by Julie Blair
“Of course I am.” Carla’s face brightened and Jamie was glad she’d agreed.
“I should go home and clean up—”
“You can shower here. Come on, guest bath is this way. I’m sure I have a T-shirt that will fit you.”
*
Carla tried not to think of a naked Jamie in her shower as she did the dishes. And then as she sipped a third cup of coffee she didn’t need, her hands trembling as she leafed through a cooking magazine, her mind wandering into versions of a shower fantasy. Maybe she was reading too much lesbian fiction, but her heart couldn’t resist a hopeful flutter—Jamie, her couch, a bowl of popcorn between them, maybe the accidental brush of their fingers.
She shook her head, disgusted with herself. She’d made her uncomfortable with the hug. She’d pressured her into staying. Boundaries, always boundaries. She was sick of them. She looked out at the flats of purple pansies and yellow Iceland poppies she’d bought to cheer herself up. Was this her new life—gardening and book clubs, dating people she’d never fall in love with, cooking for people she couldn’t keep?
“Thanks for the T-shirt.”
Carla sprang out of her chair and the magazine fell to the floor. Sexy was the only word her mind would offer as she looked at Jamie. Her face was flushed, hair damp, strands curling over her ears and forehead. The V-necked blue T-shirt was too tight in all the right ways. Sure her face was beet red, she collected her cup and hurried to the kitchen. “Think I’ll take a quick shower, too. Make yourself comfortable. There’s more coffee if you want.”
Carla took more care dressing than she knew was sensible, choosing a sleeveless peach blouse she always got compliments on, putting on her favorite gold bracelet and a touch of makeup and dab of perfume. This wasn’t a date but she could pretend. It was just one afternoon and it was her birthday.
Jamie was sitting at the patio table, and Carla halted in the doorway as her heart clutched at the rightness of Jamie in her home. She checked her phone again as Carla approached. Something was bothering her, but she was afraid to ask again. Jamie looked up, her eyes sad and the smile strained as she put her phone back in her pocket.
“So what are your favorite movies?”
“I’m hopelessly addicted to romantic comedies.” Carla sat and crossed her legs. It was safe for her thighs to touch now. She’d taken care of the ache between her legs in the shower, coming to an image of her wet body sliding against Jamie’s. Fantasies weren’t breaking any rules.
“Romantic comedies, huh.” Jamie rolled her eyes.
“You can never have enough romance.”
“I’m more of an adventure, thriller kind of gal.”
“Ahh, you want a little action with your kissing.” Carla’s heart broke into a rhythmic thumping. She remembered those kisses. “If you humor me today, I’ll humor you on your birthday.” She gathered up the placemats and walked back inside. “When is it?”
“April sixth.”
“That’s Lissa’s birthday.”
“Wow. Easy for you to remember,” Jamie said, as she followed Carla into the house.
Carla pulled a plastic box from under the TV stand and set it on the kitchen counter. “My favorite movies,” she said, as she lifted the lid. “I usually just pick one at random. Why don’t you do the honors while I fix popcorn.”
Jamie groaned. “On top of blueberry pancakes?”
“You can’t watch a movie without popcorn. Those are the rules.” Carla put a bag of Orville Redenbacher in the microwave and butter in a pan on the stove.
“You’ve Got Mail is the winner.”
“Don’t look so horrified. Have you seen it?”
“Nope.”
“You’re probably the only person on the planet who hasn’t.”
The microwave dinged, and Carla poured the popcorn into a bowl and stirred in the butter. She put the movie in and claimed her usual end of the couch, tucking her feet under her and setting the popcorn next to her, shamelessly forcing Jamie to sit close to her.
“I confess to having a bit of a crush on Meg Ryan,” Carla said, as the movie began. “Is that a lesbian thing?”
“I have no idea.”
“Some expert you are.” Carla threw a piece of popcorn at Jamie.
“How many times have you watched this movie?” Jamie asked, as Brinkley hovered around the kissing couple and the closing credits ran.
“Why?”
“You quoted half the dialogue with them.”
“Oops. I usually only do that in private. Pick another,” Carla said, as she retrieved the jar of tea she’d set out in the sun. She knew she was pushing the boundaries but didn’t care. She made another bag of popcorn and filled glasses with ice.
Jamie was checking her phone again when she walked back into the living room. “What did you pick?” She set the iced teas on the coffee table and pointed to the glass on the right. “That’s yours—extra sugar and lemon.”
Jamie stared at the tray, an odd look on her face, as she held up the movie case.
“French Kiss.”
“Huh?” Jamie’s head snapped up.
“The movie.” Carla took the DVD from her. “Back-to-back Meg Ryan. My lucky day.” The afternoon sun was coming in the French doors right into Jamie’s eyes. Carla set the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and motioned Jamie to scoot over. “Or you could put on your sunglasses.” Jamie didn’t respond to the teasing like she usually did. Why wouldn’t she talk about what was bothering her? She yawned as she slid over and helped herself to a handful of popcorn.
“How can you not like romantic comedies?” Carla asked, after the kiss-on-the-train scene, looking over at Jamie. Her eyes were closed and her lips were parted. Her hands lay palms up in her lap, a piece of popcorn between her thighs. “Jamie,” Carla said, softly, and touched her arm. Jamie sighed but didn’t move. Asleep. Her head fell to the side, and Carla knew it was a sore neck waiting to happen.
Putting her arm across Jamie’s shoulder she pulled gently until Jamie curled up on the couch, her head in Carla’s lap. What had made her so exhausted? Jamie’s chest rose and fell in shallow, even breaths. She stroked her fingertips through Jamie’s hair. Jamie mumbled something and draped her arm over Carla’s thigh. Shock waves of desire shot through Carla’s body, and that tingly feeling launched from her thigh and raced everywhere. Could she survive the rest of the movie with Jamie asleep on her lap?
*
Jamie closed her fingers around something soft. Her head was on a pillow and she smiled as she opened her eyes. That nap. She was on her side and a movie was on the TV.
“Did you have a good nap?”
Carla’s voice. Carla’s lap. Jamie bolted upright. Her knee hit the coffee table and the iced-tea glasses fell with a thud, sending ice cubes all over. She started to get up, but Carla stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
“I’ll get a towel.”
“I’m so sorry, Carla.” When did she fall asleep, and how did she end up on Carla’s lap?
“Don’t be silly. It’s just ice cubes.”
Jamie’s mind was fuzzy from sleep and her body felt hot. What time was it?
“I guess you needed the sleep.”
“I’m…”
Carla stopped wiping up the spilled tea and looked at her. “Won’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”
Jamie looked away from those eyes that so affected her with their kindness. “It’s been a rough couple days.”
“The meeting will be over by this time tomorrow and you’ll be vindicated. You’re almost out from under it.” Carla’s voice was so sure, so comforting.
“That’s not it,” Jamie said, in a voice that sounded as defeated as she felt.
“What then?” Carla sat down next to her.
Loneliness and fear collided, and unwanted tears filled her eyes. “My house,” she said, in a whisper. “The IRS put a lien on my house for back taxes. I’ll never be done with this mess.”
Carla touched Jamie’
s back.
“And I finished going through the patient files yesterday.” Jamie laughed bitterly and fought the urge to relax into Carla’s hand. “I added it up. Just with what we could trace it’s ninety-three thousand dollars for last year alone.” Carla was silent and her hand stilled on Jamie’s back. “You knew.”
“Suspected.”
“That bitch!” Jamie surged to her feet, anger searing through her. Saying the damage out loud made it painfully real. She stormed to the kitchen. Her business…her relationship…her house…and God knew what else…all in jeopardy because of Marjorie. Her breath caught in her chest when Carla rubbed in a slow circle between her shoulder blades. “I’m going to lose everything.”
“No, you’re not. I’ll mortgage my house if I have to,” Carla said, fiercely. “You will not lose your house, you will not go bankrupt, and your patients will not be left without their doctor.”
Jamie squeezed her eyes shut, her thoughts in turmoil, her awareness focused on the hand on her back, stealing the reassurance Carla offered. “You’re not going to mortgage your house. I created this mess—”
“No, you didn’t.”
The strength of Carla’s voice infiltrated her, collecting all the worry and anxiety, soothing the broken pieces of her heart.
“Jamie, look at me.”
The first thing Jamie saw was Carla’s eyes. Always Carla’s eyes—the kindness and understanding she was used to but something more. Jamie’s heart jumped into her throat. Carla’s eyes sparked with fierceness, then darkened with…Jamie groaned. She knew what Carla wanted. Carla’s waist slid into her hands and she was lost in the soft compliance beneath her fingers. She trembled, her eyes locked on Carla’s, as her body gave in to the desire in those eyes.
Carla cupped the back of Jamie’s head, and her breath came hot and fast against Jamie’s mouth. She moaned when Carla’s lips met hers. Desire shot through her and she opened to the kiss. Carla’s mouth took hers, gently at first, then not so gently. Boundaries dissolved as the kiss took on a life of its own, hot and alive and sparking with electricity. Passion ignited and they clung to each other as their moans became one.
With Carla’s lips commanding hers, with Carla’s tongue in charge, Jamie surrendered. She wrapped her arms around Carla’s waist, sucking their centers together. She fought to explore Carla’s mouth as hers was explored. Their mouths tasted of butter and salt and need. The kiss was everything she remembered and new sensations all mixed together.
Jamie’s heart pounded, pushing desire through channels that welcomed it. Carla’s hand slid down the side of her neck, her fingers rested on her bounding pulse, then moved lower to the curve of her breast. Carla moaned as she rubbed her thumb over Jamie’s nipple. It hardened, and arousal tumbled to Jamie’s center. Carla pinched her nipple. Pain pricked the cocoon of lust, and awareness burst through. She pushed against Carla’s chest. “I can’t,” she said, in a strangled voice as Carla kissed her way down Jamie’s neck.
“I can’t.” Jamie choked out the words again. Carla’s mouth was so warm against her skin, and she trembled with the need to arch her head back, to give in to the touch that was igniting her. Breathing hard she ducked under Carla’s arm and backed away until she hit the counter. They stared at each other over the expanse of Carla’s kitchen and twenty years. Carla took a step toward Jamie. Her face was flushed, her erect nipples visible through the blouse, her eyes glazed. She took another step. Jamie made a whimpering sound. Carla stopped and blinked, then blinked again. The desire in her eyes dissolved.
“I’m sorry,” Carla whispered, her chest heaving.
Jamie’s legs were jelly as she bolted for the door.
*
Carla paced in her living room, trembling with leftover desire. She turned off the movie and the room fell silent. Lust retreated and regret wrapped around her like a corset, squeezing the breath out of her. She’d taken what she shouldn’t. She knew Jamie well enough to know honor and responsibility were the cornerstones of who she was. She’d kissed a woman she knew wasn’t available. She had to fix this. She reached for her phone, startled when it rang. “Jamie?”
“Sorry to disappoint you, honey. I’m running a few minutes late for dinner.”
“Oh, Mike, I did something awful,” Carla said, as tears blurred her vision.
“What’s wrong? You sound like you’re crying.”
Carla slumped to the couch, and the story tumbled out through ragged sobs and cold self-reproach. She’d lose Jamie forever, and not even Mike’s comforting words could make her believe otherwise.
*
Jamie stumbled into her house and headed straight for the liquor cabinet. A drink to calm down, wait for Sheryl, fix her favorite dinner, put her favorite CD on, and this would all go away. She laid it out like a treatment plan. She could fix this. She fumbled the top off the bottle of Wild Turkey, too ashamed to drink her father’s Scotch. Pulling the fiery liquid into her mouth, she held it there to burn away the taste of Carla. Some dribbled down her chin and onto her shirt—Carla’s shirt. Ripping it over her head she tossed it to the floor.
She paced the living room, conflicting thoughts chasing her from one end to the other, as she tried to corral her emotions. There was no way to make this go away. Yes, there was. Carla would have to go. She couldn’t be trusted. She could fix this. Sheryl deserved better. She’d be a better partner. She’d never run again. She’d never eat pancakes again. Or popcorn. Or watch a romantic comedy. She’d go shopping any time Sheryl wanted. She ran through the list as if beads on a rosary.
Tears stung her eyes and she couldn’t stop the trembling. Images and sensations bombarded her—Carla’s eyes sparking with desire, soft lips, her body in Jamie’s arms. Her stomach clenched and she put her hand over it as she tumbled to the couch. She checked her watch. Wait for Sheryl. Fix dinner. Beg forgiveness. This would all go away. It wasn’t too late to save what mattered.
Jamie pulled out her phone. Call Sheryl. If she didn’t answer at least she’d hear her voice. There was a message. How had she not heard the ring? She listened to the message, trembling at the coldness in Sheryl’s voice. “I’m not coming home tonight. I can’t believe how irresponsible you’ve been. You’ve jeopardized everything.” She listened to it again and crumpled onto her side. Sheryl wasn’t coming home. There’d be no fixing this.
She called her back, praying for Sheryl to answer. “Please…please come home. I need you. I’ll make everything right. I’m so sorry. Please, Sheryl.” She waited as if Sheryl’s voice would fill the silence. “Come home…please.” Holding her head in her hands, she sobbed.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Jamie stood next to Pete in the elevator as they rode to the fourth floor of the Santa Clara County District Attorney’s office. Her hands trembled as she tugged at the cuffs of her navy blazer. Too little sleep the last few nights, too much coffee this morning. Her heart pounded and she forced herself to slow her breathing. She’d avoided Carla all morning. She’d fired her CPA for letting the IRS situation get out of control. Now she needed her mind clear and focused on the meeting. The briefcase in her hand was full of evidence of her innocence and Marjorie’s guilt. She’d finally have her justice.
Jamie tapped her fingers against her leg as she waited for the door to open. By tomorrow everything would be back to normal. She’d go back to the office and thank Carla for everything she’d done and tell her it wasn’t going to work out. Flowers were on their way to Sheryl’s office, and she didn’t care how she explained them. When this meeting was over she’d call her with the good news and then go home and fix a romantic dinner. She wasn’t going to lose her business or her house or her relationship.
Stepping off the elevator they presented themselves to a woman behind a desk, who led them to the end of the corridor. Opening half of an imposing double oak door for them, she asked if they’d like anything to drink.
“Coffee, please,” Pete said.
“I’m fine,” Jamie said
. Two steps into the office she stopped when she saw the woman rounding the desk to greet them. Anne Clayton was an impressive figure, tall and trim with short dark hair. Jamie remembered the piercing brown eyes that didn’t miss anything. She was high up in the DA’s office and had been a patient. Jamie relaxed a little. It must be good news.
“Dr. Hammond, please come in. Pete, it’s nice to see you again.” Anne shook their hands and pointed to chairs in front of her desk.
“Jamie, please. How are you, Anne?”
“Overworked and underpaid,” Anne said, her voice edged with sarcasm. “But my back is great. Have a seat and let’s get started.”
The assistant returned, with coffee. “No calls,” Anne said, as she stirred cream into hers.
Jamie tried to relax into the chair, but Anne was focused on her in a way that made her nervous. She crossed her legs and touched the briefcase next to her.
“Dolores Baker will be joining us. She’s officially in charge of the investigation. I wanted to meet with you first.”
Anne’s voice was commanding but not loud, and Jamie could imagine her dominating a courtroom. Maybe she’d be prosecuting Marjorie. She wanted her to pay for the destruction she’d wreaked on her life.
“I didn’t know about this until two weeks ago. I primarily oversee cases involving violent crimes. If I had known I would have involved myself sooner.” Anne paused to sip her coffee.
Jamie relaxed a little. If Anne had taken a personal interest in the case it must be good news. Tomorrow she’d have her life back.
“I want to go on record that I have no doubts about your honesty and integrity. It’s typical at the beginning of an investigation of this nature to look at everyone involved. You’ve been cleared of any personal wrongdoing, and from this point on you’ll be treated as the victim of a crime.”
