Man in Control

by Diana Palmer

  Alexander scowled. “Margie didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” he returned.

  “Margie never means things the way they sound,” Derek said coldly, “but she never stops to think how much words can hurt, either. She walks around in a perpetual Margie-haze of self-absorption. Even now, Jodie’s only here because she can make canapés for the party tomorrow night—or didn’t you know?” he added with absolute venom.

  Margie came into the room behind her brother, downcast and quiet. She winced as she met Derek’s accusing eyes.

  “I’m a pig,” she confessed. “I really don’t mean to hurt people. I love Jodie. She knows it, even if you don’t.”

  “You have a great way of showing it, honey,” Derek replied, a little less antagonistic to her than to her brother. “Inviting Jodie down just to cook for a party is pretty thoughtless.”

  Margie’s eyes fell. “You can go home if you want to, Jodie, and I’m really sorry,” she offered.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I don’t mind cooking!” Jodie went to Margie and hugged her hard. “I could always say no if I didn’t want to do it! Derek’s just being kind, that’s all.”

  Margie glared at her cousin. “Kind.”

  Derek glared back. “Sure I am. It runs in the family. Glad you could come, Jodie, want to wash and wax my car when you finish doing the dishes?” he added sarcastically.

  “You stop that!” Margie raged at him.

  “Then get in here and help her do the dishes,” Derek drawled. “Or do your hands melt in hot water?”

  “We do have a dishwasher,” Alexander said tersely.

  “Gosh! You’ve actually seen it, then?” Derek exclaimed.

  Alexander said a nasty word and stormed out of the kitchen.

  “One down,” Derek said with twinkling eyes and looking at Margie. “One to go.”

  “Quit that, or she’ll toss you out and I’ll be stuck here with them and Kirry all weekend,” Jodie said softly.

  “Kirry?” He gaped at Margie. “You invited Kirry?”

  Margie ground her teeth together and clenched her small hands. “She’s the guest of honor!”

  “Lord, give me a bus ticket!” He moved toward the door. “Sorry, honey, I’m not into masochism, and a night of unadulterated Kirry would put me in a mental ward. I’m leaving.”

  “But you just got here!” Margie wailed.

  He turned at the door. “You should have told me who was coming to the party. I’d still be in San Antonio. Want to come with me, Jodie?” he offered. “I’ll take you to a fiesta!”

  Margie looked murderous. “She’s my friend.”

  “She’s not, or you wouldn’t have forced her down here to suffer Kirry all weekend,” he added.

  “Give me a minute to get out of the line of fire, will you?” Jodie held up her hands and went back to the dining room to scoop up dirty dishes, forcibly smiling.

  Derek glanced at the closed door, and moved closer to Margie. “Don’t try to convince me that you don’t know how Jodie feels about your brother.”

  “She got over that old crush years ago, she said so!” Margie returned.

  “She lied,” he said shortly. “She’s as much in love with him as she ever was, not that either of you ever notice! It’s killing her just to be around him, and you stick her with Kirry. How do you think she’s going to feel, watching Kirry slither all over Cobb for a whole night?”

  Margie bit her lower lip and looked hunted. “She said…”

  “Oh, sure, she’s going to tell you that she’s in love with Cobb.” He nodded. “Great instincts, Marge.”

  “Don’t call me Marge!”

  He bent and brushed an insolent kiss across her parted lips, making her gasp. His dark eyes narrowed as he assayed the unwilling response. “Never thought of me like that, either, huh?” he drawled.

  “You’re…my…cousin,” she choked.

  “I’m no close relation to you at all, despite Cobb’s antagonism. One day I’m going to walk out the door with you over my shoulder, and Cobb can do his worst.” He winked at her. “See you, sweetheart.”

  He turned and ambled out the door. Margie was still staring after him helplessly and holding her hand to her lips when Jodie came in with another stack of dishes.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Jodie asked.

  “Derek kissed me,” she said in a husky tone.

  “He’s always kissing you.”

  Margie swallowed hard. “Not like this.”

  Jodie’s eyebrows went up and she grinned. “I thought it was about time.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” Jodie said at once. “Here, can you open the dishwasher for me? My hands are full.”

  Margie broke out of her trance and went to help, shell-shocked and quiet.

  “Don’t let Derek upset you,” Jodie said gently. “He thinks he’s doing me a favor, but he’s not. I don’t mind helping out, in any way I can. I owe you and Cobb so much…”

  “You don’t owe us a thing,” Margie said at once. “Oh, Jodie, you shouldn’t let me make use of you like this. You should speak up for yourself. You don’t do that enough.”

  “I know. It’s why I haven’t advanced in the company,” she had to admit. “I just don’t like confrontations.”

  “You had enough of them as a kid, didn’t you?” Margie asked.

  Jodie flushed. “I loved my parents. I really did.”

  “But they fought, too. Just like ours. Our mother hated our father, even after he was dead. She drank and drank, trying to forget him, just the same. She soured my brother on women, you know. She picked on him from the time he was six, and every year it got worse. He had a roaring inferiority complex when he was in high school.”

  “Yes? Well, he’s obviously got over it now,” Jodie said waspishly.

  Margie shook her head. “Not really. If he had, he’d know he could do better than Kirry.”

  “I thought you liked her!”

  Margie looked shamefaced. “I do, sort of. Well, she’s got an important job and she could really help me get my foot in the door at Weston’s, the exclusive department store where she works.”

  “Oh, Margie,” Jodie said wearily, shaking her head.

  “I use people,” Margie admitted. “But,” she added brightly, “I try to do it in a nice way, and I always send flowers or presents or something afterward, don’t I?”

  Jodie laughed helplessly. “Yes, you do,” she admitted. “Here, help me load up the dishes, and then you can tell me what sort of canapés you want me to make for tomorrow.”

  She didn’t add that she knew she’d spend the whole day tomorrow making them, because the party was for almost forty people, and lunch had to be provided as well. It was a logistical nightmare. But she could cope. She’d done it before. And Margie was her best friend.

  Three

  Jodie was up at dawn making biscuits and dough for the canapés. She’d only just taken up breakfast when Alexander came into the kitchen, wearing jeans and boots and a long-sleeved chambray shirt. He looked freshly showered and clean-shaven, his dark hair still damp.

  “I’ve got breakfast,” Jodie offered without looking too closely at him. He was overpowering in tight jeans and a shirt unbuttoned to his collarbone, where thick curling black hair peeked out. She had to fight not to throw herself at him.

  “Coffee?” he murmured.

  “In the pot.”

  He poured himself a cup, watching the deft motions of her hands as she buttered biscuits and scooped eggs onto a platter already brimming over with bacon and sausages.

  “Aren’t you eating?” he asked as he seated himself at the table.

  “Haven’t time,” she said, arranging a layer of canapés on a baking sheet. “Most of your guests are coming in time for lunch, so these have to be done now, before I get too busy.”

  His sensuous lips made a thin line. “I can’t stand him, but Derek is right about one thing. You do let Margie use you.”

  “You
and Margie were there when I had nobody else,” she said without seeing the flinch of his eyelids. “I consider that she’s entitled to anything I can ever do for her.”

  “You sell yourself short.”

  “I appreciate it when people do things for me without being asked,” she replied. She put the canapés in the oven and set the timer, pushing back sweaty hair that had escaped from her bun.

  His eyes went over her figure in baggy pants and an oversize T-shirt. “You dress like a bag lady,” he muttered.

  She glanced at him, surprised. “I dress very nicely at work.”

  “Like a dowager bag lady,” he corrected. “You wear the same sort of clothes you favored when you were overweight. You’re not anymore. Why don’t you wear things that fit?”

  It was surprising that he noticed her enough to even know what she was wearing. “Margie’s the fashion model, not me,” she reminded him. “Besides, I’m not the type for trendy stuff. I’m just ordinary.”

  He frowned. She had a real ego problem. He and Margie hadn’t done much for it, either. She accepted anything that was thrown at her, as if she deserved it. He was surprised how much it bothered him, to see her so undervalued even by herself. Not that he was interested in her, he added silently. She wasn’t his type at all.

  “Kirry’s coming this morning,” he added. “I have to pick her up at the airport at noon.”

  Jodie only smiled. “Margie’s hoping she’ll help her with a market for her designs.”

  “I think she’ll try,” he said conservatively. “Eat breakfast,” he said. “You can’t go all day without food.”

  “I don’t have time,” she repeated, starting on another batch of canapés. “Unless you want to sacrifice yourself in a bowl of dough?” she offered, extending the bowl with a mischievous smile.

  His green eyes twinkled affectionately in spite of himself. “No, thanks.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  He watched her work while he ate, nebulous thoughts racing through his mind. Jodie was so much a part of his life that he never felt discomfort when they were together. He had a hard time with strangers. He appeared to be stoic and aloof, but in fact he was an introvert who didn’t quite know how to mix with people who weren’t in law enforcement. Like Jodie herself, he considered. She was almost painfully shy around people she didn’t know—and tonight, she was going to be thrown in headfirst with a crowd she probably wouldn’t even like.

  Kirry’s friends were social climbers, high society. Alexander himself wasn’t comfortable with them, and Jodie certainly wouldn’t be. They were into expensive cars, European vacations, diamonds, investments, and they traveled in circles that included some of the most famous people alive, from movie stars to Formula 1 race car drivers, to financial geniuses, playwrights and authors. They classified their friends by wealth and status, not by character. In their world, right and wrong didn’t even exist.

  “You’re not going to like this crowd,” he said aloud.

  She glanced at him. “I’ll be in the kitchen most of the time,” she said easily, “or helping serve.”

  He looked outraged. “You’re a guest, not the kitchen help!”

  “Don’t be absurd,” she murmured absently, “I haven’t even got the right clothes to wear to Kirry’s sort of party. I’d be an embarrassment.”

  He set his coffee cup down with muted force. “Then why the hell did you come in the first place?” he asked.

  “Margie asked me to,” she said simply.

  He got up and went out without another word. Jodie was going to regret this visit. He was sorry Margie had insisted that she come.

  The party was in full swing. Alexander had picked up Kirry at the airport and lugged her suitcases up to the second guest room, down the hall from Jodie’s. Kirry, blond and svelte and from a wealthy background was like the Cobbs, old money and family ties. She looked at Jodie without seeing her, and talked only to Margie and Alexander during lunch. Fortunately there were plenty of other people there who didn’t mind talking to Jodie, especially an elderly couple apparently rolling in wealth to judge by the diamonds the matron was decked out in.

  After lunch, Kirry had Alexander drive her into town and Jodie silently excused herself and escaped to the kitchen.

  She had a nice little black dress, off the rack at a local department store, and high heels to match, which she wore to the party. But it was hidden under the big apron she wore most of the evening, heating and arranging canapés and washing dishes and crystal glasses in between uses.

  It was almost ten o’clock before she was able to join Margie and her friends. But by then, Margie was hanging on to Kirry like a bat, with Alexander nearby, and Jodie couldn’t get near her.

  She stood in a corner by herself, wishing that Derek hadn’t run from this weekend, so that she’d at least have someone to talk to. But that wasn’t happening. She started talking to the elderly matron she’d sat beside at lunch, but another couple joined them and mentioned their week in Paris, and a mutual friend, and Jodie was out of her depth. She moved to another circle, but they were discussing annuities and investments, and she knew nothing to contribute to that discussion, either.

  Alexander noticed, seething, that she was alone most of the evening. He started to get up, but Kirry moved closer and clung to his sleeve while Margie talked about her latest collection and offered to show it to Kirry in the morning. Kirry was very possessive. They weren’t involved, as he’d been with other women. Perhaps that was why she was reluctant to let him move away. She hated the very thought of any other woman looking at him. That possessiveness was wearing thin. She was beautiful and she carried herself well, but she had an attitude he didn’t like, and she was positively rude to any of his colleagues that spoke to him when they were together. Not that she had any idea what Alexander actually did for a living. He was independently wealthy and people in his and Margie’s circle of friends assumed that the ranch was his full-time occupation. He’d taught Jodie and Margie never to mention that he worked in Drug Enforcement. They could say that he dabbled in security work, if they liked, but nothing more. When he’d started out with the DEA, he’d done a lot of undercover work. It wasn’t politic to let people know that.

  Jodie, meanwhile, had discovered champagne. She’d never let herself drink at any of the Cobb parties in the past, but she was feeling particularly isolated tonight, and it was painful. She liked the bubbles, the fragrance of flowers that clung to the exquisite beverage and the delicious taste. So she had three glasses, one after the other, and pretty soon she didn’t mind at all that Margie and Alexander’s guests were treating her like a barmaid who’d tried to insert herself into their exalted circles.

  She noticed that she’d had too much to drink when she walked toward a doorway and ran headfirst into the door facing. She began to giggle softly. Her hair was coming down from its high coiffure, but she didn’t care. She took out the circular comb that had held it in place and shook her head, letting the thick, waving wealth of hair fall to her shoulders.

  The action caught the eye of a man nearby, a bored race car driver who’d been dragged to this hick party by his wife. He sized up Jodie, and despite the dress that did absolutely nothing for her, he was intrigued.

  He moved close, leaning against the door facing she’d hit so unexpectedly.

  “Hurt yourself?” he asked in a pleasant deep drawl, faintly accented.

  Jodie looked up at the newcomer curiously and managed a lopsided grin. He was a dish, with curly black hair and dancing black eyes, an olive complexion and the body of an athlete.

  “Only my hard head,” she replied with a chuckle. “Who are you?”

  “Francisco,” he replied lazily. He lifted his glass to her in a toast. “You’re the first person tonight who even asked.” He leaned down so that he was eye to eye with her. “I’m a foreigner, you see.”

  “Are you, really?”

  He was enchanted. He laughed, and it wasn’t a polite social laugh at
all. “I’m from Madrid,” he said. “Didn’t you notice my accent?”

  “I don’t speak any foreign languages,” she confessed sadly, sipping what was left of her champagne. “I don’t understand high finance or read popular novels or know any movie stars, and I’ve never been on a holiday abroad. So I thought I’d go sit in the kitchen.”

  He laughed again. “May I join you, then?” he asked.

  She looked pointedly at his left hand. There was no ring.

  He took a ring out of his slacks pocket and dangled it in front of her. “We don’t advertise our commitment at parties. My wife likes it that way. That’s my wife,” he added with pure disdain, nodding toward a blond woman in a skintight red dress that looked sprayed on. She was leaning against a very handsome blond man.

  “She’s beautiful,” she remarked.

  “She’s anybody’s,” he returned coldly. “The man she’s stalking is a rising motion picture star. He’s poor. She’s rich. She’s financing his career in return for the occasional loan of his body.”

  Her eyes almost popped out of her eyelids.

  He shook his head. “You’re not worldly, are you?” he mused. “I have an open marriage. She does what she pleases. So do I.”

  “Don’t you love her?” she asked curiously.

  “One marries for love, you think.” He sighed. “What a child you are. I married her because her father owned the company. As his son-in-law, I get to drive the car in competition.”

  “You’re the race car driver!” she exclaimed softly. “Kirry mentioned you were coming.”

  “Kirry.” His lips curled distastefully and he glanced across the room into a pair of cold, angry green eyes above the head of Kirry Dane. “She was last year’s diversion,” he murmured. “She wanted to be seen at Monaco.”

  Jodie was surprised by his lack of inhibition. She wondered if Alexander knew about this relationship, or if he cared. She’d never thought whether he bothered asking about his date’s previous entanglements.