What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 9)

by Kristine Cayne

  “Yeah, why not?” Jessie laughed, and dug into her food. “Ohmygod…this is…so yummy.” She quickly took a bite of the ravioli. “Good lord. Where did you learn to cook like this?”

  “Mostly self-taught. I took a couple of cooking classes at the community college where I grew up, but that was before I got serious about cooking. I’ve always enjoyed it, but it wasn’t a passion for me until I was grown. When I discovered my bachelorhood, I realized I couldn’t survive on take-out alone, so I started experimenting in the kitchen, and voila! Here I am.”

  “Well, I approve. You make my cheese taste so good.” She licked her lips exaggeratedly, for emphasis.

  “Jessie, you make good cheese. Period.” He said to her appraisingly. He raised his glass of wine in a toasting gesture. “May I?”

  “Of course.” She raised hers.

  “To new relationships, and their continued success.” They clinked glasses and sipped. Jessie watched Connor’s lips caress the wine glass, his eyes never leaving hers over the rim.

  Jessie thought about the toast as she finished eating her food. She felt positive he was flirting with her, but she wasn’t sure how much she should humor him. There was no way she would sleep with this guy, no matter how hot he was. He had bought so much stuff from her yesterday, and would continue to do so each week, as long as she didn’t screw it up. If she slept with him, she would definitely screw it up. She always did.

  On the other hand, if she didn’t sleep with him, would he stop doing business with her? She didn’t think he was that type of guy, but who knew? She originally didn’t think Chad was the type to beat on defenseless women, and look where that had landed her. She was a horrible judge of men’s character, which was why she had always preferred to have physical, no strings attached, sex. No relationships. Relationships were not her forte. And here, she had just toasted to one. Sheesh…

  Kathy brought out dessert, a cherry chevre tart, which looked scrumptious. “Where did Summer take off to?”

  Jessie shrugged, “I’ll tell you later. She had a …moment.” Summer’s friends were accustomed to her ‘moments.’ Kathy nodded knowingly, while Connor watched the exchange quizzically.

  “Ah… Oh well, more for you guys. Enjoy!” She set the tart down on the table. “I’ve almost got the kitchen closed down, Connor. I’m going to go ahead and leave, if that’s okay?”

  “Sure, Kathy. Have a good evening.”

  “Thanks, you too.” She was gone in a flurry.

  Connor dished out helpings of the tart that oozed dark cherries, and creamy white goodness. Jessie was so full, she couldn’t honestly eat another bite, but she knew she would have to force herself. It was all too good.

  After trying her first bite, she said, “I wish this had been the appetizer. It’s by far, my favorite, but I’m too full to eat any of it.”

  Connor looked at her with hooded eyes. “It’s okay, I can wrap it up for you to take home.”

  “Would you? It’s so good.”

  “Of course. I’m glad you like it.”

  “I love it, Connor. Tonight has been really special. Thank you. I’ve never tasted creations made from my cheese like this before.”

  “You don’t cook at all?” He was incredulous.

  “Not much, no.” She looked down, embarrassed.

  “Why not? It seems like a natural progression from growing and producing all of the ingredients.”

  “I don’t know. I’m so tired after working all day, I just don’t have the energy to spend more time in the kitchen, I guess. I don’t have a passion for the creation of flavors from the stuff. I just eat them in the raw.”

  Connor looked amused. “You make all of the wonderful, top quality ingredients, and you don’t cook with them?” He sounded like he didn’t believe her.

  “Nope.” She pushed her plate aside, and leaned back in her chair, stretching out her legs under the table. She accidentally brushed up against Connor’s legs. The soft material of his slacks against the strength of his legs gave the bare skin on the tops of Jessie’s feet something wonderful to explore. She kicked off her sandals and continued rubbing her feet up and down his calves, relishing the contrast of textures.

  Surely, it was because they were half-way through the second bottle of wine. Because she had already told herself she wasn’t going to pursue anything with Connor, yet here she was, playing footsie with him. And it looked like he was enjoying it.

  Connor had stilled in his chair, his gaze focused intently on Jessie. His entire countenance had gone rigid, and he clasped his fork in a white-knuckled fist.

  “Jessica…” His voice was low, almost a whisper, yet it held a husky gravelly quality, speaking of barely restrained desire. His eyes were icy blue, his pupils dilated. His mouth turned down at the corners.

  Jessie couldn’t control herself. “There’s a spark between us, yes?” Her foot grazed up his calf to the inside of his knee, which angled itself out, almost imperceptibly.

  His voice came out a choked, “yes.”

  “I’m just not sure I can do a relationship, though. I’ve never been good at them.” Her foot continued traveling up, to his inner thigh, equally as muscular and taut as his calf was.

  “Me neither…” He rasped, eyes wide.

  “I’ve always been really good at sex with no strings attached, though.” Her foot lingered on his thigh, rubbing up and down the length of it, in long, lazy circles. “But, I’m not sure I can do one of those with you, either…” Her foot continued it’s ministrations on his leg, as he sat there, frozen. “I really need you as a customer, but I’ve had too much wine, I’m sure…and would like nothing more than to…” Her foot slowly crept up to the apex of his thighs, and when it reached the impossibly large erection there, she gasped audibly. “Oh my…”

  With lightening fast reflexes, Connor’s hand dipped under the table and grabbed her foot, stilling its movement.

  “Jessie…” His guttural voice filled with yearning. “I can’t.” His eyes held remorse, and something that looked like pain, but underneath was a desire shining through to Jessie’s insides, making her warm. “I want to. God. I want you. You’re so…God, you’re beautiful, and strong, and smart…But I can’t.” His hand was still clutching her foot, almost painfully. As if he realized it, his fingers started stroking it, smoothing over the instep.

  “I know. I can’t, either. I’m not sure what has come over me.” She almost didn’t recognize her own voice. Realizing what she had almost done, she pulled her foot out of Connor’s grasp, and slipped her sandals on her feet. Disappointment clutched at her stomach. She wasn’t sure why she was disappointed, though. Rising to leave, she turned to Connor.

  “You should come out tomorrow and see how the cheese is made. It’s fun, and you could help.” She wasn’t sure why she was inviting him over to her house again. She had just dodged a bullet, and here she was inviting the bullet to come into her home, and spend more time with her.

  “I would like that. What time do you do it?”

  “Anytime after around nine o’clock.”

  “I’ll be there.” He had been sitting at the table, probably hiding the evidence of his desire, but he finally stood slowly, adjusting his pants as he did. “Jessie?”

  She looked at him, squarely.

  “I think you’re a great girl. I just can’t have a relationship. With anybody.”

  “Why?”

  He looked like he was going to actually give her a valid reason, but his face closed down and he said, “I’ve got to get my business off the ground first. I can’t fail in this.”

  “I understand. I don’t want to screw things up with mine, either.” She spoke the truth, but she could tell there was more Connor wasn’t telling her. And she still had that disappointment gnawing at her gut.

  “Come into the kitchen, and I’ll wrap up this tart for you to take home. You could have it for breakfast.”

  “Okay.” She followed him into the kitchen, which was immaculatel
y clean.

  As he hummed what sounded like I Knew You Were Trouble to himself, she looked around the space. On the counter across from her was an antique mirror from an old dresser set, with the matching hairbrush and comb.

  It gleamed a shiny silver, and she let curiosity get the best of her, as she went over to it. Picking it up, she noticed an intricate art deco design filigreed on the back of the mirror. When she turned it over, Jessie jumped as she saw a woman standing behind her in the reflection. The woman had a short bob hair cut, with spit curls on the side of her face. Black kohl eyeliner heavily darkened her eyes, and her lips were painted a deep red. Her dress was flapper-style, no sleeves with fringe. But her facial expression was what captivated Jessie. The anger emanating from her face was palpable. The malevolence streaming from the woman was so thick, Jessie could almost feel it herself. A sudden chill went through her, as she spun around.

  There was no one there, only Connor. His back was to her, as he wrapped her tart in foil, humming softly to himself. She looked back into the mirror. Nobody.

  “What the fuck?” Connor’s voice was full of disbelief. She turned again to look at him. He was looking at the mirror in her hands.

  “It was just sitting here. Is it yours?”

  He snatched the mirror from her grasp. “No. And I’m sick of finding it laying around.” He stalked over to the garbage cans and tossed it in one. “There. Now maybe whoever keeps leaving it around will know better.” He slammed the lid on the garbage with finality.

  Chapter Seven

  The next morning, Connor was in his usual spot in the front room, having his morning coffee blissfully unaware of any uneasiness in the house. His sleep had been fitful at best, interrupted as it was by the erotic images of Jessie. Connor dreamed of her body next to his, her soft skin over taut muscles, her hair wrapped around his fist as he pounded into her backside.

  “Shit.” He rubbed his face vigorously, trying to escape the images of Jessie eating last night. How she turned something so typically mundane, into something so seductive was beyond him. Her moans as she expressed her pleasure, her tongue licking food from her lips, sucking on her fingers, the images threatened to overtake him. He hadn’t even kissed her, touched her hair, or done any of the things that he wanted to. He was a paragon of self-restraint. And it was killing him.

  Between the images engrained in his memory from last night, and the sexy dreams he had had while sleeping, he forced his thoughts to turn to the unpleasant reminder of why he could not pursue anything with her.

  Brandy.

  The ex-wife who used anything and everything against him.

  She had taken what was most precious to him, and used all of her resources to keep him from it. When she grew tired of using her own resources, she had turned to his own peccadilloes, and used them against him. She and her attorneys, combined with unfathomable amounts of money, had succeeded in their efforts. Connor found himself trapped in a life where he was forced to live hand to mouth, deriving no pleasure from his existence, in fear of it being used against him. His only hope was to start from scratch, and make something of himself that someone could be proud of.

  Brandy had been the biggest mistake of his life.

  They had met at a bar, and had a whirlwind weekend of copious amounts of alcohol, illegal drugs, and wild sex. They had exchanged numbers, and said goodbye. A month later, he heard from her for the first time since that weekend. She was pregnant.

  Overjoyed at the prospect of fatherhood, Connor had proposed immediately, thinking it was the right thing to do. He was an investment broker, and had plenty of money to support her in a life of luxury.

  They spent the next eight months spending his money. They bought a house, furnished it, and lived the high life. When his daughter was born, Brandy experience a brief period of post-partum depression, but seemed to get over it rather quickly. Three months later, she was having an affair with a lawyer at one of the biggest law firms in Houston. When she confronted Connor with divorce papers, he was furious. She left. That was the last time he had seen his daughter.

  Twelve years ago.

  Brandy had told the courts he was a drug-using womanizer with anger management issues. The courts believed he was a danger to his daughter. Connor spent every last cent he had on his legal defense, but his lawyer didn’t have the clout her new boyfriend did, and the money was wasted. He sold his house, his car, cashed in his retirement, everything.

  The kicker was, even after he had given up, realizing there wasn’t anything he could do to change the courts’ decision, Brandy had continued to drag his personal life into the courtroom. For the first seven years, almost every month brought forth a new court order, or some sort of document stating Connor was unfit for parenthood, even visitation.

  Finally, Connor had decided to stop trying. He was throwing away money he could use to start over. Surely, someday, Madison would realize he was her father, somehow. Certainly, when she was a legal adult, he could contact her, and explain everything. By then, he would be a success again, somebody she would want to know. God knows what her mother had told her about him. He wanted to be able to prove Brandy wrong. He was over the feelings of revenge and retribution. Now he just wanted his daughter to know him.

  Music slowly worked its way through the fog of depressing memories.

  Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,

  Be it ever so humble there’s no place like home!

  Connor started, jumping up from his seat to find the source of the sound. It was tinny and raspy, as if from an old victrola. But he had been all over this house, and there was no victrola. Not even in the attic. There weren’t even any record players.

  A chill ran up his spine, as he rushed from downstairs room to downstairs room. When he started up the stairs, the music stopped abruptly, with a scratch, as if someone had pulled the arm off the record with force.

  Connor raced up the stairs, questioning himself as he did. His imagination. This was just his imagination. He hadn’t slept well last night. This was a sleep-deprived hallucination. He kept telling himself this, even as he walked into his bedroom and noticed every window in the room covered with a thick layer of condensation. He looked around warily. Going into the next room down the hall, he saw those windows had no condensation on them. He went from room to room, inspecting the windows, finding them all normal. When he went back into the master bedroom, his forearms broke out in goosebumps, and the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention. The windows were still covered in condensation, but the one over his bed had one word written in the fogged up glass: MINE.

  Connor felt the blood drain from his face, as he quickly grabbed some jeans and went to the carriage house to change clothes.

  Two hours later, Connor was still completely creeped out by his house, so he drove himself to Jessie’s farm. He needed something good in his day. His morning so far, had not been his idea of happiness, so he went somewhere that made him happy. Besides, he reminded himself she had invited him to help with the cheese today.

  When he pulled into the yard, he heard Blondie’s Heart of Glass blaring from speakers in the barn, so he started in that direction, determined to not sneak up on her.

  “Hello-o!” He called as he came in the doorway.

  She was seated as she had been the last time he was here, wearing her standard attire of cut-off shorts, muck boots, and tank top rolled up under her breasts. Her hair pulled up in a clip on top of her head, screamed at him to come release it. His concerted effort at controlling his breathing went in vain, as she looked up at him and grinned broadly.

  “Hey there! How are you doing this morning?”

  “I’m doing pretty good. How are you? You look good.” Why did he say that? Feeling like a dweeb, he said, “I mean, you look like you are doing good.” Yeah, much better.

  “Just give me a few minutes. I still need to milk Mama and Harriet after I finish up with Sugar, here.” Her milking had been continuous throughout this ent
ire dialogue, and he nodded at her, unable to speak. The carnal visions from the dreams the night before had invaded his mind, and all he could see was the two of them together, writhing in lurid bliss.

  He leaned against the wall, threading his thumbs through his belt loops, affecting a pose of nonchalance, hoping he was not drawing attention to the enormous erection springing to life. He watched her work, trying to squash the steamy thoughts racing through his mind as her able fingers milked the goat’s udder.

  “How long have you been raising goats?” He had to talk about something, or else he would make himself crazy.

  “I started eight years ago. My oldest are Mama and Anna Marie. The rest, I’ve either picked up, or they were born here. But Mama and Anna Marie are the first ones I got.”

  “Wow. You started this whole herd with two goats?”

  “Not really. I started with five. I had four females and a male. Traded the male a couple of times, to improve the stock. I lost two of the females though. One in birth, one to disease. Since I’ve licensed the dairy, though, I’ve been religious about vaccinations, and I’m present for almost every birth on the property.” She pointed to a cot on a shelf in the corner.

  “You sleep out here?”

  “When I’m expecting, yeah. I marked the other day on my calendar, when Samson got into the paddock, so five months from then, I’ll be staying out here.”

  “But that’s October. Won’t it be cold?”

  She shrugged, still milking. “Nah. Not too cold. It’s a comfy cot, and I’ve got blankets.” She finished with that goat, and with a scratch behind the caprine ears, she released her from the stanchion. Jessie took the milk to the refrigerator in the barn before clipping the lead on one of the brown goats still eating hay in the corner. “Come on, Mama.” She cooed, leading her over to the stanchion.

  “Do they enjoy the music?” Connor decided she must be listening to some sort of greatest hits of the eighties compilation, as the CD had switched from Blondie to Heart, and was now playing Def Leppard.