I Waxed My Legs for This?

by Holly Jacobs

  “Whatever.”

  “Fine,” she said testily.

  “Fine,” he repeated.

  Jack tried to resist grinning as he hung up the phone on Carrie, who was obviously furious.

  She wasn’t going to know what hit her.

  Over the years he’d allowed himself to be manipulated time and time again by his friend. It wasn’t until recently that he began to wonder why it was she always got her way. The answer was so painfully simple now that Jack smiled just thinking about it.

  He loved her.

  Carrie always won because he couldn’t bear disappointing the woman he loved. That’s why a lawyer, who didn’t take anything from anyone when standing in front of a judge, could be pushed and pulled by one sassy dressmaker.

  Well, love had toppled mightier men than Jack Templeton.

  But for the sake of that love, Jack was about to use all his lawyerly wiles to rescue the damsel one last time—he was going to rescue her from herself.

  For years Carrie had let Jack play her white knight, but who was going to save the damsel in distress when it was the knight who was distressing her?

  ~~~

  “Come on, Carrie,” Jack called again as Carrie walked into the room where the party was in full swing.

  “I feel like I’m popping out,” she complained, wishing she’d worn any other dress in her closet.

  “You’re not popping out.” Jack gave her dress a little hike in an upward direction for good measure in a very all-business manner.

  She slapped his hand. She was certainly capable of hiking her own breasts back into the dress if necessary. Being near him was doing things to her system—dangerous things.

  Things like making her imagine what he’d do if she stripped off his suit and had her way with him right in the middle of her living room.

  Friends, she reminded herself.

  They were back to being friends.

  Remembering they were just friends was going to be one of the hardest things she’d ever done.

  “How long do we have to stay at this?” she asked.

  The sooner it was over, the better.

  “Your enthusiasm is flattering. What’s wrong, Carrie? You’ve never minded being at things like this with me in the past,” Jack inquired.

  She’d never been in his bed before.

  The memory of that night kept cropping up at the oddest times.

  Apparently Jack was able to put it behind him, but Carrie wasn’t having such an easy time. Picturing him naked was only part of the problem. It was the little things. Like when he’d showed up at her door to pick her up, she’d had an overwhelming urge to straighten his tie.

  She didn’t. It was an intimate thing to do. It was the kind of thing a significant other did, not a best friend.

  Oh, she might have done it before that darned trip, but now she couldn’t. She didn’t want Jack to read anything into it, because there couldn’t be anything between them. They were friends. Only friends.

  She’d been chanting the phrase since he’d picked her up—it was rapidly becoming her mantra, but it wasn’t working very well.

  Only friends, she tried again.

  Nope, it wasn’t working at all. A friend would never look at another friend and imagine removing his clothes and kissing her way down his body. No, a friend would never do that.

  A woman in love might though.

  Only friends, only friends, only friends, she kept chanting, while she studiously kept her eyes off the man she’d like to strip naked.

  “Stan,” Jack called, waving his hand at an older gentleman. “You remember Carrie, don’t you? Carrie, Stan Simpson, the guest of honor.”

  “Congratulations,” she said. “What big plans do you have?”

  “Oh, the wife and I are thinking about taking a romantic little second honeymoon, then I’m going to settle into some serious golf and teach an occasional class at the college.”

  “If you’re thinking about sneaking off somewhere with Wilma, think about Amore Island,” Jack said.

  Thinking of the island brought images of Jack flashing through her mind and Carrie kept chanting her mantra, hoping to override them.

  Only friends.

  “Amore Island?” Stan asked.

  “It’s off the coast of the Carolinas. Carrie and I just got back last week from a vacation there. Couples only and romantic. Stan, if the island does for you and Wilma what it did for Carrie and me...well, hang onto your socks.”

  Carrie glared at Jack.

  He wasn’t making this easy, not easy at all.

  Only friends—and friends don’t want to make love to friends.

  And they certainly didn’t want to rip their clothing off and go wild with them.

  Only friends.

  Stan laughed. “I always thought the two of you belonged together. That nonsense about being friends.” He laughed. “Never believed in it. Anyone who knows the two of you or has even just seen you together, has known for a long time that you belong together.”

  “We’re not together,” Carrie protested.

  What was Jack thinking?

  Why didn’t he tell her he was back together with Sandy?

  He was deliberately giving him the impression they were a couple.

  They weren’t a couple.

  A couple of fools, maybe.

  They were friends—only friends.

  “No, we’re not a couple. We’re just friends, right, Care?” Jack winked, a blatant kind of wink that said he didn’t believe his last statement any more than Stan should.

  “Oh, I know all about those kinds of friends. It just so happens Wilma and I have always had that kind of relationship,” Stan said.

  Both men laughed and Carrie said, “If you both will excuse me a moment?”

  She slithered out from under Jack’s arm and desperately looked for somewhere to escape to.

  Men. They were such fickle creatures. Jack made love to her, then he took up with his old girlfriend—and where the heck was Sandy?—and now he was acting as if they were a couple.

  Well, they most certainly weren’t a couple. He had Sandy.

  At the rate things were going, they weren’t even going to be friends by tomorrow.

  Without really picking it as her destination, Carrie ended up in front of the bar.

  “Wine,” Carrie said to the bartender.

  “White, or red?” he asked.

  She thought about it a moment. “Forget the wine. Give me a Scotch.”

  She’d always wanted to try it and tonight sounded like a great time to give it a shot, literally.

  She took the glass and tilted, allowing the liquid to flow down her throat. Maybe she should have sipped it, but she wasn’t in a sipping mood.

  She wasn’t in a choking mood, either, but it didn’t look like her throat or the Scotch cared because she promptly and inelegantly began to cough uncontrollably.

  “Ma’am?” asked the bartender.

  “I’m fine,” she gasped. “Just fine. Give me another.”

  The stuff was vile.

  It burned going all the way down, but with any luck it would calm her nerves.

  The bartender filled her glass again.

  She started to pick it up, only to realize someone else had grabbed it.

  “I don’t think so,” Jack said and emptied the glass himself.

  He slammed the glass on the bar and smiled. The darn man didn’t even have the decency to choke a little.

  He had always been a show-off.

  “That was mine,” Carrie protested.

  Jack shook his head. “I’ve had experience with you drunk before, I don’t relish reliving it, especially not here with all my co-workers.”

  “The coworkers who you are deliberately misleading,” Carrie pointed out.

  “How am I misleading them?” he asked, the picture of innocence.

  “Just friends...wink, wink. Sound familiar.”

  “I had something in my eye?” he asked.
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  She balled her fist and thrust it toward his big, fat head, but stopped short, her fist hanging menacingly between them. “You’re going to have something in your eye—something that looks suspiciously like my fist—if you don’t give that sort of stuff a rest.”

  “Carrie.” He laughed, obviously not intimidated in the least by her air-hanging fist.

  She was on a roll and wasn’t going to stop for him. “Listen, I’m sorry I said I’d come with you tonight. I’m sorry I let our relationship go somewhere it definitely shouldn’t have gone. I’m sorry—”

  He interrupted. “I’m not sorry for any of it.”

  “You said you were,” she reminded him.

  When he’d said that on the answering machine Carrie had wanted to die.

  Now she just wanted to kill him. He was such a…a man.

  “Not for what we did, but for scaring you,” he explained.

  “Scaring me?” she asked. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “That’s what I used to think, before this. You ran away, you must have been scared to do that.”

  “Jack, what do you want from me?” Carrie felt as if every time she got her feet firmly planted, Jack ripped the rug out from under her.

  “I want you to be honest with yourself and with me,” he said quietly.

  “When have I lied?” she asked in frustration.

  He was the liar. He still hadn’t said a word about Sandy being at the hotel.

  Out of the comer of her eye she could see the bartender whispering to the people at the other end of the bar, nodding in their direction.

  “You lied when you said you’d give us a chance. I want that chance. I’ve earned a chance.”

  “Jack, you’re old enough to realize that most people don’t get everything they want.” She was an expert at that. Years of experience had taught her well.

  Jack leaned close, his breath caressing her neck. “Ah, but sometimes people get lucky and get everything they want.”

  “Well, if you want my friendship, it’s here,” she said stubbornly.

  “Lucky for you, your friendship is something I never want to be without.” Jack ran his fingers against her spine and watched with delight as she shivered.

  She might be trying—for whatever illogical reason—to convince herself that friendship was all they had going for them, but Jack knew better.

  Soon he planned to make sure Carrie knew it as well.

  “So you’ll stop this winking nonsense and just enjoy the evening with me?” she asked.

  “I very much plan to enjoy the evening with you, if you’ll let me,” he said.

  “Fine. There are the Cowells. Let’s go say hi.”

  Jack watched Carrie breathe her sigh of relief and he let her have it. He was a patient man, a lawyer who was used to winning.

  And Carrington Rose Delany was a prize worth winning.

  He watched her work the room, talking to his friends, people she knew from years of being a part of his life, and just as easily mixing with those she didn’t know.

  Carrie’s hair started slipping from the twisty sort of hairdo she’d worn for the evening. While she was immersed in a conversation with Terry Lester, she pulled at something, and the mass of silky strands came tumbling down.

  For years Jack had thought it was cute the way her hair would maintain no style for more than an hour.

  Now, Jack longed to reach out and touch it, and pull her into his arms.

  He wanted her and it wasn’t just sex.

  With Carrie it wasn’t sex at all. It had something to do with desire borne deep from the core of his being instead of a reaction he was much more familiar with.

  What he felt for Carrie was unlike what he’d felt for any other woman.

  She thought they were back to being just friends.

  Well, they were friends and he didn’t intend for that to change. But if Carrie thought that was all there was between them, then she was mistaken and it looked as if it was up to Jack to teach her the error of her ways.

  And he would, just as soon as he got away from this party.

  Carrie eyed Jack nervously.

  “Isn’t that right, Jack?” Carrie asked, pulling him into the conversation.

  He’d been giving her those looks again.

  The kind of look that made her legs turn to jelly and melted that little block of ice that had recently taken residence in her chest.

  But she was going to ignore it.

  Jack was her friend.

  Nothing more, nothing less.

  Only friends.

  She’d just ignore Jack’s nonsense and eventually he’d stop.

  She wasn’t sure why he was going through this charade, but if she played it cool, he’d stop soon enough.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I said, the water park on Amore Island was wonderful, but nothing compares to the one we have here at Waldemeer.”

  “Oh. I guess.”

  She glared at him and continued, “You know, we’re so lucky here in Erie. We have all the amenities of a big city and yet we’ve maintained that small town mentality. There’s a great big lake in our backyard, beaches to swim in, snow for skiing... I can’t imagine living anywhere else. The island was a fun place to visit, but really there was nothing there that we don’t have in Erie. It’s like a vacation every day here.”

  Carrie glanced again at Jack.

  He was acting strange, drifting in and out of the conversation, a totally un-Jack-like thing.

  “Maybe we should get something to eat?” she asked him, hoping food would help him regain his focus.

  “Maybe you’re right. I’m hungry.”

  He looked at her then, his eyes reflected hunger, but not for food.

  “Someone said the chicken salad was great. I think that’s what I’m going to try.”

  Jack leaned over and whispered huskily in her ear, “You’re welcome to try anything you like.”

  Forcing herself to keep smiling, Carrie beamed at him. “Chicken salad it is then.”

  They were moving toward the buffet table when someone called Carrie’s name.

  “Carrie?”

  She turned. “Oh, Mrs...?” She was embarrassed she couldn’t remember the lady’s name, though her face seemed familiar.

  “Mrs. Marsh,” the woman supplied, then added, “We met at Encore.”

  Mrs. Marsh. Carrie could have kicked herself. The elderly lady was one of their regulars. It just went to show how flustered Jack was making her feel. “Mrs. Marsh. Of course.”

  The woman tugged at an older gentleman’s sleeve and said, “This is my husband, Clarence.” Clarence Marsh—Judge Clarence Marsh? Carrie sighed.

  “Your Honor,” she said.

  The older man, who looked more like Santa Claus than a judge, let out a merry chuckle that matched his look perfectly. “Oh, my dear, don’t you Your Honor me here. Here I’m just Clarence. Unless you’re Harriet then I’m My Dear, if she’s in a good mood, and Oh, You, if she’s not.”

  “Oh, you. I’m always in a good mood,” Mrs. Marsh humphed. Realizing what she said, she blushed. “Well, I am.”

  “Yes, dear,” Clarence said meekly.

  Mrs. Marsh gave him the evil eye and then turned those eyes on Jack. “And you must be Carrie’s friend that Eloise was talking about?”

  Jack shot her a look. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

  What had Eloise said to Mrs. Marsh?

  “Just a friend,” Carrie emphasized.

  “Yes, dear, I remember Eloise talking about how much of a friend he was when I asked where you were last week. Maybe I can offer you a bit of advice today, from someone who has had to deal with a lawyer for forty some odd years.”

  “Ma’am?” Carrie asked, praying the woman wouldn’t say anything to give Jack any ideas.

  He kept looking at her as if he had plenty of ideas of his own and didn’t need a lick of help.

  “Keep them guessing. Lawyers are an orderly lot. They like to hav
e all the facts so they can manipulate them. If you keep them guessing—hold onto some things, keep them for yourself, at least for a little while—you’ll have an edge.”

  Carrie was an expert at keeping things to herself.

  The thought of holding onto those thoughts, those feelings made her overwhelmingly sad. “I’ll keep that in mind. If you’ll excuse us, we were just heading for the buffet,” Carrie said, though she had little appetite for food.

  “Oh, you two run along. And remember, if you need someone to perform your ceremony, Clarence would be happy to do it.”

  “Oh, that I would, Jack my boy. When did you say it was?” he asked all three of them.

  All three answered at once.

  “We didn’t,” Jack said.

  “There isn’t one,” Carrie said.

  “Soon,” Mrs. Marsh said with a knowing wink at Carrie. She took her husband’s arm and led him away as Carrie beat her retreat to the buffet table, praying Jack wasn’t following.

  “Just what was Eloise saying to of Mrs. Marsh?” Jack was smiling in a way that said he thought the entire situation was funny.

  Funny wasn’t the word Carrie would use to describe it. “I have no idea, but you can be sure I’ll find out. She was probably just saying what a good time we had on the island.”

  Carrie was going to kill her boss—no, her partner.

  Whatever Eloise had said, it left Mrs. Marsh with the impression that she and Jack were more than friends.

  They weren’t.

  “We did have a good time,” Jack agreed.

  He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “My favorite day was the one we spent in bed. The only flaw I found was one day wasn’t enough.”

  Chapter Eight

  “I’VE TOTALLY forgotten.” Carrie gulped, trying to indeed forget.

  The look in Jack’s eyes said he remembered more than that. And as he dragged Carrie into the coatroom, she realized her mistake. “I mean, it was nice, but that’s not what our relationship is about.”

  “Isn’t it?” Jack asked, shutting the door.

  “No,” she said firmly, more to convince herself than Jack.

  “Why don’t you remind me just what our relationship is about,” he said, backing her against the now closed door.

  “We’re friends,” she tried.