by Beth Ciotta
Murphy raised a brow. “Don’t be a schmuck, Gallow. It’s called protecting loved ones from unnecessary hurt.”
Just then headlights splashed through the office window. Rudy pushed out of his leather high-back and moved toward the door. His pulse quickened. “Depending on how Jean-Pierre takes the news, it could be a rough night, regardless.”
Jean-Pierre cut the ignition of his rental car. He eyed the four-door parked next to Rudy’s used Subaru and clenched his jaw against a tidal wave of anger. He glanced at the rambling inn silhouetted against a moonlight sky and tamped down a flutter of anxiety. He’d spent the entire day rehearsing for what promised to be a dramatic scene. Dozens of thoughts and feelings expressed in varying degrees of honesty and hostility. Two resolutions.
He was mentally and physically fatigued, and he had yet to confront Rudy.
Part of him wanted to get this over with. Part of him wanted to pretend like nothing was wrong. On the long, dark drive from Burlington to Rainbow Ridge, he’d almost convinced himself that Hollyberry Inn was indeed cursed with wiring problems. That Rudy hadn’t been lying. That he wasn’t playing around. But if the inn was not ready for guests, then why was there a strange car parked in the drive at one o’clock in the morning?
The tips of his ears burned as he exited the car and stalked toward the front door sans luggage. His heart thudded against his chest as months of pent-up hurt and frustration churned in his empty stomach. He curled his fingers into his sweaty palms, mounted the steps, and raised his fist to announce his arrival.
The door swung open before his knuckles connected. Rudy stood on the threshold in his velvet lounge pants and matching robe. He smoothed his hand over his dark goatee, and sighed.
“You do not look happy to see me, Bunny.” Exhausted and emotionally fragile, Jean-Pierre’s patience snapped. At the sound of creaking wood, he glanced around Rudy’s bulked-up body and saw a silhouetted form moving up the hall, nude to the waist. He glared at the love of his life through tears of pain and exploded. “Bâtard!”
He struck out, landing a hard punch to Rudy’s cheekbone. They both yelped in shock.
Rudy staggered back.
Ignoring his smarting knuckles, Jean-Pierre sprang forward and tackled the taller man to the hardwood floor, landing blow after blow. “I loved you, trusted you, and you betrayed me!”
Rudy didn’t fight back, just tried to block the hits.
Jean-Pierre’s rage gave him the upper hand.
“Whoa. Whoa,” he heard a man say. Someone grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him backwards.
Jean-Pierre swung blindly and clipped the “other man” in the balls.
“Motherfu …” He grabbed his crotch and stumbled back in pain.
“That hurt,” noted a third male voice.
Confused, Jean-Pierre whirled around and came face to face with Lulu’s husband. “Murphy?”
The bodyguard held up a hand in warning. “Take a swing, and I’ll have to hurt you, Legrand.”
He heard footsteps on the stairway, squinted as an overhead lamp flicked on flooding the foyer with light. He turned around for a clear look at the man he’d punched in the groin. Jake. “Merde.”
“What’s going on down there?”
Winded from his tirade, Jean-Pierre fell back against the door jamb and watched as Lulu, and then Afia, came to a dead halt on the stair’s landing. Sleepy-eyed, they stared at the carnage.
He glanced over at Rudy who’d pushed himself into a sitting position. Robe askew, he swiped at the blood trickling from the corner of his swollen lip. The sensitive skin beneath his right eye puffed. Overall, the man looked stunned. Jean-Pierre jammed both hands through his thick, shaggy hair. “What have I done?”
“Looks like you wigged out,” Lulu said.
Now he knew what one of her red-hazed furies felt like. She blew her top and then, after cooling, regretted her rash, often hurtful actions. Ah, oui, regret sang through his veins.
“Put some ice on that eye, Gallow,” Murphy said as he breezed by. “It’s going to swell.”
Afia stepped off the landing and moved toward Jake. “Are you all right, honey? You look like you’re going to be sick.”
“He’ll live,” Murphy said. He grasped Lulu’s hand. “Come on, princess. Let’s go back to bed.”
“But, I didn’t even get to say hello to Jean-Pierre.”
“He’ll be here in the morning.” The bodyguard peered over his shoulder. “Won’t you, Legrand?”
Funny. It sounded more like an order than a question. “Oui.”
Murphy whispered something in Lulu’s ear, and whisked her up the stairs.
Afia put her arm around her husband who was still trying to catch his breath. She shot Jean-Pierre a disapproving look. “Why in the world did you hit Jake and Rudy?”
“Because he thought we were lovers,” Rudy answered for him.
“That’s absurd,” she said.
“I know,” Jean-Pierre said, feeling quite the fool.
Afia shook her head. “Honestly.”
He angled his head toward Jake. “I am sorry, mon ami.”
“Forget it,” he wheezed, while steering Afia toward the stairs. “Come on, baby.”
“I’m adding this to the list of things to talk about tomorrow,” she said as they scaled the landing.
“Yippee,” Rudy mumbled.
“Don’t forget to ice your eye, Rudy,” Afia called over her shoulder. “Goodnight, Jean-Pierre. Welcome home.”
Home. The word, the concept, filled Jean-Pierre with simultaneous joy and remorse. Home was the man he’d just wrongly pummeled. “Why did you not fight back, Bunny?”
The dark-haired man dabbed the back of his hand to his bloodied lip. “I had it coming.”
“But, you did nothing wrong.”
“Not tonight, no.” Rudy pushed himself to his feet. “But I don’t think your fury was rooted in tonight.”
Jean-Pierre sighed. “Not entirely, no.”
Rudy rolled back his shoulders, tightened the sash around his waist. “Are we going to be okay?”
“I do not know.”
The muscled-marvel inched closer. “We need to talk about this, Jean-Pierre. I need to know what you’re feeling. And I want you to know where I’m coming from.”
“Ah, oui. Talking is what I had in mind before I … wigged out.” He’d rehearsed this confrontation all day. Not once had he envisioned actually pummeling Rudy in a fit of rage. His violent outburst was most unexpected and made him strangely aware of the distasteful power of jealously. He tenderly brushed his thumb over Rudy’s cheekbone. “I am not sure the ice will help. You are going to have, what do you call it? A shiner.”
Rudy quirked a sad smile. “There are worse things, believe me.” He caught Jean-Pierre’s hand in his own, kissed his palm. “Come in and sit down. Before we talk, I have some news about a friend, and it isn’t good.”
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on between Rudy and Jean-Pierre?” Lulu asked as she slipped under the cool sheets.
Murphy shucked his T-shirt and shorts and climbed into bed. “Tomorrow.” He snuggled up against her, hard muscle and hot flesh.
She closed her eyes, tried to ignore the delightful tingling between her legs when he kissed the sensitive part of her wrist. “Are you going to let me talk to Sofie?”
“Eventually.” He licked a sizzling path to the bend of her elbow.
“Are you trying to distract me?”
“I’m trying to make love to my wife.” He captured her mouth with his own and seduced her with one of his blue ribbon kisses.
Her limbs melted and her heart bloomed. She gasped when he moved on, tonguing her neck and the soft hollow of her throat. Sex with Colin was always exciting. Before him, she’d never known kinky. Kinky for her meaning anything other than missionary sex. Seven months into their marriage and they’d already explored several of the positions in the Kama Sutra. He’d presented her with the book for their
one-month anniversary, and she’d surprised him by being a quick and enthusiastic study. “Um, Colin,” she whispered, while he unbuttoned her Sponge Bob pajama top. “Afia and Jake are in the next room. They’ll hear us.” She tended to get a little loud and aggressive in the midst of play. Something her warrior husband loved.
He grinned down at her as he palmed one of her breasts. “Maybe it will inspire them.”
She squirmed in delight when he traced tickling circles around her puckered buds. “But, she’s eight months pregnant.”
“Trust me, that’s not stopping Jake.” He laughed low. “Although he’s probably down for the count tonight.”
She traced her fingertips along his hard jaw, over his soft lips. A man of sharp contrasts, in more ways than one. “What made Jean-Pierre wig out?”
“Tomorrow.” He nipped her finger, then whispered a naughty suggestion in her ear.
Desire, fierce and hot, flowed through her pliant body, her thoughts drifting from real life to the illustrated pages of the Kama Sutra as he lavished attention on her breasts. She sucked in a sharp breath. “Be careful. They’re tender.”
“They are rather full.” He smiled against her skin. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“Yes, well, don’t get too attached. It’s just a pre-menstrual thing.”
“Like your cravings for salty food.”
“Exactly.”
“I’ve got cravings too,” he drawled, while ridding her of her pajama bottoms.
“Colin?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m sorry about tricking you into coming up here early.”
“No, you’re not.”
She sighed. “You’re right, I’m not. Rudy and Jean-Pierre need our support just now.”
He smoothed her messy curls from her face. “They’ve got it, hon. We won’t leave until they’re on track.”
Admiration and bone-deep love flowed through her being as she gazed up at her moonlit Prince Charming. A strong-willed champion with a heart of gold. She quirked a devilish grin, pushed him back and shifted so that she straddled his hunky body. “I’ve been reading about this technique called The Black Bee.”
He smiled. “Let’s rock and roll, tiger.”
Rudy wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he expected after relaying the details of Luc’s death. But it certainly wasn’t stony-faced silence. “It’s all right to cry, Jean-Pierre. I know you cared about Luc.” He cleared his throat. “That is, I know you were friends. I was an idiot last fall, thinking that you still had feelings for him. That he might try to steal you away from me. My reaction was childish and weak.”
Jean-Pierre clasped his hands in his lap. “Let us not talk about the indiscretion. Not now. Let me … let me absorb this first.”
“Sure. Okay. Just … let me know when you’re ready.” Nervous, he scraped his teeth over his lower lip, and winced. Man, JP had socked him good. Who knew the gentle soul had it in him?
“I’m sorry I hit you, mon amour.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you.”
Jean-Pierre slid him a sideways glance.
“Right. Not now.” Damn, this was tough. “I’m feeling a little awkward here, honey. You are upset about Luc, aren’t you?”
Jean-Pierre twisted his thumb ring round and round … and round. “I am sorry that he died so horribly, of course. Passing out and hitting his head on the coffee table? How tragic.”
“He might have tripped and hit his head,” Rudy said, striving to make the alcohol-related death less tawdry. “They couldn’t be sure.” He specifically left out Sofia’s scenario. Jake was right. Why imply murder? This was bad enough.
“Regardless, this was a senseless mishap. I mourn the loss of the man who used to be my friend.”
“Used to be?”
The wiry Frenchman dropped his head back against the sofa, released a long sigh. “Luc changed. Hollywood changed him. He was aggressive and competitive. Shallow. Although, I suppose if I looked back honestly on our relationship, he was always vain and selfish. Anyway, things were not going so well for Luc. Professionally. Personally.” He lolled his head left, caught Rudy’s gaze. “He came on to me.”
Rudy swallowed hard. “Yeah?”
“More than once.”
“Okay.”
“I blew him away.”
“Off,” Rudy corrected with a slight smile.
“What?”
“You blew him off. Not away.”
Jean-Pierre’s lips curved into the semblance of a grin. “Ah, oui. Off. He was drunk at the time. He drank a lot. Too much. I tried to be patient. Tried to be his friend. I know it was difficult for him. The rejection. There is a lot of rejection in Hollywood.”
“I’ll bet.”
“I do not like it there so much.”
Rudy frowned. “Then why did you stay so long?”
Jean-Pierre looked at him as though he was dense. “I was waiting for you to make up your mind about us.”
Okay. Maybe he was dense. He’d allowed his insecurities to muck up this relationship good and plenty. He shifted on the couch so that he was facing the younger man. “Look, I know you don’t want to talk about this right now, but let me say this much. I never doubted us. I doubted me.”
“Semantics.”
Man, he wasn’t going to make this easy. Rudy fingered his goatee and studied his partner at length. His shirt was mis-buttoned and wrinkled. His socks were mismatched and he had a fierce five-o’clock shadow. Very un-Jean-Pierre like. Dark circles marred his normally luminous brown eyes, and his skin lacked its normal peachy glow. “You look beat.”
“I have not been sleeping well.”
“Want to talk about it?” What the hell? He’d keep trying until he broke through.
Jean-Pierre licked his lips, surprising Rudy with a curt nod. “There is a part of me that wishes to ignore what I have been feeling. What I have been going through. It is embarrassing to admit that one is not as strong as he’d always believed. My analyst …”
“You’ve been seeing an analyst?” Rudy fisted his hands in his lap to keep from reaching out in sympathy. “Why am I just now hearing about this?”
“I did not want you to know I was having … trouble.”
His temper flared. “Why the hell not?”
“Because you had troubles of your own, no?”
The lame helping the lame. He sighed. “No. I mean, yes. I’m sorry. Go on.”
Jean-Pierre raked his fingers through his hair and cleared his throat. “I have some things to say.”
Rudy braced himself.
The Frenchman squared his shoulders. “I resent that you pushed me into moving to Los Angeles to accept a job I could have lived without. Ah, oui, it was a chance of a lifetime, but so was my relationship with you.”
Rudy swallowed a lump. “I …”
JP cut him off with a raised hand. “I resent that you did not trust my judgment. Nor did you trust that I would not stray and rekindle my affair with Luc. I resent that, instead of talking to me about your insecurities, you wigged out and took solace in another man’s arms.”
“Okay. Can I …”
“I resent that you did not respect me enough to call to let me know that you were alive after going AOL for hours.”
“AWOL.” Rudy shifted. “About that …”
“I resent that you did not ask me to stay after I threatened to leave you. That you did not drag me off of the airplane. That you only visited me in LA four times in six months and that you did not stay, or at some point drag me home. I resent that you tried to cancel my coming to Hollyberry Inn.”
“Not cancel. Postpone. Yeah, I know,” he said when Jean-Pierre smirked. “Semantics. But …”
“I do not like living in Los Angeles. I do not want to be a famous costume designer to the stars. I would be just as happy, happier, designing costumes for amateurs in regional theater. I am tired of being the strong one. The patient one. I am at my wit’s end, Rudy. I do not wish to be jerked arou
nd any longer.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“I want to be in a committed relationship.”
Rudy smiled. “So do I.”
“With you.”
He laughed, his anxiety evaporating with the knowledge that Jean-Pierre still wanted to pursue their relationship. “God, I hope so. Honey, I bought this place for us. I want us to be together. I’m sorry it took me so freaking long to come around, but I know what I want.” He grasped the other man’s hand and squeezed. “You.”
Jean-Pierre blinked. He shook his head and swallowed hard. “You are making it most difficult for me to be angry, mon amour.”
“Good.” Rudy sobered. “Wait. I have to … we need to talk about the indiscretion. I need to wipe the slate clean. I know you said details weren’t important, but in this case, I disagree.”
Jean-Pierre glanced away. “I am most weary. Perhaps tomorrow.”
“No, now. Tomorrow is a new day. I hope.” He massaged a dull throbbing in his temple, cursed the lingering guilt. “The fact that I was even tempted to stray, that I came so close … well, that in itself is unforgivable.”
“No, not unforgivable. I understand more than ever that jealousy can drive a person to most uncharacteristic behavior.” Jean-Pierre paused, crinkle his brow. “What do you mean, came so close?”
Rudy confessed his sins on a rush of breath. “There was some inappropriate touching, but I stopped him before things progressed. I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want it.”
“All this time I thought … and you were faithful?”
“Did you not hear the inappropriate touching part?”
“Ah, oui, but …” Jean-Pierre fell back against the couch. “I should be angry with you, or at the very least annoyed, but I am too numb.”
“It might creep up on you tomorrow. The anger.”
Jean-Pierre sighed heavily. “I doubt it.”
Rudy’s shoulders caved with relief.
Out of the blue, his partner’s eyes filled with tears. He thumbed them back, dropped his chin to his chest, and spoke to his suede clogs. “Do you think Luc suffered?”
Rudy blinked at the change of subject. “No,” he lied. “His blood alcohol was through the roof. I seriously doubt he felt much of anything.”
