“Me neither, sweetie,” she said.
The office door behind them opened and Spencer stiffened, his fingers white around the glass. Jennifer stroked his hair and looked over her shoulder.
And time stood still.
Ian, the sexiest man alive, was gazing down at a tear-streaked Madison. Holding her hand, even. And Madison clung to him, like a boat in a storm.
“Madison,” he whispered, jostling their linked hands, and she looked at him for a long moment, gathering some kind of strength from something she saw in his eyes.
Finally she nodded and stepped toward Spence, who, still tense, still scared, looked at her.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, tears in her pretty green eyes. “I understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore,” she said. “But I promise I’ll never hurt you again.”
Jennifer was floored and Deb and Andille seemed equally dumbfounded. Angelina wiggled off Deb’s lap and threw herself against her sister.
Spencer, her serious little boy, stared at Madison for a moment then nodded solemnly, as if ratifying some international agreement.
Madison’s tears shook loose from her lashes and trickled down her cheeks. She hung her head, her shoulders so small, and Ian was right there.
“Good job, kiddo,” he whispered.
Deb and Andille burst into action, grabbing more milk and putting kids back in their seats, keeping up a steady and distracting stream of chatter and Jennifer, stunned and awed by this new unexpected side of Ian, stood to give him her thanks.
His eyes lifted to hers and her stomach twisted and plummeted to her feet.
His eyes were ravaged. Haunted. Past his smile and easygoing charm, whatever had happened in that office had scourged him.
“Let’s eat,” he said brightly, then he sat between Spencer and Madison, acting for all the world like nothing was wrong.
Jennifer sank into her chair, all too aware that he was lying.
“What a night,” Deb said, collapsing into one of the kitchen chairs. “What time is it?”
“Nine,” Andille answered, the sound of his thick warm voice like sliding into a bubble bath. He put away the last of the dishes from the dinner that nobody ate and then sat across from her.
“Is that all?” She sighed and his chuckle had the bizarre effect of making her smile. Despite her bone-deep weariness. Despite her bone-deep anxiety.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye as she had all day long, as if taking small sips of him was easier than gulping him down in big swallows.
“Thank you for your help,” she said.
He waved off her gratitude like he had before whenever she extended it. The man was a pure miracle with that little Angelina, to say nothing of the way Shonny took to him.
To say nothing of the way Deb felt herself softening toward him like butter left in the sun.
“I’m just glad I was here to help.”
“Me, too,” she told him.
“You wanted us gone,” he reminded her, a twinkle in his eye.
“Well.” She smiled and looked at her casts, her useless hands, and marveled at what a day it had been. What a few days it had been. Felt like years in some ways and, in some ways, it felt like moments. “I’m glad you didn’t listen.”
One of the doors to the bedrooms clicked shut and Jennifer appeared in the kitchen like a wrung-out ghost.
“Oh, honey,” Deb said, standing. “Let me get you som—”
Jennifer smiled and shook her head. “I’m fine. Spence is finally asleep. Daisy is in bed with him and I didn’t have the heart to kick her out.” She pushed her hands through her hair, ruining the last of the bun she’d had in all day. She took out the ponytail and shook her hair down around her shoulders.
“What did the girl’s aunt say?” Jennifer asked.
“She’s coming for them in the morning,” Deb said. “Their father is getting released from the hospital either tonight or tomorrow so they’ll be able to be home with him. I also called the county child psychiatrist, and Madison and Angelina have appointments next week.”
“Good,” Jennifer said. “That’s good.”
Silence fell over the kitchen. A silence that practically hummed, chanted and whispered Ian’s name.
Oh, you dummy, Deb thought as she watched Jennifer chew her lips. Just ask. Just go on and ask.
“Where is Ian?” Jennifer finally asked, trying too hard to sound casual.
“Outside,” Andille said, gesturing toward the back door.
“Still?” Jennifer said, clearly concerned and Deb wanted to tell that woman that her worry plate was pretty much full without adding that man to the mix. But she doubted Jennifer would take the advice.
“He didn’t show it, but he was pretty upset,” Andille told her, crossing his big arms behind his head—a motion Deb watched and appreciated from the corner of her eye. “And you can imagine,” he said with a sly, quiet smile, “getting upset, upsets him.”
“I’m going to go check on him,” Jennifer said, heading for the door. Deb and Andille stared after her for a long time, watching the white of her shirt cross the dark lawn like an apparition.
Deb, while Andille was watching Jennifer, stared at the man’s profile. Deb didn’t give two figs about Ian. But what was really obvious was that Ian Greer upset Andille. And that did bother her. He was a good man, too good a man for the likes of Ian.
“Can I ask you a question?” Deb said, breaking the silence.
“Sure.” Andille smiled at her. And that smile was seriously the most intimate thing Deb had experienced in years. It made her twitch and burn and look away, embarrassed by how much this man was under her skin.
“Why are you with Ian?”
Andille’s whole face shut down, his gracious smiles and warm eyes vanished and he was a cool—cold, even—stranger.
“I’m sorry,” she quickly said. “It’s none of my business.”
“Why do you ask?” Even his voice was different. Formal, somehow.
She shrugged. “It’s not important.”
“It is,” he said, surprising her. “To me, it’s very important. So, please, tell me what you see that made you ask that question.”
“He clearly brings you…” She searched for the right word. “Distress. You watch him and you look pained. Like a parent watching his kid misbehave.”
Andille stared at her, then slowly smiled. Chuckled, even, though it didn’t sound very cheerful. “I suppose that’s pretty much what I feel.”
“So, why are you here?”
“He needs someone to watch over him.”
“He’s a grown man,” Deb said incredulously. “A rich, grown man. I think he can take care of himself.”
Andille’s face told her otherwise.
“So, then, why you?” She tilted her head, trying to match the man who so clearly loved and craved children to the man who professionally babysat Ian Greer.
Andille stood and braced himself against the counter, his wide strong back to Deb, and she was stunned by the sudden desire she had to touch his back. Wrap her arms around his waist and press her face to that muscular dip that split along his spine. A woman could get lost in a back like that, be shielded and protected by whatever came.
“I owe Ian Greer,” Andille said. “Years ago, he did something for me. He broke one of his rules and helped me. Helped my family.”
“And because of that, you are spending your life trying to keep him out of trouble?” He nodded and looked up, meeting her eyes in the reflection in the window. “That must have been some favor.”
He licked his lips, his eyes riveted to hers, and for a second she couldn’t breathe for the intensity in his face. The heat in his eyes. Then he turned around.
“My father was the king of a very small African country on the northeast edge of Zimbabwe. We had diamond mines and not much else. When I was eleven he sent me away to boarding school, but kept my mother and seven sisters in Africa. When I was twenty-one there wa
s a very violent coup and my father was killed. My mother and sisters held hostage.”
Deb couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. She could only sit and bleed for this man. For the pain that poured out of him.
“Ian asked his father, who was president at that time, for help. Something Ian swore he’d never do for any reason. Ever. But he did it for me and his father used his influence to get my sisters and mother out of the country.”
“And that’s why—”
He nodded. “One of my sisters is getting married next summer. Another is going to law school. Another is a pediatrician. The youngest is a track and field star.” He smiled, radiantly. “None of that would be happening if it weren’t for Ian.”
Deb slumped in her chair.
“So, you see? I owe him eight lives,” he said and she nodded.
If someone did that for her, she’d spend the rest of her life thanking that person. It wasn’t, oddly, all that different than the way she felt about Serenity. Serenity House and Sam saved her life, and now she was dedicated to returning that favor.
“I know,” Andille said, walking toward her and stopping a few inches from her chair, “Ian can be a tough man to like, but he’s a good man. Underneath everything, he’s a good man.”
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Deb said.
“It does to me,” Andille said. Deb thought she felt his hand on her hair and everything stopped. Her blood. Her heart. Her thoughts. And she just concentrated on that ghostly sweet sensation.
“Can I ask you a question?” Andille asked, his quiet voice ricocheting through her bones, and she nodded, unable to speak.
“What happened?” he asked. “That made it so hard for you to like men?”
Her eyes shut briefly with a sense of the inevitable. Of course, he was going to ask this question. Of course he’d wonder. And somehow she gathered strength from his presence, from that whisper-light touch of his hand, from the sound of his voice.
She opened her mouth, wanting to tell him, feeling the words in the back of her throat like bile, but nothing came.
“Deb?” He sat, pulled his chair close to her and placed his hand over her casts. His big black hand, holding hot pink plaster because it was hers, broke her silence. Broke her heart.
“My father,” she said simply, staring at his hand, stretching her fingers out so she could feel his warmth. “He was a difficult man. A…” She sighed, searching for the right word. “Evil man. He was a preacher, but there was something really twisted in him. He hurt me. He hurt my mom and I thank God every day that Mom didn’t have any more children.”
“Thank God,” Andille said earnestly and she smiled at him, feeling a connection with him that she’d never felt anywhere before. Ever.
“It took me a long time to rebel, but I did when I was about nineteen and I got pregnant. He found out and beat me so badly I almost lost the baby. I managed to get out of the house. Mom, I think, intervened and I walked here with two broken ribs, a broken wrist and a sprained ankle. I had a concussion, two black eyes and—” Andille shifted his hand, linking his fingers through hers, and the sensation stole her breath. It had been years, a lifetime ago, since a man touched her and that man, that touch, was nothing compared to Andille. “I got here and I just never left.”
“What about Shonny’s father?” Andille asked and Deb shrugged, pulling her hand free and tucking both into her lap where they could burn and pulse.
“He wasn’t interested in us,” she said. “And frankly, I’m glad he wasn’t. We’re better off without him.”
“Not all men are like your father, or like Shonny’s dad,” he said and she sighed. She’d heard this so often. “Not all men are cruel or indifferent.”
“I know,” she said but he shook his head, scooted closer.
“I don’t think you do,” he said.
“No,” she said emphatically. “I do. I understand that.” In theory, she thought. Until you. But she couldn’t say that. Couldn’t even believe she’d thought it.
His fingertip, calloused and hot, touched her cheek and there was a sudden vacuum in the world, until it was just her and this man and this touch.
“You’re too good a woman to be alone,” he whispered, his eyes searching her face. “You should let a man love you.”
Deb couldn’t move, couldn’t stop him when he lifted her cast and kissed her fingers, like the prince he was. “Good night, Deb,” he said. Then, like she wasn’t dying, like she wasn’t feeling desire and lust for the first time in her life, he left.
Jennifer found Ian on his back in the yard behind the house. He lay in the tall grasses, silver in the moonlight, staring up at the stars, his hands on his chest.
He was the picture of a man without worries or cares.
And it pissed her off, because it cost her so much to be here. Her pride. Her professional integrity. She came out here because she’d thought, after this harrowing night, he might need her.
But, when he caught sight of her, he smiled merrily.
“Hi,” he said amiably. “What are you doing out here?” He tilted his head as if to see her better.
A very good question, Jennifer. Perhaps one you should have asked yourself, before you came running out here to be some kind of emotional Florence Nightingale to a man who was moon-bathing.
“I was—we were worried.”
“Not about me, I hope.”
She remembered the look in his eyes as he came out of that office. She remembered the tension on his face, the grief that covered him like a blanket. This flip, casual man before her was lying. She was sure of it.
“Are you all right?” she asked. “Really? Or is this an act?”
“Act?”
“None of us knew what to do with Madison, but you just swept her into that office. You said something to her, something that made her unable to let you out of her sight. She apologized to Spencer three times.”
He stared up at the stars with perhaps a bit more purpose than before. “Madison and I understand each other.”
She laughed incredulously. “I wasn’t even sure you knew her name before tonight. I’ve never seen you look at her twice and suddenly you understand each other?”
“We’re the children of abusers, Jennifer,” he snapped, his eyes flashing in the moonlight. “We’ve got a lot in common.”
She digested that, along with the emotion he was trying valiantly to hide. She sat beside him in the grass, the blades poking through the cotton of her pants to scratch her skin. “So,” she asked, “what did you say?”
He sat up in a quick swoosh, spoiling the image of a man at leisure, which, of course, had been an act. One more act. One more layer to the mysterious and confusing Ian Greer. “I told her she had to fight every day to control her anger and hurt because she had to be better than her mother.”
Jennifer struggled to not touch his leg where it rested inches from hers. The story, even Kerry Waldo and her career, seemed so far away from this moment. He was human. She was human. And she could, so easily, put her hand on his knee and tell him she was sorry. Sorry that he’d had to deal with Madison when it obviously caused him such turmoil. Sorry that he had this baseline experience that made him understand that complicated girl inside.
“I told her—” he sighed, staring up at the stars as clouds rolled across the sky “—that she shouldn’t be mad at her father. Because she is, you know.”
He turned, pinned her with his gaze.
“She feels betrayed by him,” Ian said. “Abandoned. Because he chose to stay when she begged him to leave.”
Jennifer had the sinking suspicion they weren’t talking only about Madison.
“Is that how you feel about your mother?”
He smiled slightly, heartbreakingly. “It doesn’t really matter now, does it?” he said, and she didn’t believe him. Not a bit. She wanted to grab him and shake him, tell him that of course it mattered. But he was talking. “But I know that when I met Andille, when we
were kids and I liked him right away, the first thing I did was give him a bloody nose.” He plucked a crabgrass leaf and rolled it in his fingers. “Because that’s all I knew about showing someone I liked them. Not effective friend-making.”
That was the saddest thing she’d ever heard, despite his efforts to make a joke.
“Andille told me that he could have me killed for punching him.” He smiled at her. “He’s a prince, you know. A real live one. Well, a king now. Not that he talks about it.”
“Really?” she asked, somehow not terribly surprised. There was something regal about the guy, and if there were kings in this world, Andille should be one.
“Yep, and he told me he could have me killed or he could be my friend, but not if I ever tried to hurt him again.”
“You chose to be his friend?”
“No, I chose to ignore him for a year. Then he chose to be my friend and I couldn’t shake him.”
She laughed, imagining Andille doing such a thing. Ian looked truly relaxed for the first time since opening that office door and Jennifer decided to drop the Annabelle questions for now.
It was effective interviewing, the careful circling of the real issues, luring the subject into a truthful discussion, without them ever noticing. But she knew, deep down, that she liked him smiling right now.
“That same tactic must have worked wonders with the girls,” she said. “Pulling their hair then ignoring them.”
“I’ve never been on a date,” he said, leaning back on his elbows, and she rolled her eyes at him.
“Come on. Half your dates are on the front pages of magazines.”
“Those aren’t dates.”
“Then what are they?”
The look he flashed her was so heated, so filled with dark, carnal knowledge, she actually blushed. She got the very distinct impression that this man made practice things she’d never even thought of. Things she’d never known. “Oh. Well. Those are still dates, aren’t they?”
He laughed and shook his head. “They’re like doctors’ appointments.”
She wanted to be disgusted, horrified even. But instead she felt sorry for him, which was ludicrous. He was the sexiest man alive and she’d had two lovers in her whole life. But, that something so special could be reduced to something so clinical was sad.
And Then There Was You (Serenity House Book 2) Page 13
