Hottest Mess

by J. Kenner

  She hadn't agreed, but she had gone. And now he was alone in the house and missing her already.

  He may have suggested that he was going into the city to work, but that was utter bullshit. He was too ripped up to be around other people. Better to stay in, go through some loose ends for Deliverance. Maybe watch five or six hours of mindless television so he wouldn't have to think about how maybe he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life by sending her away.

  It was all true--he needed to think. He needed time. He needed to figure out what he wanted, what he needed.

  Because right now, he only knew one thing--he needed her. He just didn't know how to have her without hurting her. Without dragging her down to a place she said she was willing to go, but he knew damn well she didn't belong.

  Dammit all to hell. He was a fucking mess.

  A fucking mess, and at loose ends.

  He'd meant it when he said he needed to clear his head, and the best way he knew to do that was to take a walk on the beach. He was back in his bedroom, and now he looked for his headphones, finally finding them on the bedside table. He pulled up a playlist on his phone, then started toward the door.

  He paused, then stripped off the slacks he'd pulled on to go meet Bill. He crumpled the damn things, tossed them in a corner, and then searched out the jeans he'd worn at the party. He picked them up, then breathed in the scent of her, grateful that Archie hadn't come through to gather up the laundry.

  After telling himself he was being ridiculous but not much caring, he pulled on the jeans. Because, dammit, if he couldn't have the woman, he at least wanted the memory.

  He hurried downstairs, then out the French doors to the pool deck--then stopped short when he saw the woman on one of the deck chairs.

  Not Jane--Adele.

  "Adele," he said, forcing himself not to frown as he crossed to her. "I didn't know you were here."

  She tilted the brim of her hat back and smiled up at him, still stunning even past fifty. "Didn't Archie tell you?" Her mouth pulled down into a frown. "He must still be looking for you."

  "So what's up? Why are you here?"

  "I'm meeting a real estate agent in forty minutes--there was hardly any traffic coming in and I got here so early I thought I'd drive over and see you and Jane." She turned to sit up. Her dress was short, and hitched up as she shifted, revealing a glimpse of pink lace. Dallas looked away, certain the casual reveal had been intentional.

  "Buying?"

  "Considering." She glanced around. "Isn't Jane around?"

  He shook his head, trying to look casual. "Why would she be?"

  "She was here when I called," Adele reminded him.

  "Oh, that. She just came to gawk at the party," he said, copying Jane's earlier story to Bill. "She left well before it ran its course."

  "Did she?" She took a step toward him, and he saw the small beads of sweat in her cleavage. She reached for him, taking his hand in hers before he could pull away. "Did that upset you?" Her voice was low. Soothing. "Had you fantasized that she would stay? Maybe sneak into your room late at night?"

  He tugged his hand free and stepped back. "Don't even go there."

  She lifted a brow. "So that would be a yes, then. Poor little rich boy, can't have the girl he wants."

  He clenched his mouth closed so tight it almost hurt. Adele knew he wanted Jane. But wanting and having were two different things, and no way was he telling her that he and Jane had crossed that line. She might keep it confidential--hell, the woman was a therapist, so she was trained to keep secrets--but she might also tell Colin. After all, she wasn't Dallas's therapist, but she'd once been his lover. If she learned about Jane ... if she turned out to be jealous ...

  The thought made him frown. At one point, he'd actually considered that Adele might be his letter writer. But he'd dismissed the idea quickly enough. The timing was wrong, for one thing. He'd finally and fully broken off with Adele about four months ago, but the letters had started long before that.

  Besides, Adele was hardly obsessed with him. She had a long string of lovers, including her ex-husband, Colin.

  "Must have been hard." She tilted her head to one side as she studied him.

  "What's that?"

  "Having her in your house. Being civil to her. And not having her the way you want to."

  He kept his face passive. The woman had no idea how much she spoke the truth.

  "I could ease some of that tension." She stepped closer. "I'm sure that agent won't mind if I'm a few minutes late."

  He had to chuckle. "I don't think so, Adele. I don't want fucked up. Not today."

  "No? What do you want?"

  Wasn't that the question of the hour? That was exactly why he'd sent Jane away, so he could figure out just what the hell he wanted. And, more important, how he could have it.

  And now, standing here with Adele, he realized that it wasn't fucked up that he wanted. Needed, yes. Craved, absolutely. And maybe they'd have to go there if they were ever going to get clear of all the emotional shit that surrounded them.

  But what he wanted went deeper. What he wanted was normal, pure and simple. Dinner. A movie. Dancing and hand-holding. Something to ground them, to hold them steady and prop them up when he and Jane inevitably careened toward the precipice. Something solid to pull them back if they went over.

  But he didn't tell Adele any of that. Instead, he nodded toward the front of the house. "I think I want to walk you to your car."

  He headed that way and she fell in step beside him. "So we'll see both of you next week?" Adele said. "Jane agreed to come to dinner?"

  "She did."

  "Lovely." Her smile was overly bright. "I look forward to seeing the two of you together. It's so much fun watching a man with blue balls."

  "Anyone ever tell you that you're a raving bitch, Adele?"

  She laughed. "All the time."

  They'd reached her car, and she pulled her keys out of her bag. She was heading toward the driver's door when Dallas reached out and caught her elbow. "Quick question. Who was Colin with between my mother and you?"

  Lisa had divorced Colin when he and Jane were little kids. And Colin had married Adele when Dallas was in college. If it turned out that Colin was the Jailer, then somewhere in that gap, he met the Woman. And it was just possible that Adele had heard her name.

  "What on earth makes you ask that?"

  And wasn't that a damn good question? "I was thinking about my mom. You two are so different. I was wondering if there was a progression or if Colin just went from Georgia belle to European vixen."

  "Vixen? Well, aren't you sweet." She pursed her lips in thought. "Honestly, I have no idea about his other women." She seemed entirely uninterested. "I suppose you could ask him at dinner."

  "Maybe I will," he said as Adele got in her car, even though he knew full well he wouldn't. But he did have another idea, and as soon as he had the chance, he'd give his mom a call. With any luck, Lisa had kept an eye on Colin after the divorce.

  With even more luck, she'd lead Dallas straight to the Woman.

  He turned to head back toward the beach, then stopped cold, realizing the import of his words. Somewhere along the way, his thinking had shifted. He was truly seeing Colin as guilty now. As one half of a team.

  The possibility made him queasy, not just because Colin had become a friend. But because he knew that if he was right, he'd end up putting a bullet through the head of the man that Jane once called Daddy.

  Reality Bites

  Despite the fact that I've parked myself in front of my computer, I am completely incapable of getting any work done.

  I tell myself that I understand why Dallas wanted me to go. It isn't my fault--not really. It's not that I pushed too hard. Instead, it's that he needs space to get his head around everything he's feeling. To battle with everything he is fighting.

  I tell myself all that, and maybe I even believe it. But that doesn't soothe my hurt. For seventeen years we'd separately battled
our past, and I'd let myself believe that we'd conquered the hard part. That we were together now, and whatever came next we would face as a couple, holding tight to each other and sharing our strength.

  I was wrong. I didn't really know what the hard part was. Not for Dallas, anyway. And now I'm here and Dallas is there, and I'm going crazy wondering what he's doing, what he's thinking, what he's feeling.

  I sigh, wishing I could turn off my churning thoughts. I'd arrived back at my townhouse over an hour ago, and I'd thought that diving back into work would help, but clearly I'm insane. The scene on my computer screen is intense and full of action, and I think it's one of the best scenes in the screenplay. It's unfinished, however. All that drama and angst and roiling emotions coming to a dead stop because I don't know what to do next.

  Honestly, it's a metaphor for my life.

  I push back from the kitchen table where I've set up my laptop, and for what must be the hundredth time that morning, I pour myself another cup of coffee and start to pace the kitchen, back and forth in front of the table.

  I'm antsy and out of sorts, and all I want is for things to be right between me and Dallas. I'd thought we were moving in that direction--hell, I'd thought we'd arrived--but then he'd sideswiped me, and now I feel as if he'd physically knocked me off the planet and I'm tumbling wild and out of control and off into space.

  Out of control.

  That's the real kicker, isn't it?

  Because as much as I want to hold on to control, I've let it slip with Dallas. I'd surrendered every ounce of control that I'd held so tightly to for years. Now I'm at loose ends, and don't know what to do, because I don't know how to fight, much less how to help.

  I glance at my phone, toying with the idea of calling him like the needy, insecure woman I am.

  But then I realize that as much as I need to hear his voice, what I really need is to feel in control again. For the last seventeen years I've religiously studied everything from kickboxing to various martial arts to police certified self-defense classes. I've even hired an ex-cop to teach me how to shoot and got my dad to pull strings so that I could get a New York City license to carry a handgun.

  But it's been forever since I've taken one of my self-defense classes or gone to the range. I've let my training slide. It's as if in surrendering to my need for Dallas, I let go of my grip on everything else. And now I have to get it back.

  I glance at the clock on the mantel. I'm pretty sure the studio on Eighty-Fourth has a class at four today, and if I go change right now, I can easily make it.

  I'm about to do just that when my gaze catches my phone, and I hesitate. Because the one thing that will make me feel even more in control is if I can help Dallas. And seeing the phone makes me remember how I can.

  I snatch it up, ecstatic to be doing rather than waiting.

  And what I'm doing is calling Henry Darcy.

  It takes me a few minutes to track down Darcy's number, but he's done business with my father on and off for years, so I end up calling Dallas's assistant.

  "Ms. Martin," she says. "How lovely to hear from you."

  "Sorry to interrupt your day. I'm sure you're swamped what with Dallas back in the office after a week's vacation, but I need a favor."

  "No interruption. Dallas took today off, too, so I'm catching up on filing."

  "Oh." I frown, because he'd told me he was coming into the city and to his office.

  "I'm sorry, what did you say you needed?"

  "What?" It takes a moment for her words to penetrate my numb brain, then I rattle off my plan to interview Henry Darcy for my book and ask her to text me his number.

  I'm frowning when we end the call, and still frowning when the number comes across my phone's screen. Did Dallas think that he had to pretend that he was going to the office in order to get rid of me? Did he want me gone so badly that he had to make up excuses?

  I clutch my phone tighter and tell myself not to think about it. I have a plan, after all, and worrying about Dallas's machinations isn't part of it. Instead, I need to call Henry Darcy. That's the next step, and that's what I do.

  And even though I'm tempted to hang up after the first ring because I'm just feeling so damn shaky, I force myself to hold on, then ask the woman who answers if I can speak to him. And then I hear myself saying, "Mr. Darcy, this is Jane Martin, Eli Sykes's daughter and Dallas's sister. I was hoping you had a moment to chat?"

  He's surprised to hear from me, of course, but when I tell him that I want to talk about his daughters' kidnapping, he says that he probably should have expected my call. After all, the press has been covering my books lately, and gossip about the casting for the movie of The Price of Ransom has been all over social media.

  "I've heard about the title of your upcoming book," he says. "I saw you on Evening Edge last Saturday."

  "Code Name: Deliverance," I say. "I guess I should start by saying thank you. It's a great title, and it pretty much came from you."

  Darcy had told Bill about the vigilante group that had orchestrated his daughters' rescue. And in the telling, he'd also mentioned that he'd heard something he probably shouldn't--the internal name that the group used. Deliverance.

  "That's actually why I'm calling," I say. "I was hoping to interview you for the book. Get a few details about how it worked. My thesis is all about the aftereffects of vigilante involvement, of course, but I think that providing the reader with an overview of the process, contact protocols, that sort of thing would really help the book as a whole. Do you think we could meet?"

  Thankfully, he agrees. Unfortunately, he can't do it today. But I get him on my calendar for a lunch in just a few days and consider myself lucky.

  I'm basking in the pleasure of a mission accomplished as I grab my phone and start toward the stairs to change for my class. I'm halfway up when it rings, and I pause to look at caller ID.

  Dallas.

  I consider not answering--after all, if Dallas needed a break to get his shit together, I ought to help him stick to that.

  But the truth is that I don't have the willpower. Not where Dallas is concerned, and so I hit the button and answer the call.

  "You call it the dark?" Dallas says without even waiting for me to speak. "I call it hell. A pit. A chamber of horrors. And I hate myself for wanting to go there with you." His voice is hard. Unflinching. And almost monotone in its precision.

  "I told you, Dallas. I'm there for you however you need me to be. All you have to do is believe me."

  "I do." His tone has softened, and I hear a touch of gentleness. "And we'll go there. But not yet. Not the first thing."

  I'm actually smiling a little when I say, "Well, it would hardly be the first thing ..."

  I'm not even sure he's heard me, because he presses on so quickly. "I want to go out on a date. I want something normal."

  I frown, not sure that this is a good step. "Nothing between us is normal, Dallas. And maybe that's okay."

  "Maybe," he concedes. "But I want it anyway. I want hand-holding and stolen kisses and candlelight." There's a beat, and in the silence I feel as though I'm floating simply from the impact of his words. "What are you doing tonight?"

  "Oh." The question takes me off guard, and my head is suddenly flooded with all sorts of reasons why I should tell him I'm busy. I'd have to miss my class. I need to finish writing this scene. He tossed me out of his house, so maybe I should reject him as well, if for no other reason than to be contrary.

  But then I think about the sensation of his skin against mine. Of how much I want his kiss. Of how I want to see his features lit by the glow of a candle.

  And I think about how safe I feel just being near him.

  "I don't know," I finally say. "What am I doing tonight?"

  "Going out with me. I'll pick you up at seven. Dinner. A movie. Maybe drinks after."

  I'm grinning like an idiot, but my smile soon dies. "A real date? In public? Dallas, are you insane? You know we can't. What if people figure it out?"


  "Trust me," he says.

  And because I do, I say, "All right."

  Dinner and a Movie

  Honestly, you'd think I'd never been on a date before.

  I take a long bath with lavender scented bath salts, taking my time to soak and shave and generally relax. After I get out and towel off, I use some of the luxurious body butter that Stacey gave me for Christmas last year, rubbing it in so that my legs and arms are soft and subtly scented.

  I brush my teeth--twice. Do my makeup with more care than usual. Then get dressed in a sheer black blouse and Agent Provocateur bra paired with a stunning cotton jersey skirt that features a slit so high up my thigh it would have revealed the leg band of my underwear had I been wearing any.

  I'm not sure if Dallas is planning a hands-off, old-fashioned date or if he intends to rip my clothes off and have his way with me. If it's the first, he'll never know I'm going commando. And if it's the second--

  Well, I really hope it's the second.

  He said he wanted hand-holding and kisses--and while that sounds lovely, I want more. With Dallas, I always want more. And the truth is, I know he does, too.

  So while I'm excited for the date, I'm also a little afraid that this is part of a bigger slide backward. That he's going to keep dangling the carrot of kink without ever actually getting there. Which would be fine if we were a regular couple, but we're not. At some point he has to take me into the dark with him. He says he knows that; he even sounds like he really believes it.

  I'm just not completely confident in his follow-through.

  I draw a breath and tell myself it's okay. He needs time, and he needs to work things through for himself.

  Hopefully, tonight is about doing the work.

  I check my hair and makeup one last time, then slip on my shoes--strappy sandals with four inch heels that do wonders for my legs and ass. I'm ready. And I still have twenty minutes before he's scheduled to arrive.

  I frown, my mind in a whirl, the seconds ticking away so slowly it's painful. With a shock, I realize I'm nervous, as much at loose ends as I'd been for my very first date with Danny McBride when I was thirteen. I hadn't really been interested in Danny--even then, I knew deep down which boy I really wanted--but I was genuinely flattered by his attraction to me. I'd been a wreck waiting for him to show up, not knowing what to expect or if I'd like it.