Laurel Harlow while he was around! Maybe it would be a good idea to be more discreet, to minimize the time they'd be seen together in the store.

As soon as they went through the door, he grabbed a plastic grocery basket and slid its handles over his arm. “Why don't you take the cart and go get the groceries while I pick up a few things for myself. Meet me in the bakery when you're through.”

“Sure.” She ran her eyes down the list they'd made. “Give me thirty minutes. I'll try to be quick.”

He watched her head off in the direction of the produce department, checked his watch, and started wandering around the store, accumulating random items he might possibly have a use for.

He caught sight of a few faces he thought he recognized, but no one showed any particular interest in him. Instead, people smiled and nodded at him along the way, saying “excuse me” or “
con permiso
” when they crossed in front of him—or when he inadvertently cut in front of them—which startled him at first until he remembered this was standard operating procedure in small towns. People had enough time to be courteous to each other.

Half an hour later, he started walking slowly toward the bakery by way of the pharmacy. Laurel was probably on some kind of birth control, but he'd better grab a package of condoms, just in case.

He paused for a moment. If he could have had Laurel all to himself without sex, would he have claimed her? Would he have accepted her as the eternal virgin princess? Was that the way he saw her? Maybe back then, but not now. That was one thing the shrink had cleared up in therapy. Sex did not have to be a dirty secret leading to guilt or anger. Good sex was a tender, joyful fulfillment of an honest relationship.

He arrived at the bakery area and looked around. Laurel wasn't in sight yet, which gave him the opportunity to check out the display cases and pick up some brownies and a loaf of fresh bread. The solidly built woman behind the counter looked him up and down as she started bagging his purchases.

“You usually shop here?”

“No. I'm from around Dallas.”

Her face brightened. “My cousin lives in Dallas. LuAnn Ramirez. Used to be LuAnn Stout. You ever run into her? She drives a school bus.”

He shook his head. “I don't think so. Dallas is a big place, and, actually, I live outside it, the North Plano area.”

She nodded slowly, as if he'd said something profound. “How long you gonna be in town?”

“Not sure.”

“Well, you have a good visit, y'hear?” She gave him the bakery bags and dismissed him with a valedictory smile, at the same time signaling another customer that she'd be right with her.

Turning away from the counter, he spotted Laurel pushing the loaded cart in his direction and moved toward her. He put a hand on the cart. “I'll take everything through checkout. You go on out to the car and turn on the air.”

Her back went ramrod straight and she tightened her grip on the cart's handle, looking at him as if she was the queen of England and he had offended her majesty. “These are
my
groceries. You're not paying for them.”

Damn, he hadn't counted on her making a scene.

The bakery lady and her customer stopped talking and looked their way. He nodded at the two women, then smiled at Laurel and lowered his voice so that she was the only one who could hear. “Tell you what. I'll bill you later. Now, how about you hustling your cute little fanny outside to the car and getting the AC running?”

She looked at him for one long second, her face drawn white with rage, before releasing the cart handle like it was a red-hot iron and marching out of the store, her chin held high.

After giving one last nod to the bakery lady to apologize for the disturbance, he pushed the cart toward the checkouts. When he got to the car, Laurel was sitting in the driver's seat, stiff as a poker, her profile set in stone. Not saying a word, he stowed the groceries in the hatch, adjusted the passenger seat to accommodate his length, and got in the car.

She switched on the ignition, backing out so quickly she almost hit a motorized train of grocery carts, and pulled onto the street without looking at him even once.