And Then There Was You (Serenity House Book 2)

by Molly O'Keefe

  “I’m so sorry,” Andille said, reaching past her to hand her a napkin. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  She whirled around and glared at him, snatching the napkin from his hand. “Then don’t go around sneaking up on people,” she snapped.

  His brown eyes were soft and warm and contrite and her stomach did stupid things when they were on her. “I’m sorry,” she said, blotting at the stains. “I shouldn’t snap.”

  “It’s all right,” he said, his voice that thick rich purr that oozed and melted along her nerve endings. “I was just wondering why you weren’t eating.” He pointed to her plate, the eggs, bacon and salsa sitting on the open tortilla.

  She held up her casts with a rueful smile. “Folding burritos is beyond me,” she told him.

  He winced. “Of course.” Before she could protest, he reached forward again, his arms, so big, so strong she could see the ridge of his muscles through the light blue of his T-shirt, mere inches from her face.

  He smelled clean, like soap and sunshine, and she fought the urge to close her eyes and breathe deep, absorb some of this man into her body.

  “There,” he said and she jerked away from his arms, looking at the burrito he’d rolled up, tucked in a napkin and held out to her.

  Oh no, no, no, no. First the coffee. Now this.

  “Please,” he said when she hesitated. “You need to eat.”

  Her stomach grumbled in agreement and she reached out, her fingers brushing his and sending nearly painful shocks and sizzles through her body.

  Now who is the fool? she thought angrily. Jennifer had nothing on her, that’s for sure. Feeling this way about a man she knew less than nothing about because he was good to kids, made her coffee and was easy—she looked into his face then back at the burrito—so easy on the eyes.

  “Hey, Deb?” Spence asked and she turned gratefully to the boy. “Can we go outside and play soccer?”

  “Yes,” she said fast, standing up even faster. “Excellent idea. Let’s go outside.”

  The kids all ran out the door, leaving behind a mess and Andille. Daisy lingered under the table, inhaling the scraps.

  Deb paused, breakfast in her hand, coffee and sugar and this new attraction buzzing through her body. “Come with us,” she said, before she could think.

  “And leave this mess?” Andille asked, putting a white tea towel over his shoulder so he could grab dishes. “I don’t think so.”

  He did dishes, too.

  “Leave them,” she insisted, knowing somehow that everything would be more fun, for the kids and for her, if he was outside with them. “Please.”

  He stilled. His gaze had weight and she wanted to shrink from it, like she used to when any man looked at her. She lived her entire childhood not wanting to be noticed. Not wanting to be seen. And now she had hot pink casts and blond-tipped dreadlocks and rhinestone glasses.

  People were going to look. She’d planned that. She’d wanted the whole world to see how far she’d come, even if they didn’t know where she started from.

  But Andille was different. He looked at her and she felt like he saw the scared kid in her, the unsure child, and it made her sick with nerves.

  “Ian can clean up,” she said.

  “Now, that would be a first.” Andille laughed, the sound rolling over her like a wave. “Ian cleaning up after me.” And he threw the tea towel on the table. “Let’s go play soccer.”

  Deb laughed as she walked out the door into sunshine so bright it felt like God smiling down on her.

  And she hoped he was.

  Jennifer woke to thoughts of Ian.

  Her dreams, filled with every fantasy she’d harbored in the years of celibacy, had been hot. Even if she couldn’t remember much past skin and sweat, she flushed at the XXX-rated memory of them. And as sleep faded her body ached. Her body ached because it was totally unfulfilled. Empty.

  She felt as if she’d been hollowed out in the night. Deep caverns of loneliness ached and pulsed with need she’d pushed aside for so long it had stopped coming around.

  But desire, lust and passion were all back. With a vengeance.

  She glanced across the room, relieved to find her son gone. The room was empty. Quiet. Sunlight lit dust in the air and made it glitter. It seemed as though she was the only person in the house. The only person in the world. Just her and the aching memory of those too-hot dreams.

  For a moment, her hands stretched flat across her belly, felt the soft skin and muscle and heat, and she considered taking care of this ache herself. Something she hadn’t done in years as her body had entered a grief-stricken, deep freeze. But she was lonely and it was quiet and she wanted so badly to banish Ian Greer from her mind.

  She felt awkward, skimming her hands just under her shirt, testing her eagerness, but even that seemed to conjure Ian to her bed. Because as she closed her eyes, it wasn’t Doug’s hands she imagined. Or George Clooney’s. They were Ian’s. Right where she didn’t want them.

  It was weird, and she was disappointed in herself, but she was also relieved. If she could maybe manage these feelings by ignoring them, pushing them aside then pretending they weren’t there until they vanished, it would be easier than bringing lust and desire back into her life when there was nowhere for them to go.

  If she could cut the grief over Doug out of her life, she could cut this out, too.

  She was tough like that.

  Pushing aside her blankets she sat up and immediately shivered against the cold air pumping through the room.

  Well, well, she thought, the air-conditioning was installed. And apparently in celebration Deb was turning Serenity into the arctic.

  Shivering, she pulled on a long-sleeve T-shirt and a pair of yoga pants. She paused at the door, wondering if Ian would be out there. Waiting for her with his blue eyes and wicked tongue. And suddenly she remembered how he’d tasted like soda and something spicy. Something dark.

  Stop it, she thought, angry and annoyed with herself. Just stop it.

  She grabbed her day planner with her producer’s phone number and went out to the kitchen to grab a coffee and get to work.

  There were phone calls to make. Ian needed to give her the numbers of Annabelle’s doctor and assistant. She needed a better time line, a better sense of when the abuse started and how long it lasted.

  Finding the thermostat, she cranked it back to something reasonable and headed to the coffeepot.

  She needed—She caught some movement outside on the lawn from the corner of her eye. On tiptoe she leaned over the sink to peer out the window where, much to her total shock, it looked like there was a soccer game going on.

  A soccer game Deb was playing. With pink casts and rhinestone glasses and a smile. A pure smile of—if Jennifer allowed herself to be a bit melodramatic—joy.

  “Get out,” Jennifer breathed. Then as Andille came running into view Jennifer nearly fell over. “Get. Out.”

  Deb was playing soccer. With Andille.

  Spencer then Shonny came careening around the side of the house, kicking wildly at the ball, and Deb tipped her head back and howled with laughter. Jennifer’s heart swelled to twice its size and she was so profoundly, deeply happy to see her friend happy.

  Daisy whined at her side and she opened the door to let her join in the fun.

  “Jennifer?” Ian’s voice behind her sent her heart into her feet. A cold chill broke over her and all that happiness vanished as if it had never been, replaced with an anxiety that put her stomach in knots.

  “Hi, Ian,” she said, giving herself a moment of cowardice to pour a cup of coffee and not face him.

  “Jennifer.” His voice, his tone, was beseeching and she knew when she turned around his eyes, those gorgeous eyes, would be liquid with sympathy and concern and she hated that. And hated his pity.

  Sugar swirled into her cup, and she wondered what he must think of her—throwing herself at him one moment, the next bringing Doug between them before running away like a li
ttle girl.

  His hand grazed her arm. An electric sizzle ran from her elbow to her fingers and the spoon clattered on the counter. She whirled to face him, taking a step away and forcing herself to meet his eyes and to steady her reaction, to control the leap of her blood.

  That man…those hands…the lips. Her heart staggered and chugged and she took a deep breath, trying to find her balance amongst all the tumult.

  “Jennifer—”

  She held up her hand. “Ian, let me say something first.” She barely waited for him to nod before forging on. “Last night was an anomaly. We were both emotional and wound up in what had happened and things got out of control.”

  “Things?” His blue eyes glowed briefly and she couldn’t tell if he was mad or laughing and she didn’t care.

  “Yes, things,” she snapped. “And it’s done. We’ve got a job to do, a story to tell and I don’t want anything to get in the way of that.”

  “Neither do I, but—”

  “No buts, Ian. If we were to have any kind of personal relationship, it would jeopardize the integrity of the story, to say nothing for my reputation and what is left of yours.”

  “You’re right,” he said, solemn and still. “And I’m sorry about the kiss. It was out of line. I don’t—”

  “Ian,” she said, uncomfortable with his apology, “let’s forget it. Please.”

  He blinked at her, holding her in the gaze of those blue eyes that could be so penetrating, that could see right through her. What did he see? At one time she wouldn’t have had a doubt. She’d known who she was down to her DNA. But now, his scrutiny taking her apart piece by piece, she didn’t have a clue.

  “All right,” he said, quietly. “It’s forgotten.”

  “Good,” she said with a definitive nod. She grabbed her coffee and opened her planner. “I’m going to need some phone numbers,” she said. “Your family doctor and your mother’s assistant.”

  “Suzette,” he said and took his phone from the front pocket of his faded, well-worn jeans. “Let me call them and give them the heads-up. I don’t want to spring this on them.”

  “Fine,” she said, sweeping her organizer from the counter. “I need to make a call myself.” She paused. “We’re good?”

  He laughed, a merry sound that nearly stopped her breath. “You are unlike any woman I’ve ever met,” he told her.

  Words failed her and she wanted to ask him what he meant and if that was a good thing. But she couldn’t, so she nodded—which was stupid—then left. Finding solace in the small office off the kitchen, she closed the door and leaned against it.

  And pressed her hand hard to the ache pounding in her chest.

  Twenty minutes, two cups of coffee and three false starts later, she finally managed to dial Kerry Waldo’s number. The pencil between her fingers smacked into the edge of the desk and her knee beneath the desk bounced like a wind-up toy.

  Nervous much? she thought, wishing she could laugh at herself. Then the ringing stopped midring and a cold sweat bloomed over her forehead.

  “Kerry Waldo,” Kerry said in her no-nonsense way.

  “Where’s Waldo?” Jennifer said, an old joke between them. Kerry was quiet and Jennifer winced in the silence and put her head in her free hand. Stupid joke. It had always been a stupid joke.

  “Jennifer?” Kerry asked. “Is that you?”

  “It’s me.”

  “You better be calling to say you’re ready to go to work, because I don’t have time to chat.”

  Jennifer smiled. Good old Waldo.

  “I’m ready to work,” Jennifer said.

  “Excellent, I’ve got about four stories I could use your touch on. Two of them are edits, but we’ll give you a—”

  “I’ve got my own story,” Jennifer said. “I’ve got a big story.”

  Kerry paused and Jennifer heard the squeal of her desk chair and she could picture Waldo sitting back, kicking one foot up on the edge of her desk.

  “How big?”

  “Biggest thing I’ve ever done.”

  Kerry whistled. “Gonna need some details.”

  “It’s the Annabelle Greer follow-up.”

  “Excellent. What’s the angle?”

  Jennifer swore under her breath. She did not want to do this. Kerry hated sensationalism and everything about Ian Greer was sensational up to this point.

  “Okay,” she said and squared her shoulders. “Remember you trust me.”

  “Now you’re making me nervous. Give me something or we’re—”

  “Ian Greer.”

  There was a long pause, a deadly pause. “Ian ‘sexiest man alive’ Greer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ian ‘supposed to be in rehab’ Greer?”

  “Ye—”

  “Ian ‘son of the former President of the United States of America’ Greer?”

  “Yes.” Jennifer blew out a long breath. “I get it, Kerry, it’s not my usual thing. But this is a real story.”

  “Says Ian Greer?”

  “Says Ian Greer and me.”

  On the other end Jennifer heard something that sounded like a door being slammed shut.

  “Kerry, I don’t even need a soft yes,” she said quickly, trying to stop whatever tirade was coming. “I’ll write the piece and send it to you. You get first—”

  “What are you doing, Jennifer?” Kerry asked. “And I’m not asking as your producer, I am asking as your friend.”

  “What do you mean?” She tried to play dumb, but it didn’t work.

  “I mean, you are tying your name, your career, to a sinking ship. The guy is supposed to be in rehab after showing up drunk at Annabelle’s memorial. Two years ago you wouldn’t have touched this with a ten-foot pole.”

  “I know it’s risky, but this story is astonishing.”

  “But is it real?” Kerry asked. “What if this guy is wrapping you up in a lie.”

  “He’s not,” she said definitively.

  “Be sure, Jennifer. You’ve already compromised your career, don’t do it again for this guy. Be sure that Ian isn’t going to drag you down to his level.”

  Jennifer shook off the sting of Kerry’s all-too-true words and the bone-deep worry that maybe, just maybe, Ian was no better than he had to be.

  “He’s not what he seems,” she said earnestly. “Nothing is what it seems with him.” And as confused as she was about him, she knew he wanted this story told in a way that was honorable and serious. That at least was true.

  There was another long ominous pause. “Jen,” she finally said, “you’re not…involved with this guy, are you?”

  Jennifer couldn’t control the flush that swept over her chest, across her face to her hairline, but she could control her voice and she kept it steady. “Absolutely not,” she said. “My assessment of him and of this story is as a professional.”

  Waldo was quiet. Too quiet. “All right. This is me as your boss again. Your boss who shouldn’t need to remind you that if this story is big and you break it at my station while having some kind of relationship with the guy, you jeopardize not only what is left of your career, but mine as well.”

  Jennifer put her forehead in her hand and cursed silently.

  “You’re good, Jen. One of the best I’ve worked with, but if you’re going to jeopardize what I’ve worked for, I will cut you loose faster—”

  “I’m not,” she said, pushing all thoughts of that kiss into the wild arctic of her mind. No more wanting Ian Greer. No more wishing things were different.

  No more freaking heart-to-hearts in the moonlight.

  “Waldo?” Jennifer asked when the silence went on too long.

  “I believe you,” Kerry finally said. “You think this thing is going to be big?”

  “I think it’s huge. I think it’s Peabody.”

  “All right, Jennifer, I won’t ask how and I won’t ask why. Get me some rough copy by Friday.” Kerry sighed. “And please, please be careful. You’ve been hurt too much.”

/>   Jennifer made some garbled goodbye past the lump of emotion in her throat and hung up before she made an idiot of herself in front of Kerry.

  Just as she sighed and leaned back in the office chair that was barely held together by duct tape, there was a knock at the door and Ian poked his head in.

  “Here,” he said, holding out his cell phone. “Suzette would like to talk to you.”

  Jennifer rallied, readying herself for the next set of questions.

  “Careful,” he whispered, his blue eyes sparkling. “She’s a little protective.”

  “I can handle it,” Jennifer said, taking the phone and wishing she didn’t notice that it was still warm from his hand.

  Ian ducked out and Jennifer lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  “This is Jennifer Stern?” a voice touched with southern steel asked.

  “It is. This is Suzette Williams?”

  “Yes. Listen, before we go any further there’s something I need to be sure of.”

  “What’s that?” Jennifer wasn’t quite used to working with so many conditions on a story before.

  “I have been waiting a long time to tell Annabelle’s story in a way that is respectful and as gracious as the woman was—”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” Jennifer said. “That’s my philosophy about this story as well.”

  “Wonderful. Now, can you control Ian?”

  “Control?”

  “I don’t trust him, Jennifer. Not as long as he is living to destroy his father. It makes him unstable. One minute you believe he is your friend, the next he is turning your life into a circus all so he can wound his father. Can you prevent that?”

  Jennifer paused, flabbergasted. Was this a woman being protective? Or was Jennifer just a fool for wanting to believe the best of Ian Greer?

  Wow. Life had gotten messy in the last twenty-four hours.

  “I can control him,” she said, more shaken and doubtful than she wanted to admit.

  “All right.” Suzette sighed heavily. “Can you give me a day to gather up my journals from those years and—”

  “You have journals?”