Dream House

by Jean Brashear

  “Don’t you dare—”

  But she spoke over him. “I will dare and be damned for doing so, I’m sure, but you’ve already tried and convicted me as the harlot who lured you away from your saintly devotion to a woman I’ll never measure up to.” She paused for one quick breath. “Well, screw you for making me feel worthless. I may be no Charlotte Smith, but at least I’m not a coward. Life throws crap at all of us, and you got a raw deal, but you’re not the only person who ever suffered. Get over yourself.”

  Her eyes shone with tears she swiped at angrily. With awkward strides, she left him and began gathering her things while he watched in stunned silence.

  Halfway to her car, she halted but didn’t turn. “I meant to be your friend,” she said stiffly, “But it’s obvious that I’m the last person you’ll consider worthy, so have it your way. Goodbye.”

  Then she left him in the echoing silence.

  Chapter Twelve

  Skeeter had sensed something was wrong, so Jezebel had to cut short her visit or risk crying again. She would shed no more tears for Micah Smith. Hurt had pushed her to strike back at him, and she was ashamed of herself, but she hadn’t said anything he didn’t need to hear.

  From now until he left town, she’d be courteous if she were forced to see him, but otherwise, she’d avoid him.

  And do her best to forget him.

  Please, she thought, but she wasn’t sure what to hope for. On fire didn’t begin to describe her body’s response when he touched her. She’d never experienced anything like it.

  And he had, too, blast him, even if he fought it.

  All in all, she had to hope that broken condom was simply that, a torn piece of latex, and not a harbinger of sure trouble for both of them.

  Even if she’d already begun to think about learning to knit and sighed over pictures of babies in magazines.

  Wrong time, wrong man, Jezebel.

  Then she pondered the cottage and the lightning-fast glimpse she’d had of herself playing on the grass with a chubby-cheeked infant. He’d never rent it to her now, and that was that.

  She loaded her arms with bags of groceries and went inside to pet the dog and cat who, unlike Micah Smith, considered her pretty special.

  “Take the afternoon off, Micah. You’re going to drive away customers with that frown.” Lily said.

  He glanced up from where he was deadheading flowers. “I was gone all morning.”

  She crouched beside him. “Were you at the cottage?”

  He shook his head impatiently. “It doesn’t matter.”

  She stroked his shoulder. “It does. Maybe you should let that hussy buy it.”

  “She’s not a hussy,” he snapped, only too aware of the hypocrisy of his defense.

  She goggled at him. “Has she said something to you? Maybe I should pay her a visit and tell her—”

  “Whoa, sis.” But he smiled a little at her protective attitude, though it was more likely Jezebel who needed shielding from him.

  Well, screw you, Micah Smith, for making me feel worthless.

  He snorted. Or maybe not.

  You’re not the only person who ever suffered.

  “Lil?”

  “Yes?”

  “Am I—” He didn’t finish; he could guess the answer. “I’ve been a real pain in the ass, haven’t I?”

  “You’ve been grieving over a terrible loss.”

  Get over yourself.

  He’d been trying to do that, and in New York, he’d been making progress, but being back here…

  Enough. “I have a better idea. You take the afternoon off.”

  Lily blinked. “Me?”

  “Yeah.” He tugged at a lock of her hair. “How long’s it been since you ditched class?”

  Her eyes twinkled. “That would be, oh, the day before graduation.”

  Micah chuckled. “Why am I not surprised? Had to get in one last act of truancy, huh?”

  She shrugged. “Things got too boring when all of you left home. I was trying to uphold the family rep.”

  “Mom catch you?”

  Her smile was wide. “Nope.”

  “Good girl.” He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and walked her to the door of the office. “Go do something girly—a manicure or whatever.”

  “Micah.” She rolled her eyes and held out both hands. “A nurseryman has no nails to manicure.” Hers were very short and encrusted with dirt.

  “How ’bout a pedicure, chère? Some kinda scarlet on your toes.” Cal strolled in from the nearest greenhouse. “Then me, I pick you up for dinner and you wear some of those heels that make grown men weep. Preferably with a real short skirt. After, you and I go dancin’.”

  “It’s not appropriate for management and employees to date.” Lily sniffed.

  “That’s okay, sugar. I wasn’t askin’ your mama.”

  She narrowed her eyes, and Micah was torn between amusement and decking the guy for having the nerve to proposition his baby sister. The jittery pleasure in Lily’s expression called for a bit of both. “I’ll be spending the evening with Mom,” he told her. “You go ahead. And you—” he spoke to Cal “—watch yourself.”

  Cal nodded to him, man to man. Then his serious expression flared into devilment again. “I’d rather watch Miss Lily here.” He grinned. “’Cept she can’t take her eyes off me. It gets sorta embarrassin’, bein’ an object of worship.”

  Micah could practically see Lily’s temper bashing at the inside of her skull.

  “I’m outta here,” she said to Micah, then eyed Cal. “But I’ll be doing something much more interesting than a pedicure.”

  “Be still, my heart.” Cal patted his chest. “Can’t wait for the results.”

  “You’ll be waiting a long time, Calvin.” She drew his name out for maximum effect, then flounced away.

  His laughter followed her. “Pick you up at seven, chère.” He turned to Micah. “Quite a woman, your sister. Le bon Dieu did a mighty fine thing the day He created the fairer sex. Nothin’ like a woman in a temper to stir a man’s juices.” He was chuckling as he ambled off.

  Micah stared into the distance, recalling another woman departing in anger, yes, but brought on by hurt.

  Stir a man’s juices, indeed. She did that, far too easily; his explosive response to her unnerved him.

  But she was wrong about one thing, and he wondered if he was a big enough man to tell her that she wasn’t the one he’d tried and convicted as being unworthy.

  That judgment he reserved for himself.

  “Can you help me over here?” A customer’s voice yanked him from his musings.

  Gratefully, he abandoned his thoughts and went to discuss geraniums.

  But even after he’d closed the nursery, showered and visited his mother, he couldn’t get Jezebel off his mind. He prowled the rooms like a caged wolf. She turned him inside out, and he didn’t like it one bit.

  Because he liked her too much, though he suspected she’d be stunned to hear it, given his behavior.

  He was only marginally cheered by the news that his mother might be allowed to go home in a week or so. He would have been more encouraged about his prospects for leaving Three Pines had not his talk with the nurse made him aware that his mom would need help at home for the next few weeks, including someone to drive her back and forth to physical therapy over in Tyler.

  So he’d left a message for Erica that no new work would be forthcoming for a while, but even as he said the words, his fingers began to itch to pick up a brush again. He still had supplies in his studio, but he wasn’t eager to return to the cottage.

  There was no cure for his restlessness until he squared things with Jezebel.

  Thus it was that he found himself parked behind the bar, deep in the shadows beneath the branches of an ancient oak, waiting for the last of the customers to leave, so he could talk to her without a crowd.

  His day had been long, and he nearly nodded off before she appeared. When she did, he could tel
l she didn’t realize she wasn’t alone; she made no effort to hide her weariness. He’d witnessed her spreading cheer and spitting mad, but this dispirited woman was new…and disturbing. She worked hard, but he might well have played a part in the slump of her shoulders.

  He emerged from the truck, and the sound of his footsteps on gravel had her whirling, alarm on her face.

  “It’s only me, Jezebel.” He moved into the moonlight.

  Exhaustion became wariness. “Why are you here?”

  He expelled a breath. “Good question.” He took a step toward her. “I owe you an apology, but you seem tired. It can wait.”

  She frowned. “An apology for what?”

  “How about being a bastard to you, for starters? For making you cry?”

  She shrugged off his claim. “I said some things I shouldn’t have.”

  He neared and was disquieted to see her retreat, one hand on the screen door. “I suspect you only voiced what a lot of other people would like to.” He glanced away and shook his head, weary himself. “There are things I’ve never told anyone about Charlotte and me, the day she—” His throat tightened.

  She placed a hand on his arm. “You don’t owe me that, Micah. I’m sorry I was so insensitive. It’s obvious you loved her deeply, and I have no right to presume what you should be doing now.”

  There it was again, the kind heart inside a bombshell’s body. The sex goddess was tough to resist, but this woman was lethal.

  And he was so damn lonely.

  “I was furious with her for getting pregnant. She understood it was too risky.” Ire rose in him again. “I should never have left birth control up to her, but she was determined that I not get a vasectomy, so that I could have children if anything—” He had to stop and swallow. “There was too much about her health that she couldn’t control, and she promised—” He struggled to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “She thanked me…and then played me for a fool. Once it was too late, she was ecstatic. She believed we would be even happier if our family was complete, regardless that I’d told her a thousand times or more that she was all I ever wanted.”

  Jezebel’s expression was mingled sympathy and misery.

  “Don’t feel sorry for me, damn it. I couldn’t forgive her, couldn’t be happy about it. I made an effort, but I was scared to death of losing her. That last day I went to pick up the crib I’d built her as a surprise, but I never told her—” He realized his hands were clenched. “She died believing I was angry and, damn it, I still am. She had no right—”

  But even as he said the words he’d contemplated over and over again, he realized that the usual rage in them was missing. Instead, he felt only…empty. Lost.

  For so long, grief and anger had been his closest companions.

  Now he was just…tired.

  “Come inside, Micah.” She slid her hand down and clasped his. “Let me make you some tea.”

  He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You are really a sucker for a lost cause, aren’t you?” And he realized that he didn’t even care that he was just one more of her charity cases. She was a burning torch in a dark world, and he didn’t want to be left with his thoughts anymore.

  Then he remembered the papers in his pocket. “Here.”

  “What is this?”

  “A lease agreement.”

  “Oh, Micah…I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Why not? Changed your mind because I ruined it for you?”

  “No, it’s only—” She peered up at him. “I’m not willing to cause you hurt. I’ll manage something.” She handed them back. “I don’t belong there.”

  “You’re wrong.” He tilted her chin. “Once that place was a little bit of heaven, and the only part that’s changed is me. You nailed it when you said that it was meant to be lived in and loved. I just can’t be the one to do it anymore, but you can. You and that big, crazy heart of yours.” He shoved the papers back at her.

  But turmoil crowded her gaze.

  “What? You really don’t want it?”

  She shook her head. “That’s not it.”

  “Tell me.”

  But she turned away, her shoulders slumped in defeat, though he couldn’t imagine why. He yielded to impulse and drew her into his arms. She was stiff at first, but then she clung to him.

  “What’s wrong, Jezebel?”

  She still didn’t speak. He tilted her face to his and saw two fat tears roll down her cheeks.

  “It seems I am forever making you cry.” He pressed his lips to first one eyelid, then the other, moved by her sorrow.

  He trailed kisses down to her mouth, but this time, instead of devouring, he only rubbed his lips softly against hers. A small sob ended in a sigh of pleasure, and he sought to soothe her even as he ached to feast.

  “Would you like to come inside?” she whispered. “No strings, I promise.”

  She was so clearly a woman for attachment and commitment. It wasn’t right or fair to take her up on her promise—

  But he wanted her so badly—her body, yes, but even more…her sweetness.

  He vowed to make it good for her, even as he knew himself for a man who didn’t deserve her.

  He lifted her into his arms.

  Jezebel sighed once more. “I always dreamed of someone doing that, but I’m too big.” She tensed. “You should put me down. Don’t hurt your back.”

  “My back isn’t what’s aching.” He quieted her with another kiss as he strode through the door and kicked it closed with his foot.

  And nearly fell over the dog dancing beneath them.

  “Oh—I’m sorry. Rufus needs to go out.” She scrambled down, her face fiery red. “Oh, man. Are you okay?”

  He realized he could still laugh. “I’m fine. I’ll take him. Will he run away?”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  He cupped her cheek and stole a taste of her. “Then we’ll go together.”

  And they did.

  “A highly recommended way to seduce a man,” she said, as they watched Rufus nose his way from tree to tree. “Break his back, then his leg, then set him to watching your dog pee.”

  His mouth twitched. “I have to admit that it’s original. Not one woman I met in Manhattan ever thought of this method.” He bent to her. “You might have to get on top, seeing as how I’ve lost the use of my back and legs.”

  “Oh, jeez.” She covered her face.

  Micah laughed, and the sound of it startled him. “You are a fraud,” he said.

  “What?”

  “You’re a Victorian maiden inside the body of a vixen. How on earth do you survive running a bar?”

  She shrank visibly. “I’ve done worse.” She pivoted as if ready to run. “I think we’d better say good-night now. Rufus, come here.”

  “Wait—” He grabbed her arm. “What just happened?”

  “Nothing. Go home.”

  “Not until you explain.”

  “It isn’t you.” At last, she faced him. “I’m no maiden, Micah. I used to be a stripper. My body has been all that stood between me and starvation sometimes, so I used it.” Her stance dared him to sneer. “I was orphaned at five, on the street at thirteen. I never finished school. Light-years from someone like Charlotte.” She yanked her arm from his grasp. “I’d like you to leave now, please.”

  Such exquisite politeness.

  “No.”

  Her head jerked up. “You assume the fact that I’ve used my body before entitles you to it? Well, you’re wrong. I fought my way out of the gutter, and I’m not going back. I’m never letting any man touch me again just to get his rocks off. Not unless it’s my idea.”

  She was magnificent in her furious vulnerability. “How about to express admiration?”

  Her eyes went to slits. “Men have ogled my figure forever.”

  “I’m not talking about your figure, though I won’t deny it can make a guy break into a cold sweat.” He captured her hand. She hissed, but he refused to rele
ase her.

  Instead, he raised it to his lips, keeping his eyes locked on hers. “Your experiences could have made you hard, but they haven’t. You did what was required for you to survive, but it hasn’t tarnished that big heart of yours. You shame me, Jezebel. I’ve never lacked for love, while you had no one, yet you spread affection as if it were water, freely available and endless in supply.” He pressed his mouth to her skin, then let go and stepped away. “I’ll say good-night, but I won’t have you believing it’s because you’re the one who comes up short.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “Sweet dreams.” He turned to leave, though everything in him yearned to stay.

  Jezebel stood frozen, her mind a dizzying whirl of emotions. He was a troubled man, and her life was complicated enough.

  But something in him called to her. Lured her.

  And thoroughly confused her.

  He said he admired her in spite of hearing about her past. Few details, of course, but she hadn’t spared the worst of it. He knew her body had been displayed for grasping men in seedy bars. That she had no education, that no one wanted her—

  He believed he was the unworthy one. Was concerned enough for her to walk away.

  “Wait.”

  He halted but didn’t turn.

  She gnawed at her lip.

  Took the first step. “Don’t leave, Micah.”

  He glanced back at her. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Jezebel.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then why?”

  “Maybe I’m lonely, too.”

  He went stiff. “I never said I was.”

  “You didn’t have to.” They regarded each other in silence. She frowned. “I don’t understand what this is between us.”

  A rueful smile. “Some of it’s pretty clear.” His gaze held her in place. He shook his head. “But heat isn’t enough for you. You’re not meant for careless nights of sweaty sex.”

  “I told you no strings.”

  “You’re a strings kind of girl, honey.”

  “Then show me tenderness, Micah. Forget tomorrow. Don’t imagine I’m expecting a lifetime. I’m not. We’re both adults, and we know you’re leaving. You’ve got bigger things in store.”