Whatever It Takes

by JM Stewart

  She expected another impish retort. Instead, the amusement in his eyes evaporated, a sudden, tense silence growing between them. His expression unreadable, he set his coffee cup behind him, pushed away from the counter, and made his way over to the table nestled in the breakfast nook. He bent for a moment to pet Fred, now asleep on the padded window seat, then straightened and snatched up the robe she’d flung over the back of a chair earlier.

  “Would you care to know why I love teasing you so much?” His tone a little too conversational, he returned to her, moving with the same, easy gait.

  “Please.” She waved a flippant hand in the air and rolled her eyes. “Enlighten me.”

  He stopped in front of her and set the robe on her shoulders. “Because I’m very aware of how much you lost last night, and teasing you always made you laugh. Out of all the things I miss about you, darlin’, I think I miss the sound of your laughter the most.”

  Whatever irritation she managed to muster deserted her on the quiet, defeated breath she blew out. This tender side of him always managed to reach out and grab her by the heart when she least expected it. Once again, the clear emotion in his voice and expression hit her as unexpected. Not once in the time since she’d left him had he ever told her he missed her.

  That’s what terrified her the most about living here again, how easily he could get to her. She’d discovered the hard way that loving him only led to heartache. Jackson Kade didn’t want a wife, a life partner. He wanted a trophy. Someone with which to fulfill the legacy his parents bestowed on him. His mother had told her as much when they married. Back then, Becca hadn’t believed a word the woman said, positive she’d played some sort of cruel game. His mother had never liked her and hadn’t bothered to hide it. Becca came from honest roots. Working class. Her family did well by itself, because they worked their tails off to make sure of it. She’d only seen her mother-in-law a handful of times, but the woman never hid the fact that she didn’t approve of their marriage. Or Becca.

  Now, she knew his mother was right. Jackson had proved it over and over again, every time he’d call from the office to tell her he’d be late and to not to wait up. When their last anniversary had come and he’d announced he had to go out of town on business, how much more proof did she need? Clearly, he’d only married her because she’d gotten pregnant.

  “How is irritating me going to make me laugh? And you miss me? Seriously? You sure have a funny way of showing it. I waited an entire month after I left for you to come get me. To tell me exactly that. That you missed me. But not once did you ever say it.” The words slipped from her lips weaker than she’d intended, full of all the pain still stuck in her chest. All because his hands had yet to leave her shoulders. His fingers kneaded the stiff muscles, slow, gentle, and torturous.

  The miniscule action only deepened the conflicting sensations swirling within her. Because his touch also soothed, and every time he did it, a tiny part of her caved, hoped, and when reality descended on her, like now, she wondered . . . why her? He could have his pick of women. Women who could be everything he needed.

  She was comfortable with herself, but she knew her limitations. She didn’t have the kind of luscious curves and long legs men drooled over. She was small, barely five foot four, and she had a boyish, muscular figure. No hips. No curves. Jackson was the first man to make her feel like a woman, to make her feel feminine and beautiful.

  “Our sixth anniversary would have been a month ago, did you realize that? Exactly a month ago yesterday.” His gaze settled on hers, dark and intense, boring holes through all of her defenses.

  The same look from yesterday, as if he had so much he wanted to say. Which made her wonder why he didn’t and brought up pain she wanted to forget.

  “Yes. I did, but if you noticed it, you certainly didn’t tell me about it. As usual.” Unable to stand the intensity of his gaze, she dropped hers. Only to find herself gaping at the very chest she’d ogled moments before. She couldn’t stop the longing from flooding her. One step would be all it took to close the small space between them. One step and she could lose herself in his warmth, his clean, musky scent, and the safety his embrace used to give her.

  The strength of the desire to do exactly that surprised her most. To go back to the time when they were happy. Except staring at him, her doubts rose to the surface all over again. Had they ever really been happy? Or had she convinced herself they were so she wouldn’t have to face the truth?

  Along with those thoughts came the reminders of why she had those doubts in the first place. All the nights she spent waiting for him to come home from work. The dinners she and Allie spent alone. He’d spent more time at work than he had with her and Allie. The beautiful, sweet, romantic man she’d fallen in love with had disappeared somewhere, lost in a workaholic’s routine. Over the years, the bitterness and pain had turned her into a person she didn’t like anymore. Insecure, hanging on every tiny little measure of intimacy he tossed at her.

  “Believe me, I noticed. I considered sending you flowers, but I knew you’d never accept them. Wasn’t sure I could handle you sending them back. Or discovering them in a trash can at the dojo.” Jackson’s voice flowed husky and rich as his hands slipped down her arms, the cool softness of the silk pajamas contrasting with the warmth of his skin. “You can make me sign my name on a piece of paper, Beck, but my heart still says you’re my wife. Believe me. I remember when our anniversary is. That was the day you left me.”

  A shudder raked the length of her spine, as much from his words as his touch. God, why couldn’t she push him away? Summon the anger she so desperately needed? Digging deep in her belly drew up nothing but long buried wants and desires.

  “Don’t do this to me, Jack.” She squeezed her eyes closed in a vain attempt to shut him out. “Not today. I have to go back to the wreckage that was my house and try and deal with the aftermath. Kyle called this morning. Do you know what started that fire? A damn shortage in the wires on my stove. It’s an old stove and one of the damn wires shorted out.”

  Didn’t he understand how difficult this was? Leaving him and abandoning her dreams for their future was the hardest decision she’d ever made.

  “Why are you doing this to me? Why tell me all this now? You didn’t even protest the damn divorce. Just signed the papers and sent them back. You couldn’t even be bothered to bring them back yourself. Why are you suddenly acting like you care?”

  He didn’t say anything for so long she wondered if he ever would. Something deep inside said she didn’t want to see what emotion played in the depths of his eyes. She couldn’t bear to see the emptiness she knew she’d find there, the permanent but very subtle wall he put up to keep everyone, including her, out.

  “Look at me, Becca.” One large, warm hand released her shoulder and cupped her chin.

  Despite the warning ringing in her head not to, she obeyed and opened her eyes, only to wish she hadn’t. So many emotions erupted in his eyes, she stood stunned. An echo of pain. Regret. Even the same need currently burning a hole in her stomach. The sight had all those hopes and dreams she shoved aside when she left him roaring to the surface again.

  “You being here isn’t easy for me, either. I’m doing the best I know how with this. But this doesn’t have to be hard. We can learn to get along.” He stroked his thumb across her chin, grazing her bottom lip. Whether on purpose or by accident, she didn’t know, but a shudder raked through her in response. Far too many months had passed since he’d touched her like this, so gentle and tender. Months since he’d looked at her like he truly missed her.

  She ached to believe he wanted her, loved her, but time and experience had taught her otherwise.

  “Would it kill you to smile at me every once in a while?” Although one brow arched in challenge, every emotion thrumming through her echoed back at her from the depths of his eyes. Regret. Fear. Need. All naked on his face, making him so muc
h harder to resist.

  Yes. It just might. She needed her anger. The day she left she’d had to harden her heart against him, otherwise she’d never survive. The man was her ultimate weakness.

  When she didn’t say anything, his body stiffened, his gaze darkening.

  “I have to say, Beck, I’m surprised at you.” His tone curt and full of disappointment, his hand dropped from her chin. Instead of putting distance between them, he gripped the lapels of the robe and tugged them tight around her. He held one side in place with a flattened palm against her stomach and jerked the other closed. “It’s not like you to back down from a challenge.”

  It didn’t escape her notice, either, that he’d just done it again. She’d asked a direct question and he’d carefully sidestepped around the issue.

  She stiffened her spine and arched a brow, deciding for the moment to let it go and follow his lead. “Are you challenging me?”

  “Yes, frankly, I am.” As he wrapped the belt around her waist and knotted it, he glanced at her. “Fact of the matter is, we’re going to be living together for a while, and I have no desire to fight with you for as long as you’re here. It’s not good for Allie.”

  Oh, now he wasn’t playing fair. She lifted her chin and furrowed her brow. “I can do it if you can. You just better not push your luck.”

  “Have you ever known me to push my luck?” He gave the belt a final tug before looking back at her. His eyes crinkled at the corners with his smug smile. “Now, do me a favor and keep this on. You’re less tempting this way.”

  He winked and pivoted away from her. As he strode for the kitchen entrance, Becca glared at his back. Damn the man. He’d won, and now he was gloating.

  He stopped at a small slip of countertop beside the doorway. “I want you to do something else for me.”

  She sighed. “What?”

  He retrieved his wallet from a small basket on the counter. His back to her and his head bent, he dug through it a moment before palming something, then tossed his wallet into the basket and returned to her.

  “Go shopping.” His expression blank and unreadable, he opened his fist.

  She blinked at the object seated in his palm. The green-and-white plastic mocked the pain swelling in her chest. Money? After everything this morning, he threw money at her? Okay, so he was right. She and Allie needed things. She’d need everything. Dishes. Silverware. Clothing. Basic necessities she’d taken for granted once. Like clean underwear. And he had more than enough money to buy her a new house and everything to fill it. But what she wanted . . . was him to show a measure of care. Instead, he was attempting to fix everything with money. Like always.

  She turned her back on him and marched to the fridge. “No thanks.”

  “No thanks? What do you mean, no thanks? I thought every woman loved to shop.”

  As she pulled out the carton of eggs, the sound of his bare feet on the floor moved closer. She quickly shut the door and turned but came up short. Jackson, as expected, stood right there. Ignoring the demand written in the lines of his face, she stepped to the left, attempting to go around him and cross to the stove, but he moved in front of her, blocking her path. He had the nerve to take the carton of eggs from her and put the credit card in its place.

  She shoved the card back and glared at him. “I do not need your help. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself and our daughter.”

  “Everybody needs someone sometimes, Beck.” His eyes dared her to acknowledge the truthfulness of his statement.

  Oh, now that wasn’t fair. This time she wasn’t backing down.

  “You don’t.” She folded her arms and arched a brow, tossing the challenge back at him.

  A wistful smile played at the corners of his mouth, his deep blue eyes smoldering, soft yet intense.

  “Once upon a time, I might have agreed with you, but I’ve had a lot of time to ponder that.” He aimlessly stroked her cheek, leaving her skin tingling in its wake and her breath halting in her lungs. “And I’m afraid you’re wrong.”

  Jarred from her intense reaction to his touch, Becca blinked. Denial raced through her mind like the quickening of her pulse. Surely he wasn’t implying he needed her?

  A heartbeat later, he dropped his hand and his gaze snapped to hers, those eyes focused and intent. Once again in control and leaving her off-balance. Whatever emotion she thought she saw in his eyes or heard in his voice disappeared, replaced by an infuriating calm. Jackson had a knack for keeping his head in an emergency. He used to awe her. Until she realized this was his way of shutting out his emotions and he had no intention of letting her in.

  “You have needs. Basic needs. Clothing, for one.” He arched a brow, lowering his voice. “Unless you plan to run around the house naked. Which would be perfectly fine with me, but I don’t think it’s appropriate in front of our daughter.”

  Once again he’d flipped emotions on her, reeling her in, and once again her body responded. The heat in his eyes had the same desirous warmth seeping through her.

  Unable to stand his taunting any longer, she latched onto the one emotion she felt safe with—anger. She could either allow the anger to surface or stand there and cry. So she threw her hands in the air. “God, I can’t believe you. How one man can be so clueless is beyond me.”

  Shooting him a pointed glare, she snatched back the eggs and marched across the room. She dropped the carton onto the stove a little too harshly and moved to a set of cabinets to her left.

  “Money doesn’t magically make everything all better.” She lifted onto her tiptoes and stretched an arm up over her head, swiping at a bowl out of her reach. “It doesn’t work that way. I lost more than my clothing last night. I lost everything. Things I can’t replace.”

  Memories she didn’t even know she missed until they were gone. Her entire karate portfolio and years of training notes. Their daughter’s first everything. Even pictures of him, of them, sealed in a box in the recesses of her bedroom closet because she couldn’t bring herself to toss them.

  “You’re right, you did, and I’m sorry as hell for that, but the way I see it, sweetheart, everything irreplaceable is currently in this house.”

  Becca froze, stunned to her toes. Surely she’d heard him wrong. The Jackson Kade she knew would never have uttered words like those. He always worried more about money than anything.

  She jerked her head around, shooting a confused frown over her shoulder. For the second time, the center of his chest was right there. She’d been too busy yelling at him to notice he crossed the room.

  “The only important thing is you and Allie weren’t inside when it caught fire.” His entire length brushed against her as he reached over her head to retrieve the bowl she needed. “You can buy new clothes and a new house.”

  She swallowed hard in a vain attempt to wet her desert-dry throat. A little voice in the back of her mind screamed to jab him in the ribs, run like the wind, and not stop until she’d locked herself in her room on the other side of the house. He’d taken a liberty she shouldn’t allow.

  Except she couldn’t move because every inch of him pressed against her back, from his broad chest to his long, lean thighs. His scent enveloped her and went to her head in a heady rush. Her entire body tingled with an electrified awareness.

  “But we can’t make a new Becca, and we can’t make a new Allie, either.” His soft breaths teased the hairs on the back of her neck as he set the bowl on the counter in front of her.

  Apparently he wasn’t done torturing her, for one hand slid over the curve of her hip and into the right front pocket of his robe. Before she could think to protest, he slid his hands onto her shoulders and turned her.

  “Go take a shower.” He steered her around the center island and across the kitchen. “Go raid my drawers again. I have sweats in there, bottom drawer if I’m not mistaken, that might be a bit big on you, but I�
�m sure they’ll work in a pinch. When we’re finished with breakfast, we’ll drop Allie off with Malia and the girls for a few hours. She’s tiny, like you. She might have something you could borrow until we can go shopping. She called last night, after you fell asleep, and she said she’d watch Allie while you and I go over the wreckage. Together. She said to tell you she’s glad you’re all right and not to worry. She wanted me to remind you that you’re not alone, and if you need her, to call her.”

  She planted her feet, stopping them several feet from the entrance, and shot a frown over her shoulder. “Together?”

  Yeah, she hadn’t missed that.

  “Mmm. I’ll be going with you, because I don’t think you should do that alone.” He released her shoulders, then swatted her backside, like she was an insolent child making a nuisance of herself. “Now go shower, because after breakfast, I’m going to want one, too. If you’ll excuse me, it’s six fifty-eight. Allie gets up at seven o’clock on the nose, and she and I always make breakfast together on Saturdays.”

  Although the light sound of his footsteps moved away from her, Becca remained frozen to her spot. The wooden floor cool and smooth beneath her bare feet, she stared at the white wall opposite her. It was all she could do. Stand and process. One minute she wanted to drop the man for being . . . well, Jackson. The next he was kicking her out of the kitchen, showing her sides of himself she would have sworn only a few months ago didn’t exist.

  She drew her brows together and glanced back over her shoulder. He now stood in front of the stove, cracking eggs into the bowl he’d gotten down for her. “Since when can you cook?”

  The man couldn’t cook to save his life. He’d always hired someone to do it for him. When they first met, he had a personal chef who filled his freezer once a week with individual meals he could microwave.

  A low chuckle rumbled as he began to beat the eggs with a wire whisk. “I can’t. Allie taught me how to make the eggs.” He shook his head. “She has to make the toast, though, ’cause I always burn it.”