C's Comeuppance: A Bone Cold--Alive novel (20 page)

Jemma quirked an eyebrow.

“Oh, okay, that’s a pretty ugly picture. I’ll charm the socks off her.” He touched her chin and turned her gaze to his. “We’ll face this down together. BCA starts concert rehearsal Monday back at the studio. So give me till Sunday night, Jemma. Five more days. No sneaking around, everything aboveboard. No shame because there isn’t any. And if you can’t sit beside me then and want me to make love to you, not only do I not deserve you, I’ve lost my touch.” He rose and held out a hand to her. She snaked a hand out from the blanket and took his. He pulled her to her feet, dropped her hand. “I got us into this, I’ll get us out. Will you go along for the ride?”

He held his hand back out to her, this time asking her to shake on it.

“And if I don’t want to make love to you on Sunday, you’ll go?” Skepticism dripped off every word.

“Tail between my legs, head lowered, I’ll shuffle back to Hollywood and not show up here again until they christen that child.”

“You promise?”

“Don’t want to make me swear?”

“A promise will do.”

“I promise.” She put her hand in his and they shook.

Chapter Eighteen

H
e secured the ladder and gave her the option of climbing down first. A rather brave thing, Jemma thought, since there wasn’t anything to stop her from snatching it out from underneath him as his feet sought purchase for his climb down. As a show of good faith, she let him descend first and hold the ladder for her. It was certainly more stable than when she’d prayed for sure footing on her way up.

Damn him, he didn’t move from the ladder as she reached the floor. Instead, he still held it, his arms stretched more than halfway to the top, his feet bracing the bottom of the metal. She had to climb into the cave of his body, feel the heat of him if not his actual touch.

“C, I’m down, you can move now.”

“What happened to Charles?” He moved his chin on the top of her head, grazed his hands over hers as he slowly relinquished his hold on the ladder.

“That was one of the things we were going to discuss.”

“So let’s discuss it.” He deftly turned her so she faced him. He leaned her back in the cup of his hands, balanced so that their midsections almost touched. If he tightened his hold, she’d be able to feel his arousal. If he was aroused, and something about the sleepy look in his eyes as they stood there in the moonlight, something about that look, told her he was very aroused.

“This isn’t exactly a discussing position.”

He tightened his hold and her suspicions were confirmed as he pressed her against himself. “How about this?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He released her slowly and she got her balance. “Shall we leave the ladder here?”

“I don’t think so.”

He collapsed it. “By the way, I know where the staircase is.”

“Where?”
“I’m not that easy. You’ve got to earn that info.”

“Very well, Charles. Trust me, it won’t take much for me to learn.”

“Consider it a challenge then.” He hoisted the ladder and carried it to the back of the SUV. “Oh, so, we’re back to Charles. Now why are you upset about that?”

Jemma clicked the remote sensor and the back of the SUV popped open. No alarm, just a simple doing what it was supposed to. She was suspicious. “Mandy said she’d read in some tawdry publication you are no doubt quite fond of, that you’d only allow three people to call you Charles. Your mother, your grandmother and your wife.” She watched as he closed the back door. “But then, you’ve already had one of those, haven’t you?”

“I’ve had all three.” He braced himself with one hand on the top of her vehicle. “And I can’t say I’m very proud of my association with any of them.”

“So I shouldn’t take a hint from this?”

“Eighteen months ago your precious Lyla wouldn’t have let T in her store, much less in her life. People change.”

“And you’re going to change like he did?”

“I hope not. Look at him. Kowtowing to her majesty like she was—”

“Charles!”

He stopped the tirade and winked at her. “Had you going, right?”

“I don’t think I can take five more days of this.”

He pushed himself from the SUV and brushed his hands together. “You just let me know when you’re ready to be kissed and I think we can finish this up in no time.”

“Like sex is a cure.”

“Baby doll, there is a happy medium and if two sexual opposites like us can’t find it, there’s absolutely no hope for the rest of them.”

She stopped beside her driver’s door and smiled at him. “I don’t know which is bigger, your ego or your mouth.”

“They both get me in trouble.”

“Tell you what. Let’s just put your little ‘everything aboveboard’ theory to the test. You follow me over to my mother’s kitchen and I’ll fix you a cup of coffee.”

“You’re kidding, right? You’d go home to the woman who called you a whore?’

“Not only that, Mr.-we’ve-done-nothing-to-be-ashamed-of, but I’m taking you. I want to see my mother without socks!”

***

Jemma’s SUV slowed to every traffic light and they caught them all red. She did it on purpose, he just knew she did. Did it so that anyone out and about could see Eddie C sitting behind her, following her through town. Okay, he reminded himself, okay. It’s what you wanted. What you begged for. You’ve got your very public chance.

He’d have to remember how quick her mind was once she decided on a course of action. If he’d known she wasn’t going to be content to let him go this evening, he’d have suggested coffee at Lyla and T’s. Now there would have been an interesting conversation, but at least it wouldn’t have been an inquisition.

He’d meant what he said about sex as happy medium. At least he’d meant it as long as he wasn’t holding her, smelling her, tracing his fingers down her soft cheek, looking into those eyes that told him more than he wanted to know about her soul. A soul that lived with a mother than could call a chaste daughter a whore. What kind of monster had raised Jemma? Meeting the mother might explain a lot. By the time he parked behind her in the driveway, he was looking forward to the encounter.

She waited beside her car for him to join her. “I don’t suppose I could get a kiss for strength, could I?” He let the tip of his tongue slowly edge his lips, let it remind her just how good it could feel on hers. “Just a little one.”

“You can really be an ass, you know.”

“Is that any way for a Sunday school teacher to talk?” He followed her up the back walk.
“Did you ever have a Sunday school teacher?”

“Yeah, some ol’ fruit who liked boys.”
She stopped on the top step and looked down at him. “For real?”

“Yeah, for real. Mine was the shortest Sunday school career in the Pentecostal church.”

“Charles, that’s terrible.”

“Now you tell me something horrible about your past.”

“Mandy, is that you?” The screen door to the kitchen swung open and an older version of Jemma was illuminated. She cinched her terrycloth robe even tighter about her middle. “Good Lord, Jemma, of all the nerve!”

Jemma smiled down at him. “Asked and answered. C’mon, C, meet my mother.”

***

Jemma moved swiftly to the coffeepot and began filling the decanter from the tap. “Mother, may I introduce Edward Charles Samuels, otherwise known as Eddie C. Charles, my mother, Jessie Lovelace.”

She left them staring at each other across a round oak table. C couldn’t believe he blinked first. “Mrs. Lovelace,” he held out his hand, “I feel I know you already. May I call you Jessie?”

“Hardly.” The tilt of the head and the long hard look from her green eyes convinced C that the acorn hadn’t fallen far from the oak. Jemma not only looked like her mother, he knew where she got her manners.

A hint of laughter rose above the sounds of coffee-making. Jemma wasn’t even trying to hide her smile. He shot her a scathing look, only to have her ignore it.

“Charles, why don’t you have a seat? Mother, will you join us? I was just going to brew some decaf.” She busied herself retrieving cups from the cupboard and pulled plates and forks from the dish drainer.

Jessie still stood. “Don’t know what you’re planning on serving, Jemma. There’s not much to snack on around here.”

Jemma nodded at the counter on the other side of the small room. “See we have a coffee cake. Your special one, no doubt?”

C watched as Jessie bristled. “That’s for my church circle tomorrow.”

“Serving it sliced or whole?” Jemma fetched a bread knife from a drawer and hovered over the glass cake cover. “C’mon, Mother, I know you ol’ gals always slice before you take so it’ll go further. I’m sure this is what you have planned for Daddy’s breakfast.” She ignored Jessie’s deep sigh and removed the cover. It clinked on the tile countertop and a rich cinnamon aroma filled the room. C grinned at the thought of homemade coffeecake: the Lovelace women had been holding out on him.

Lovelace women:
was he out of his mind?
Number one criterion for a steady relationship with Eddie C had always been the lack of relatives. If there were parents, they were to be on the other coast, siblings should be of the estranged variety and kids—well, no way would there be kids. Long ago, C had made that decision. He’d not raise someone else’s bastards. As to having his own, now
there
would be the joke! So what was he doing having lustful thoughts about a permanent relationship with a woman who lived at home with a sad-sack set of parents, whose sibling was a prominent member of the community, and who seemed to love a niece like her own child? He’d answer his own question:
he was out of his mind.

“Earth to Charles.” The knife rapped on the countertop.

“What?” He tumbled out of his reverie to find Jemma staring at him, her hand on her hip, a typical expression of female disgust tied to her mouth.

“You do want a piece, don’t you, Charles?” She relaxed a bit and gave him a heavy-lidded look, smiling slightly as she did so.
Damn!
but she was flirting with him in front of—and in spite of—her mother!

“The bigger the better. But you know that, sugar.”

She tapped her foot and wrinkled her nose. He felt himself very close to whatever invisible line she was busy drawing for her mother’s benefit. But C was a tightrope walker from way back and he found himself enjoying this game.

She eyed the cake and sliced. “Mother, if you’re going to join us, have a seat, otherwise—”

Jessie sat down primly in the ladder back chair opposite C. “I’ll have a small slice, Jemma. And water. Coffee at night is bad for my digestion.”

“Great!” Jemma went about her hostess duties. C crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, all the better to watch her. She opened the refrigerator and scanned the contents, bending to fetch the cream from a lower shelf, and he found himself tilting his head to get a better view of her posterior. Jessie’s squirm in her chair reminded him where he was, except he knew he’d have done the same thing if she hadn’t been there. He simply enjoyed watching Jemma move.

She set the sugar bowl on the table, the cream, the cake. She poured the coffee and Jessie’s water and served them, returning the last time with hers. She sat to C’s right and gently stirred the artificial sweetener into her brew.

“Sweetie,” she turned a sarcastic little smile on him, “would you reach behind you and get the napkins?”

“Delighted to, doll face.” He turned slightly to the oak sideboard and scooped up the wooden napkin holder, set it on the table, pulled one out and waved it in front of her. “Shall I tuck it in for you, babe?”

“No need, hon.” She snitched it from his fingers and settled it on her lap, the smile seeming to be a permanent fixture on her face. “Excellent cake, Mother.” C noted she started from the outside, the part heavy with pecans and glaze. So Jemma liked the best part first, not wanting to wait for the buildup to the icing on the cake. He filed that information away.

“Quite good, Mrs. Lovelace.” If he hadn’t felt like he was taking food out of the mouths of the church circle ladies and a bedridden old man, C would have asked for a second helping. As it was, he’d have to satisfy himself some other way, so he let his hand settle on Jemma’s left thigh.

She only gave a small start, all the while keeping her hands on her coffee cup and her eyes on her mother. “What kind of day did Daddy have?”

“The usual. Half the time he has no idea where he is or with who.” Jessie sighed deeply and concentrated on her cake crumbs and glass of water. C felt the genuine sorrow in her voice, but whether for her husband, herself, or the general circumstances, he had no idea. Finally, she lifted her eyes to Jemma’s. “Mallory is on tonight and you know as well as I do that she’s incompetent at best. I don’t think any of us will sleep.”

“Perhaps I should have made regular coffee.” Jemma set her cup down and slowly let her left hand drift beneath the table. She pinched C’s hand where it was languorously massaging her thigh.

He had expected some sort of reaction, but not the sort that caused him to quickly pull away, banging the back of his hand on the underside of the table and causing even more pain. C yelped.

“Hon? Be careful now.” Jemma turned concerned eyes on him as he nursed the back of this injured paw. “Perhaps I should have warmed up some milk for you.”

C’s quick reply was cut short as the back door slammed open and Mandy burst through. “Oh, it is him! I thought I recognized the car. Can the girls come in and meet him, can they, Aunt Jemma, please, please?” She hung onto the door edge and eyed him with all the wide-eyed wonder and adoration he’d come to accept as his. C caught himself in automatic mode, a slow smile wending its way across his features, the charm-button turned on.

Jemma gave her head a small shake. “I don’t think so, Manda-bear.” The girl’s protests were cut short as Jemma separated her from the door and waved good-bye to the crowd that lurked in the minivan outside. C heard the car crunch its way out of the drive. “Granddaddy’s had a hard day.” Jemma settled the girl in her vacated chair and reached around her for her own dishes. “Want some cake?”