Jonquils for Jax: The Rousseaus #1 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 12) (12 page)

And he was going to fall hard.

Unless he left Le Chateau right this minute and never looked back.

***

As soon as the hallway door closed behind her, Jax placed her palm over her heart and took a deep breath.

She’d suspected, of course, that something was wrong—he squinted all the time and had those scars around his eyes. Though she didn’t know how he’d lost his sight, it made sense to her that he had, like puzzle pieces fitting correctly into place. He’d been blinded. No doubt on the job…which was why he wasn’t a cop anymore.

She scrunched her eyes shut in pity for him, then opened them, lifted her chin, and quickly scurried down the stairs. She hadn’t known Gard Thibodeaux long, but he was a proud man, and she was certain her pity would be unwelcome. Which is why she was so profoundly grateful she’d been able to temper her reaction and act with common sense when he’d told her.

Thank God for law school, she thought…and for living in the public eye for a short period of time. Hell, thank God for J.C.’s card-playing lessons the time they went to Monte Carlo for spring break. All had helped her achieve a pretty decent poker face, and it had certainly come in handy today. The look in his eyes when she’d said
I hope I see you again
was filled with such anguish, such longing, it made her chest clench.

Maybe she’d been wrong about that kiss after all. Maybe he had wanted it as much as she. Maybe the regret she’d picked up on had more to do with his situation than his feelings for her. Her heart leapt with stupid hope, and she told it to be still.

Turning at the bottom of the stairs, she walked briskly to the gym, beelined for the bathroom, and splashed some cold water on her face. She stared at her face in the mirror, willing him, with every cell in her body, to be waiting for her when she walked out. Over the past two days, while she’d been distracted by
Philadelphia Vice
, she’d missed him. It was ridiculous, sure, but she couldn’t help it. Her infatuation with him wasn’t going away. She could either try to ignore it or lean into it, and her stomach filled with butterflies as she realized he was about to make the decision for her.
Please let him be waiting outside when I open this door.
She’d be very sorry if today marked the end of their fledgling friendship and their deliciously hot flirtation. Jax wanted more from him—more time, more kisses—and damn it, but she’d
just
figured out a way to augment and extend their time together.

Please be waiting. Please.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she found him standing just inside the gym door, and she beamed with happiness, now knowing that he wouldn’t be able to make out her expression from that distance. He hadn’t left. She leaned in.

He squinted at her from across the room. “Jax?”

Toning down her megawatt smile, she crossed the room to stand before him. “Ready to get started?”

Looking into her eyes, he grinned—a different grin than she’d seen before. There was a warmth to it, an openness, a vulnerability that she hadn’t seen yet, but she felt it everywhere.
Everywhere.
And her toes curled on the rubber floor.

He nodded slowly, checking her out from head to curled toes and making goose bumps spring up on her skin as he intoned in his low, dirty, Cajun-accented French,
“Oui, Duchesse.
Laissez les bons temps rouler
.”

***

Let the good times roll.

Her eyes flared with heat and her breath caught for a moment as she stood before him, and damn if he didn’t feel all his blood rush south. He took a deep breath, but it was ragged and shallow in his ears, because he breathed her in—her warmth and her intoxicating scent.
Concentrate, Gard. Concentrate
. He had missed her, he was wildly attracted to her, and his feelings for her were growing by the second…but he had something important to say to her before they could actually get started with her next training session.

She licked her parted lips, her eyes dropping briefly to his mouth before sliding up again to meet his gaze.

Merde
. She was going to kill him if she kept looking at him like that.

He held up the envelope between them. “I don’t want this.”

“It’s what I owe you,” she said. “It’s fair.”

“I’ll train you, Jax,” he said evenly, “but I’ll train you for…six-packs of Abita.”

Her lips twitched. “You want me to pay you in beer?”

And your company.
It was on the tip of his tongue to say it, but at the last second, he simply nodded instead.

She shrugged, and a grin brightening her face. “I guess…friends do that sometimes?”

This time he nodded eagerly, his own smile sneaking out to join hers. “From what I hear, there aren’t many rules between friends.”

She chuckled at their inside joke. “Okay, then. Abita it is. I’ll…head into town and grab some more.”

“Come over tomorrow night?” he asked.

“Sure. I’ll—oh, no. I can’t tomorrow. I have plans.”

Plans.
Shit.
Plans. The word fell like a brick tied around his heart.
With whom?
he wanted to ask—wanted to
demand
—but it was none of his business.

“Then whenever,” he said dismissively, feeling stupid as he searched her eyes for clues about her mystery plans. Her emeralds sparkled ever so slightly, like she knew something funny that he didn’t, and it made him scowl. “Let’s…get started.”

“With my siblings,” she said gently, her shoulders shaking with giggles. “My brothers and sister. Family dinner. Thursday nights.”

“Oh,” he said, relief coursing through his veins like a tonic. “Oh. Good.”

Her giggles stopped. Her eyes darkened.

“Anything else before we—?”

“Yeah. One more thing. It wasn’t a blip, Duchess.” He took a step closer to her. “It wasn’t
just a kiss
. I don’t know exactly what it was yet…but it wasn’t nothin’.”

He shrugged, leaving his thoughts there between them for her to accept or reject and hoping like hell for the former. She flinched for just a moment as if she pricked her finger on a needle, then offered him a wobbly smile.

“Good,” she whispered. Her eyes were wide and warm, staring up at him with something that felt peculiarly like…open road.

He lifted his hand and placed his palm flush against the side of her throat and her eyelids fluttered closed. She leaned toward him, her body a breath away from his. And Lord, how he wanted to kiss her again, but if he did, he wouldn’t end up teaching her a goddamned thing. And the thing is, he wanted her to learn. He needed to teach her how to protect herself so she’d be safe from assholes like Tripp.

“Today’s lesson is about…the throat.”

“The throat?” she squeaked, her eyes popping open.

“
Oui.
The throat,” he said, his lips trembling as he tried not to smile at her.

“Tease,” she muttered, frowning.

“You should know that
want
and
should
are having an epic battle in my head right now.”

“Who’s winning?” she asked.

“I
should
teach you how to protect yourself,
cher
.”

Cher.
Pronounced the Cajun “sha,” the way his father said it to his mother so long ago. He didn’t know where it had come from, but it sounded nice. It sounded right.

Her eyes softened for a moment, but then she took a deep breath and nodded. Her face sobered as she straightened her body away from his. “The throat. Let’s go.”

For the next hour, he taught her how to protect herself should she ever be grabbed from behind with a forearm under her throat. She practiced leaning her head forward as far as it would go, then using torque to slingshot it back and break her assailant’s nose with the back of her head. He also taught her how to break free of a front chokehold by grabbing her assailant’s wrists to pull him in close, then raising her knee to slam it into his balls. Except Jax, who was incredibly focused on the lesson, moved a bit too quick for him the third time around, proving that she’d perfected the move.

“Fuck!” he yelled, releasing his light grip on her throat and stumbling back as the pain of her assault shot through his groin, stealing his breath as his eyes filled with tears. It had been a long time since he’d taken a shot to the nuts, but glory Lord, it didn’t hurt any less than he remembered.

“Oh my God!” she gasped. “Gard! Oh no! I’m so sorry!”

He put his hands on his knees and bent over, trying to catch his breath as lightning bolts of pain streaked through his entire pelvic region.

“I didn’t mean to…”

“Good j-job,” he wheezed.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He looked up at her and slowly straightened, wincing from a fresh jolt of nausea. Shuffling to a chair by the door, he sat down gingerly with only the very back of one ass cheek resting on the seat.

“Do you need ice?” she asked, standing in front of him, wringing her hands together.

“You just killed my future children,” he groaned.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I feel terrible.”

“Not as terrible as I feel, Duchess.”

“What can I do?”

“Distract me.”

“O-okay,” she said. “Okay. I, um, I have an idea. Want to hear it?”

“Does it include you takin’ off your sports bra?”

She shook her head no, but her emeralds sparkled just the way he liked.

“Go ’head,” he said, nodding weakly.

“I looked through the scripts. After we talked on Monday? I looked through them.”

He had no idea where she was going with this. “Okay. And?”

“I found one. A good one, I think. But it’s not a movie. It’s TV.”

“What’s the…difference?” he asked, the last part coming out in a groan as the pain lessened from white-hot intensity to a throbbing ache.

She shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”

“Go on.”

“It’s, um, well, it’s a police procedural called
Philadelphia Vice
, and I—”

“Like
CSI
?”

“More like
Law and Order
.”

This was interesting. “Based on the Philly PD?”

She nodded.

Unbelievably, her nonnaked distraction was actually helping. The nausea was subsiding and he could sit back a little. “Go on.”

“I was wondering…that is, if you had the time…”

“You want me to take a look at it? At the script?”

She shrugged, but her sweet lips had already tilted up into a little smile. “Would you?”

“Why not? I’ll take it with me and look at it tonight. I can still read, thank God.”

“Thank you!” she said, leaning forward like she was going to hug him, then wincing and taking a step back. “That means a lot to me. It’s the first project I’ve been excited about in months.”

“In that case, I’ll do you one better,
Duchesse
,” he said, finally standing up again. “Want to see a real cop hangout? Best way to know if your scriptwriter is capturing the real thing.”

“Are you serious?” Her eyes widened. “Yeah! I mean, yes! I’d love it.”

“Friday night?”

“Sure! Yes!” she said.

“One catch, though,” he said, taking a deep breath and hating what he had to say next. But if he was going to figure out how to live this life, he had to start somewhere. “I can’t drive anymore.”

Her smile was blinding. “Good thing I can.”

Exhaling with relief as he stared at her lips, he actually
felt
himself start to fall, and instead of scowling, he smiled back at her, because there wasn’t one goddamn thing he cared to do about it.

Last night, Jax had enjoyed one of Mad’s signature dinners—blue cheese, fig, prosciutto, and arugula pizza with a fresh herb salad and homemade orange sorbet for dessert. Everything fresh. Everything delicious, of course.

As they sat down for dinner, Mad casually asked about Gard, and Jax’s expression alone was enough to let the cat out of the bag.

“Oh. My. God!” exclaimed Mad as Jax’s cheeks flushed. “Did you sleep with him?”

“Way to go, Jax,” said J.C., waging war with a difficult wine cork. “I would’ve thought there were cobwebs down there by now.”

“You’re disgusting,” she told her brother, who wedged the wine bottle between his thighs and kept pulling. “I hope you end up with Merlot on your jeans.”

“Shut up, Jean-Christian,” said Mad. She turned to Jax. “Tell me what’s going on!”

“It was…” She was about to say “nothing,” but she could hear his voice in her head saying,
I don’t know exactly what it was yet…but it wasn’t nothin’
, and she couldn’t. “We kissed.”

Mad gasped. “And…?”

Jax grinned, then rolled her eyes. “It was a good kiss.”

“Who is this guy again?” asked J.C., finally wrestling the cork out of the bottle with a satisfying pop.

“The Englishes’ gardener,” supplied Mad, holding out her glass.

“Huh. Slumming?” asked J.C., pouring a healthy splash for Mad.

“What?” Jax gave him a look. “No. No! He’s just…he’s teaching me self-defense.”

“And tonsil hockey,” said J.C., pouring Jax a glass. “Someone’s cavorting with the help.”

“Shut up, J.C. You’re a horse’s ass.”

“
I’m
an ass? What would our
chère maman
say about you fucking the neighbor’s gardener?” he asked with a smirk.

Jax’s eyes narrowed. “I’m
not
fucking him, one. And two…who cares? She’s in Paris.”

“Well, he’s certainly not the right kind. Kate English is the
right
kind,” J.C. reminded her, “and
Maman
barely tolerates her.”

“Well, in case you hadn’t noticed,” said Jax. “I’m an adult. I’ll screw whomever I please. Not that I am. I mean,
we’re
not. I just…I like him.” She shrugged, peeking at Mad over her wine glass. “And I’m reading scripts again.”

“You are?” asked Mad, her smile dreamy and happy. “Then I like him too.”

“Long live Queen Jax and the lowly gardener,” said J.C., raising his glass to her, then snickering. Just as he raised his glass to his lips, Jax kicked his shin under the table and a big splash of Merlot soaked his pink-and-white pinstripe dress shirt. “
Merde!
You little bitch!”

“Stop being an asshole,” said Jax, raising an eyebrow. “And don’t tell mother.”

She didn’t actually need to say it. She already knew they wouldn’t. Neither Mad nor J.C. would say a word—the Rousseau children had bonded over their absentee parents years ago, and their union as siblings was much stronger than the relationship any of them held individually with Liliane.

Anyway, Jax had no idea what would happen with Gardener, though she’d liked it very much when he had told her that their kiss wasn’t a “blip” or “just a kiss.” Like him, she didn’t know where they were going or where that sweet kiss would lead. But also like him, she knew in her heart that it wasn’t insignificant, and it was like a precious, sweet secret to know they both felt that way.

She had gone to sleep last night thinking about tonight—how she would pick him up at eight and drive them both into the city, to a bar near his old precinct. He told her, “The fries are greasy, but the beer is cold. Think you can handle it, Duchess?” She’d asked if they’d be meeting some of his friends, and he said they’d likely run into some people he knew. What she wondered the most, as she drifted off to sleep, was how he’d introduce her tomorrow. As his friend? As more? What
was
she to him? Oh, she knew it was too soon to put labels on the newness of their
petite romance
, but it made her feel excited to wonder, so she thought about it all the same.

This morning, she’d forced herself not to daydream about her date anymore and spent a couple of hours checking out “Sailing-Themed Movie Parties” on Pinterest, where she discovered some awesome ideas to share with Skye. Over the last few days, her excitement for Skye’s party had doubled and tripled, and a possible new life had started taking shape in Jax’s head: it included making her home at Le Chateau, seeking out friendships with women like Skye and Daisy, and producing a television program filmed on-site in Philadelphia. The more she thought about it, the more right it felt, though the pieces weren’t laid out just so and ready to be snapped together.

First and foremost, Le Chateau didn’t belong to her. It belonged to her mother. She would have to buy it from her mother to officially make it hers. Though it hadn’t been appraised in ages, Jax guessed the house was worth around seven million dollars, and while she could certainly buy it outright from her trust, it would deplete the trust by about a quarter after taxes were paid. Still, she
could
afford it. But common sense asked why a single woman required a seven-million-dollar, six-acre, eight-bedroom, twelve-bathroom estate with a grand ballroom, swimming pool, gym, studio, and theater. For a family of six, it had been ostentatious. For her? By herself? It bordered on ridiculous. Not to mention that her mother was mercurial—there was no guarantee that Liliane would sell it to Jax. She didn’t like the house and never had. It wouldn’t surprise Jax if she was eager to be rid of it once and for all.

And while she was hopeful that Skye and Daisy were potential friends, especially after today’s luncheon, the reality was that both women had been raised in working-class families, while Jax had been raised on Blueberry Lane. Would their sensibilities about life be vastly different? Would the three women be able to connect, or would Skye and Daisy see Jax as an entitled trust-fund brat who had taken a life of luxury for granted? Or worse, would they see her as a big-shot Hollywood producer whose life felt too removed from theirs to see her as a friend? Could she convince them that she was also just a down-to-earth girl who was thinking about relocating and needed friends just as much as anyone else?

And what
about
producing a TV series on location in Philadelphia so she could make her home here, where she had friends and family and felt safe? It wasn’t like a movie: a big one-time project that had a beginning, middle, and end. It was more like a job—an ongoing gig that could last for years if the show found an audience. Not to mention, would her success as a Hollywood producer even translate to the small screen? Or would she be laughed at for trying something new?

With these thoughts weighing on her mind, she slipped through the hedgerow from Le Chateau to Westerly and took a deep breath, deciding that for today—just for now—she would just worry about connecting with Skye and Daisy and tackle the rest later.

“Jax! Hello!” called Skye from the back patio, waving her over to an elegant lunch table.

“Hi!” said Jax, smiling at Skye as she hopped up the steps, and offering her hostess a massive bouquet of wildflowers. “I brought flowers.”

“My God! A whole greenhouse of them!”

“Too much?” asked Jax, cringing as Skye cradled the bouquet in her arms.

“Only if I hated flowers. Which I don’t!” The maid hurried out from the house and Skye turned to her. “Fran, can you find a—a…”

“A vase, ma’am?”

Skye nodded. “Yes, a vase. Can you find one for these?”

Fran took the flowers and headed back into the house as Skye turned to Jax and gestured for her to take a seat. Her cheeks had pinkened. “My—that is, my mother wasn’t around much when I was little. Or…ever, really. I didn’t grow up with many flowers to put in vases.”

“My mother wasn’t around much either,” said Jax, hoping her confession would place Skye at more ease.

“Oh. Were your parents…divorced?”

“No. Just absent.” Jax reached into her purse for her sunglasses and put them on. “Mostly traveling the world for business. Or pleasure. Or just to be away together. Or just to be away from us.”

“They loved each other?” asked Skye.

Jax nodded. “I think so. Certainly more than they loved us.”

Skye sighed. “Well, I think we both turned out great.”

“You barely know me,” said Jax, reaching for her wine glass.

“I know you’re nice. And funny. You made a great movie.” Skye took a sip of her wine. “Besides, Brooks said you’re a ‘good egg.’”

Jax lowered her glass, grinning. She’d never been very close to Brooks, so his compliment surprised her and delighted her at once. “He did?”

She nodded. “Yes. He said to steer clear of your brother, a couple of the Story sisters, and Sloane Ambler. But he said you were solid.”

“Steer clear of J.C.?” she asked, grinning.

“Yes.”

Jax nodded her agreement. “Brooks has a point. He’s a terrible flirt.”

Skye gave her a wide-eyed nod. “So I’ve heard.”

They were both giggling as Fran opened the door to the terrace and a beautiful blonde woman walked onto the patio with a cellophane-covered basket hanging from her arm. She was Daisy English, wife of the second-oldest English brother, Fitz.

“Hey, girls!” she called, heading to the table and pulling out the available chair. “What did I miss?”

“Daisy!” greeted Skye, standing to embrace her friend. “So good to see you…without spit-up on my shoulder.”

“Or a diaper bag filled to bursting,” said Daisy, turning to grin at Jax. “Hey, Jax.”

“Hi, Daisy. It’s good to see you,” said Jax, reaching her hand across the table to shake Daisy’s.

Daisy glanced at Skye, then back at Jax. “We do a Mommy and Me class together at Enchanted Beginnings in Wayne on Wednesday mornings.”

“But aren’t your children pretty different in age?” asked Jax. She’d seen Daisy and Fitz’s daughter at Étienne and Kate’s wedding, and she looked a
lot
bigger than tiny Sailor.

Skye shrugged. “Sailor’s two months and Caroline will be a year old in…?”

“July,” said Daisy.

“Well, there you go. The class is for babies twelve months and under.”

“Enough about kids!” exclaimed Daisy suddenly, taking her seat. “Today I’m just a grown-up, drinking wine with lunch and talking about
anything
but organic puff snacks and the ‘right’ preschool!”

“Amen,” said Skye, raising her glass. “The terror is fast asleep, which means I have two hours to get you two drunk, hear your secrets, and plan a party!”

Jax lifted her glass and giggled. “To wine, secrets, and parties!”

They clanked the crystal glasses together, and each took a long sip of ice-cold Chardonnay.

Daisy sighed as she replaced her glass. “Starting to feel human again.”

“Jax,” said Skye as Fran returned with warm rolls and plated salad, “remind us of what it’s like out there.”

“In the dating world?” asked Jax. She took another sip of wine. “Probably less glamorous than you remember.”

Daisy shook her head. “Actually, I remember it being pretty awful.”

Skye shrugged. “My boyfriend before Brooks was
such
an asshole.”

“I didn’t even
have
a boyfriend before Fitz,” said Daisy. “Just a fake one to make him jealous.”

“Did it work?” asked Jax, chuckling as she buttered her roll.

Daisy nodded, flashing her rock of a diamond ring at Jax. “Sure did.”

“How did you…” She paused, thinking of Gard’s words on Wednesday afternoon:
It wasn’t just a kiss. I don’t know exactly what it was yet…but it wasn’t nothin’.
“How did you know that Brooks…or Fitz…was the one?”

Skye sipped her wine, her expression going dreamy. “We were from totally different worlds, you know? Me, a boat mechanic. Him, an Olympic millionaire.”

“Us too,” said Daisy. “I baked cookies for a living out in Oregon and lived in a studio apartment.” She looked over at Haverford Park meaningfully. “He was…Fitz English.”

Jax nodded, leaning closer, thinking that she and Gard were from two different worlds too. If it worked out for Daisy and Fitz, and Skye and Brooks, maybe, just maybe—

“The first kiss,” said Skye, closing her eyes for just a moment. When she opened them, she licked her lips and raised her wine glass to her mouth. “It was…”

“Electric,” said Daisy. “And I’m not even counting the teenage kisses. I’m only counting the one when we found each other again. The back hallway of Mulligan’s. Oh my God, I thought I’d go up in flames right there.”

“Mulligan’s, the bar? At UPenn?” asked Jax.

Daisy nodded. “That’s the one. There’s an old phone closet in the back.”

“I was still with my ex the first time we kissed,” confessed Skye, spearing a lettuce leaf covered with parmesan cheese. “Brooks apologized to me. Told me it would never happen again, but…”