"What's that look for?" Cass demands.
I shrug innocently. "Just thinking about family resemblances."
Beyond our circle, I see my dad and Ronnie heading inside, probably for more cookies. Wyatt doesn't follow. Instead, he walks a slow circle around the patio, his camera clicking as he photographs the men and then aims the lens toward us.
I look at Cass, trying not to pay attention to Wyatt. I'm the one who asked him to take candids, after all. "Where's Siobhan tonight?"
"Working." She makes a face. "This new job is a killer, and she hates it, but so far she hasn't found anything better."
"I remember those days," Nikki says. "Tell her good luck."
"Will do. She'd like to do what we're doing--run her own business. But she's not ready to make the leap. I've told her she can be the marketing director at Totally Tattoo," Cass adds, referring to the tattoo parlor she owns, "but I think she's nervous about working together. Oh!" she adds, "guess who I saw yesterday when I was having lunch. You'll never guess."
I roll my eyes. "In that case, just tell me." Jeffery stirs in my arms. I bend over and kiss his forehead, and out of the corner of my eye, notice that Wyatt has snapped a photo.
"Mila Sanchez."
My brows rise; she's right, I never would have guessed. "No kidding? Where?"
"I was over at Blacklist," she says, referencing the funky bar that's just two doors down from her shop.
"Did she recognize you?"
"I'm not certain, but I think so. She didn't say anything, but she got this pinched look on her face, like she was holding back something really nasty she wanted to say to me. Or maybe she just needed to fart."
I snort, but I have to admit the mental picture is accurate. Whenever Mila got irritated, that was exactly the expression she'd have on her face.
"Wait," Nikki says. "Who is Mila?"
"You never met her?" I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Nikki might be married to Damien, but that doesn't mean she's met all of the thousands of people who work at Stark International. "She was a floater secretary. I had to fire her ages ago. Cass met her a few times at the office and after work happy hours."
"She seemed so normal," Cass adds.
Nikki twirls her hand, urging us to continue. "So? What happened?"
"Gross incompetence coupled with extreme stupidity," I say.
"Oh, please," Cass protests. "Gross incompetence sounds dull. Like forgetting to mail a package. Or putting a call through without screening it. But I'm totally on-board with the extreme stupidity assessment."
Nikki laughs. Wyatt moves in closer, his expression one of intense concentration. I figure he's trying to get a better shot of her very camera-friendly face.
"Well, don't just leave me hanging," Nikki says, when neither Cass nor I jump in to fill the conversational gap. "What did she do?"
"Hit on Jackson," Cass says, in the kind of voice a judge would use to pronounce a death sentence.
"No way!"
"Yeah, well, there's more," I add.
"She hit on Damien, too," Cass blurts. "And she insinuated that the three of them were having a thing. Like a three-way."
Nikki clamps her hand to her mouth, obviously in an effort to keep from spewing her wine. "How did I not know this?"
"I think you and Damien were out of the country when it went down. At any rate, good riddance." I shudder. "I haven't seen her in ages. I sincerely hope it stays that way."
Wyatt's back in my field of vision, and he honestly doesn't look too comfortable. I suppose that's a downside of candid photography; you're always overhearing conversations you'd rather not. I flash a smile to let him know it's hardly confidential, but he looks quickly away. Then aims his camera at Ronnie, who's skipping toward Jackson, this time without my father nearby.
I watch as Jackson scoops her effortlessly up and perches her on the edge of the bar so she can be part of the conversation with her two uncles. The motion is so gentle and automatic and loving that I feel my heart squeeze. And when Jackson meets my eyes across the fairy-lit patio, I sigh from the wash of heat and love that bubbles inside me.
"--mansion tomorrow?"
I jerk toward Nikki, realizing I'd zoned out. "Sorry, what?"
"I asked if you were still going to the costume party at the Segel mansion tomorrow."
"Oh, yeah. I think so." She's talking about Anika Segel, the four-time Academy Award winning film icon and one of Hollywood's grand dames. She's invited Jackson and me to her annual charity event because Jackson is designing a second home for her in Costa Rica. "I wish you and Damien were coming, too." They, of course, were invited simply because Damien is Damien.
"So do I," Nikki says. "It sounds like fun. But we'll be in Austin by tomorrow evening. As much as I'm looking forward to the South by Southwest conference, I'm still a little bummed. I mean, even I know who Anika Segel is, and I know next to nothing about Hollywood."
Nikki's company was hired to put together a smart phone adaptation of a popular board game, and they're rolling out the app at Austin's long-standing film, interactive media, and music event. Damien's going mostly to be with his wife, but since the man never stops working, he's also scheduled a few meetings with some tech start ups.
I may not be his assistant anymore, but I haven't broken the habit of keeping an eye on his schedule.
"Well, I'm incredibly jealous," Cass admits. "I think it sounds fabulous."
"Jackson thinks it's silly," I admit. "Not the idea of a charity event, but the costumes. His take is why not just have black tie and be civilized with scotch and martinis?"
"It's a valid question." The deep, sensual voice behind me sends shivers down my spine, and I twist around to see that Jackson has moved away from the bar and circled over to us.
He bends lower so that I feel his breath on my ear as he says, "To be honest, I've had a change of heart. I'm looking forward to it. Immensely."
I swallow as both Cass and Nikki look amused. "Really?"
He presses his hand to the back of my neck, sending a cascade of warmth through my whole body that pools between my legs so that I have to fight not to squirm a little in my chair.
"I've had an attitude adjustment," he admits.
Case's brows lifts, and she glances at Nikki. "I think that's our cue to leave."
"Not at all," Jackson says. "I'm just taking a detour before I go push Ronnie on the swings. But you," he adds as he puts both hands on my shoulders. "You should consider this a promise of things to come. Tomorrow night. Edward will pick you up here at eight. I'll meet you at the party at nine."
"Meet me there?" I'm breathless. "Why?"
"Because we're going to play a game. It's a costume party, right? So I expect you to do it up. If I find you within an hour, I win. Any longer, you win." His grin promises all sorts of wicked delights. "And since I know you so well, baby, it won't be a challenge at all."
I raise my brows. "You've thrown down the gauntlet, mister."
He chuckles, then kisses me. "Let the games begin."
I catch Cass's eyes; she's grinning.
"Wait!" I call after Jackson. He pauses, then turns back to me. "What do I get if I win?"
He lifts a shoulder casually. "Whatever you want."
"And if you win?"
He rakes a heated gaze over me, and my heart skips a beat. "You."
"Oh," I say, my body just a little bit numb. "Then I guess either way, I win."
His mouth twitches, but he doesn't respond. Just holds my eyes for a moment before turning and walking away.
I watch him go, thinking that yeah, I'm going to enjoy this party.
I'm still basking in the glow when Nikki sighs. "Nice to know that little one hasn't turned down the heat," she says, smiling fondly at Jeffery, still asleep in my arms.
"He really hasn't," I say, and feel a blush rise on my cheeks.
Cass laughs. "Okay, we have to figure out a costume. Tomorrow morning. My place. Ten. We shop."
Since Cass is
an expert shopper, particularly in the kinds of used and vintage stores I'll probably have to prowl to find a suitable costume, I readily agree.
"I'm going to leave you to it," Nikki says. "I feel a sudden urge to go find my husband." She winks, then heads out onto the lawn, where Damien has joined Jackson at the swing set.
"I need to put this little guy in his crib. Wanna come up with me?"
"Nah, you go ahead. I'm going to catch up with Ethan. Grab me another wine on your way back?"
I promise I will, then head inside, cradling my son. I'm passing through the kitchen when my father calls my name. I turn, surprised to see him sitting at the small work station in an unlit corner.
"Daddy?"
"I've had a hard time getting close enough to talk to you tonight," he says with a wan smile.
I frown. "I've been here. Sitting mostly. Definitely not hiding."
"No, no." He sighs, then stands. "I just mean it's hard to navigate around the elephant in the room."
My chest tightens. "Oh." I open my mouth, but I'm not sure what to say. That I'm glad he's out of prison, but not sure that I can forgive him? That I tried, but it just doesn't feel right? That the scars of my childhood have faded, but they're still there, and always will be?
Since I can't figure out where to begin, I just stand there holding the baby, my mouth open like some gasping fish. I feel foolish. And, suddenly, I feel angry. Because he's the man who's made me feel that way.
As if he senses the storm in my head, he lifts his hand. "Wait. There's something I need to say, and I've had about two years to think about how I want to say it." He takes a deep breath. "I don't expect you to forgive me. For that matter, I don't think I want you to."
I open my mouth, not to respond, but in surprise.
He hurries on. "I--I screwed up, honey. I know it. And killing Reed didn't change that, although I'm not ashamed that it makes me feel damn good knowing I rid the world of that vermin. So I don't want to ask you for forgiveness. And I don't want to ask you to forget. But I just want to ask if we can start fresh. From right now. Not erasing the past, but moving on from it." He swallows, looking small and uncertain. "Do you think--do you think we could try that?"
Tears prick my eyes and I blink. In my arms, Jeffery squirms, and I realize I've been holding him tight. "Yeah," I say, as what feels like the weight of the world slips from my shoulders. "I think we can do that. At least, I know I want to try."
Chapter 6
++
When Edward rings the bell at eight o'clock the next night, all I can think is that Cass is a genius. Because as I stand and look in the full-length mirror in our bedroom, I can't help but think that I look freaking incredible.
I'd awakened that morning to find her in the kitchen, having let herself in with her spare key.
"I passed Jackson on his way out," she said. "He said to tell you he took the kids to Stella's bungalow. Apparently they're staying there all day and all night, so that--and I quote--you can concentrate on amazing him. And then he told me to tell you that he'd find you tonight. Within his allotted hour," she adds. She grins wickedly. "Part of me thinks we should do up the costume brilliantly. And another part of me thinks you should just make it easy on him." She waggles her brows. "After all, sounds to me like you're going to have a great time losing this particular competition."
She's right about that. After the party last night ended and Jackson and I were in bed, I'd curled up against him, making no secret of the fact that I wasn't too tired to enjoy our newly restored privacy. He asked me how I was doing after seeing my father, and he kept tight attention on my eyes as I told him about the detente with my dad and then assured him that I was doing okay.
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because he told me that was good. And then he held me close and proceeded to tell me in explicit, delicious, panty dropping detail exactly what he was not going to do with me last night.
"Because I want you desperate tomorrow," he'd explained, when I'd protested. "I want you to spend every moment of Saturday thinking about the way I'm going to touch you. The way I'm going to find you and tear your costume off you when we get home. The way I'm going to steal you away to a dark corner at the party, press one hand over your mouth so you don't make a sound, and then make you shatter in my arms."
He brushed his lips over my ear, and I trembled, on the verge of exploding from nothing more than his tantalizing promise. "And no one in that house full of people will know that the glow on your skin isn't from the party but from passion. Not from the festivities, but from me. And sweetheart? That's only the beginning."
I whimpered. I begged. I slid my hand down his body until my fingers curled around his rock-hard cock. But all he did was push me away, a devious gleam in his eye. "And no touching yourself," he warned. "No cheating, or I might not come to the party at all."
"Bastard," I'd said, then rolled onto my side and pretended to pout.
"I am," he agreed as he spooned against me, but not before sliding his finger up the back of my thigh, then between my legs, to tease my core just enough to make me crazy--yet not enough to make me come. "Now sleep," he said. "Tomorrow will come faster that way."
Because I'd had no choice, I obeyed, and I'd woken up even more desperate for his touch, his kisses, his cock. But he was already gone, and I couldn't remember the specifics of my dreams.
All I knew was that eight o'clock couldn't come fast enough. And that sometime during the day, I had to put together a costume that was not only the perfect disguise, but would also bring him to his knees.
With Cass at the helm, I managed to do just that.
"The first thing we have to do is change your overall look," she'd said as she circled me, a pencil in her mouth like a cigarette. She carried a notepad and every few moments she'd scribble something, then nod her head and say something like, "Hell, yeah," or, "Oh, he is going to be blown away," while I stood like an idiot wondering what the devil she was plotting.
Turns out we didn't need to go shopping, because Cass brought the world to me. "Stuff I haven't gotten around to altering," she'd said. "Or that I grabbed for Halloween, or just because it was a bargain. And the make-up is from the shop for when we do cover work."
I realized with a start that she'd thought about something I hadn't. Unless I was going to show none of my back, I had to cover my tattoos or Jackson would recognize me right away. Fortunately, Cass also does make-up for actors who need to cover their ink before a shoot or a play. Which means she's an expert at hiding her work.
We tackled that first, and Cass covered every tattoo on my back and my legs, then proceeded to cover the tats on my breasts. "Because I think we want to go risque," she said. Turned out she had a specific gown in mind, and it was very revealing. The top was form fitting and backless. The skirt was made entirely of overlapping strips of material that shimmied and shimmered, revealing lots of leg as I walked.
The arms and front were made of a fine black lace, with the exception of two triangular shapes that covered my breasts. Or, rather, they covered my breasts and then some, because Cass stuffed the bodice with silicone inserts, taking me all the way up to a D-cup.
"Seriously?" I asked, but she just shrugged.
"The idea is for him not to recognize you. And the hair has got to go."
"My hair?"
"Just temporarily." She reached into the smallest of the three huge duffels she'd dragged to the house this morning, then pulled out a wig. The hair was long and black with a hint of red, and even though the idea of wearing a wig all night sounded less than fun, I couldn't deny that I wanted to see where this makeover took me.
She put it on with some sort of special tape, but promised it would come off easily with alcohol. She didn't let me look at myself, but I had to admit I liked the feel of the strands on my shoulders. I'd always loved my hair when I wore it long, and I'd only cut it because Reed had also liked it.
Maybe it was time to grow it out again and just mentally fli
p Reed the bird.
I pondered that as she did my make-up, narrating her work as she went through it. Adding a mole, making my lips bigger with liner and color. Adding more depth to my cheekbones. "I thought about getting you an insert for your mouth to make your jaw wider, but figured you'd balk."
"Yeah," I said. "You figured right." Honestly, there was enough going on here that I rather hoped there'd be an award for Best Costume. If so, I would undoubtedly win and the statue could live in Cass's living room.
"One more thing" she finally said, "and then we'll put on the eyelashes and the shoes."
The "one more thing" turned out to be colored contacts that she swore would make my brown eyes turn a vivid green. Then she had me try on three different pairs of shoes until she found four-inch platforms I could actually walk in.
"Damn, I'm good," she said as she dragged me to the mirror right at eight o'clock. And she was right. I looked freaking amazing. More important, I didn't look at all like me. Especially not when I put on the black lace mask that went so perfectly with the dress.
Now, the door chimes again, and I realize I've been so lost in my mental praise of my best friend's transfiguration abilities that I completely spaced out.
"It's time," I say, feeling almost as excited as a girl going on a first date.
We hurry to the front door and Cass opens it, revealing me to Edward, whose eyes go wide. "Amazing," he says. "You look exceptional."
"It's all Cass's handiwork," I say.
"But would you recognize her?" Cass demands.
"No," he says. "But I'm still betting on Jackson."
I laugh. Honestly, it's probably a good bet.
"You did a great job," he tells Cass.
"Hell, yeah, I did," Cass says, then buffs her nails on her chest before giving me a careful hug, so as not to mess up my make-up or my costume.
I leave her behind, then follow Edward to an unfamiliar white limo. I shoot him a quizzical look, and he lifts a shoulder. "Mr. Steele was very precise. Eight o'clock arrival. Nine at the party. An unfamiliar limo--I borrowed this one from a buddy with a car service--and I'm not to open the door for you. He's leaving that to the valet at the party."