Letters to Kelly

by Suzanne Brockmann

  God, she still wanted him.

  Aha, triumphantly cried the side of her that always played devil’s advocate. I’ve been right all along. You do still love him.

  Don’t get carried away, she chastised herself. Lust and love don’t always go hand in hand.

  Still, as she lay awake into the late hours of the night, she could see T.’s stormy green eyes and hear an echo of his voice saying, This is not over. I’m under your skin.

  Around two-thirty, Kelly fell into a restless sleep, only to dream about T. Jackson Winchester.

  “So when are you going to call her?” Jared asked.

  Jax was sitting in front of his computer, arms folded across his chest. A glance at his watch told him it was still not even nine o’clock in the morning.

  It was going to be another hot one. He could already see heat waves shimmering out on the sandy beach.

  Jax had a similar heat cooking inside of him at the thought of calling Kelly and hearing her voice. And if everything went according to plan, he’d be seeing her in only a few hours.

  He would be using her ambition as a means to get her out here, though, to put her within his grasp. It felt like cheating, but Jax reminded himself that he had to do whatever it would take to get her to spend time with him.

  “All’s fair in love and war,” Jared supplied helpfully. “So why don’t you call her?”

  “Why don’t you quit trying to distract me?” Jax said. “I’m not going to call Kelly until nine, and I should probably even wait until ten. Right now I should be finishing this damned book, and you should be helping.”

  “Hey, I’m not the one who left me hanging here on the Boston Common with Carrie for two solid days.” Jared was disgruntled. “And on top of all that, she’s still mad at me. Why am I here? What’s the purpose of this scene? Maybe you just want to torture me. I suppose that could be it. God knows you love to torture me—”

  “This is where you notice the bruises on Carrie’s face,” Jax said, starting to write.

  Horrified, Jared looked closer.

  Carrie had tried to cover it with powder, but he could see the fading bruise beneath her eye and across her delicate cheekbone. She ducked her head, turning away.

  “I have to go—”

  Jared caught her arm. “Who did this to you?”

  “I fell.” She couldn’t meet his gaze as she pulled away.

  He swore sharply, but it was the sudden tears filling his eyes that slowed her feet. “Why do you stay with him, Carrie?” he asked. “Lord—how could you marry him—”

  But as she wheeled to face him, it was anger, not sorrow that made her voice shake. “How dare you,” she said. “How dare you come back here, and how dare you look at me as if I were the one who betrayed you? God damn you to hell, Jared Dexter. You’re the one who deserted me! You promised you would come for me—”

  “Why didn’t you wait?” It came out a whisper filled with his anguish and pain. “You should have waited for me.”

  He held her by her shoulders, and as he stared down into her deep blue eyes he could see…fear?

  “Let go of me,” she said. “You’re making a scene. If someone tells Harlan they saw me here like this with you—”

  Jared released her, feeling sick.

  Jared looked up at Jax. “I don’t like where this is going.”

  “You’re definitely not gonna like where Carrie’s going.”

  “Going? As in away? No, don’t tell me—”

  “She and Harlan are headed out west,” Jax said. “Yippee-yi-oh-ki-ay. They’re buying a ranch in California.”

  “California?” Jared threw up his hands in disgust. “Are you sure this book is going to have a happy ending?”

  “I’m sure of nothing these days,” Jax replied.

  “Lord save me from depressed writers.” Jared rolled his eyes.

  “Relax,” Jax said. “It won’t be long now ’til Part Three. Part Three is three years later.”

  “Three years! What have I been doing for three years?”

  “Getting richer. Your business ventures keep earning you more money. Everything you touch turns to gold.”

  “Everything except my love life.” Jared sulked.

  “You go west,” Jax said, and Jared stopped sulking.

  “Okay. Things are starting to look better. Where exactly did you say Harlan Kent’s ranch was?”

  “I didn’t.” Jax sat back in his chair. “But it’s near Los Angeles.”

  “So what’s going to happen?” Jared was still suspicious.

  “First you go to L.A.,” Jax told him, “where you find out that Harlan’s dead.”

  The hard planes of Jared’s handsome face softened into a smile. “Now you’re talking. You had me worried there for a while.”

  Jax pulled himself back to his computer keyboard, but Jared shook his head.

  “It’s after nine,” he pointed out. “You should call Kelly.”

  “Just let me get this started,” Jax said distractedly.

  “You’re stalling.”

  Jared was right. He was stalling. No more stalling. With a click of his mouse, Jax cleared the computer screen.

  Taking a deep breath, he turned and looked at the telephone, then glanced at his watch to be sure it really was past nine.

  He picked up the phone and dialed Kelly’s home number. It rang once. Twice. Three times. Four.

  “Hello?” She was breathless, as if she’d run for the phone.

  “Hey, Kel,” Jackson said. “It’s me. Jax. How are you?”

  “Soaking wet, actually,” she said in her familiar, husky voice. “I was just turning off the shower when I heard the phone. Can you hold on a sec while I dry off and grab my robe?”

  A sudden vivid image of Kelly, standing with only a towel around her, took Jax’s breath away. He almost couldn’t answer. “Yeah, sure,” he managed to say.

  He heard the sound of the phone being put down and then silence for about thirty seconds. Then she was back.

  “Sorry about that,” she said.

  “No problem.” He wiped the sweat off his upper lip with the back of his hand.

  “It’s funny. I was just thinking about you.”

  In the shower? He shook his head. It wasn’t going to do him any good to start thinking along those lines.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  Funny you should ask…He cleared his throat. “I read your manuscript. It’s good.”

  There was silence.

  “You read it.” Another pause. “I thought Stefanie was going to.”

  Mentally Jax froze. God, of course. Kelly thought that Stef was Jayne Tyler. She had no reason to think anything else. He realized that she was waiting for him to say something, that his silence was stretching longer and longer.

  “Yeah,” he finally said, hoping his next words would take her attention off the vagueness of his comment. “Look, your story could use some revisions. And that’s why I’m calling. I thought you might be interested in letting Jayne Tyler help you with the rewrites.”

  It was his ace in the hole, his secret weapon, his only shot, and he prayed desperately that it would work.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No.”

  More silence. He could almost hear the wheels turning in her head.

  “Our offices are here at the house in Dennis,” he said, mostly to fill the empty space. “I figure you could have the revisions done by the end of the summer.”

  “Dennis, huh?” She made a sound that might’ve been a laugh. “It’s a hefty commute, considering I don’t have a car.”

  “Um,” Jax said. “There’s plenty of room for you to stay over.”

  She laughed. “Now, how did I know you were going to say that?”

  “Oh, come on, Kel.” Jax closed his eyes and prayed. “Summer on the Cape…?”

  “T., will you be honest with me?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Is my writing really any good, or is thi
s just a ploy to get me out to Cape Cod?”

  “Yes, and yes,” he admitted.

  Kelly laughed. “Right,” she said. “Okay, answer this one. What does Jayne get from doing this? I mean, I understand your motivation, but what’s in it for her?”

  “Whoa,” Jax backpedaled. “Wait a minute. Kelly, this isn’t some kind of sexual bribe. I don’t want you to think that you owe me anything. I just want you to have a chance to get to know me again. That’s all.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not trying to buy your love. Or anything else. I’m just trying to get you out here. Once you’re here, I’m hoping…you’ll fall in love with me again.”

  “Well.” Kelly was slightly breathless. “As long as we’re being honest with each other, I have to tell you that I have no intention of falling in love with you ever again, Tyrone.”

  She’d already made that way more than clear. “I know. Will you come anyway?”

  “What kind of computer do you have?”

  “A PC,” he said. “Why?”

  “I knew it,” she said. “More proof that we’re not compatible. I’ve got a Mac. I better plan on bringing it.”

  Jax stood, twirled around in a silent dance of victory and then untangled himself from the phone cord. Yes. Yes.

  “Can you pick me up?” she asked. “Or is that a stupid question?”

  “Stupid question,” he agreed. “Really stupid. I’ll be there before noon. Don’t forget to pack your bathing suit.”

  “Of course,” Kelly said dryly. “I always wear my bathing suit when I write.”

  “Oh, come on. It’s summer. This is Cape Cod. You can’t not bring your bathing suit.”

  “I won’t be packed by noon,” Kelly warned him.

  “I’ll help you pack.”

  “I must be crazy.”

  “I promise you, Kelly,” Jax said, “you won’t regret this.”

  “I already regret this.” But then she laughed. “I am crazy. See you later, T.”

  Jackson hung up the phone and let out a whoop that could be heard clear across the bay.

  Chapter 11

  “Rule number one,” Kelly said, sitting in Jax’s little sports car as they sped down Route 3 toward Cape Cod. “No touching.”

  “I can live with that.” Jax smiled as he glanced at her. “With exceptions, of course—”

  “No exceptions,” she said sternly.

  “Well, what if I have to pull you out of a burning building?” Jax asked. “Or push you out of the way of a speeding car? Or—”

  “I don’t intend to spend much time in burning buildings or near speeding cars this summer. Rule number two.”

  “All rules have exceptions,” Jax told her stubbornly. “And you know it.”

  “Rule number two,” Kelly repeated, crossing her arms. She could be just as stubborn. “No looking at me like you want to eat me for dinner.”

  Jax exhaled a loud burst of air as he laughed. “Like what?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t—” He was laughing at her.

  “Yes, you do.” She smacked his arm.

  “Uh-uh-uh. That was a direct violation of rule number one. No touching.”

  “You know the look I mean,” Kelly insisted, choosing to ignore him. “It’s like you’re taking off my clothes with your eyes.”

  “Rule number two,” Jax repeated. “No taking off your clothes with my eyes. It’s gonna make it hard to undress you, considering rule number one. How about taking off your clothes with telekinesis? Is that permitted?”

  Kelly couldn’t hide her laughter, which was only serving to make him act sillier than ever. “T., you’re not taking me seriously.”

  “On the contrary. I’m taking you extremely seriously.” The road was flat and straight and empty, and he took his eyes off of it for a long moment to study her. Despite the car’s air-conditioning, she was sticky and hot and—

  “That’s the look,” she accused him. “You were giving me that look—”

  Startled, Jackson pulled his eyes back to the road. “I was not—”

  “Yes, you were.”

  “Well, if I was, I didn’t know it. How can I stop doing something I don’t do intentionally?”

  “Wear your sunglasses.”

  “Day and night?” he said. “Inside the house?”

  She shrugged. “Whatever works. Rule number three.”

  “There’s more?”

  “No sweet talk, no marriage proposals, no constant reminders that you want us to be more than friends, no sexual innuendos.”

  Jax sighed. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to stand the pressure.”

  “Rule number four—”

  “Kelly, you’re not giving me an awful lot to work with here.”

  “No trying to distract me with your body.”

  “Excuse me? No trying to what?”

  “No walking around half-naked,” she elaborated. “You know.”

  “Kel, we’re going to be living at a beach house,” Jax said. “Everyone walks around half-naked. Including you. I hope.”

  “Rule number five—No flirting.” She looked over at him. “That’s going to be a hard one for you. I don’t think you’re capable of communicating with a woman without flirting.”

  Jax was silent for a long time. Finally he looked over at her and lifted an eyebrow. “Every single way I could think of responding to that statement could be interpreted as flirting. You’re right. I’m completely doomed.”

  He pulled off the highway and down to the end of the exit ramp. There were no cars behind him, so he put the car in park and turned toward Kelly.

  “T. Jackson Winchester the Second’s Only Rule.” He had a dangerous glint in his eye and Kelly tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go. “Once a day,” he told her, “every single day, I intend to break each and every one of your rules. Rules number one and two…” He touched the side of her face, pulling her chin up so that her gaze met his. He looked into her eyes, letting his desire for her simmer. “Rule number three,” he whispered. “Kelly, I want to make love to you for days without stopping. Please, will you stop this nonsense and just marry me?”

  “No,” she breathed, caught in the turbulent green of his eyes. Oh, God, this was a mistake.

  He leaned closer and kissed her, but instead of a passionate attack, his mouth was soft, sweet. “The kiss was a variation on rule four,” he explained, then he smiled. “These rules are going to kill me. But frankly, I can’t think of a better way to go.”

  She could kiss him. She could lean forward right now and kiss him, and, like the man said, stop this nonsense.

  Instead, Kelly closed her eyes until she felt the car moving forward. She couldn’t give in. She wouldn’t give in.

  Not unless she wanted him to break her heart all over again.

  The Winchester house was enormous, and it sat on a craggy hill overlooking the beach. It was modern, with lots of odd angles and high ceilings. No single corner came together absolutely square.

  The large living room was a few steps down from the entryway, and it had huge sliding glass doors that led out onto a wide wooden deck. The furniture looked surprisingly comfortable, and the room was decorated all in white and various shades of blue and green—the colors of the beach. There was a fireplace and an expensive sound system and a wall full of books. It was not the cold, imposing room that Kelly had expected from T.’s descriptions of the Winchester estates.

  “Nice,” she said.

  T. laughed at the tone of her voice. “Why so surprised?”

  She turned to face him, and caught a glimpse of her own rueful smile in the reflective lenses of his sunglasses. He was making a point to wear them inside the house. “Isn’t this your parents’ house?”

  “Not anymore.” He shifted the weight of her suitcase to his left hand. “I bought it from them a few years ago.”

  “But this is the house you lived in when you were in high school,” Kelly said.

  He
smiled, setting the suitcase down. “This is it. Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

  She followed him back up the stairs and then up several more steps into the kitchen. It was huge and gleaming, with two different refrigerators, what seemed like miles of counter space and a center island that contained a second sink. All of the cabinets were made of a light knotted pine, and on the floor was cream-colored ceramic tile. Shining pots hung from a grid on one wall, and fruits and vegetables sat in baskets that dangled from the center beam.

  “I keep a grocery list on the refrigerator,” Jax told her. “If you want anything special, just add it to the list. I’ll pick it up next time I’m at the store.”

  “I didn’t know you could cook.”

  “I’m a whiz at grilled-cheese sandwiches,” he said. “My other specialty is cornflakes. I pour a mean pitcher of milk.”

  Kelly followed him several steps down the hall. “This is the dining room.” He didn’t bother to go inside the large room that held a banquet-size table and about sixteen chairs. “But I don’t use it. I eat out on the deck.” He smiled. “Or in a restaurant. Usually in a restaurant.”

  He led her up a full set of stairs to the second floor. A long hallway stretched both right and left. He turned left. “This is my wing. It’s over the garage.” He pointed at several doors. “Guest bedroom, guest bedroom, bathroom. This is my office.”

  After peeking into the two very tastefully decorated guest rooms, Kelly followed T. Jackson into his office. It was a big room that, like the living room, overlooked the beach.

  “I can move a desk in here for your computer,” Jax said. “Or you can set it up in your room, whichever you prefer. Some people don’t like writing when someone else is in the room, so…”

  Kelly turned to him and smiled. “T., at school I work in the newsroom. If you don’t mind, I’ll put my computer in here. Unless you think having Stefanie and me working in here will disturb you?”

  “Um…”

  “What’s in here?” Kelly curiously pushed open the door that connected his office to another room.

  “My bedroom.” He came to stand behind her, finally taking off his sunglasses.

  His room was dark, with the shades still pulled down and the big bed unmade. Clothes were draped over chairs and in piles on the floor. His closet door was open, revealing a row of neatly hung shirts and jackets. The room was cool and dim and smelled good, like Jackson.