Pulling Home (That Second Chance)

by Campisi, Mary

  She took a step back and clutched the shirt she’d been folding to her chest. “I’m packing. Our flight leaves at two.”

  Jack cursed and slammed the door shut. “You couldn’t give them a few more days with their granddaughter?”

  “I need to get Kara checked.”

  “I told you she could be evaluated here.”

  She shook her head. “Thanks, but no. I have work, too,” she mumbled.

  “Right. And what work is that, again? Advertisements?”

  “I write ads for medical supply companies.” When he didn’t respond she added, “It’s a respectable job.”

  He advanced on her, fists clenched. “And you’re all about respect, aren’t you? I mean, you would always do the respectable thing, wouldn’t you?”

  She stared at him. “What are you getting at?”

  Jack closed in on her. She wasn’t going anywhere until he had answers. “Respect,” he sneered. “It’s all you’ve ever wanted, isn’t it?”

  She tried to look away but he caught her chin between his fingers. “You thought marrying my brother and moving two thousand miles away would get you respect. You took a job writing advertisements or whatever in the hell it is you do.” He paused. “To get respect. I’ll bet you live in a respectable house, drive a respectable car, have a respectable set of friends. Isn’t that what you’re chasing, Audra? What you’ve always been chasing and never quite found?”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Been there. From the moment I laid eyes on you.” His gaze settled on her lips. She was too close, her eyes were too bright, her scent too intoxicating. Her lips parted and he spotted the pink tip of her tongue. Jack squeezed his eyes shut and tried to refocus. This was the woman who had brought so much grief to his whole family, tore his heart from its center and made him curse ever knowing her. This was the woman he’d never been able to forget.

  Years of pretending fell away as he stared at her lips, breathed in her scent. Leave. Now! his brain told him, but he ignored the warning. The room collapsed on him, heat suffocating what little common sense he had left. He tried to step back but his feet wouldn’t move.

  Dear God, he was lost. Jack pulled her close, crushed his mouth to hers, thrust his tongue between her parted lips and tasted salvation. Heaven and hell, that’s where he was, but damned if he could save himself. She moaned, low and needy, locked her arms around his neck and pressed her body to his in a way that reminded him of the first time he’d taken her. Of all the women he’d had since, there’d never been one like her. That had been his punishment for sleeping with the woman who would become his brother’s wife.

  There was only need left as he ran his hands over her body, lifted her with one jerk and carried her to the bed. She didn’t stop him when he fell on top of her, hips grinding against her like a high school boy, tongue buried deep in her mouth. She groaned and sucked and squirmed. Just like he remembered. Jack cupped her breast, stroked a nipple through the thin cotton of her shirt. His entire body pulsed with memories of those perfect breasts. Flesh in his hands, that’s what he needed. He flipped open the first button on her shirt, then another, and another, felt for the front clasp of her bra—

  His cell went off just as the clasp sprung free.

  Audra broke the kiss and pushed at his chest. “Get off!”

  Jack darted off the bed, stunned by what they’d been doing seconds ago. He turned while she adjusted her clothing but not before he caught a peek of creamy breast. One second he was cursing her and the next, hell, he was feeling her up, getting ready to pump into her. The phone rang again and he glanced at the caller I.D. Guilt surged through him as Leslie’s name flashed on the screen.

  He swung around, tucked the back of his shirt in his pants and glared at Audra. She stood near the window, as far from him and the bed as possible without jumping on the ledge. So, she regretted what they’d done. Good, so did he. No decent human being went after his dead brother’s wife, especially when he was almost engaged. Not that it hadn’t felt incredible, but that wasn’t the point.

  “I’d like you to leave.”

  How could she scrape and claw at him with lust one second and look down her nose at him the next? This was Audra Valentine he reminded himself—a woman capable of anything. Jack closed the distance between them in three strides, enjoying the way she shrank toward the wall. When he was close enough to smell her honeysuckle scent, he stopped. “You enjoyed it.” As much as I did. “Don’t even try to deny it.” I’ll spend the rest of my life trying.

  “Get out.”

  He grabbed a lock of hair and sifted it between his fingers. “Good-bye, Audra. Keep looking for that respect.”

  Chapter 12

  “People love a good intrigue.”—Howard Krozer

  “Just try to lay still, Doris, and let the oxygen and valium do their work.” Leslie Richot adjusted the strap on the nasal cannula and squeezed Doris O’Brien’s hand.

  “I don’t need oxygen or another pill,” Doris gasped. “What I need is a cigarette.”

  “That’s what landed you in here with pneumonia.” Pastor Richot’s daughter smiled. “Please, just try and take a deep breath.”

  Doris relaxed her grip on Leslie’s hand and let her eyes drift shut. “Is your father coming soon?”

  “He’s on his way.”

  “Good.” August Richot was one of the only inhabitants of Holly Springs who had never passed judgment on her. Not when she ran off to the convent at seventeen after her father forced jail on the boy who stole her virginity—though stealing was an incorrect term—willfully accepted was more appropriate. August hadn’t shunned her when she returned sixteen years later with a swollen belly and tales of an excommunicated priest. Not even when she turned to street drugs and men to pay for them after her baby girl drowned in five inches of water. Pastor Richot visited her in Syracuse State Mental institution every Monday for five years, listening to her delusional rantings, until her most recent discharge, three months ago.

  Now here she was, trapped in room 329, with oxygen, valium, and no cigarettes. Not a good situation, especially for someone who believed nicotine kept her alive. “I have to tell him.” Her eyes flew open and she grabbed at Leslie. “I must tell him about the girl. She looks just like her mother.”

  “What girl?”

  Doris pointed at the ceiling and smiled. “Eyes like a cat, tilted at the corners. Full lips, same arch to the brow. There they are. Can’t you see them?”

  ***

  When Kara was three, Peter Andellieu bought a car seat and installed it in the back of his silver Jaguar. He had no qualms about carrying diaper bags or picking up apple juice from the grocery store. The sight of such a handsome, well-dressed man carrying a child and not wearing a wedding band, made him irresistible– not that a man who could have been Warren Beatty’s much younger brother, needed any help, but the appeal quadrupled. Peter merely laughed, saying the women were looking at the blueness of Kara’s eyes.

  He might shrug off the overt attention, but Audra knew women were entranced by him, had been even before he became a television celebrity. Hadn’t eight women stopped him for autographs in baggage claim? And wasn’t another approaching him like a racehorse in stilettos?

  “Dr. Andellieu? May I have a moment?” A slender red-head with stunning blue eyes blocked his path. “I just want to tell you that what you’re doing is amazing. Truly amazing,” she gushed. “I watch your show every week and I just burst into tears.”

  Peter cleared his throat and smiled at her. Audra knew it was his ‘on screen’ smile because it stretched over his gums a bit too fiercely to be natural. “Thank you. I’m glad you enjoy the show,” he said in that soft, sexy drawl that made women weak-kneed.

  “It’s amazing,” she repeated, words bubbling from her like a science project gone wrong. “I mean, the way you transform people. It must give you tremendous satisfaction to know how much you’ve touched their lives.”

  “Mom, I’m hungry. Can we
get an In and Out burger?”

  The woman swiped an assessing gaze over Kara and Audra. “Oh. Is this your child?” She swept her stunning clear-water eyes over Audra again. “Your bio said you were divorced.” Her lips tightened with obvious disappointment.

  “Actually—”

  “Uncle Peter, I’m hungry and my head hurts.” Kara tugged at his hand and rubbed her temple.

  “Okay, sweetheart, we’ll get your burger.”

  “Ahh. Your sister.” The lips morphed into a wide smile that spoke of sexual promise. Taking a step closer, she thrust a card into his hand and leaned up on stiletto tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “Call me. Anytime.”

  Peter didn’t smile this time as he stuffed her card in his trousers’ pocket without looking at it. “We’ve really got to go. Starving children don’t like to wait.”

  The red-head tittered and waved. “Bye.” She wet her lips and slid her blue gaze to his crotch.

  Peter turned away and guided Audra and Kara toward the exit doors. “Don’t even say it,” he muttered once they were standing in the warm night breeze. “Not a single word.”

  Audra stifled a laugh but it was Kara who yanked his hand and said, “Uncle Peter, that lady liked you. Did you see the way her eyes twitched when she looked at you? Why did she whisper in your ear? Whispering in front of other people is rude.”

  Peter squeezed Kara’s hand and said, “She was a rude lady, sweetheart. And she didn’t like me. She doesn’t even know me.”

  The outside world only knew the handsome, sophisticated Peter Andellieu as the television doctor who stripped women’s insecurities and gave them a new life with a perfect body part. Some women craved smaller noses. Others, larger breasts. Still others, tummy tucks. But Dr. Perfection provided more than just a look good, feel great mentality. He engaged therapists, trainers, and nutritionists to help these women gain the self-esteem and joy of living that had nothing to do with body shape or critical mass. By the time they completed his ten-week program, they’d fallen in love with themselves and their lives. Unfortunately, most of them had fallen in love with Dr. Perfection, too.

  They reached Peter’s car and loaded their luggage into the trunk. Kara climbed in back, belted herself in, and clutched her head. “My head kills.”

  Audra turned around and stroked her daughter’s hair. “It’s been a long day. Let’s get something in your stomach and you’ll feel better. Are you sure you want an In and Out burger?”

  “Uh-huh. And fries.”

  Peter sighed and pulled out of the parking lot. “How am I supposed to teach my audience about healthy eating when my two best girls are stuffing themselves with burgers and fries?”

  “Does that mean you’ll be abstaining tonight?”

  He threw her a long glance. “Oh no. I want it all.”

  Audra squeezed his hand and settled back in her seat. It was good to be home, back to a place she understood and where she belonged. It would be hard enough to get through her days without Christian, but at least she had Kara and Peter. Christian would have wanted it this way. He would not have wanted her to submit to the demands of the irascible Wheytons, like blackmailers forcing her to surrender her child.

  Bad enough she had to bury her husband, but to walk into a town that refused to forget and certainly would never forgive her for being a Valentine? She’d been right to avoid Holly Springs all these years. The place and its people harbored nothing but bad memories and ill will. She didn’t need it. Not Alice Wheyton and her sorrowful eyes begging her to let Kara stay. Not Joe Wheyton and his gruff persona trying to strong-arm her to reconsider for duty’s sake. Not those old biddies who hunched around Alice Wheyton’s table spreading gossip faster than a California brushfire. Not a half crazy woman vowing Audra’s mother was not the tramp people claimed she was. And worst of all, certainly not Jack Wheyton, who reminded her with every look, every gesture, every venomous word, that she did not belong, would never belong.

  The In and Out burger and fries didn’t relieve Kara’s headache. Attributing it to travel and the good-bye stress at the Wheytons, Audra tucked Kara into bed—her own bed, not the bed of a dead child—and promised she’d feel better in the morning.

  With Kara settled, Audra poured Peter a glass of chardonnay and plunked beside him on the couch. “Howard called the other day.”

  “He did? What did he want?”

  They both knew Howard Krozer never called for idle chit chat. “He told me I missed my extended deadline.”

  “That bastard.”

  “He wasn’t happy about it.” She hesitated and then asked the question that had plagued her since his call. “Do you think he’d really give away my identity?”

  Peter put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Don’t let Howard steamroll you with his tough guy antics. He might be a manipulating conniver, but he’s still a businessman, and you’re valuable intellectual property. He knows that. He also knows the mystique behind On Eden Street’s head writer. You’re winning him awards and growing his audience. People love a good intrigue and as long as the show’s growing, he’ll feed the frenzy, count on that.”

  “What if it suddenly becomes too much effort to keep my name a secret?”

  Peter leveled his blue gaze on her. “Then it’s fifty-fifty which will win out—Howard’s greed or his word.”

  ***

  “Damn good to have you back, girl.” Howard Krozer lifted a cigar from his humidor and smiled, his smallish face puffing out like a blowfish.

  “Thank you, Howard. I appreciate it. I’m sorry I wasn’t available earlier. It’s been a tough week.”

  “I know, honey.” He reached across the massive desk and patted her hand. “This marriage business is a tough gig. I’ve tried it four times and still haven’t gotten it right. Of course, I don’t ever love them, not the way you did with the ‘death do us part’ bit. I like them all well enough, though, and I certainly desire them. But love? Now that’s a damn uncontrollable creature. But you loved the guy.” He trimmed the end of his cigar and stuck it in his mouth. “And that’s the bitch of it.” He lit the tip, puffed, puffed again, then blew out a blur of smoke. “Now you got a hole in your heart. What the hell good is that?”

  Howard could make an optimist consider suicide but he was a brilliant producer and most of the time, a decent employer.

  “So, back to the business. I got the whole lot of ‘em stewing over why the hell the head writer isn’t sending new material. Did she have a nervous breakdown? Is she on a three day screw? Did she jump out a window? And I have to deal with it all. Now I’m as good a liar as the next, but my limits get tested when they hit my wallet.” He tapped the ashes of his cigar in a silver ashtray. “All I’m saying, is don’t friggin’ disappear on me again. I don’t care if you have to write on the wing of a plane or in the hospital ICU. I need material. Period. That’s the only way we stay on top, and it’s the only way I can guarantee your anonymity. You start screwing up and people get pissed. And then they want to get even. The damn cleaning lady could follow you to your car and write down your plate number. Identify the car, identify the driver. Cha-ching. The Enquirer pays big bucks. We don’t want that.”

  No, she certainly didn’t. Audra shifted in her chair and met Howard’s purposeful gaze. “I understand. I appreciate your help.”

  “You’re my girl.” His small, white teeth spread into a broad smile. “My golden girl. You can fly to Zimbabwe next week and I don’t care, as long as the work is in on time and it’s top shelf. Gut-wrenching, in your face work, like you’ve been giving me. Do that and we’ll have a long, happy life together.”

  Chapter 13

  “There is such a thing as God’s will, even if you don’t like to acknowledge it.”—Leslie Richot

  “Yes! Yes! Ahhhhh, yes!!” Leslie threw back her head and rode Jack hard and fast, her hands cupping her enormous breasts. Leslie loved her breasts, loved stroking them, pinching the dusky nipples, dangling them in his face. Large breasts ha
d their benefits but Jack was partial to smaller, well-rounded ones that rested perfectly in the palm of his hand.

  He was thinking of those breasts and the woman attached to them as he grabbed Leslie’s hips and thrust into her, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched. When his body convulsed in ragged, uneven jerks, sending him into a vicious climax, he was still thinking of those other breasts—that other woman.

  “Jack!” Leslie fell against him in a wave of quivering exhaustion.

  Jack kept his eyes closed and imagined the smell of honeysuckle. For the past three days, he’d been determined to keep the memory alive as he tormented himself with thoughts of those few lust-filled moments in his old bedroom. How twisted was that? Any man with an ounce of testosterone pumping in his veins would be ecstatic to have someone like Leslie in his life. Smart, beautiful, sexy. Better than great in bed. Compassionate, adventuresome, in and out of bed, funny, independent—the list could go on another ten minutes. She was perfect. But she wasn’t Audra. Damn it. He eased Leslie off of him and rolled to the side of the bed.

  “Hey.” Leslie’s fingers cupped his sex. “That was only round one.”

  Jack lifted her hand and stood. “I’ve got a lot on my mind. I need to get to the hospital.”

  “It’s Nathan Menden, isn’t it?” She scooted to the edge of the bed and touched his thigh.

  He stood there, oblivious to the fingers inching toward his groin. Nathan Menden was the reason behind the sex he’d just had—a release of pent up frustration and despair. “I still don’t understand how it went bad.”

  “The boy was terminal, Jack.”

  “He was ten years old. I removed the tumor. He had more time.”

  “Don’t do this to yourself, baby. It won’t change anything.”

  “I told him I had club seats to the Yankees game.” Jack never made promises to patients or their families, but Nathan Menden had seemed like a sure thing to make it home, even for a short time. And then he’d coded, just like that, in the time it took Ted and Shirley Menden to grab a tuna on wheat from the cafeteria.