In Your Wildest Dreams

by Toni Blake

  Jake froze at the words.

  Everything inside him went cold.

  And something good died.

  Chapter 21

  Oh God, what had she just done? Had she really just said that Professed love!

  Stephanie couldn't breathe beneath the weight she'd just dropped on them with a tiny slip of the tongue, words that had materialized out of nowhere. Jake had gone instantly still, and she knew she'd ruined everything.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to say that."

  She couldn't look at him suddenly, letting her head drop. And when his arms fell away from her, she realized she was naked, and she felt naked. Heat climbed her cheeks as she scurried to the end of the glider to snatch up the T-shirt she'd dropped there. She rushed it over her head, pulling it down snug over her butt.

  Somewhere, a plunking splash in the bayou. No other sound.

  "Did you mean it?" he asked.

  She searched her heart quickly and knew the answer. An answer she'd been pushing away because she'd known he didn't feel the same way. But it seemed stupid to he. She stared out over the water, focused tight on a

  bird standing on the opposite bank. A heron, maybe.

  "Yes."

  Still seated, Jake bent over, elbows on his knees, and ran his hands back through his hair. Confirmation. He didn't want this. Didn't want her to love him. Her heart crumbled.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered. Sorry you love him? How insane is that? But she was—terribly, horribly sorry. This wasn't supposed to happen.

  He stayed quiet another long, tense moment during which her throat threatened to close up, cut off her air. Her heart beat too hard and her muscles ached from going tense.

  "I can't," he whispered softly. He still didn't look at her. Still held his head down, shaking it now. "I can't handle that."

  Her voice trembled. "Why? Is it so awful?"

  Another long stretch of quiet—only chirping insects, a day coming to life, heat setting in.

  "I can't.. . love anybody but her," he wrenched out.

  It was like a blow to her gut. After all this, all they'd shared, it was still Becky. Once more, Stephanie was reminded that this was nothing to him, that she was no more than an incidental speck on his shoe. Or maybe more than that, maybe a good lay, some pleasant laughs— she knew he wouldn't deny either. But the distinction meant less than nothing put up against the hard, cold fact that he had no love in his heart for anyone but his dead wife.

  Taking a deep breath, she put herself on autopilot, propelling herself into the house. Have to get out of here, have to get out of here. And she had to do it fast. She didn't want him to see her cry.

  Since when did she cry, for God's sake? Over Tina, yes—a lot. It was worry. But she was usually so strong— a strong, in-control executive, the sort of woman people cleared a path for and worked hard to please. When had she quit being that woman?

  She hadn't missed that part of herself, but at the moment it held great appeal. Be strong now, she lectured as she snatched up the small carry-on bag she'd brought. She dug inside, retrieving sensible white cotton panties, which she yanked up under the T-shirt, then hurried into her bra, khaki shorts, and a pullover.

  She reached for her purse next to the bag, digging inside for keys. Damn it, where were they?

  "Stephanie."

  She stopped searching, glanced up. Oh God, he was beautiful. She felt it all through her. And couldn't look at him anymore, so dropped her gaze. Love. Why had she so foolishly flung love out between them when she'd known it wouldn't stand a chance?

  "I'm sorry I can't..." he said. She sensed more than saw him shaking his head, looking lost. It came through in his voice.

  "It's all right. My fault. I'm leaving."

  At last, the keys were in her hand. Stay strong. Stay strong. Do not cry.

  She grabbed up her bag, now empty but for a makeup case and deodorant, not bothering to zip it, certainly not bothering to look for the sexy apparel she'd greeted him in. She wouldn't need it anymore. She started toward the front door—but his hand fell onto her wrist, stopping her.

  Just that—his touch—was almost enough to drive her to those dreaded tears. When the hell had she gotten in so deep here? When had she let herself fall in love? You don't let yourself, it just happens. She knew that, had always instinctively known it even when it hadn't been a part of her life. And God knew if she'd had any control over it, she'd have stopped it. She drew in her breath, still didn't look up at him, just waited to hear whatever he had to say.

  "I'm really sorry."

  He owed her nothing, she knew that. But his words were too damn simple to mean anything. Every intimate act they'd ever engaged in together came rushing back over her—empty now.

  "So am I," she said a little harsher than she'd intended, jerking past him.

  Tunnel vision led her out to the gravel drive overhung with Spanish moss and tall trees that kept the area dark and shaded, even now. She trudged past his truck, praying she correctly remembered where she'd hidden her car. His footsteps crunched in the gravel behind her. Why are you following me ? Just let me leave.

  She didn't stop until she located the car, nestled behind a dense enclave of towering cypress, Jake still on her heels. She struggled to find the unlock button on the rental's key chain, finally hearing the click.

  "Listen," he said.

  She opened the door, tossed her bag and purse toward the passenger seat.

  "I wanna keep lookin' for Tina, wanna find her for you."

  God, she hadn't even thought about that. It made her raise her eyes, but the shock of seeing his—so sexy and brown and no longer hers to look into—made her draw her gaze away just as quickly and climb into the car.

  "But I need you to promise me you still won't do anything stupid while I'm lookin', okay? It's still just as dangerous, and I won't be able to bear it if I have to worry you're puttin' yourself at risk."

  "Why?" she shot at him through the open car door.

  Their gazes met and locked. She didn't look away this time because she knew the answer. He cared for her. He had to care. She'd felt it in his touch, his kisses. It had been more than sex. If it was only sex, why would he worry so much that he wouldn't be able to bear it?

  He only sighed, looked down. "Promise me."

  Her lips trembled with indignation. "I'm a little too mortified right now to promise you anything."

  "I don't want you to be mortified."

  "Too late."

  He closed his eyes, again ran his hands back through his hair. Met her gaze once more. Such dark, beautiful eyes. The memory of how they shone on her when they were making love was enough to paralyze her. Because now he only looked lost—and aggravated.

  "I'm sorry, Stephanie, okay?" he bit out through clenched teeth. "I just can't have that kind of a relationship with you."

  "I think you already were." Bold of her, and maybe she was humiliating herself all the more if he truly saw her as only a romp, a wild woman.

  "No!" he shot back, his gaze glittering with anger, his voice harsher than she'd ever heard it. "It wasn't that! I'm sorry if I let you think it was ! "

  Oh. So she'd been wrong. She'd been nothing to him. "Okay," she said. "My goddamn mistake." She closed the door, jammed the key in the ignition, and haphazardly backed out onto the unpaved road next to where he stood. She pressed the gas pedal hard, throwing gravel, not giving a damn if any of it hit him. She hated him. She hated him for his tenderness. She hated him for his sexiness. She hated him for every sweet word he'd ever said, every warm kiss he'd ever given her, every moment they'd looked so long and hard into each other's eyes. She hated him. Because she loved him.

  Now that the tears could come, they did, hard and fast, so much that she could barely drive for trying to wipe them away, but she never slowed down. She wanted to get as far away from Jake Broussard as she could.

  Jake hammered a nail into the kitchen floor, watching until it was embedded in the two-by-four. Afte
r, he picked up another nail, and another. He hammered 'til his arm ached, and then he hammered some more.

  Hammer long enough, though, he discovered, and thoughts started sneaking in. That wasn't his usual experience^—usually hammering and sawing and drilling kept thoughts and feelings at bay.

  Goddamn it, why did she have to say that? Those three horrible little words. Words he just couldn't hear. Why didn't she get that? He'd told her about Becky—he'd somehow thought she'd grasped that what he'd had with Becky he simply couldn't have with anyone else.

  Ever? That he wasn't sure about—at least not lately. But he knew he couldn't have it now. There was still too damn much guilt—it ran through his veins daily. Even if Stephanie was particularly skilled at making him forget.

  But that, too, sent a whole new guilt thundering through him. When he'd been making love to Stephanie, he'd forgotten all about Becky. She dies in your place and you forget her? He couldn't do it. He could never forsake her.

  And he surely couldn't betray her by falling in love with someone else.

  Things would have been just fine if Stephanie hadn't come sneaking out here, turning him inside out with the sweetest seduction he'd ever known. He hadn't even thought of resisting—but he sure as hell should have.

  He'd come out here for solace, peace—and space. Time and distance. But she'd closed the distance before he could even blink, and then, then—she'd announced that she loved him.

  His stomach wrenched and he closed his eyes, fighting back a hundred different demons, all coming at him with spears of guilt and regret, love and hate, hope and despair, and everything in between. Where the hell was St. Michael when you needed him?

  For that matter, where the hell had he been when Becky needed him?

  He glanced down at the tattoo peeking from beneath his sleeve. St. Michael was on his arm—nowhere else. Protection was just an illusion.

  In a few short moments, he'd gone so very backwards. Already, he felt the familiar emptiness returning. Didn't care if he ate. Never wanted to leave the bayou again. Just wanted to stay here, alone, hammering nails, until the day he died.

  Chapter 22

  As she peered into the mirror above Jake's dresser, Shondra thought life had been pretty damn fine the last day or so. "Check me out, Scruff," she said to the pooch, who stood at her side, seeming to smile up at her. She bent to pet the dog's head, then looked back to the mirror, liking what she saw.

  A whole day on her own—not spent cowering or sleeping—had added to her confidence. After Jake had left last night, she'd ordered another pizza, tried on her new clothes—which had fit!—and she'd opened the present from Stephanie. The panties were simple, but real good quality, she could tell.

  This morning, she'd gotten up, put on her new miniskirt and Abercrombie T-shirt, and walked to the little market around the corner with the rest of the money from Jake's dresser in her pocket. She'd toted home a bag full of groceries—and two cans of dog food. Scruff liked people food just fine, but she thought Jake would appreciate it if she tried to wean him off it.

  After that, she'd microwaved leftover pizza for lunch,

  gathered up her old clothes and a few of Jake's—which he'd left littering the bedroom floor—and taken them to the laundry room. Mrs. LaFourche wasn't hogging the washers today and one was free. Then she'd run herself a bath, where she'd used the fancy body wash from Stephanie. And somewhere along the way she'd started thinking, lean do this. lean handle life on my own. She missed Jake, but maybe it was good he was gone right now—it gave her a chance to try this out. Being an adult, buying groceries, having an apartment.

  Afterward, she'd gotten dressed for job hunting— pleased that Stephanie had picked out a serious-looking skirt, like women on TV wore "to work." She wished she had a little makeup, but Mama and Grandma Maisy always said she had a pretty enough complexion without, so for once, she decided to believe them.

  Taking a last look at the new adult her, she bent to take Scruff's furry face between her hands. "Wish me luck. It'd be off the hook if I could get a job before Jake gets back." She wanted to make him proud.

  Locking up a few minutes later, she set out to find her future. High-class stores and shops, that's where she was gonna apply. Jewelry stores, boutiques, fancy antique shops, and art galleries—the Quarter was full of them, all crammed in between cheaper places that fell a lot further down on her list.

  Her first stop was a small antique store. It was packed to the brim—she could tell even through the windows— but it looked like expensive stuff, so she went in. An older white lady with hair the color of the pearls circling her thick neck clasped her hands atop the glass counter between them and smiled. "What can I help you with?"

  Shondra swallowed, nervous, then forced a smile and

  gave the line she'd been practicing in her head. "I'm lookin' for a job, ma'am. Do you have any positions of employment open?"

  The woman tilted her head in such a way that Shondra knew the answer before she gave it. "No, honey, I work here all by myself."

  "Maybe you could use some help," she suggested. "I'd work real cheap."

  The old lady smiled indulgently. "I'm sorry, but good luck. You have a pretty smile and I'm sure someone will have a nice job for you."

  She tried to keep hope afloat as the little bell on the door chimed her exit back out into the heat. She felt sure if the woman had had a job to give, she'd have let her have it. An hour later, though, she'd lost track of how many times she'd been turned down—by jewelers, florists, boutique clerks, even a guy who sold nothing but semiprecious rocks. But she was determined to keep trying. She wanted to show Jake he hadn't been wrong to help her.

  "Whas up, Miss Thang?"

  She looked up to see a boy she knew from the streets, a kid called P.J. For some reason, though, it shocked her to see his clothes so dirty, his short Afro so nappy.

  "You lookin' fine. What, you go and find yourself some sugar daddy? He buy you them fancy clothes you all ragged out in?"

  Her cheeks warmed under his scrutiny. "I'm just get-tin' up on my own two feet is all."

  He gave a nasty chuckle. "Don't he, girl—you done spread your legs and got yourself a sugar daddy to take care o' you." He was blocking her path and reached out to grab onto a lock of the hair hanging over her shoulder, twirling it between his fingers. "Sure wish I could get me some o' that."

  She smacked his hand away and shoved past him. "You best get outta my way."

  "Or what? You sic your man on me?"

  She walked faster, praying he wasn't following. She felt people on the opposite side of the street watching.

  "That's right, girl, you go run on home and give it to your man." Then he made disgusting slurping sounds, but at least his voice was fading in the distance. She didn't stop or look back for a full block.

  When she finally paused to peek over her shoulder, he was gone. Slowly, her heartbeat returned to normal and her face cooled. She still felt shaky inside, but took a few deep breaths.

  Damn that boy.

  But no, wait, damn her. She'd gone way too soft. A week or two ago, she'd have given him what-for. She'd have said if he laid one dirty hand on her that she'd cut his prick off while he slept, or something else just as creative and ugly. It made her nervous to discover how quick her street-earned bravado had faded once she'd gotten back under a roof.

  Shake it off, girl. Shake it off and toughen back up and get yourself a good job so you won't ever have to worry about fools like that again.

  A few steps farther found her in front of a shop called Les Couleurs, whatever that meant. The front window overflowed with tailored ginger-colored dresses on headless mannequins, dainty rust-colored purses, and delicate brown shoes. Further back, she saw sections of pale yellow, warm olive, soft blue. Everything hung on fancy white racks or sat on sturdy white shelves. She bit her lip and thought, / bet this is the kind of place Stephanie shops in.

  A bell on the door gently tinkled her arrival, but it was m
ostly drowned out by the soft classical music. She walked quietly through the pretty dresses until she reached the counter in back. She didn't see anyone, but heard a man on the phone behind a half-closed door. "Come on now, darling, you know I love you."

  She pursed her lips, wondering if she should do something to let him know he wasn't alone.

  "Soon," he said, "soon. You just have to be patient." He let out a big sigh and Shondra bit her lip and stepped back from the counter, pretending to look at a rack of red dresses, just in case he suddenly noticed her.

  "Damn it, Tiana, I give up," he snapped. "I can't fucking please you."

  Shondra shivered, glad she didn't have the dude mad at her. At least not yet. Maybe this wasn't the best time to ask him for a job.

  "Listen, I'm at the boutique by myself, no one's out front. I have to hang up." Another huge sigh. "Yes, darling, I know you could be here helping me if only I'd let you, but I can't exactly do that while Melissa is still the manager, can I?"

  Sounded to Shondra like he was getting more agitated, so she decided to leave. She started toward the door as she heard him say, "Enough of this. I'm hanging up." She walked a little faster and had almost reached the exit when he said, "Can I help you?"

  He sounded a lot friendlier than he had to the woman on the phone. Tiana. Pretty name; she fleetingly wished it were hers. She slowly turned to face him. "If you're busy, I can come back."

  "Nonsense." He was older than Jake, but real handsome for his age. He flashed a disarming smile that made his eyes sparkle. "What can I do for you, dear?"

  She cleared her throat and said, "I'm lookin' for a job. Do you have any positions available?" It had come out softer than she'd intended—something about him intimidated her, smile or not. Maybe it was knowing he wasn't always so nice.