Careless Rapture (4 page)

“So when do you serve Swedish pancakes?”

He lifted a brow, skeptical. “I’m not sure I
should tell you.”

“Why not? You don’t have to impress me.” She
held up a hand, ready to pledge. “And I promise not to share your
secrets.”

Clay thought for a moment, then nodded.
“First I begin with the atmosphere. Dim lights and soft music. I
make sure to do all the major food preparation before she arrives.
When she comes, I finish up the details, a little sautéing or
grilling, so that she can see me in action. After she tells me what
a delicious meal I’ve made, then I serve the pancakes for dessert
topped with powdered sugar and strawberries. It tends to tip the
scale in my favor.”

“What if she doesn’t want to have sex with
you?”

Clay blinked. “I ply her with wine and have
my way with her.”

“That’s awful!”

He flashed a devilish grin. “It’s also not
true.” He returned to his food. “I don’t lead women on. Most women
who go out with me want to sleep with me. Let’s say I give them a
reason to.”

“They’re grateful for a good meal?”

“I have no aversion to a little gratitude.
And you’re missing the point. It’s what the meal represents—the
time and effort that she hopes will translate to other aspects of
my life.”

“But what about a relationship?”

Clay speared a blueberry. “What about
it?”

“What if you meet a woman who wants to stay
until the morning? What will you give her for breakfast?”

He scratched his chin. “I’d give her an apple
and send her on her way.”

Jackie nudged him with her foot. “Be
serious.”

“I am. Some people prepare for certain
catastrophes. I will take my chances that it will never
happen.”

She sawed a peach slice in half. “A woman
staying until morning should not be described as a catastrophe. I
don’t know why you would think so.”

“Because a woman who stays the night will
have questions in the morning.”

“Questions?”

“Yes. Namely, ‘Where do we go from here?’ or,
‘When can I see you again?’ or my ultimate favorite, ‘Do you think
I’m better than my sister?’” His grin widened at her expression.
“That was a joke.”

“Not a very funny one. Your sense of humor is
lost on me.”

“That’s because you’re not a man. You can’t
help but see a possible relationship every time a woman and man
meet. It’s understandable. We need women like you out there.
Otherwise we wouldn’t have families. Fortunately, there are certain
types of women who suit men like me.”

“Commitmentphobics?”

Clay took no offense to the term. “I’m not
hurting anyone and I find my situation preferable than women
turning psychotic over being dumped.”

“You’re right,” she admitted reluctantly,
glancing around the room. “He wasn’t worth it. But I still have
hope for the future.”

“As you should.”

“So you believe in marriage?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

“Just not for you?”

“Not presently, no. Maybe not ever.”

Jackie rested an elbow on the table and
tugged on her earring. “So you don’t mind being alone?”

“In my profession that’s almost a
necessity.”

“Private investigators can marry.”

“Sure they can, but can they stay married?
There are long hours, things you can’t share, things you don’t want
to.” He sighed, his face becoming grim. “I doubt I’ll do it much
longer, though.”

“Getting old?”

He sent her a quick glance. “Yes, I suppose
to you I am.”

“I didn’t say you were old, just—”

“I know what you meant, my feelings aren’t
hurt. You needn’t apologize for making an honest statement. I’m not
sure if it’s my age or that I’m getting restless.”

Jackie studied him, aware of the controlled
energy and vitality that belied his age. “I’d say you were
restless. Are you going to eat that peach?”

He pushed his plate toward her. She ate the
peach then set her utensils down. “Fruit salad.”

Clay glanced at her, confused. “I’m
sorry?”

“Fruit salad.”

“What about it?”

“That’s what you should serve the woman who
stays the night.”

He slowly grinned. “No woman is going to stay
the night.”

Jackie ignored him. “It’s best to be
prepared. Make it the day before so you can eat it in bed. And if
she doesn’t stay, it’s a nice food to eat alone with yogurt.”

“Why does my sex life interest you?”

“It’s not your sex life that interests me.
It’s your
after
-sex life.” She drummed her fingers on the
table. “I just imagine some poor woman staying with you and having
nothing to eat in the morning.” She patted him on the hand. “Follow
my advice, you won’t be sorry.”

“Hmm.”

After eating, Jackie went back to cleaning;
Clay sat on the couch watching TV. A few minutes later the phone
rang. “Could you get that?” she asked.

He glanced at the phone next to him. “No,
this isn’t my place.”

“Just pick it up,
nuh.
”

“Let the machine get it.”

She kissed her teeth and reached across him,
purposely blocking his view of the TV, grabbed the phone, and put
it to her ear. “Hello? Yes, I’m fine. I know. Uh-huh. Right. I’ll
see you Monday.” She hung up. “That was Faye. She wanted to know if
I was okay. I told her about Melanie and she knows I’m concerned,
but she doesn’t know about you.”

Clay stared up at her, trying to ignore that
her breasts were at eye level. “I didn’t ask.”

“Well, I’m telling you anyway.” She
straightened, then looked down at her blouse. “So did you like the
view?”

“There wasn’t much to see.”

Jackie narrowed her eyes.

“You did ask.”

She folded her arms. “I know I have no
breasts, but you could have pretended.”

“My imagination doesn’t stretch that far.” He
pushed her aside so he could see the TV. “Stop trying to flirt with
me to make yourself feel better. You’re an attractive woman. You’ll
find somebody else soon enough.”

She picked up her duster.

A news flash came on the screen. Senator
Heldon’s niece Amanda, a student at George Washington University,
had been missing since yesterday. They posted her fresh, lovely
face on the screen. The sight of it depressed him. He turned the TV
off.

Jackie noticed his grim expression. “Do you
think they’ll find her?”

“No.”

“Why not? It’s only been a day. Must you be
so cynical?”

“I’m being honest. She wouldn’t be the first
woman to disappear in this city.”

“I hope they find her.”

“They probably will, with her legs
missing.”

Jackie picked up a pillow and hit him on the
head. “You’re revolting.”

He tossed the pillow aside. “If they don’t
find her soon they’ll be looking for a body. That’s a fact.”

“No, it’s not.”

“What do you think they’ll find?”

“She could have gotten disoriented or
kidnapped. Perhaps she’ll find a way to escape and show up
wandering somewhere. Why are you smiling like that?”

“It’s amazing to find people who still
believe in fairy tales.” He glanced around the room at the fuzzy
blue rug and circular purple cushy chair. He wasn’t quite sure what
color the couch was but it matched the reddish-blue tint of the
drapes on the window. The mirrored hooks with etched designs
complemented the light-up tulips on the window ledge. Her place was
like nothing he’d ever seen before and it fit her completely. She
was the most unfathomable thing in the room. A creation from any
fairy tale. For a moment he felt like a giant who’d had the
misfortune of falling into one.

“I prefer my
fairy tales to your book of constant purgatory,” she said.

He shrugged and lifted a picture off the
floor. “Is this Brian?”

“No.” She shifted awkwardly. “He came with
the frame.”

He sent her an odd look.

“A girl can dream,” she said defensively.

“But to keep—”

She rested a hand on her hip. “Do you have
the latest
Playboy
?”

“No.”

Her hand fell. “Oh.”

He put the frame down. “
Penthouse
is
better. Less airbrushing.”

“Why do men have to look at naked women?”

“Why do women have to go to the toilet in
pairs?”

Jackie rested the broom against the wall. “To
rate men, why else?” She winked at his startled expression. “That
was a joke.”

He leaned back. “I think you should be
relieved I like naked women. There are plenty of men who prefer
Playgirl.
”

Jackie didn’t reply.

He stood and set a side table to right. “So,
do you cause this kind of destruction after every breakup?”

“No.” She looked around the apartment. It was
beginning to look normal again. “I guess Brian was the last straw.
Every relationship I have ends on a sour note.” She knelt down and
gathered her CDs. “One guy wanted me to have cosmetic surgery,
another wondered if I’d ever consider wife swapping.” She held the
CDs to her chest and sighed, resigned. “And then there was
Josh.”

He fixed the other side table. “What about
Josh?”

“He liked to dress in women’s clothing. Not
in public, just around the house, but that turned me off.”

“Yes, I can imagine.”

Jackie shook her head. “No, I doubt you can.
Picture coming home one day and finding your boyfriend in an orange
cable-knit cardigan and fitted skirt.”

Clay cleared his throat, trying to keep a
straight face. “What did you say?”

“Nothing. What can you say?”

He winked. “You look lovely?”

She giggled then straightened her features.
“No, I shouldn’t laugh. At the time it wasn’t funny. I just stared.
He explained that he felt comfortable in women’s clothing. I tried
to make it work.” She held up a hand and shook her head. “But when
he wore the stretch lace top and jeans, I had to end it.”

“And then there was Brian.”

“Right. Who seemed ideal—respectful, good
job, great personality.”

Clay nodded. “Absolutely perfect except for
the tiny flaw of being in love with his ex-wife.”

She placed her CDs in her entertainment
system.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Very much.”

“I don’t think I like your sense of
humor.”

“I wasn’t being funny. Have you ever wondered
why you choose men who end up being such disappointments?”

Jackie’s eyes widened in outrage. “Oh, so
you’re saying this is all my fault?”

“No, I’m suggesting that perhaps you’re
playing the same game I am.”

Her voice tightened. “I don’t play
games.”

“ ‘Game’ is the wrong word.” He thought for a
moment. “Agenda. You want companionship, but you don’t want the
commitment.”

“I want to get married someday.”

Clay knelt beside her and picked up a book.
“Just not yet and that’s okay. However, you think you should be
looking because you’re getting older.”

“Are you a part-time psychologist?”

He shoved the book on the shelf. “This is
just a theory not a diagnosis.”

“Well, you can keep your theory to yourself.”
She tapped her chest. “I invest a lot in my relationships. I really
care for the men I go out with. I’m loyal.”

He glanced down at her with a smug look. “I
met Martin the wife swapper, remember? Thanksgiving dinner.”

“So?”

“He was obsessed with the seventies. He
talked about threesomes constantly.”

“1 thought he was a trivia buff.” She rested
against the wall and sent him a cool look. “For a man whose idea of
a relationship is making sure he has enough condoms and money for a
taxi, you have nothing to say.”

“You don’t have to be in a relationship to
give advice. Do you know how many married people smugly talk down
to single people about the dating scene, then five years later—when
they’re newly single—have no idea what to do?”

“You still don’t know what you’re talking
about. You have no idea how hard it is to find a normal, decent,
upwardly mobile man who has to meet the Henson brothers’ seal of
approval.”

“They want what’s best for you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Naturally you’d be on
their side. You’re as bad as they are.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“Drake told me about your pre-wedding
advice.” She narrowed her eyes. “That you would use his intestines
as a noose if he ever hurt Cassie.”

Clay smiled, pleased. “I love that line.”

She shook her head, defeated. “I can take
care of myself and choose my own men. Drake would arrange a
marriage for me if he could. He has the perfect man in his
mind.”

“He wants someone to take care of you.”

She knew Drake couldn’t help it. Her eldest
brother had raised her since she was seven. Their parents died
shortly after they’d emigrated from Jamaica. She would never
trivialize all that he had sacrificed so she could have a better
life. Unfortunately, she had yet to convince him she could make it
on her own. They had come so far from poverty; she knew he had a
secret fear that she would marry someone who would take her back
there.

“I can take care of myself,” she said.

“Then why am I here?”

“I wanted company.”

He raised a brow. “You can’t have it both
ways.”

“What?”

“You can’t play the role of the independent
woman and the little sister at the same time. They don’t mesh. I’ve
seen you at work with your brothers. You’re very good.” He glanced
around the room and scowled. “Hell, you got me to stay.”

She sighed. “You’re right. It’s a hard habit
to break.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Especially when it
works.”

“Hmm.”

They finished cleaning the apartment, then
Jackie went through her mail from yesterday. Brian had dropped by
and given her the wedding invitation; he hadn’t wanted to spend
money on a stamp. When she finally opened it, her face turned to
thunder.