Putting Out Old Flames (22 page)

Being with Chance would be life changing, Jane had no doubt. But with his warm hand gripping hers, giving her strength, she knew he'd have her back when she got scared.

Chance looked over his shoulder, finding Katie in the crowd. “I want a daughter. But she's never dating.”

Resting her head on his shoulder, Jane laughed.

“J
esus, you're racking up those frequent flyer miles, aren't you?” Chance pressed his hand against the doorjamb, blocking Annette's way into his house. The move was instinctual. She'd brought so much chaos with her, his body wanted to bar her physical entry into his life, as though that could keep the turmoil at bay.

She clasped a patent-leather clutch to her stomach. “I should charge you for the tickets. You're the one who moved our son across the country.”

A fire blazed to life in his gut. “To keep him safe from your bookies. Don't forget that part.”

Rolling her eyes, she tried to brush past him into the house. He didn't let her.

“Max wouldn't have hurt him,” she said. “He was just trying to scare me.” She pointed to his arm. “You going to let me in?”

Chance looked at that arm, at the fingers wrapped around the wood of the jamb. Did it make him a bad person that he wanted to wrap those same fingers around her throat? Maybe not squeeze the life out of her, but shake her back and forth for speaking so casually of their son's safety. Yeah, that would be satisfying.

And wrong
, that annoying, law-abiding voice of his said. “Josh isn't here. Katie took him to soccer practice.”

“Oh.” She lost some of her starch, deflating before his eyes.

“If you'd called ahead, we could've arranged a time for you to visit. Instead of just showing up,” he said pointedly.

“He's my son, too.” Chance started to thaw, until she continued with, “You should be nicer to me. When I have full custody, I'll get to control when, or if, you see Josh.”

The lava in his gut spread to his chest.
Oh, hell no
. Over his dead body was she getting full custody, locking him out of his son's life. Annette couldn't get it through her pea-sized brain that when she messed up as big as she had, she didn't get the privilege of unrestricted parenthood. There were consequences to her actions.

But what if she wins? What if Katie's right, and some stupid-ass judge awards her custody when she marries?
A sliver of wood dug under his nail, he was gripping the frame so tight. He had to be smart. For Josh, he couldn't give in to the temptation to throw her off his property, tell her to go to hell.

“I'm not trying to keep you from him,” he said evenly. “But Josh has a schedule. If you want to come by for dinner tonight, you can. Josh would love to see you.” That was the truth. Another reason to try to make nice with this woman. Josh shouldn't see how much his mother disgusted his father.

“Thank you. Dinner will be good.” Annette flipped her long swath of dark hair over one shoulder. “But I want some alone time with my son.”

Chance opened his mouth.

“Before you say no, think about if the roles were reversed,” she said. “Wouldn't you want to be able to take our son out to the park, or for some pizza, just the two of you? Do you always want me to be supervising your visits?”

She assumed she would be given custody. Just took it for granted. Just like she thought she'd always win the next horse race. But she wasn't wrong. He'd hate it if he couldn't take Josh out alone for some guy time.

Gritting his teeth, he gave her the nicest smile he was able to. “Tomorrow Josh has a playdate and I'm busy with our fundraiser. The ball is tomorrow night. Saturday is his soccer game. He usually goes out with the team afterwards. But Sunday, you can take him out that afternoon for a couple of hours. If you'll still be here?”
Please let her flight be tomorrow
.

“I'll be here.” Spinning on her stiletto heel, she sashayed toward her rental car. “I'll see you tonight for dinner. And remember, make something vegetarian.”

Chance was proud of himself for not slamming the door. But the tension coiled tighter and tighter through his body. That woman was a disease. And she was the most important woman in his son's life.

Chance punched the wall. Nope. Still pissed. That wasn't going to cut it. Jogging up the stairs, he pulled out his phone and started texting his sister.
Annette just here. I need to blow off some steam, maybe go pound the bag at the gym. You okay with Josh for a couple hours?

While he waited for her response, he changed into a pair of running shorts and an old tee.

At some point Chance was going to have to explain to his son that pizza was not one of the four food groups. It wasn't intended for daily consumption. But not today. Right now he needed to pound out his anger.

He hit the sidewalk at a run and alternated between flat-out racing and sprinting as if a wolverine was chasing him. Sweat dripped into his eyes, burning, and his leg muscles screamed in protest. Yet the anger remained.

He pounded past the street that led to the gym, his body knowing that wasn't what he needed. Twenty-two minutes later, and his legs were almost too exhausted to climb the steps to her apartment. On a good day, he could jog for a solid hour and have plenty of energy left to strap on his gear and go to work. But the way his calves sent angry warning signals to his brain told Chance that balls-to-the-walls sprinting was something best left to the kids.

He knocked on her door, for the first time worrying that she might not be home. He should have called ahead. He should know her schedule better. Was she—

The door swung open, and she was there, delight in her eyes at seeing him. God, he missed seeing that from a woman. When had he resigned himself to the fact that his wife greeted him with indifference? When had it become normal to see the flicker of irritation cross Annette's face when he came home?

Jane stood in stretchy yoga pants and a baggy T-shirt, and no one had ever looked as lovely. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him into her apartment, her brows drawing together. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing. Annette. I just wanted to see you.” The words were a jumble, his mind now as tired as his body.

She pushed him toward her bedroom. “Go to my bathroom and take your clothes off. And watch out for”—a hiss, a raging bundle of orange fur raced under his feet, making him stumble—“Cyclops.” Jane sighed. “He's got to get used to you eventually.” She made little shooing motions before turning to her kitchen.

For once, Chance was happy to let someone else call the shots. He plodded into her small bathroom, leaned against the sink so he wouldn't fall over while taking off his clothes.

He was toeing off his sneakers when Jane came in, a large glass of water in her hand.

“Drink,” she said. She finished pulling off his shoes and socks, slid his shorts and jockeys down his legs in one tug. Turning on the shower, she pulled off her own clothes. “Okay, into the shower.” She prodded his shoulder until he stepped over the tub's edge.

“When did you get so pushy?” The spray of hot water hit his chest. Chance placed his hands on the cold tile below the nozzle and leaned into the stream. Damn, that felt good. Jane stepped behind him, her body brushing against his as she picked up one of those scrubby loofah things, and that felt even better.

She squeezed some soap into the loofah. “If I can push you around, you must not be feeling well. So just be quiet and let me take care of you.”

Starting with his back, Jane wiped away his sweat right along with his tension. The soap was something fruity, girly, but Chance didn't care. If he spent the day smelling like Jane, it would be a good day. She moved down his back, rubbing his sore muscles as she went. Every part of him got her attention. He grunted in satisfaction when she massaged his glutes, and when she reached his abused calves, he almost wept in relief.

“Turn around,” she said, her voice still bossy. Chance smiled, and obeyed. The sight of Jane on her knees in front of him perked his body up. Some parts more than others. Whereas her attentions to his back had been relaxing, the lathering up of his feet and shins made him impatient.

Those bits didn't matter. He'd give a month's salary if she'd only work a little higher, take care of him where he needed it.

She didn't disappoint. Pushing to her feet, she took Chance's offered hand to help stand. She wasted little time making a few swipes across his chest before hanging the loofah up on a suction-cup hook and filling her hands with a squirt of soap. She rubbed them together until a thick layer of foam coated them.

“Sweet Jesus.” Chance leaned his head back on the tile. Her slippery hands stroked his length, cleaning each and every inch of him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

“What? Annette? Now?” He barked out a harsh laugh. Opening his eyes, he looked down into her concerned gaze. “That's the last thing I want to talk about right now. In fact”—Chance removed her hands, though it just about killed him to do it, and moved her under the spray—“I don't want to talk at all.” He filled his own hands with the liquid soap. “Now, you've been a dirty girl, dragging men into your apartment, stripping them naked, and it's time you got a good cleaning.”

“You might have to scrub real good at some parts.” She leaned back against the wall, lifted her arms and grabbed the shower head with both hands. “I can get awfully filthy.”

Chance grinned. And he made sure to clean every bit of her. Her eyes were closed and the edges of her lips tilted up the slightest bit. She looked satisfied, taken care of, and Chance felt like he could take on a five-alarm fire single-handedly. He loved putting that look on her face.

Jane was always trying to take care of others. From conversations with Edith, Chance knew that Jane had followed her mother to Pineville to help her out. She had taken the lead with the fundraiser. And here she was, looking out for him, no questions asked when he'd appeared sweaty and tired on her doorstep.

But who had been taking care of Jane? Some small part inside Chance was happy that no one seemed to have taken that position in any significant way over the years. It was a vacancy he had every intention of filling.

Turning the water off, he grabbed a towel, swaddled it around Jane's shoulders, and climbed out of the tub with her. He dragged the terry cloth up and down her body until they were both breathing hard.

“The condoms still by your bed?” he asked.

“Just bought a new box.” She nipped at his jaw. “But my legs don't want to move.”

“Then it's a good thing there's a fireman in the house.” Bending over, he threw her over his shoulder, not technically a fireman's carry, but good enough for his purposes. Jane squealed, and pushed her torso up off his back. “Watch your head,” he told her as he stepped through the doorway.

“Put me down. We're too old for you to be picking me up like this.”

“As you wish.” Chance tossed her on her bed, enjoyed watching her bounce.

She gave him the evil eye. “That was uncalled for.”

Smiling, he grabbed a condom from the box, sheathed himself. “But highly satisfying.”

She harrumphed.

Chance settled on top of her, her skin still rosy and warm from the shower. Burying his nose in the crook of her neck, he inhaled, the scent of warm, sweet woman going straight to his head. He kissed the soft skin, licked across her collarbone. He couldn't get enough, would never get enough. She opened for him, and he nestled into the cradle of her thighs.

She sought out his mouth, and he gave it to her, their tongues tangling, sparring. Pressing closer to her, he felt her heart pound against his chest, its frantic beat a mirror to his own. Framing her face with his hands, he pressed a kiss to each eye, her nose, before lifting his head. “I love you, Jane.”

Her eyes grew round, and her heartbeat kicked up a notch. She didn't say anything, and Chance's stomach churned. She had to have known where this was leading. With all their history, she couldn't have believed this was a casual fling, despite what she'd said at the beginning of the relationship. She needed to say something, anything, right damn now.

Jane bit her lip.

Biting back a curse, he sucked in a deep breath. Okay, he could work with this. So she wasn't there quite yet. Or she wasn't able to admit it. If he wanted to follow his plan, he still had a year to convince Jane to move in with him. He could do a lot in a year.

Jesus, why was she staring at him like that? Was she about to cry? Hearing he loved her made her cry? That wasn't a good sign. Sweat beaded at his hairline. His fingers pressed into her skull, and he had to force himself to relax his hands. He couldn't lose Jane now, not when he'd just found her. Life wouldn't screw with him like that. She just had—