by Summer Devon
She saw no evidence that anyone used the sub-zero fridge or the professional stove. But, except for the fact that the place was designed for a giant, the kitchen was not half bad. Janey could get used to spreading out in a place that large.
“This is a great place to cook,” she said, delighted to at last find something nice to say. “And that’ll matter because, um, I think I want to start my business much smaller.”
He examined her with narrowed eyes. “Why?”
“The baby.”
His scowled deepened. “Why do I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me?”
She cleared her throat. “And, well, you’re another reason, actually.”
“What do you mean?”
“If we’re married, I’m not going to take your money for my business.”
“What the heck do you mean?” He sounded flabbergasted. “Why?”
She shrugged and wandered to examine the dishwasher. Its metal interior was so shiny, she wondered if someone polished it. “Just makes me uncomfortable. I hate the thought that I’d get money from you. I mean along with all the rest. The insurance and stuff.”
He gaped at her as if she’d just announced she wanted to strip nude and prance through the fire hall’s Sunday night chicken supper.
She touched the tip of his high-bridged nose. “It’ll be fine. You don’t have to gawk at me as if I’m the first person who ever said no thanks to a loan.”
“It wouldn’t be a loan if we’re married.”
“See, that sort of bugs me even more.”
“And come to think of it, yes, you would be the first person to actually say no to money,” he added as he tagged along behind her out of the kitchen.
She wandered through the personality-free family room into a wide open semi-sun room. “What does Bea think of this place?” she asked at last.
“She hates it. But she would hate any house. She probably still thinks I should move back in with her.”
“What?” Janey’s distress about the horrible house was replaced by another, worse horror.
“Bea likes to have access to me and Jack twenty-four hours a day. She does not consider the fact that she left us for other people to mean we should not be waiting for her return.” He sounded amused. Even a little doting.
She didn’t try to hide the panic in her voice. “No.”
“I agree. No.”
She continued her prowl around the house, grateful he did not ask her if she liked it.
“What do you think about this place?” she asked at last.
He looked around the semi-sun room, the only one Janey considered pleasant and that was because of its view. The wide windows overlooked the woods behind the house.
“I hadn’t thought about it much,” he said at last. “It’s bigger than I need. And it’s not very pretty. But I don’t need pretty.”
“What do you need?” she asked. “Tell me.”
He thought for a while. “I don’t actually need anything. But I care about people more than houses, if that’s what you mean.”
“Jeez, Toph I don’t know what I mean. Except maybe, where’s the passion? Where’s the beauty?”
He grinned at her and she watched a now familiar glow come to the even heavier lidded eyes. The glow instantly made her heart race at the same time it warmed her center. He took a step toward her. His hands wrapped around her waist. The man was large enough to make her feel like she had a trim waist, bless him.
“Why, lookie here. I found some passion. And beauty.” He bent to kiss her.
Within minutes they were rolling around on the dull oatmeal-colored carpeting. At least the rug was soft against her naked, squirming back.
Afterward, as she lay in his arms, Janey stared into the planes of his face, the lovely dramatic eyebrows. He had a point about passion and beauty. With those features to stare at, she really didn’t need much else to decorate her life. But still…she had to say it.
“Toph, I don’t.” She took a deep breath. He watched, waited. “Toph, I can’t… I really…” She let out the breath.
“Hate the house?” He finally finished her sentence for her. “Fine. Go buy another one. I want a pool, I want to be near Cynthia and I want a couple of extra rooms. You decide on the rest.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Why not?”
“Maybe money again?” She tried that idea on for size. Not entirely. More like power. He would be indulging her by letting her buy a house, but he held the power. If he got bored, or something else happened along, she might be dumped at the curb. She wasn’t sure she could trust a man to plan for a future if he didn’t even flinch when fate rolled him flat. She waved a vague hand. “Hey, it’s probably something in me. Pride, stupidity—I don’t know. But I got it in spades, Toph. And I can’t ignore it.”
He groaned softly, not an impatient sound in the least. She even thought it might be passionate. And he pressed his mouth over hers, probably to distract her, but she decided it was too marvelous and tender a kiss to protest. She got lost in the kiss for a long while, but once she found her way back out she continued.
“Maybe this living together after marriage thing isn’t such a big deal. Maybe we could work on something else. Some kind of arrangement. I stay in my apartment. You stay here. Something like that.”
He grew very still. She could sense a shift in his face though he did not stop gazing down at her. His eyes narrowed and grew darker.
“No,” he said at last. Light, soft, but final. She waited to feel her usual intimidation by the power of the man, but no, instead she felt an interesting burst of energy in her heart.
Aha. The next battle had begun. Let’s see how you win this one, buddy, she thought. And she found she was grinning. In part because she liked a good confrontation about something real rather than the strange nonsense she had shifting around inside her. And also, she had to admit, she secretly liked the idea that Toph appeared to want to live with her. That made her want to smirk. Living with another adult at this point should have been a suffocating thought—and the idea of living in this house, horrifying. But still. Her smile grew broader.
He looked back at her, an inscrutable, tiny smile on his mouth. Nope. He didn’t scare her just now. He wasn’t so ruthless.
She should have known better.
Chapter Sixteen
Janey came through the door after a long day with the temp agency, showing model homes in a dreary Realtor’s subdivision. The phone was ringing and she lunged at it. Oddly enough, it was another Realtor who hoped Ms. Carmody could spare a couple of hours the next day.
“I’m sorry, I only work through Number One Temps,” she said.
“I’m the one who should apologize.” The woman’s pleasant voice was southern. “I obviously did not make myself clear. I wish to show you a few houses and definitely want to spend some time with you first. You know, to get a feel for your likes and dislikes.”
Toph.
“Miss, uh…”
“Please. Call me Ellen. I’m Ellen Roscow.”
Janey knew the name—she’d seen it plastered on more than half the for sale signs in the region. Top Seller Ellen Roscow.
“Let me guess, Mr. Dunham told you I was in the market for a new house?”
“Why yes, I thought you knew I would call, Ms. Carmody. Oh mah. I’m so embarrassed.”
Miss Roscow didn’t sound the least embarrassed. And if Janey thought Toph was hard to shake off, well, he wasn’t in the same league as Ellen Roscow.
“How would you describe your favorite style of architecture, Ms. Carmody?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Roscow. I really am not inters—”
“Please. Do call me Ellen. I believe Toph mentioned that you would like a place with a pool but as I tell clients, pools can be built whereas it’s not as easy to find the perfect house. Victorian, perhaps?”
“Pardon?”
“I just wonder if you prefer Victorians. You seem to have a Vict
orian air.”
“You can tell over the phone?”
“I have an unerring ear. I imagine a funny little house with turrets and gingerbread and a wonderful front porch. What do you think?”
The woman had her pegged. Janey cleared her throat. “Well actually, I’ve always been partial to those peculiar houses with…um.”
“Personality!” Miss Roscow’s voice crowed. “You want a house that has personality. Yes! This will be fantastic. I just sold some dreary new colonials. Good money, but this kind of search is much more fun. I can hardly wait. And I should tell you that I always give Toph’s friends discounts on my fees.”
“He helped you start your business, I suppose?”
“Why, of course.” The woman tittered. “He’s been a very good friend.”
Whoa, Janey heard some interesting undertones in that laughter and statement. She definitely would take the time to meet Miss Roscow.
She dialed the number of the temp agency. She would take another day off, but she no longer felt guilty. They were the ones who didn’t give her insurance. And if she was going to work without insurance, she’d rather work for Lindy or even Beth. Okay, maybe not Beth.
Tall, slender and red-haired Ellen Roscow wore a soft lavender sweater that was probably cashmere, dark trousers and pearls. She looked the picture of poised and polished Southern womanhood. A deceptive picture because, in fact, she was a force of nature. She dragged Janey from house to house, and kept watch on her every moment, gauging every reaction. By the third house, Janey had lost track of what she’d seen, but the Realtor was delighted to remind her.
“Enough,” Janey cried after the fifth house, a cottage that was so authentically Olde English it had a purposefully crooked chimney and tiles that mimicked thatch. “Can’t we stop for lunch?”
Ellen put a manicured hand on Janey’s arm. “Oh honey, I am sorry if I ran you down. I do tend to get carried away. I just adore my job.”
Janey liked Ellen, though the woman was West Farmbrook to the tips of her Gucci loafers. She laughed easily and seemed genuinely enthusiastic about selling houses. She seemed to be the kind of person who loved whatever she did. Janey did not even resent the fact that Ellen was slender, poised and teetering on the edge of beautiful.
They ate at an upscale singles bar in the mall. Ellen waved at the bartender and didn’t even open a menu to order her “lavaburger”.
“So you come here often?” Janey asked.
Ellen laughed so hard the upturned tip of her genteel nose turned pink.
“What’s so funny?’
Ellen dabbed carefully at her eyes. “Don’t you know? Men really do ask that. Can you believe it?”
She daintily blew her nose on a tissue she pulled from her Kate Spade purse. “Yes, sorry to say, I come here, though not often. Unfortunately I am back on the singles scene. How about yourself, Janey? Are you seeing anyone?”
“Sort of. Yes.” That was as much as she could bring herself to say.
“Lucky you.”
The waiter plunked down their sandwiches, which looked mediocre at best. Janey flipped back the bun to examine the “secret recipe sauce”. Probably watery barbeque sauce from a can mixed with coleslaw from another can. Boring.
Ellen sipped the last of her glass of wine. “I had a very nice thing going until six months ago, but he wasn’t interested in marriage.”
She smiled reminiscently, and Janey was intrigued to see Ellen’s eyes grow misty. “I miss him. Especially in bed.”
Oh boy. The woman was a sex-and-tell type. Janey took a bite of her sandwich and waited. Sure enough Ellen continued, wistfully looking into her wine. “I mean first off, he has so much money to spend on a girl, which I appreciate. And in bed he’s so gifted. So, ah, proficient. Umm hmmm.”
She smiled. “And the body. He swims often, so he has quite a nice physique.”
Thank goodness Janey had swallowed the mouthful of chicken sandwich or she would have choked. Could the woman be talking about Toph?
Ellen drained the glass and patted her lips with a napkin. “Some mighty fine equipment too.”
Janey didn’t say anything. Perversely tortured and fascinated, she wanted to hear more.
Ellen twisted the glass and ran her finger up and down the stem. “But he wasn’t perfect in bed…no, no. And out of bed was a problem too. He’s got a little girl, well, teenager really. It’s so hard to get men with kids to make time, you know? He worked for himself, so at least we could meet in the middle of the day on occasion.”
Janey couldn’t hold back. “Um, Ellen, would you be talking about Mr. Dunham?”
She giggled and blushed. “Oh mah. I really do have to stop drinking wine. And at lunch too. Bad girl.”
That probably counted as an answer.
Janey thought about her time with Toph and marveled. What the heck was wrong with him in bed? She considered defending him, but unlike Ellen, she didn’t care to broach the subject of her own sex life, especially not with a woman she’d just met a few hours earlier and who’d recently been boinking her future husband.
A stab of indignation hit her. What were these people thinking, sleeping around like this? There were diseases out there. She eyed the Realtor, who at least looked pretty darned healthy. A healthy, friendly blabbermouth.
To give her credit, at least she wasn’t discussing other women’s private matters, not that she was aware of, anyway.
Ellen ripped up her cocktail napkin and twisted the scraps. “Ah well. I miss him, but I suppose in many ways I could find a better man.”
Sour grapes, Janey reflected.
Ellen went on, “The man just wasn’t expressive, and I like that in a lover.”
“Expressive?”
“You know. I like a man who’s a little wilder and maybe a little rambunctious. He was always so in control.”
Toph?
Janey remembered the power of their lovemaking. He’d seemed surprised. Was it true he hadn’t lost his mind before?
Well, well. Despite the fact that Janey felt slightly sick at the thought of Toph sleeping with another woman, and even more disturbed by the fact that the sick feeling might be jealousy, she couldn’t help an inner smirk. She only hoped it wasn’t reflected on her face.
Ellen picked up her knife and fork to daintily cut up her sandwich. She tittered. “God. I am sorry. Give me so much as a sip of wine and I go on about my sex life or lack thereof. I am so very raunchy.”
Janey had to grin at those words coming out of the mouth of the immaculately dressed and coiffed woman. “No, of course not. I mean, no problem. So ah, how long ago did you and Toph break up?”
“A few months ago.” She took a bite, patted her mouth with a napkin, and finally looked over at Janey, who at once dropped her gaze down at her shoe. Something in Janey’s face, or maybe the way she wouldn’t look up, made Ellen go suddenly silent. A minute later, “My goodness. Janey. Are you…? Oh my. Did I just do something very stupid? Are you and Toph ah…?”
“Well. Don’t worry about it,” Janey said, and wondered if the Realtor was putting on an act of surprise. Maybe she liked to torture Toph’s new girlfriends. Girlfriends, plural? Janey felt the twist of sickness again.
“Oh my gawd!” Ellen dropped her silverware with a clatter. She covered her eyes with a red-nailed hand and moaned. “Honey. I am so sorry about my big mouth.”
No, Janey decided the other woman’s shocked reaction was genuine. She hadn’t known about Janey and Toph.
Ellen pushed her shoulders back as if girding herself for an unpleasant task. Her voice dropped low as if the empty bar was filled with spies. “Janey. I like you. I-I really like Toph too, despite everything. But he’s not the marrying kind. He told me he would never marry unless there was a good reason, like a business reason. And never, ever a word about love. Even if it means I lose your business, hon, I just want to warn you. Don’t let him break your heart.”
“Thanks,” Janey said weakly.
She turned the conversation back to houses, hoping Ellen would launch into the subject. Yes, she did, but with less enthusiasm, and there was no doubt the woman kept shooting glances at her.
At last Janey reassured her, “I promise, I really don’t mind what you told me. And I swear I won’t say a word to anyone else.”
“Thank God.” Ellen puffed out her cheeks with an exhalation of relief. She snapped open her laptop. “Me and my big mouth. I owe you big time, hon.” With another puff, a nervous glance at Janey and a “Whoa, mama,” she was back to business.
Janey hardly paid attention to the jittery energy of the Realtor. She was more interested in that description of Toph’s lovemaking. Mechanical man? Not hardly. The thought of Toph in bed made her wish she was actually there with him. Right now. Just to prove to herself that he was more than expressive enough. Perhaps to show how little she cared about the fact that Roscow had slept with him. A modern sort of woman, she could handle this situation, and wished he was there to witness her doing such a fine job of being mature.
It seemed a bit sad for his sake that he did not care about love in marriage. Maybe it was good he didn’t do the falling-in-love thing. She was fairly certain she didn’t either.
At the end of two more hours of trailing after Ellen through houses, she called it a day.
Ellen leaned over and gave her a big kiss that left a pink lipstick mark on Janey’s cheek. “You are a darling woman. I think we’ve established what you like. We can start to look in earnest. What kind of time frame are we talking about?”
Looking in earnest? What had they been doing all this time? Looking in jest? Well, as far as Janey was concerned, yes, actually.
“Any old time.” Janey waved a vague hand. She did not want a house. But she wasn’t about to admit that to Hurricane Ellen. Funny that Hurricane Ellen and Tornado Toph didn’t storm in bed.
