Lead (Stage Dive, #3)(7)
“She?” I gave the top of his head a sharp look. Damn it, he had seemed okay. Certainly not delusional. “Who called you?”
“Mom.”
“Oh.” This couldn’t be good news. Better than him imagining phone calls from the recently deceased, but still. “What’d she want?”
“Same f*cking thing she always wants. Money.” His voice was harsh and low. So low that I had to strain to hear him. “Warned her to stay away.”
“She’s in town?”
A nod. “Threatened to crash the funeral. Told her I’d have her f*cking arrested if she did.”
Hell, the woman sounded like a nightmare.
“Davie doesn’t know,” he said. “That’s the way it stays.”
“All right.” I don’t know how wise that was, but it wasn’t my choice to make. “I won’t tell him.”
His shoulders hitched beneath my hands, his misery surrounding us like an impenetrable shell. Nothing else existed.
“You’re going to be okay.” I bowed my head and hunched over, sheltering him with my body. My heart ached and emotional detachment was a dream. The compulsion to give to him was too strong. He was usually such a maddening man, so thoughtless and rude. Anger, however, made my job easier. When he behaved like an ass I could remain indifferent for the most part. These dangerous new feelings running through me, however, were soft and sappy, warm and weepy. No way could I afford to care this much.
Crap.
What the hell was happening to me?
He gripped my rounded hips and turned his face up to me, unguarded for once. All of his usual sharp edges were dulled by pain and if anything it just made his beauty more obvious. I licked my suddenly dry lips. Fingers tensed and tightened against me and his forehead bunched as he scowled at the damp patch on the front of my blouse. “Sorry ’bout that.”
“Not a problem.”
He let go and my legs wobbled, weak at the loss.
Intimacy fled and awkwardness rushed right in like a tidal wave. I could almost feel his walls slamming back into place. Mine were slower, weaker, damn them. Someone, somewhere along the line, had swapped my titanium for tinfoil leaving me wide open and exposed. It was all his fault. For a moment he’d actually stepped down from his self-imposed pedestal. He’d been real with me, shown me his fears, and I’d just sort of mumbled some vaguely comforting shit. Honestly, I couldn’t even remember what anymore. Little wonder he’d closed up on me again.
Also, we were unnaturally close, positioned as we were. There were mere inches between us. Jimmy gave me a brief embarrassed look to enforce the fact, just in case I hadn’t noticed. Obviously he regretted this. I mean, he’d cried on the hired help, for Christ’s sake.
“I’ll get your clothes,” I said, grasping at the first useful idea to enter my head.
Blindly, I stumbled across the room. Thoughts and feelings were running rife through me, all of it a blur. I needed to talk to mom. Far as I knew, there was no history of heart ailments in the family. Leukemia took Uncle John. Grandma died due to smoking a pack a day. I think Great Aunt Valerie caught some strange fungal infection in her lungs, but don’t quote me on that. Mom would know for sure. Whatever my heart was doing, it couldn’t be good. I was only twenty-five, much too young to die. Probably about the right age to become a complete hypochondriac, however.
I grabbed a shirt and tie from out of his walk-in closet in the monster-sized main bedroom. My room, on the other side of the suite, wasn’t bad. This room, however, put the Ritz to shame. Sheets, blankets, and pillows were strewn across the gigantic bed. Not from any crazy sex antics because as far as I could tell, the man was either asexual, abstaining, or both. Still, he obviously hadn’t slept well. I could just picture him, tossing and turning, his big strong body thrashing about on that large, sturdy bed. Completely alone with all his bad memories. And I’d only been in the room across from him, also alone and not sleeping particularly well. Some nights my brain just wouldn’t shut up or shut down and last night had definitely been one of them.
I stood frozen, mesmerized by the tangle of sheets and blankets.
Again, my heart did something strange. Something totally out of context. What happened between my legs was best ignored. I’m certain something in the employment contract outlawed any and all wetness on my part, especially if it pertained to one James Dylan Ferris.
“Hey,” he said, appearing at my side, startling the crap out of me.
“Hi.” I hesitated, a bit breathless again for some reason. Perhaps I should have my lungs checked too just to be sure. “You need a quick clean-up. Come on.”
He followed behind me like an obedient child. The lights in the white bathroom were blindingly bright after all the emotional turmoil, dazzling me. Okay, what next? Bottles and tubes were spread out over the counter. Still my beleaguered brain offered up nothing.
“We have to hurry,” I muttered, mostly to myself.
I placed his shirt and tie on the counter, grabbed a facecloth and wet it. If I hadn’t already done my make-up I’d have splashed my face with the bitingly cold water, let it wake me up from all this weirdness. Meanwhile, Jimmy stared off into the distance, his mind obviously far away once again. When I held up the cloth he didn’t react at all. Forget it, we didn’t have time for this, I’d do the job myself. The cold damp cloth made contact and he reared back, nostrils flaring.