Hot and Bothered (Hot in the Kitchen) (35 page)

“Tell me you don’t love me.”

He settled back on the sofa in an indolent pose, his body straining for the lie. “You know I love you, Jules. It’s impossible not to love you. I just don’t have it in me to love you the way you need.”

She made a very unladylike noise. “Now you’re just splitting hairs.”

“We’re not doing this, Jules. You can’t nag or logic me into giving you what you want. We made this clear weeks ago. You’re going to find some stand-up guy to keep you safe and secure and I’ll do whatever I need to keep on rolling.”

“So those chicks you banged during your previous benders? Are you trying to tell me that’s what happened here? That I’m just the comfort lay to get you through the tough times?”

He picked up her wayward flip-flop and tossed it to her. She caught it reflexively.

“If the shoe fits.”

She could hear the stress in those casual words, the lack of conviction in their casual cruelty. After the pain of Simon she knew she had it in her to be one half—one third, if she counted Evan—of a soul-deep love, but everyone had to play their part. She could carry him for a while through his hurt but she needed a sign that he wanted this as much as she did.

“I thought I wanted safe and secure, so I could avoid the heartache of falling too deeply, but it happened anyway. With you. I know what that feels like. I feel that with you—”

“Jules, honey.” More soothe-the-crazy-woman.

She threw her flip-flop at his head. It glanced off the side of his cheek, drawing his shocked expression.

“Jules!”

“Shut. Up. I feel that with you and I know I have it in me to feel it again with someone else. I have a lot of love to give. It’s inside me, ready and ripe for the right person. The person who can handle it. You will never meet another woman who understands you like I do, Tad DeLuca. I am the best bloody thing to happen to you but I’m not going to beg.”

Above flaring nostrils, those dark blue eyes seared her but when he spoke again, he was as calm as the stultifying air in the room.

“I know you won’t beg. You’ve never begged for anything in your life. You’re the strongest person I know and you’ll get over me. They always do.”

She had hit a wall. There was only so much she could do and she had already debased herself too many times with too many guys. She deserved to be fought over, to be wooed, to be the center of a man’s world. And until Tad learned to love himself, he wouldn’t be able to give her the all-consuming love she merited.

Convincing herself there was a smidgen of truth running through her brave speech was the only thing that kept her from crumpling to the floor. This fountain of love inside her couldn’t be all for naught. She wasn’t supposed to waste it on undeserving men.

You talk a good game,
Bad Girl Jules said wryly.

She sure does,
Good Girl Jules concurred.

It would stun her senseless for a while but she would get over him eventually. Seeing him at every family gathering would help to wean her off that bone-melting smile. Familiarity would breed indifference.

On her way out, she tried to think of some witty comment to see her through, but none was forthcoming. In the hallway, she took a moment to do what was needed, then closed the front door behind her quietly.

Chapter Twenty

Beautiful women are always in the right.
—Italian proverb He crawled into the shower and scrubbed his skin until it felt as raw as he felt on the inside.

A little hurt now—okay, a lot of hurt—was the only way to help her move forward. With every story about his conquests, he had warned her what he was capable of, but she hadn’t listened. Hell,
he
hadn’t even listened. He was bad to the bone. An out-and-out asshole.

He fisted his hands against the tile and let the hot water strip away his sins. A vivid image of Jules writhing on top of him took over his mind and he jerked that thought aside, only to replace it with Jules writhing beneath him. This was okay. This was just a return to how it was before. Fantasizing about Jules. Running his hands all over his body and pumping his dick to the image of her sweet lips, that pink flash of tongue, her breasts straining at the buttons of her blouse.

But now a raft of other images joined the mix. Jules laughing while he made love to her, that wicked smart mouth when she wanted to put him in his place, how soft her face got when he told her she could do anything. How she kissed away his pain and told him she loved him, every declaration ripping the walls to stony fragments. How crazy in love he was with her and how making a family with her and Evan—not just existing on the fringes—but a real family, was something he craved more than anything.

Shit, and now she would do that with someone else. He had broken her heart but she would recover. She had already started her rebound as she swaggered out the door. He wasn’t worth the tears and she would find a doctor or fireman or rug salesman who could keep her safe. New guy would never love her as much as Tad did but it would be a safe love, a lasting love.

Pity he felt heartsick about it.

Ten minutes later, he headed downstairs to eat leftover pizza and something caught his eye. No, it… it couldn’t be.

Vivi’s cookbook lay on the hallway table, looking as weathered as his heart. The string holding it together was frayed, the pages dog-eared and yellowing. The last time he had seen it in Jules’s kitchen, its presence had buoyed him into thinking he had a chance with her. Look how that turned out.

He took it in his hand and contemplated the ceiling, waiting to be struck down for his audacity.

“I’ve fucked up big time, Vivi.”

Nothing, just a small electric fizz through his blood. He sniffed the pages… vanilla and cloves and Mom. His knees were close to buckling, so he lowered his body to the bottom rung of the stair and stared at it a while. Turned it over. Stared some more.

A piece of paper fell out, folded over to make a card. On the front, a child’s drawing captured Mommy, Daddy, and Baby makes three.

The oh-so-fertile Simon St. James.

With trembling fingers, he pulled apart the paper’s edges. Inside was a note.

He read it and broke into laughter, a long cathartic burst that loosened something in his chest. His black, iced-over heart perhaps. This woman of his had done a number on him all right.

Don’t mess with your best friend
. The words should be tattooed on his forehead because messing with her had messed them both up good. After a moment, he turned his attention back to the cookbook and began to read.

* * *

Gilt-edged sconces hung beneath old-world imitation moldings in the lobby of the Peninsula hotel on Michigan Avenue. Jules had been here once before for high tea after a brutal shopping slog with the girls. They’d made fun of Cara’s pretensions while poor Cara rolled her eyes patiently and commented that they didn’t deserve nice things.

Simon sat at the bar, and she took a moment to watch him covertly, checking her body for signs of treachery. None surfaced but that didn’t mean they weren’t there, waiting to strike.

He turned as she approached. “Hullo, Jules. You look well. In all the craziness of the other day, I never got a chance to say that.”

She waited for her body to react with pleasure to that, but nothing happened. At long last, immunity had kicked in.

“Thanks.” She took a seat, drying her humid hands and smoothing her floral print dress as she went.

“Can I get you a drink?”

She glanced at the wine by the glass menu, making her connections. “A glass of Chablis,” she told the bartender.

Is it Chardonnay?

No,
Tad had lied with that killer smile.

She missed him so much.

“Looks like things have changed since I saw you last.” Simon gave her one of his thoughtful looks. Once she had caught him practicing it in the mirror, and now she wondered how she had ever let her guard down for this.

“Yep, lots of changes. I’m a real, live girl.”

“That quick lip of yours hasn’t changed, though.” He grimaced, cranking up regretful. “I’m sorry. I’m glad you came. I can only assume that because you’re here
sans
your attack dogs, that we might be able to come to an arrangement.”

“Evan has to live with me and I’m not moving back to London.”

He didn’t argue. “I understand that. I just want to be part of his life, Jules. You don’t know what it’s like to be cut out.”

She did, but she wasn’t going to lay out her tale of woe. Today, she’d let Simon have his day basking in the sun of self-pity. The bartender set her Chablis down before her, beads of condensation already forming on the glass’s surface like fat tears ready to fall. The tasting ritual gave her the time she needed.
Swirl, sniff, savor.
Ditzy Bella was right. Fresh was a good word for it.

“So what happened with your wife?”

“It’s always been…” He waved a hand, filling in some blank in his mind. “She has a lot of passion. Hungarians are known for it.”

She couldn’t help her smirk. “So she clocked you good, then?”

Those arctic blue eyes narrowed. “I’m not blameless. I’m sorry you felt you couldn’t tell me about Evan. I realize now that you wanted to but circumstances overtook us.”

She stared at him long and hard until he dropped his gaze in embarrassment. “All right, you wanted to tell me but I didn’t let you.”

While the honesty was flowing, it was time to do her part and pull on her big girl panties. “If I’d had any guts, I would have insisted you know but I wasn’t as strong then as I am now. It was easier to run.”

“It always is.” A glimmer of recognition passed between them. She tried to resent it but couldn’t summon the energy. Anyway, she had come here to make peace.

“I’m sorry for keeping him from you. I was filled with so much pain when you threw me away. Hurting you—even though you might never know how much—was the only weapon I had.”

Powerless people grasp at any chance to feel in control. Powerless people are often the most dangerous people of all.

“Thanks, Jules. You don’t know how much this means to me.” Emotion pulled at his mouth and he rubbed it away with a shaky hand. There had been too much wrong already. Today it ended.

She took out her phone and dialed up one of the photo albums of her little ball of sun. The center of her world.

“Prepare to be bored out of your mind.”

* * *

The blaring music from Sarriette’s kitchen clued her in that now might actually be a good time to talk to Jack. Usually, her brother played dictator deejay in his kitchen, but The Undertones’ “Teenage Kicks” meant Shane was likely in charge of the iPod—and Jack was in a pliable enough mood to allow it.

Every little bit would help.

“Hiya,” she said loudly so she could be heard above the din of Fergal Sharkey and the clanging of a busy kitchen. The crew was getting ready for family meal, the sit-down dinner that brought the cooks and servers together before service. Jack looked up from a stockpot of something fragrant and grinned broadly.

“Hey, baby girl. Come to see how a real kitchen works?”

Shane left off kneading some dough at the pastry station to hug her. He worked at Sarriette the days he wasn’t baking drop-dead gorgeous creations for DeLuca Doyle Special Events.

“You’re getting flour all over my clothes, you Irish clod.”

He continued to rub powdered hands in circles on her back. “It’s how pastry chefs show affection, sis.”

Her heart cranked a couple of extra beats at the endearment. Shane had never called her that before.

Jack sauntered over, wiping his hands dry on a towel. “Everything okay, love?”

“I was hoping I could have a word with you. With both of you.”

The boys shared a concerned glance.

“It’s good news. Well, you might not see it that way, but I think it is.”

“Now you’ve really got me worried,” Jack said. He tossed off an order to one of his team to keep an eye on the bouillabaisse and jerked a chin in the direction of the dining room. “Let’s have a seat.”

Once they had settled in, she told them about her meeting with Simon. To keep it all above board, they had decided to set up a family custody agreement. Jules would visit London twice a year and Simon could come whenever he wanted as long as he gave sufficient notice. There would be Skyping and regular updates as well as discussion about the important decisions: schooling, child support, health care. It would take some time to ease into a routine but she was confident they could do it and the support of the men in front of her would be crucial.

Silence reigned for a few moments after her explanation.

“I wish you had come to us about this first, Juliet,” Jack said sternly.
Juliet.
Uh oh.

“You would have tried to browbeat me into submission, Jack. I needed to make this decision myself.”

“Did Tad help?” His disgust was so palpable it felt like another person at the table.

“Jack, hear her out,” Shane said, ever the voice of reason. In the past year, he had umpired several brouhahas between the two of them.

“I haven’t spoken to Tad about this but he did help me realize that this was my decision and mine alone. In the past, I’ve never been good at that. It was always easier
not
to make a decision, let events act on me instead of the other way around. With my reading, I covered it up instead of taking control and asking for help. Even with Simon, I didn’t make a decision to be in a relationship, I just let it happen. Getting pregnant with Evan was the first time I had to face the consequences of my actions and act for my future and the future of my child.”