by K. E. Saxon
His jockeys were now a little too binding for comfort. He resettled in his chair and shook his head to clear the sex fog from his brain.
Shit! He’d just drawn a distinctly feminine ass on the final version of his lodge design.
In ink.
Okay. He could fix this. He continued the curves around until they met, making a somewhat flawed, but acceptable, cloud-like shape. Fine. He’d plant a tree there. A cypress. He was sure the ducks would appreciate a little shade in their pond in the summer.
He just hoped his dad wouldn’t question him too closely about this.
A few minutes later, he started jotting down some last minute notes to go over with his dad. “Hey, Julie. Got another pen? Mine’s out of ink.”
She looked up from lifting the colander filled with steaming pasta out of the sink. “Yeah. In the roll-top desk. I’ll get it.” But when she turned to place the colander on the island, Pookie wrapped herself around her ankle and she stumbled forward. “Eeek!” In the next instant, both Julie and the pasta went flying.
“Careful!” Jason bolted from his chair, nearly tipping the table over in the process. Luckily, he caught her before she tumbled to the ground.
“Thanks,” she said a little breathlessly before turning her sights on the cat. “Pookie!” she chided, moving out of Jason’s embrace and pulling pasta from her shirt front. “Look what you’ve done!” But the kitten only purred louder and rubbed herself against both of their ankles. “Oh, Lord. There went our lunch.” Her shoulders slumped as she looked around. “What a mess!”
“Look,” Jason said, “I’ll help you clean it up, but first I need to finish jotting down the last couple of notes I have for my dad—the pen?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, still looking a bit stunned and disheartened as she gazed at the vermicelli that hung from the side of the island, over the edge of the countertop, and snaked, like the Rio Grande River across the linoleum floor.
“In the roll-top desk, right?” he asked. “I’ll get it. Why don’t you just sit down for a minute and relax, okay?”
“Okay.”
When she continued to stand there staring at the wreckage, he shook his head and walked into the living room.
Julie had placed a few family photographs on the mantle, which he hadn’t seen before, so he took a minute or two to look them over. One was of a couple on their wedding day—clearly from sometime in the late-seventies or early-eighties, from the look of the clothes and hair. Must be Julie’s parents.
The groom had hair the color of Julie’s, the bride, a paler brown color. But the face—the face was all Julie. Julie had clearly gotten her features from her mother.
Which was a good thing. Because the guy had a pretty big honker going on. And he was wearing those large red glasses like some of those early MTV bands had worn.
Cute picture.
He set it back on top of the mantle and studied the one next to it. Actually, the small brown-wood frame held two school photographs: one of Julie when she was probably six or seven, and the other of Connie, made about the same time, he figured, since she looked to be about ten or eleven. She was so bright-eyed and innocent in the photograph. Nothing like the sexed-up, peroxided boy toy she’d turned into, that was for sure.
Connie must’ve been an amalgam of both parents—and maybe some other distant relatives, too—because he didn’t see as strong a resemblance between her and either one of her parents as he did between Julie and her mother.
After another second trying to wrap his brain around the disconnect between the kind-of awkward looking dark-haired little girl in the photo and the party-girl bleached-blonde celebrity he’d met five years ago, he strode over to the desk that sat in the far corner next to the picture window.
He opened a few drawers, but none of them had pens in them. In fact, there wasn’t much of anything in them. Then he pulled open the top. Not much here, either. Just the manila envelope from the auction, a couple of pens lying loose on top of the desk, and something from Harmony Canyon Drug & Alcohol Treatment Center.
He’d already grabbed a pen and turned back toward the kitchen before the name registered. His heart tripped into a rapid beat as he whirled back around and reached for the envelope. It had an April postmark. Not very long ago. Damn.
Was Julie a recovering druggie, just like her sister? Shit! He shouldn’t have talked her into drinking those beers the other night. But how was he to know? She should have told him.
He made a decision then and, after glancing toward the empty doorway to the kitchen, he slid the pages from the envelope and unfolded them. He felt a little guilty, but protecting his and his dad’s interests was paramount.
His brows came together. It was a handwritten letter. Strange. He figured it’d be a bill when he saw Julie’s name and address typed on the front of the envelope. He flipped to the last page and looked at the signature line. Connie. Thank God. It was just a letter from her sister.
Had she given Julie any indication that she was going to commit suicide? Maybe Connie hadn’t planned that far ahead.
Poor Julie. For the first time, it really hit him how much she’d had to go through. And all on her own; just like his dad had been saying. He started to fold the letter back up, but then his eye caught on a particularly familiar set of words: Jason Jörgensen. He quickly scanned the pages. And with each new word he read, his anger, his sense of betrayal, his hatred grew.
Connie had set him up. She’d planned the whole thing. Just to get out of the contract with Joyride. So she could get some bit part in an Oliver Stone movie—which hadn’t even panned out.
* * *
“Please. Try to understand,” Julie said from the doorway of the kitchen.
Jason whipped his head up and looked at her. Even from as far away as he stood, she could read the venom on his face.
In the heartbeat of bitter silence that followed, she wrapped her arms tightly around herself.
“Understand?” he said. And then he was in motion, storming toward her, waving the letter in his fisted hand with each step he took. “Oh, I understand. Perfectly.”
He was livid. Violently so. She could tell. He was shaking with it. Her heart, already hammering, tripped into a breakneck meter.
“You’re a liar.”
She felt each word as if they were knives thrust into her gut. Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m sor—”
“I can’t believe it! Nora Lee had you pegged, I have to hand her that.” He thrust his fingers into his hair. “What a fucking fool I’ve been!” His laugh was sharp, derisive. “Again!” He turned around and stalked to the front door. “The partnership is over. Kaput.”
“No! Jason, please, I’m begging you. Listen. Let me explain!”
When he looked at her again, she cringed. Scorn. Loathing. Disgust. She saw them all in his darkened gaze. “You’re lucky I don’t sue you, you deceitful bitch.”
“Jason,”—Julie ran toward him—“I didn’t keep this from you to hurt you! I was only trying to protect my sister!”
“Your sister’s dead.”
Her legs nearly collapsed beneath her. She nodded. Using the bottom of her tank top to scrub at her wet cheeks, she said thickly, “I know. I know.” And then, it all just backed up on her, and she started crying again. She pressed the base of her palms to her eyes. “I know.” After a second, she dropped her hands and looked at him full-on. “I didn’t want Connie to be remembered that way. Killing herself was bad enough without this to add to it. She would be forever vilified.”
He gave a derisive snort. “As she should be. Do you know the damage that lie of hers caused me? My family? Because of her, my father lost his business, he had a heart attack, and we both found out that I’m NOT HIS REAL SON!”
Julie started. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. No way would she prod the raging bull with questions about that. Better to focus on calming him down—and getting her letter back. After a second, she blinked. “I’m—I’m sorry, Jason. Truly.
I am.” She pointed to the pages he held. “And so was my sister. If you read the whole letter, you know that.”
“Yes, and I also know that she did nothing to rectify it! NOTHING!” He took in a deep breath and released it. “And neither have you.”
“But I would have! In two years. Just long enough for—”
“Two years!”
“—Yes. Just long enough for the stigma of her suicide to wane.”
“I’ve waited five already. That’s long enough.” He yanked open the door and stomped across the porch and down the steps.
Julie was right behind him. “Jason—my letter!” She tried grabbing for the thing, but he was too quick for her. “What are you planning to do?”
“Sell it to the highest bidder, of course.”
“No!” It was a whisper, a plea, but he just shook his head at her and kept moving toward his car. She stopped in her tracks then. Stopped following him. Stopped speaking. Just stared, frozen in place as he leapt into his Vette, gunned the engine, and drove away.
* * *
1
CHAPTER 6
An hour later, Julie knocked on Jason’s door. When there wasn’t an answer after a minute, she knocked again, this time louder. Come on, Jason! Open the door. The sound of pounding feet came from behind her and she turned. In milliseconds, her brain registered the following: He’d been jogging. He was hot, sweaty, and gorgeously well-built. His tanned, muscular legs, chest and arms glowed with the sheen of his recent exertion and blades of damp blond hair stuck to his flushed forehead.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he said, and then he shoved past her, unlocked the door and opened it. He was just about to slam it behind him when she catapulted through the opening. “Jason, hear me ou—”
“Get out. I’ve heard enough. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer tomorrow.”
“L-Lawyer?” It felt like she’d formed the word around a gobstopper. Her ears started ringing.
He turned away from her and walked down the short hallway to the bathroom. “Yes. I’m dissolving the partnership, remember?”
She took a deep breath. “Oh.”
Just before he closed the door, he said, “Don’t be here when I come back out.”
In another minute, she heard the shower running.
Of course, she ignored him. She had no choice. She had to get that letter back. And now that he was otherwise occupied, maybe she should take matters into her own hands. Yeah. Then, as she'd already planned, she'd offer him her land instead. It was the least she could do, after finding out the extent of long-lasting damage her sister’s selfish lie had wreaked on Jason and his father. She looked around her. The living room, where she now stood, was tidy. No cabinets, no drawers, just two end tables, a coffee table, the couch, two chairs and a television. No papers or envelopes lying about. Not here then. Maybe it was in his bedroom.
She double-timed it down the hall. The door to the room was open and there was a stack of loose papers on top of the bureau. Feeling like a thief, but determined to get this done, she shuffled through them. When she didn’t find it there, she opened and searched every drawer.
Nothing.
She kept one ear trained on the sound of the shower as she dropped her hands to her hips and quickly scanned the room. Where else might he have put it?
Maybe his briefcase.
But where was it?
She darted to the bed and looked beside it, under it, even looked under the pillows.
No go.
She looked around again, chewing on her lower lip.
The closet.
She jogged over to its accordion door and quietly pulled it open. She was almost finished searching the clothing pockets when she heard the shower shut off. Doggone it! Where the heck was it?
She darted out of the bedroom and leaned against the wall next to the bathroom.
It wasn’t long after that the door swung open. Thankfully, Jason was wearing a towel around his waist. She’d been mildly worried that she’d be giving her speech to a naked Adonis.
She didn’t give him time to take a step before she said in a rush: “I’ll give you the land in exchange for my sister’s letter.”
He slowly brought the towel he’d been using to dry his hair away from his face. Okay, not Adonis, she thought, but Zeus, the God of Thunder.
“Forget it.” He strode into his bedroom.
She followed him.
“You don’t understand. I’ll give you the land—except for my house and a quarter-acre plot around it—and, in two years, I’ll still release my sister’s confession letter to the press. You’ll have it all then, see?”
He swung around. “No, not everything. Not by a long shot.”
Julie bit her lower lip. She clasped her hands in front of her and glanced down at them. Her heart was shattering and her insides wrenched, but she had to do this. She took in a deep breath and lifted her gaze to his once more. “Alright. The house, too. You can have my family’s house as well.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her with eyes as hard as blue agates. “Giving me your land may seem like a real big sacrifice to you, real painful and devastating, but it’s nothing compared to what happened to me.” He turned and walked over to his bureau. When he turned around again, a long, slender letter opener was in his hand. “You’re worse than your sister, you know that? A real viper.” As he leaned against the piece of furniture and stretched his legs out, crossing one foot over the other, he struck the long edge of the stainless tool against his palm. “You want the letter back? It’s gonna cost you a hell of a lot more than some piece of land. It’s gonna cost you your pride. It’s gonna cost you what your sister cost me: A dream. A future.
Julie took a step toward him. “Jas—”
“I want your cherry. Give it to me, and I’ll give you the letter.”
* * *
“Jason!” Julie could only stand there, staring at him in shock and total disbelief. Surely she hadn’t heard him correctly.
The cell phone on top of his bureau started ringing. He glanced down. “That’s my friend at the Associated Press calling me back.” He looked up at her again. “Well? What’s it to be: your cherry or your sister’s written confession going out to every major news channel? You decide.”
Julie shook her head. She couldn’t seem to form words.
“Good choice.” He picked up the phone and punched the answer button. He was just swinging the phone up to his ear when she shot forward and grabbed it from his hand.
As she punched the disconnect button, she said. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
* * *
Jason gritted his teeth. He had no illusions that she’d actually go through with this—his eyes narrowed—if, that is, she really was the virgin she’d sworn to be. Maybe a little test was in order. “Take off your clothes.”
She started. “What?”
He didn’t answer her. Instead, he leaned to the side and pulled open a bureau drawer. He reached in and pulled out a condom. Cherry red. Excellent. Then he stood up and whipped the towel off. When he heard her gasp, he looked at her again. “You’re still dressed.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s it to be, Julie. You still have time to back out of this. Believe me, I’m more than happy to go the other way—give my friend the scoop.”
She shook her head. “No! I—I said I’d do it, and I will.” And then she started to lift her top but her hands stalled a quarter of the way up and resettled at the button on her cutoffs. She undid the fastening and dragged the zipper down. Then she pushed the shorts off her hips. They puddled at her feet and she stepped out of them.
She wore very serviceable pink cotton bikinis, but for some reason, and in spite of how much he hated her, he felt himself stir. “Nice panties—Dollar Store, right?” He looked around and his eye landed on the wing-back chair. Yeah. That’d scare the shit out of her. If she was as inexperienced as she’d said. He strode over to it and plopped down, keeping his knees spread
so she’d get the full view. “Ever seen one of these up close, Julie?” He grabbed his cock and1 stroked it a few times before tearing the package open with his teeth and sliding the condom over his erection.
Her eyes widened as she watched him and her face turned redder than the prophylactic.
Okay. She hadn’t lied. His heart was pounding hard inside his chest now and, even though he tried to control it, his breathing was rapid and heavy. This was not about sex, he reminded himself. This was about justice. “Clothes off, Julie. Now. All the way.”
She nodded. He could see her hands trembling as they reluctantly performed the task and he almost—almost—relented. But no. He’d be damned before he’d give in so easily. It should be her that cried uncle first. And then he could release the letter. But when she dropped the tank top she’d been holding up to hide her breasts—stood before him without a stitch on—his libido kicked the shit out of his sense of justice.
He heard her clear her throat. “Where do you want me?” she asked, barely above a whisper.
“Ove—ahem—over here,” he said, straightening a little.
She moved toward him. When she was only a pace away, she said, “What now?”
“I’m sure you can figure out the rest.”
For the longest time she just stood there, her misty calf-eyed gaze never wavering from his, as if she was playing some mental game of chicken with him. Finally, she dropped her eyes to somewhere in the vicinity of his right thigh. She moved closer. Positioned her knees on either side of his hips and braced her palms on the arms of the chair.
“Please,” she whispered.
He heard the fear in her voice, saw it reflected in her eyes. “Julie, you don’t have to do this. You have another option. Take it.”
She shook her head. And then she took hold of him.
His muscles jerked. “Julie!”
She pressed down. Her face crumpled up and he heard a pained whimper. “I can’t get it in! Help me,” she said. Her thighs, her breasts—all of her—shook.
