Glitter Baby (Wynette, Texas #3)(113)

“I’m breathless with anticipation.”

“He hit me with ‘qaid.’”

“There’s no such word.”

“Oh yes there is. A Northern African tribal leader, although generally only world-class Scrabble players and crossword addicts know it.”

“And?”

“Don’t you see? The son of a bitch was hustling me!”

“Dear God.”

“To make a long story short, he laid ‘zebu’ in on a horizontal and then capped it with ‘zloty’ on the vertical. My ‘quail’ looked pretty pitiful after that, but worse was to come.”

“I don’t know if I can bear the tension.”

“‘Phlox’ on a triple word score.”

“That devil.”





Chapter 25




By Christmas, Fleur had picked up three great new clients—two actors and a singer. Alexi hadn’t made any new moves against her, and the old stories about her broken contracts seem to be fading. The gossip about her relationship with Jake continued, but word had started to leak that he was writing again, and the gossip no longer held as much sting. Rough Harbor’s first album was performing above expectations, and the unqualified success of Michel’s collection was still bringing an avalanche of good publicity. When Kissy got rave reviews after her play premiered on January 3, Fleur felt as if all her own dreams were coming true. So why wasn’t she happier? She avoided probing her inner psyche too deeply by working even harder.

Jake stopped showing up for their morning run, and when she went upstairs to check on him, he barely spoke. He’d been working on his book for nearly three months, and he’d grown increasingly gaunt. His hair hung long over his collar, and he forgot to shave for days at a time.

One cold Friday night in the second week of January, something awakened her. Total silence. What had happened to the typewriter? She stirred.

“It’s okay, Flower,” a rough voice whispered. “It’s just me.”

The dim lights sifting in from her winter garden illuminated the room just enough so she could see Jake hunched in a chair not far from her bed, his rangy legs stretched in front of him.

“What are you doing?” she muttered.

“Watching you sleep.” His voice was as soft and dark as the night room. “The light’s a paintbrush in your hair. Do you remember how we wrapped your hair around us when we made love?”

The blood rushed through her sleep-heavy body. “I remember.”

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he said raggedly. “You got caught in the crossfire.”

She didn’t want to think about the past. “That was a long time ago. I’m not so na?ve now.”

“I don’t know about that.” His voice developed an edge. “For somebody who wants me to believe she’s made a career out of sleeping around, you don’t seem to have a lot of men coming through here.”

She wanted him to stay soft and sweet. She wanted him talking about paintbrushes and the light in her hair. “Not with you living over my head, that’s for sure. We go to their places.”

“Is that so?” Slowly he uncurled from the chair and began unbuttoning his shirt. “If you’re passing it out for free, I guess it’s time I took my turn.”

She bolted up in bed. “I’m not passing it out for free!”

He stripped off his shirt. “This could have happened between us months ago. All you had to do was ask.”

“Me! What about you?”

He didn’t say anything. Instead his hand went to the snap on his jeans.

“Stop right there.”

“Let’s not.” His zipper fell open in a V, revealing a bare, flat stomach. “The book’s done.”

“It is?”

“And I can’t quit thinking about you.”

Her emotions tangled into a knot. She wanted him so much. But something was terribly wrong. If his book was finished, he should be relieved. Instead he seemed haunted, and she needed to find out why. “Zip your pants, cowboy,” she said quietly. “We need to talk first.”

“The hell we do.” He kicked off his shoes, whipped away the blankets covering her, and gazed down at the ice-blue nightgown twisted high on her thighs. “Nice.” He peeled off his jeans.

“No.”

“Just be quiet, will you?” He reached for the hem of her gown.

“We’re going to talk.” She started to pull away, but he snared the skirt of her nightgown, holding her in place.

“Later.”

She clamped her fingers around his wrist. “I’m not into recreational sex, not with you.”

He let her go abruptly and slapped the wall above her head with the flat of his hand. “How about mercy f*cking then? Are you into mercy f*cking, because if you are, you’ve got yourself one hell of an opportunity here.”

She saw the pain he couldn’t hide, and her heart ached. “Oh, Jake.”

The shutters banged shut. “Forget it!” He grabbed his jeans and shoved his legs into them. “Forget I was ever here.” He snatched up his shirt and headed into the hallway.

“Wait!” She pushed herself out of bed, only to get tangled in the cast-off blankets. By the time she freed herself, her front door had slammed. She heard the thud of his feet on the steps leading to the attic. She remembered the deep shadows under his eyes, the feeling of desperation rolling off him. Without thinking it through, she went into the hallway and up the stairs to the attic.