‘She told me about the social media campaign you created for her. She didn’t seem to think that was inferior. On the contrary, she said you were very talented and she was very proud.’
Couldn’t squeeze a word out.
‘You’re the only one who sells you so short, you know, Evangeline.’ He looked at me for a long moment. ‘Anyway, it was a great night, and we raised a motza. There should be some good photos of Chloe and me in the weekend papers. Maybe even one with your mother.’
Weekend papers – just the mention made my heart pound. Which was an excellent reminder of why it was best for Jack to stay out of my life.
‘And Marcus didn’t mind, obviously,’ I said.
‘Marcus understands how these things work.’ Jack got to his feet, walked over to the window, stared out. ‘You like Marcus, don’t you?’ he asked.
‘Sure – what’s not to like?’
Jack shrugged, turning to face me. ‘He’s a celebrity – like me. You seem to have us in different camps, though.’
‘That’s because you are in different camps. He’s a celebrity here. You’re a celebrity everywhere. And he – Well, I don’t see much of him, really.’
‘You don’t see much of me, either.’
‘Not … lately. But it’s different. I guess. I mean, it’s easier with – I mean …’ Nope I was giving up speaking. Perhaps forever.
He watched me, quiet and still. And then he shrugged again. ‘Anyway, the two of them are coming on Sunday.’
I stood, straightened my jacket. ‘I’ll think about it. If you’re sure it wouldn’t be uncomfortable.’
‘It’s a way of getting back to normal, the way you want, isn’t it?’
‘I’ll check with Lachlan and … and see.’
‘Oh, I’m sure Lachlan will want to come,’ Jack said.
The so-slight-it-almost-wasn’t-there sneer in Jack’s voice told me he had Lachlan’s measure. No way would Lachlan miss it. Another blush. I was on track for the Guinness Book of World Records for the most blushes in a fifteen-minute period.
‘So, no pressure,’ Jack went on, walking over to me, ‘but do I get a kiss goodbye, now we’re just friends? You know, the way, say, Chloe kisses me – or is that off limits?’
‘Of course.’ I stretched up, feeling horribly self-conscious, to kiss Jack’s cheek and – however it happened – ending up connecting with his mouth instead. His arms came around me, tightened for a fraction of a second, released.
An accident, I told myself, because he’d moved his head at just the wrong instant, or I’d mistimed.
‘Sorry,’ I said as I pulled back and looked up at him, all breathless and yuckily girly as I blushed – again!
Jack’s expression was unreadable. ‘Bye, Evangeline,’ he said simply, and walked out.
I dropped into the nearest chair and put my head in my hands. What had got into me? A clumsy kiss from Jack sent my temperature skyrocketing, yet the sex-on-tap Lachlan was offering was leaving me completely indifferent.
I was, evidently, a nut job.
I went back to my cramped workstation, glanced at the flowers taking up too much room. I picked up Lachlan’s card again, toying with it as I thought back to last night, when Lachlan had insisted on watching Wuthering Heights – thinking, no doubt, it would get me in the mood. He had to be getting very frustrated by now. Although how he could possibly think impersonating Heathcliff would –
I dropped the card as it hit me: I was cured!
No more crush.
I hadn’t wanted to watch Wuthering Heights last night. Spy Time was languishing in the cupboard. I hadn’t cyber-stalked Guy McKinsey for more than a week.
I felt the smile spread across my face.
I stared at my computer screen, deciding to check the official McKinsey fan site to be sure. Held my breath until the site came up.
I checked out a few comments at random. Felt nothing.
Quick look at the new photos. Nothing.
I laughed out loud. Okay, I was probably looking a little demented.
And while I was acting demented …
Drew had mentioned a Jackson J Stevens website – welovejackj.com – that he said would make a nymphomaniac blush.
Not that I was really interested. Or a nymphomaniac. And I didn’t want to blush, like ever, ever again.
But maybe … Just for curiosity’s sake …
I bit my lip as I typed in welovejackj.com, then sucked in a startled breath as a picture of Jack popped up.
His hair was shorter than his current style. He was wearing a pale shirt, unbuttoned over his tanned chest. He had a sparkle in his eyes and a finger against his slightly pursed lips like he was sharing a delicious secret.
I felt a rush of arousal. Uh-oh. Bad idea.
CHAPTER NINE
Lachlan let out a low, appreciative whistle as we drove through the wrought iron entrance gates of the Stevens home on Sunday.
The Stevens family was wealthy, courtesy of hard work in the transport industry and an array of shrewd investments over many years, and their house was stunning. A sleek, modern mansion, overlooking Sydney Harbour. If Lachlan’s gushing praise for Jack’s apartment was anything to go by, I figured when he saw the dramatically high ceilings, network of skylights and plant-filled atrium in this place, he’d kneel and kiss the polished Tasmanian oak floorboards.
Despite the weirdness of the situation – me, current boyfriend, past one-night-stand, friends who knew all, parents who knew nothing – the friendly chaos of our arrival was reassuring. Drew and Jack’s beaming, booming father and serenely smiling mother both kissed and hugged me, and fussed over Lachlan.
Lachlan and I were swept through the house and out onto the massive deck, where Chloe and Marcus were already settled on a cushioned bench, drinks in hand. Drew was stationed at the outdoor bar, loading a tray with assorted beverages.
Lachlan’s eyes darted around like flitting insects on speed. A famous footballer, a movie star around somewhere and a magazine-worthy mansion, all in one evening – this had to be his version of heaven. His enthusiasm reminded me a little of a gambolling Labrador puppy – which should have been endearing, but somehow just made me think WANKER all over again!
Drew brought the tray over to us. Lachlan took a beer. I opted for water, because the thought of alcohol was nauseating lately – I was starting to wonder if I was developing an ulcer.
Music started humming from the outdoor speakers. Dark, sexy music.
And then Jack stepped through the French doors – talk about making an entrance.
He was barefoot (and dear God, even his feet were sexy), wearing long, loose chocolate linen pants and an untucked white shirt.
Uh-oh – the lungs were at it again.
‘Wow – piped music!’ Lachlan exclaimed.
Jack plucked a beer from Drew’s tray. ‘Hello, Lachlan – yes, all the mod cons,’ he drawled. And then he added, ‘Evangeline,’ with a nod, and sauntered over to join his father at the massive barbecue at one end of the deck.
Mrs Stevens engaged Lachlan in conversation, with Chloe and Marcus joining in. Drew, having dumped his tray, rejoined the main group. Feeling strangely isolated, I wandered to the edge of the deck, halfway between everyone and the barbecue. Resting my forearms on the railing, I looked out over the Harbour and zoned out the hum of conversation. I usually found this view calming.
But not today.
I looked towards the barbecue again. Jack and his father were laughing. Actually, everyone on the deck was laughing.
Everyone except me.
I turned back to the Harbour. My heart felt unbelievably heavy. Swollen. Aching.
It’s a way of getting back to normal, isn’t it? Jack had asked.
But this didn’t feel ‘normal’. He’d said one word to me. My name. No more.
That wasn’t normal.
Up until the fateful night of his party, he’d been friendly, and funny, and provoking. Watchful, and focused. And chal
lenging in ways I hadn’t even understood.
Unsettling … but always there. Just there. Waiting. And now he wasn’t waiting. He wasn’t even really there. And it didn’t feel ‘normal’. Because things I hadn’t even known I cared about were gone.
I felt a prickle of awareness, and then I smelled him.
Jack.
Something dangerous sighed in my chest, caught there, and as I turned towards him, my glass slipped through my fingers.
‘Oops,’ he said, catching it.
‘Sorry,’ I said, and reached for the glass.
‘Are you all right, Evangeline? You look tense.’
‘It’s just …’ I waved a hand, encompassing the whole deck. ‘This whole thing. You. Lachlan. Here. It makes me uncomfortable.’
‘You think Lachlan might attack me with a steak knife over dinner in a fit of jealous rage?’
‘He doesn’t know, Jack.’
‘And if he did, and I told him I wanted you? What do you think he’d do?’
What sort of question was that? I just stared at him.
Jack raised that eyebrow. ‘He’d say: all yours, Jack. And he’d desert the field.’
‘The way you did?’ I couldn’t seem to help asking.
He stepped closer to me. His eyes were like razor blades. ‘Not for him, Evangeline. For you. I did it because it was what you wanted.’
‘So I got what I wanted, and you got what you wanted.’
‘Did I?’
‘Of course you did. You bagged the only woman on the planet who didn’t want you. Well done. Challenge met. So now it’s done. And there’s nothing left. And I just –’ I broke off. My face felt unbelievably hot. ‘No, I can’t discuss this.’
‘You did want me, Evangeline,’ Jack said fiercely.
I wasn’t answering that. Silence stretched taut.
And then, ‘What if I thought the way you did?’ he asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘What if I believed I was the big challenge? That you wanted the famous Jackson J Stevens as a notch on your bedpost?’
‘I don’t think like that.’
‘But I do?’ He sounded as outraged as I felt. ‘Come on, Evangeline, why wouldn’t I believe it? You’ve got a massive crush on an actor, haven’t you?’
‘That’s finished. I don’t have that crush any more.’
‘Poor Guy – abandoned. Oh no, wait – that’s me. How very Stormy Sunday it’s all turned out to be. Rejection, rejection, rejection. I’d blitz it if I played that role again.’
‘Only you didn’t get the girl.’
‘Actually, I did – I just didn’t keep her.’
‘It’s not a joke.’
‘I’m not laughing.’
‘But it’s in the tone of your voice.’
‘What do you want me to sound like?’
Good question. I shoved at my hair, annoyed that I had no words.
‘Furious?’ Jack suggested. ‘Frustrated? Wretched? How about –’
‘Just stop. I’ve got enough on my plate without your sarcasm.’
‘Your plate is full of things you want, Evangeline. The laudable doctor in your bed, for a start.’
‘He’s not in –’ Doh! ‘That’s not what this is about.’
Jack looked at me sharply. ‘Oh no, Evangeline. No backtracking. So you don’t have the doctor in your bed? I thought beds were important to you. Or maybe you have him somewhere else …?’
I drew myself up. ‘Is this what we’ve descended to? All right, I’ll tell you. No, I have not slept with Lachlan. As I’ve said to you before, not everyone ruts away against the back of a door the first chance they get. Some people can wait.’
Fury blazed in Jack’s eyes. ‘You didn’t put it quite so eloquently last time, Evangeline. But I get the picture. And I know all about waiting, remember?’
‘I don’t think you remember. I don’t think you remember anything you said to me. Not if you can be like this. I thought you wanted me to come tonight? I thought you wanted to be friends again?’ I was horrified to find myself close to tears.
‘Yeah, well, I made a mistake. I underestimated what it would do to me when –’ He broke off, shook his head. Turned away.
I couldn’t speak. Could only look at him, lost and hurt.
Then he turned back. ‘So let’s just call this the new normal,’ he said. ‘The one where I stay away from you so you don’t have to be jittery and defensive. Where you don’t have to endure the company of a godforsaken, waste-of-space actor. Where you don’t have to be terrified that one of your curls, a portion of your fingernail, the back of one of your shoes, will end up in the corner of a photo somewhere. Where we acknowledge we were never friends.’
Needless to say, dinner was a bust after that affable little interlude. For me and Jack. Not that any of the others seemed to notice our joint state of moroseness. Conversation amongst them was animated, with quips bouncing between Chloe, Marcus and Drew like a ball at a high-speed tennis match. Mr and Mrs Stevens were in their element – the consummate entertainers. Lachlan was clearly enjoying himself and the free-flowing wine.
But I could barely squeeze a word out of my tight throat – just a yes or no if asked a direct question. And Jack didn’t even make the effort of a yes or no. An occasional look at me – hooded and brooding. An occasional look at Lachlan – emotionless. A glancing sweep of everyone else at the table – remote. An almost imperceptible shake of the head every time his mother caught his eye.
And then a boozed-up Lachlan planted a sloppy kiss on my cheek, and I shot a look at Jack, and our eyes clashed. Jack raised that infuriating, supercilious eyebrow, and turned to his mother. Small, subtle nod and she was up, melting away. Drew and Chloe looked at each other, then at Jack, then at me. Expecting something – but what?
Mrs Stevens was back a few minutes later with a tray holding eight glasses of champagne. Jack got slowly to his feet. ‘There’s a reason for the champagne,’ he said.
My palms were suddenly damp and I found myself wiping them convulsively on my jean-clad thighs. Dreading what was coming. Which didn’t make sense, because champagne signalled good news, didn’t it?
Jack smiled. ‘I’m not engaged to be married and I haven’t won the lottery,’ he said. ‘But I am heading overseas.’
‘Overseas?’ The question escaped before I could catch myself.
But Jack didn’t even look at me. ‘I’m decamping to Morocco,’ he said. ‘I’ve bought the rights to Darkest Dusk.’
Drew let out a long, slow whistle. ‘Even I’ve read that book. Hoooeeee! Altair the Arabian vampire! I guess that explains the long hair.’
‘Yes, I’ve been warned – don’t mess with Altair’s hairstyle!’ Jack said.
I was still rubbing my hands up and down my thighs, needing to do something physical, wishing I could get up, walk to the edge of the deck, see the calming view. If only I’d had some warning. If I’d had some warning, I could have … What? The problem was I didn’t know what. Couldn’t seem to think past the fact that he was going.
‘Anyway, that’s it,’ Jack said, into the awed silence. ‘So grab a glass.’
He started to sit, but Chloe, seated beside him, chose that exact moment to leap up to hug him, and Jack’s elbow connected sharply with Chloe’s cheekbone. She flopped back into her chair, tears of pain starting in her eyes as she rubbed gingerly at her cheek. Jack dropped to his knees beside her chair, and Marcus raced around the table to her other side.
Jack took her hand. ‘Chloe, I’m so sorry.’
‘Not your fault, Jack – and Marcus, I’m fine, calm down.’ She prodded her cheekbone gingerly.
Drew winced in sympathy. ‘You’ll have a shiner, darling,’ he said.
‘They’ll love me on camera tomorrow,’ Chloe said, then shrugged. ‘But it’s not going to stop me proposing a toast.’ She got to her feet, more cautiously this time. ‘Nor is it going to stop me giving you a kiss, Jack, you gorgeous thing.’
&nb
sp; Marcus observed the enthusiastic embrace into which she folded Jack with a laugh. ‘Should I be jealous? Dinners one night, hugs and kisses the next.’
Lachlan started laughing, too, but drunkenly. ‘At least you’re getting lai–’
‘Right,’ Drew said, pushing his chair back noisily as he cut off whatever Lachlan was about to say. And I could have kissed him. ‘I’m going to propose the first toast, Chloe, if that’s okay. You can do the second. So up, everyone. To my brother: with or without vampiric fangs, always my hero!’
With a pasted on smile, I watched the various congratulations ripple out, mortified at Lachlan’s drunkenness and generally feeling adrift.
Morocco. Jack was going to Morocco. We were moving on. Him. Me. Moving on. And there wasn’t even a choice for me to make. This time, I had no choice. It was done.
Drew came up beside me, grabbing my elbow in a firm grip. ‘I don’t know what’s going on with you tonight – and don’t get me started on that idiot Lachlan – but kiss Jack,’ he said in my ear. ‘Or shake his hand or something. It will look strange if you’re the only one who doesn’t congratulate him.’
I nodded, seeing the sense in that and not wanting to draw attention to myself. I walked over to Jack, rose onto my toes, pecked him quickly on the cheek. ‘It’s great news,’ I said. ‘But we’ll miss you.’
He looked down at me, unblinking. ‘Will we?’ He seemed to be waiting for me to say something more. But what could I add?
Beat, beat, beat, beat – that was my heart, throbbing hard and heavy, while we stared at each other.
And then Jack turned away.
I was quiet on the drive home, blanking out Lachlan’s chatter about Jack and the new movie. In fact, I did such a good job of blanking Lachlan out that when he put his hand on my thigh, I swerved from the shock of it.
‘Don’t,’ I said automatically. But he didn’t move his hand.
‘Evie, I want to stay the night.’
‘Not tonight,’ I said.
‘Not any night,’ he grumbled, but at least he removed his hand. He was pouting. Pouting! It brought sharply to my mind that his coffee of choice was a decaf mocha latte with cinnamon sprinkles – yep, I was becoming a coffee snob.
Wanting Mr Wrong Page 10
