What the Heart Wants (What the Heart Wants, #1)(78)

“Don’t be childish, darling,” she’d said, swishing her negligee to the side and looking at him slantwise. Amusement rippled in her voice. “Just think of it as my hobby, initiating promising young men into adulthood. I’m really quite good at it, you’ll admit. In the future, you’ll look back on me with gratitude. Now, come here and show me all you’ve learned.”

She’d leaned back on the divan, opened her legs like a pair of scissors, and smiled invitingly, expecting the slow, skilled lovemaking she had painstakingly taught him. Instead, he’d taken her quickly and roughly, with all the anger and pain that was in him, which ultimately pleased her even more.

“God, you have passion!” she murmured, running a sharp nail down the inside of his thigh.

Marguerite obviously felt great, but he felt like a sexbot—which didn’t stop him from visiting her every Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday.

His mouth tightened in anger. And now every moment of their relationship was coming back to haunt him through Lolly.

*



The next morning, Laurel, with Hugo right behind her, took a tray up to Lolly. After setting it on the nightstand, she drew up a chair to sit with her guest.

Lolly smiled her thanks and drank the orange juice in slow sips, but only nibbled at the toast, replacing most of it on the tray. “I’m sorry, Laurel, but I’m just not hungry.”

“I understand.” Hugo eyed the remains of Lolly’s breakfast speculatively, but Laurel, who had become wise to the insatiable canine appetite, picked up the tray and placed it on top of the tallboy bureau. “You’ve had quite a shock. Would you like to come downstairs and watch a little television?”

“No, thanks.”

“How about fixing your hair? You can use my equipment.” The Alice band was gone, and Lolly’s yellow curls were scrunched into what looked like a volcanic eruption on one side of her head.

“I don’t feel like it.”

Lolly didn’t want to play with her hair? Things really were bad. Laurel sat down next to the bed again. “I called Dallas last night to let your dad know where you are.”

“Oh.”

“He’ll probably come for you today.”

Lolly turned her head into the pillow. “I don’t want to see him.”

Laurel wasn’t quite sure what to say next. Actually, she had no idea whatsoever what to say next, but she wanted to keep the conversation going.

“Uh, are you cool enough? The temperature is supposed to reach a hundred ten today. You could move downstairs to the den if it gets too warm up here.”

Lolly moved her hand on the sheet, actually pulling it up further, as if she was cold. “I’m fine.”

“How about some lemonade? I could bring up a pitcher.” Lemonade was something she could handle. Just dump the powder in water, mix it, and add ice cubes.

“No. Don’t bother.”

Hugo stuck his head up over the side of the bed, and Lolly reached over to scratch his ears.

“Do you have a dog at home, Lolly?”

“Maxie’s dachshund.”

“Tell me about him.”

“He’s old.”

“What else?”

Lolly gave Hugo a final pat, closed her eyes, and turned over. “Too tired.”

Laurel bit her lip. It had been better when Lolly was hysterical. At least then there had been some life to her.

Hugo started pacing back and forth, looking at Laurel meaningfully, so she took him downstairs and let him into the yard. Before she went upstairs to play nurse again, she equipped herself with a couple of books and a glass of lemonade. Lolly might not need anything to drink, but she did.

But after two chapters of Jane Austen, her eyelids started drooping.

*



The ringing doorbell sliced through the rumble of the air conditioner. Lolly muttered in her sleep, and Laurel rose slowly, trying to clear her mind.

The bell chimed again as she shut Hugo in the room with Lolly and hurried down the stairs. Probably Jase come to fetch his daughter. He, of course, would look like a model out of GQ, while here she was, still in the divided skirt and sleeveless white top she’d thrown on when she got up.

She opened the door.

It was Jase all right, but he looked more like an FBI wanted poster than a GQ model. His shirt was stained, his slacks were rumpled, and his hair was lying flat on his head. Maybe it was the stubbly jaw, but, all and all, but he looked like one of the lowlifes who hung out around Josie’s Muebleria Usada.

She managed a polite semismile. “Come in.”

He nodded and followed her into the drawing room, sitting on the sofa across from her, just as he had a month ago when he first stopped by. Laurel’s mouth went dry. Right over there, by the piano, was where he had cornered her and taken her down to the floor after their naked chase through the house. She’d better get this visit over quick, while she could still breathe.

“Lolly is upstairs in the guest room,” she began. “She went to see Marguerite in San Antonio yesterday, and Marguerite told her everything.”

“That’s what Maxie said.” Jase’s face went dark and his hand tightened on the arm of the sofa. “The worst-case scenario.”

“Lolly can’t face it. I think she views me as some sort of refuge.”