Men Like This

by Roxanne Smith

  Emily? No way. Dad? Nuh-huh. Angie? Out of touch for too long. Quinn would have to hash out everything to get her up to speed. Damn it, where was Nicholas when she needed him? What if Jack didn’t come back? What if he—

  The front door bursting open startled her into a gasp. Biscuit bounded toward her in a wriggling fury that nearly brought her to the ground. She laughed and rubbed his ears. She dared a glance at Jack, who’d come in more quietly.

  He wore his usual grin and held a small, unexpected bouquet of fall flowers in one outstretched hand. “For you. I passed a vendor. The pale yellow ones match your hair.”

  She tried to mask her relief. Not only had he come home, he’d returned bearing gifts. “Thank you.” She took them. “They’re gorgeous.”

  He followed her into the kitchen. “Have you eaten?”

  She set the bundle of orange and yellow flowers with tiny red ferns on the counter and hunted through cabinets for a vase. “I had a sandwich. There are still some eggs left. I can make you one.”

  “No, I’m fine. How about a pub crawl? A little walking, a little talking. Biscuit will act as our chaperone. You got some work done today, I hope?”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “I’m good for keeping a promise, if nothing else. The day crawled by, but I spent some time with my mum and Dawn. They’re both eager to meet you. I suspect neither one quite believes me.”

  She set a large jar onto the counter with a thud. “You didn’t leave because you were angry?”

  He sauntered toward her, reached around her waist, and picked up the jar. He turned it in his restless hands. “I’m not a man who walks away. I’m like Biscuit here, a total bulldog once I’ve got something in my maw. Three times I went to your office door to finish what we started, but I promised I’d let you work, not spend the day arguing. I left to prevent myself from doing something I’d regret. Like really pissing you off.”

  She took the jar from his fidgety fingers, filled it with water from the faucet, and handed it back. “A pub crawl sounds fun. If you’ll put the flowers in here, I’ll get ready.”

  He kissed her then, the same kiss he’d floored her with in the taxi, and pulled back enough to let his gaze drop to her lips. “Go on. While the night’s still young, yeah?”

  Biscuit ambled happily in front of Jack and Quinn on his lead.

  Jack allowed an entire city block of peaceful silence to pass by before bringing it up. He’d originally intended to avoid mentioning their argument, but he disliked dangling threads and untidy endings.

  No dispute was officially over until both parties had reached a place where they felt heard and understood. While he’d make his point quite plain, he’d neglected to give Quinn’s any consideration. And he’d called her a fool, a misstep requiring immediate reparations.

  “I always seem to be apologizing to you.” He skirted a sidewalk rubbish bin. “I was a real jerk this morning. I meant no disrespect, and I certainly don’t believe for one second you’re any kind of fool.”

  She pressed her lips together and nodded once. He counted cracks in the sidewalk, noted discarded cigarette butts and frowned at bits of trash while waiting for a reply long in coming.

  “No offense taken. Don’t worry about it.”

  What an American thing to say. “Too late. I’m a natural worrier, and Mum says I’m right to be.”

  Biscuit stopped to sniff a parking meter, and Quinn took the opportunity to make eye contact. “Your mom? You told your mom about our fight?”

  “Fight? You call that a fight? Nothing broken, no hospital visit? You forget I’ve got an Irish heart under this fancy British facade.” Some of the tension in his shoulders fled when she smiled. They started walking again, Biscuit’s nose guiding the way. “Mum’s good for good advice. She’ll tell me the truth rather than pamper my little feelings. Sometimes I think she forgets I have them.”

  Quinn snorted and draped her hand over his arm. “What did she say?”

  “Well, she’s got some strong ideas when it comes to Vickie. They never were friendly, exactly. Much like the majority of the press, Mum sits firmly on Team Clementine. Apparently, this applies to our personal disagreements, as well.”

  “Your mother hasn’t even met me. What if she doesn’t like me, either?”

  An utterly absurd idea. He offered her peace of mind, anyway. “She will. You aren’t Vickie, and right now that’s about all it takes.”

  Quinn paused and seemed to mentally toss something around. “Jack, did you tell Madeline that we’re . . . ?”

  “Together?” He put his hand over the one she had resting on his arm, shrugged and gave her the grin he used for getting out of trouble. He’d once been told it only worked for him and five-year-old children. “I didn’t disabuse her of the notion, no, but cut me some slack. I needed some means of redemption after she went on and on in regards to my intelligence. Or, rather, lack thereof.”

  She laughed. “Your mom called you stupid?”

  “In so many words, yes. It’s nothing new. She’s been insulting my cranial capacity since the first time I brought Vickie home to meet her. There was an incident. It’s quite a story. I didn’t do anything wrong, but I still feel like an ass every time I tell it.”

  He pulled in a great swallow of air. “It started when I had the brilliant idea to introduce my shiny new girlfriend to my mother. We had dinner together, the three of us, and I like to tell myself it went well, but in reality, the conversation was forced, and the atmosphere was suffocating. Mum likes to sit on the back patio after a meal and have a cup of tea, so I sent the ladies out and went to heat up the kettle. Apparently, on their way through the door, Mum’s wheel got stuck, jammed right up against the frame. What does my shiny new girlfriend do? She steps right around my mother’s wheelchair, of course, leaving Mum there rather than endanger her manicure to help dislodge her. To say Vickie and I went rounds over it is the understatement of my life.”

  Quinn’s mouth had fallen open. His had too when he’d come upon the scene with a tea tray in his hands.

  “She left your mother stuck there?”

  He nodded. “My mother’s been telling me I wouldn’t have gone through with the wedding. The ‘incident,’ as we so lovingly refer to it, speaks to Vickie’s true character. I made excuses for her at the time, but that’s who she is.” He cut his eyes to Quinn and caught her nibbling her lower lip. “I hope this alleviates any guilt you may have regarding my broken engagement.”

  “I’m not responsible for it, but I still feel like a roadblock.”

  He stopped walking and faced her. “I meant what I said this morning, every word. I don’t do second chances. Mistakes are mistakes, but selfish choices that hurt people are just that. With or without you on British soil, Vickie and I are no more and will never be again.”

  She gazed at him with eyes the color of steeped green tea. They couldn’t make up their minds, those eyes. Every shade of green in the paint store seemed to have found its way into her bright, intelligent orbs, from passionate olive to lively laurel.

  “I considered what you said.” She blinked and broke the spell. They were walking again. “I think you’re right. About Blake. How can you put your trust in someone who had no qualms about putting you through the wringer in the first place? If the one time didn’t render any consequences, where’s the incentive to avoid a second or third transgression? I’d constantly wonder and worry. That’s no way to live.”

  They reached their first pub, a small dive called Donovan’s. Jack guided Quinn to an outdoor table and ordered two pints of bitter. He let her settle before giving in to his anxiety. His reaction this morning owed but half its intensity to his feelings about Vickie.

  The rest was fear that Quinn still held out for a reconciliation with her ex-husband. Had he found her again only to lose her to Blake when the little sod grew tired of his mistress and wanted the real thing back?

  “What about for Seth’s sake?”

  Their pints were de
livered, and Quinn took a tentative sip of the strong ale. “Wow.” She grimaced. “Budweiser’s going to taste like spring water after this.” She sat up straighter. “Seth is the main reason I wouldn’t, actually. I might be crazy enough to risk my own heart twice, but what sane person lets their kid do the same? I’d survive another broken heart, but I’ll never let Seth go through the whole broken-family ordeal again. He came through the other side in one piece, but he’ll have his scars.” She sipped again. “We all do.”

  It answered Jack’s question but didn’t come close to being what he’d wanted to hear. “You’ve mentioned Blake isn’t overly interested in Seth. Why not go for full custody? You’ve got the means. I doubt you’d have to try too hard.”

  She sighed and glanced at her hands. “Dads are important.” The topic seemed to have taken the wind from her sails. “At least mine is, but Seth is bitter and Blake is preoccupied, I guess. Always has been.”

  “You reckon if forced to spend enough time together, they’ll eventually come ’round?”

  “I like to believe it, yes, but Blake is busy with his new family, and Seth is this inconvenient extra appendage they’re toting around and can’t wait to rid themselves of. He’s smart enough to realize it, too.” She covered her face. “Sometimes I want to kick my own ass for leaving him there. It’s what he chose, but maybe I should’ve forced the issue.”

  Jack waved away her concern. “What, give him a reason to resent both his parents? He ought to have at least one of you in his corner, shouldn’t he?”

  Before she replied, her phone bleeped from within the confines of her purse. “Oh, damn, I’m sorry. I try to leave the thing at home when I go out.”

  One of her odd quirks. “I noticed. It sort of defeats the purpose, though, doesn’t it? I mean, they even call it a mobile phone.”

  She ignored him and checked the screen. “It’s Blake’s landline. Probably Seth. I better take it.”

  Jack acquiesced with a carry on motion and took advantage of her divided attention to study her during the conversation. A roll of her glamorous eyes and a grievous glare cast his way told him Seth wasn’t on the other end, after all. Jack sat forward and strained to hear both sides of the conversation, but to no avail.

  “It’s none of your business who I’m with.”

  He almost failed to catch the low murmur.

  His chest tightened.

  From the sound of it, old Blake was already displaying hints of jealousy. Much as Jack liked being the instrument of torture, what did it mean to Quinn? Did she get warm and fuzzy on the inside when her ex confessed to caring about her new flame? Did the underlying hypocrisy hammer at her or fly right over her head?

  The call ended with Quinn’s puzzled examination of the mobile phone. “He hung up on me.”

  “Everything all right?”

  A sudden bright smile swamped her face. “Better than all right.”

  Jack’s whole body deflated. Did she seriously still have emotions for that wanker? He wanted to rip his little hairs out, he wanted to—

  “Seth is coming to stay with me.” She burst into a small staccato of joyful clapping and took another sip from her glass. “Blake and Kira got married this weekend. He was in one of his tizzies, so I didn’t get much detail, but they’re going on their honeymoon cruise in less than a month. Emily has a conference out of town, so they’re shipping Seth to me for a week.”

  Jack reinflated. Quinn was far too merry to be nursing any sore sentiments about Blake’s sudden marriage to his longtime mistress. “Fantastic. I’m excited to meet your son. He’s not at the brooding stage of his teenage years yet, is he? That’ll put a damper on things like nothing else.”

  “Oh, you won’t have any problems. He’s curious about you, too.”

  Getting better and better. “You’ve talked about me?”

  “Briefly. I had to explain the chaos. In my head, he’s this confused little boy, but it didn’t take him long to scrub the image from my brain. He said I’m like a real famous person now.” She shook her head and laughed. “He’s never understood my brand of fame. I’m known yet anonymous. If he’s photographed while he’s here, it’ll be the coolest thing to have ever happened to him.”

  What child didn’t dream of the spotlight? They outgrow it or they embrace it, but they all want it at some point. “Ah, his first real taste of glitz and glamour.”

  “Maybe I’m doing it wrong. Is the high-profile celebrity life the way to go?” Her smile didn’t quite hide the intentness of her question. The answer mattered, but he wasn’t sure what she needed him to say.

  In lieu of such insider information, he stuck to the truth. He swigged his bitter and absently rubbed Biscuit’s ears. “It’s work like any other job, but I suppose there are perks. I drive an incredible car, meet actors and musicians I’ve long admired. Beautiful women smile at me. It’s nice.”

  She bobbed her head. “Maybe that’s what made Vickie crazy with jealousy.”

  Unfortunately, not every situation was well handled with a joke. His serious reply seemed to catch Quinn off guard. “I’m not the type to go down that particular road. What’s behind those smiles is the desire for what I represent, not for Jack Alden Decker, who spends his down time with his crippled mother and lets the fancy car sit in a garage for weeks at a time because he likes to walk. Those women don’t like to walk. They go after people like to me so they won’t have to walk. With my newly gained perspective, I’m realizing Vickie is one of them. She’s after lifestyle, not love.”

  He couldn’t have missed her skepticism if he’d been blindfolded and facing the other direction. He raised his arms in surrender. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my pubs and I’ve been known to scrap when I’m in my cups, but that’s the extent of my bad-boy adventures.”

  She quickly dropped the expression he’d so easily read and flipped her hair in an effort to distract him, he surmised. Women and their hair. “Well, there should be at least a few benefits to balance out the negatives. Creeps following you everywhere, turning everything private into gossip fodder for the public. Not everything about it is glamorous.”

  “Not that you have much experience with that. You get the good stuff—the money, the awards, the public acceptance of your brilliance—and none of the hassle.” He offered her a smile, one part apologetic, one part amused and, he hoped, 100 percent endearing. “At least until you started keeping company with the likes of me.”

  Her immediate silence bothered him. Maybe she regretted what he’d done to her private life. But then she smiled and gave him a what-the-hell shrug. “It’s been a fair trade.”

  Chapter 13

  One more paragraph.

  Then she’d get dressed for her lunch date with Jack at the deli across the street. Quinn tapped away. Her muse was on fire after a restful sleep and a fantastic breakfast of leftovers.

  There. Finished. She studied the screen. Actually, there was time to polish off the chapter if she hurried and wore yesterday’s jeans again. No one would notice. Except Jack. Jack might notice. But would he care?

  Her heart tripped over itself when the front door opened and slammed shut. The sound reverberated through the apartment.

  Jack shouted for her. Her eyes snapped to the digital clock on the corner of the computer monitor. She still had ten minutes. Why was Jack home?

  “Quinn!” he shouted again. He burst into her office. His body language loudly announced his irate mood before he ever opened his mouth.

  She’d seen him in a tizzy when they’d argued a few days ago, but this was Jack Decker well and truly pissed off.

  Now that her curiosity was appeased, she wished it would go away. “What’s going on?”

  He shoved a rolled up tabloid from his back pocket into her hands and growled. “Read that rubbish.”

  Jack paced as she read Vickie’s latest lambaste. “Good grief. I’ve never even seen your bed. How did she catch us having sex in it?” She looked at Jack. “She’s out for blood. Wh
at’re you going to do?”

  Jack’s eyebrows snapped together. “Me? We’re in this together last I checked, and we’ll start by firing my publicist. I should’ve had some warning, been prepared instead of blubbering like an idiot when some arse stuck a microphone up my nose and asked me to verify Vickie’s allegations.”

  She didn’t enjoy his frustration but appreciated how it brought out the best of his Irish accent.

  He anxiously ran his hand over his head, the hair too short to run his fingers through. “This is insane. She’s insane. The cousin thing, sure, but this? This is going too far.”

  She gave him a tiny, helpless shrug. “I don’t get why this is more upsetting than anything else.”

  “It’s pure fabrication! The cousin bit was at least true, yeah? Embarrassing as hell to cop to but true.”

  Quinn slowly rose from her chair. “We chose to pretend we had an affair rather than try to deny rumors that seem all too easy to prove true. How is our lying different than hers?”

  His normally bright eyes went dark at her chastising. “I’m doing my best to get her off my back. I hoped if it looked like I’d moved on to a legitimate relationship with you, she’d leave well enough alone. Instead, she’s declared war.” He took a step closer, his eyes never straying from Quinn’s. “And who says it’s a lie?”

  A nervous laugh escaped her. “This was your idea, remember? We pretend—pretend being the key word here—until we part ways. You run off to Portugal to shoot your big movie, I go back to L.A. to be with my family, our lives go back to the way they’re supposed to be. This isn’t our reality. It’s a bubble of make-believe we’re temporarily inhabiting.”

  Jack’s expression morphed into one of exaggerated confusion. “Did I use the word pretend? I recall proposing we let the press believe we’d been together and continue to be, but what’s between you and me. . . .” He shook his head. “No, I never said we ought to pretend anything between us. Is that what you’ve been doing? Pretending when you’re with me?”

  “Well, what is it you’re doing, Jack?” Pretending harder than me. This wasn’t some role he’d win a television trophy for. This was her life. She crossed her arms. “You’re buying your own story.”