Ain't She Sweet? (24 page)

She arched, cried out. Their gazes locked. For one startling moment, a shock of recognition passed between them, something soul deep and very important. But before it could find a name, the cataclysm swept them away.

“I declare, I could kill Vidal! It is so unthinking of him to ravish honest girls . . .”

GEORGETTE HEYER,
Devil’s Cub

CHAPTER TWELVE

Sugar Beth rolled to her side. “I’m done with you. You can go.”

His breathing hadn’t yet returned to normal, so she was probably rushing him, but she was a lot more shaken by what had just happened than she intended to let him see.

Meaningless sex was allowed to feel good, but it wasn’t allowed to feel important, and that’s what might have happened if she hadn’t kept up her guard.

She felt Colin watching her as she walked naked across the room. She remembered his threat to fire her and told herself not to entertain even the possibility that he’d stick to his guns.

“That was only a warm-up, my dear,” he said, in his royal family drawl. “I’m definitely not done with you.”

“No man ever is. But I have things to do, and, alas, none of them involves you.”

“Is that so?”

Just looking at him propped against her pillow, chest damp with sweat, that dramatic dark hair even more rumpled than usual, made her want to climb right back in and let him work his magic all over again. But she needed to get her barricades back in place, so she picked up his jeans and tossed them on the bed. “You were fabulous. Inspired, even. Go home and recuperate. I’ll see you in the morning.”

His languor faded, and he raised one knee beneath the sheet that had fallen low on his hips. “I believe we already discussed this.”

“Don’t make me bargain for my job with more sex. You’ll only feel tawdry.”

“God, you’re full of it.”

He was right about that, but before he could drive his point home, she tried to make a dash for the bathroom only to have him catch her long before she got to the door and drag her back to bed. “Not so fast. There’s an interesting perversion I stumbled across in my research recently.”

“What kind of perversion?”

He slipped his hand between her legs, and the way his fingers moved made her forget that she didn’t have her defenses back in place. “I’m sure it would be too much for you.”

She nipped at his shoulder. “Maybe if you’re extra gentle?”

“Or maybe not.”

And that was the last either of them said for a very long time.

Much later, when she emerged from her second bath of the morning, her bed held only a disgruntled basset hound. The time she’d spent in the tub had sobered her, and she sank down on the edge of the mattress. Gordon inched over and propped his head on her thigh.

One long, floppy ear fell across her knee.

She dropped her head and fought back the tears. All morning she’d tried not to think about Emmett, but the ghosts could only be kept at bay for so long. She’d just severed another tie with him. Which was the thing about watching a loved one die a slow death.

There was no clean break, no single moment of overwhelming grief, just an endless strand of losses. She rubbed Gordon’s head. Clasped her knees.

Being with Colin had felt too good. But she couldn’t blame herself for what she’d done, not after going for so long without a man’s touch. At the same time, she had to make certain her old needy habits didn’t come creeping back. She’d never let herself depend on another man for her happiness, and definitely not anyone as emotionally aloof as Colin Byrne.

The clock chimed downstairs, and she remembered this was Sunday. Colin was going to the concert, and she’d told Gigi she could visit this afternoon. She was in no shape for an angst-ridden teenager, but she could hardly ring Gigi up and tell her not to come, so she blew her nose, pulled on her jeans, fixed her makeup, then headed downstairs to clean up the breakfast mess.

Colin’s kiss-off check lay on the counter. She picked it up. Two thousand dollars. His guilt ran deep, and she tore it up. She thought of Delilah. Once again, she considered the possibility of having her stepdaughter live with her, and once again she rejected it.

Delilah enjoyed their shopping expeditions and restaurant lunches together, but after a few hours away from Brookdale she got agitated and begged to go home.

She was staring at the wall when Gigi arrived, wearing another of the ratty, oversize outfits that must be giving her parents fits. She bent down to give Gordon the attention he demanded. When she rose, she looked awkward and nervous. “I was supposed to go to the concert with them this afternoon, but I talked back to my dad.”

“How convenient.”

“Do you . . . uh . . . want to make some cookies or something?” She flushed, deciding too late that her big-city aunt was too worldly for cookie baking. Sugar Beth repressed a sigh.

She couldn’t deal with her own insecurities, let alone this child’s.

“No flour,” she said.

“That’s okay. Making cookies is lame.”

“Think so?” Sugar Beth could have told her she loved baking cookies nearly as much as she loved eating them, but she didn’t want to encourage any more bonding.

“Maybe you could show me how you do your eye makeup? It’s pretty cool.”

Sugar Beth took in her baggy cords and faded T-shirt. “Aren’t you afraid it’ll clash with that trendy outfit?”

“I don’t always dress like this.”

“No?”

Gigi examined her thumbnail. “It’s better this way.”

“Better for who?”

A shrug.

Sugar Beth didn’t have the energy to probe deeper. Eye makeup was safe. And it would be better for Gigi to learn makeup tricks from Sugar Beth than from her stick of a mother, or, God forbid, Merylinn, although Merylinn did have a nice touch with lip liner. She started to lead Gigi upstairs, then remembered the sex-rumpled sheets. “I’ll bring the stuff down here. The light’s better.”

“Okay. And then I sort of have a list.”

“Of what?” Sugar Beth asked warily.

“Some questions I want to ask you.”

Her head began to throb. She abandoned the eye makeup plan and made a beeline for the kitchen. “I need coffee.”

“I drink coffee.”

“Sure you do.”

“I do!”

Fine. Let Ryan worry about caffeine addiction. She set up the coffeemaker, flicked the switch, and turned to see that Gigi had seated herself at the table and was dredging a piece of paper and a pencil stub from her pocket, all ready to take notes. “First, do you think it’s better to be smart or popular? I think popular.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“They are in Parrish.”

“Not even in Parrish.”

“You were smart,” Gigi said, “but you got crappy grades, and it made you popular.”

“I hate to disillusion you, but I got crappy grades because I had my priorities screwed up.

And I would have been popular even if I got good grades.”

“How?” Gigi abandoned her notes. “That’s what I don’t understand. How did you do it?

You were rich like me. Didn’t all the kids hate you for it?”

Sugar Beth was tired of letting the world watch her bleed, and she didn’t want to talk about this now. Or ever, for that matter. But Gigi deserved an answer. “I was born with a false sense of superiority,” she said slowly, “and I managed to manipulate everybody so they bought into it. It was great short-term, but you might have noticed it hasn’t done zip for me long-term.”

Gigi hadn’t gotten the answer she wanted. “How exactly did you manipulate them?”

Sugar Beth glanced longingly toward the coffeemaker, but it hadn’t finished brewing.

She needed caffeine now, and she grabbed a Coke from the refrigerator. “Want one?”

“No, thanks. I prefer coffee.”

“Of course you do.” She popped the top. Gigi waited, all big eyes and eager ears. Sugar Beth tried to think of what to say that would make sense to a thirteen-year-old, or even to herself. “The goal isn’t to be popular, Gigi. The goal is to be strong.”

“I don’t feel strong,” she said miserably.

Welcome to the club, kiddo.
“Nobody does when they’re thirteen. But thirteen is a great time to start accumulating power. The right kind.”

Gigi’s face lit with interest. “That’s what I want. I want to be powerful.”

“But you want to be powerful right now, which isn’t going to happen.”

“You were powerful when you were thirteen.”

Sugar Beth repressed a bitter laugh. “My power was an illusion. All the tricks I used to acquire it ended up backfiring on me as I got older. You want power that lasts. And you don’t get it by being less than you are.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“In your case it means pretending you’re poor by disappearing inside ugly clothes, then blowing off schoolwork and hanging out with the wrong kind of kids.”

Gigi looked outraged. “Just because Chelsea isn’t rich . . .”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with money. It has to do with brains, and from what you told me, Chelsea wasn’t blessed with a full set. You, on the other hand, have more than your fair share, but you don’t seem to be taking advantage of them.”

“I’m not hanging out with geeks like Gwen Lu and Jenny Berry, if that’s what you mean.”

Sugar Beth remembered Winnie trying to make herself invisible as she walked down the school hallways. “Because you don’t like them, or because you’re afraid the other kids will make fun of you if you do?”

Gigi waited too long to respond. “Because I don’t like them.”

“Do you want real power or not?” Even as she asked the question, Sugar Beth wondered how she could pretend to have an answer.

“Oh, yes,” Gigi said with a wistful sigh. And then her face clouded. “You’re going to tell me to study, aren’t you? And be nice to Gwen and Jenny.”

“Respecting other people and trying to understand how they feel about the world gives you power.” Sugar Beth hoped that was true. “It also makes you kinder. And people are drawn to kindness. That doesn’t mean you forget to stand up for yourself. But you don’t do it by trampling on other people, unless they need to be trampled on, in which case you do it in an up-front manner, with no snotty remarks about being fat.”

Gigi slouched into her chair and looked sullen.

Sugar Beth rolled the Coke can between her palms. She unconsciously waited for the click of her wedding ring, but she’d made herself take it off last month. Gigi gazed up at her. She was going to be a real beauty before long, but Sugar Beth hoped with all her heart it didn’t happen too soon. Beauty at too young an age got in the way of developing character.

She drew a deep, unsteady breath and tried to think of how to say what Gigi needed to hear. “Maybe it’s time you came up with a plan for your life. A really ambitious plan.

Without holding back. Even if it means deciding to be president of the United States.

Your plan will probably change as you get older, but that might be even better, because, while you’re preparing yourself for one goal, you’ll be learning things that help you meet another goal. That’s what real power means—not spending your time being bitchy because you’re worrying about what somebody might be saying behind your back.” She was shocked by the rush of anger that hit her. Why couldn’t Diddie have said something like this when Sugar Beth was thirteen? But her mother had been incapable of thinking beyond the boundaries of her own narrow vision.

Sugar Beth leaned back in the chair and dredged up what she hadn’t, until that moment, realized she understood. “People will always try to steal your power. When you do well, they’ll say it’s only because you’re rich and your parents are big shots. People who care about you will try to steal your power, too, but they’ll go about it differently. When you fail at something, they’ll try to make you feel better by saying that nobody’s good at everything, and you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. They might tell you not to feel bad about screwing up a math test because math’s hard for girls. Or they’ll say you shouldn’t worry so much about injustice in the world because you’re only one person. And even though they mean well, they’ll be making you less than what you can be.” Her chest felt tight, and she tried to ease it with another breath. “One way to grab your power is to learn when you need to step up to the plate and admit you’re wrong, and when you need to dig in your heels because it’s the right thing to do.”

“How do you tell the difference?”

Sugar Beth shrugged. “Figuring that out is what life’s all about.”

“Have you? Figured it out?”

Only a thirteen-year-old could ask such a question. “Not yet. But I’m working on it.”

Gigi nodded, as if she were thinking it all over, then planted her elbow on the table.

“Let’s talk about sex now.”

Sugar Beth had no intention of being dragged into that discussion, but she welcomed the change of subject. “Coffee’s ready.” She hopped up from the table.

“I mean, how do you know when you’re ready to have sex?”

She thought about the rumpled sheets upstairs. “Unless this is a pressing issue, which I sincerely hope it’s not, why don’t we postpone that discussion for another time?”

“Okay.” Gigi’s satisfied smile made Sugar Beth suspect she’d been manipulated into agreeing to another visit. “Could we do makeup now?”

“Why not?”

Sugar Beth’s headache eased as they experimented with the contents of her cosmetic case. They talked about avoiding mascara smudges, obtaining power, setting goals.

Sometimes Sugar Beth felt like a hypocrite, but not always, and as she contoured Gigi’s eyelids, she wondered if she’d acquired at least a smattering of wisdom to pass on to the next generation.

Gigi said her parents were due back around four, and a little before three-thirty, she reluctantly headed to the door. “You don’t have to come with me,” she said as Sugar Beth followed her outside, leaving an unhappy Gordon behind. “I’m not a baby.”

“And you’re not climbing up that railing unless I’m there to make sure you get to the top.”

“Like that’s a big challenge.”

“Sarcasm steals your personal power.”

“You’re sarcastic.”