Blueprints: A Novel (30 page)

Later, she would remember, time and again, that single first moment when he was fully inside. For now, it was about climbing hotter and higher until he brought her to orgasm, then let himself follow.

For a time, there in the dark of a bedroom that she would later learn had rotted walls, moldy rafters, and no furniture other than a king mattress on its frame, the only sounds were of shortened breath and stunned laughs.

“Who knew?” Dean finally asked against her hair. His voice was hoarse. “A wild woman. Where’s she been all this time?”

Burrowing close, an arm across his chest, Caroline smiled. “Minding her own business. Well, at least, some woman was. I have no idea where this one came from. Actually, I do. You taunted her into existence.”

“Taunted?”

“A look here, a touch there. It took you long enough to get to the main event.”

“And whose fault was that? You didn’t say a freaking
word,
” he protested. “Did you invite me over and open the door wearing something skimpy and black? Did you promise not to sue for sexual harassment? Did you say you
wanted
this?”

“I said your kiss was too short.”

“Yes. You did.”

“Did you plan on this happening tonight?”

“No. I only wanted to get you away. You’ve been down.”

“
Some
woman was down. This one’s feeling pretty good.”

“So,” he asked cautiously, “what do you think?”

“About?”

He pinched her hip. “This. Do you still think sex is overrated?”

Tipping her head back, she met his gaze. “You’re good. I have to say that.”

“Good is not great.”

“Tonight you were great.”

“Well,
that’s
a qualified endorsement.”

“Once is once. Things are always great the first time.”

“I’m up for a second.”

“Now? You aren’t.” The wild woman slid a hand down his belly and, at the same time that she wondered how she could be touching
Dean
this way, discovered that he was. Up for a second. “Oh my.”

“Is that a yes?”

“No. My thighs are screaming. I’d give anything for a bath.”

“No bath here. No hot water here.”

“I have both at my house. Take me home.”

“Only if I can stay the night.”

Caroline couldn’t say no. By the time they were back in her Victorian, by the time he had showered and she had kicked him out of the bathroom so that she could soak alone, by the time lotion was soothing whisker burns on her breasts and the cats were ousted from the bed so that she could slip in with him—naked, because he was, and because it was still dark, and because a part of the wild woman had survived the return trip on the Harley and was still feeling bold—she wanted to sleep skin to skin. He was a quiet sleeper, breathing just shy of a snore, and he liked contact, maneuvering so that a part of him always touched her. Though she was used to sleeping alone and liked her space, much of which was now taken by his larger-than-hers body, the connection was novel enough to be pleasant.

With the summer solstice around the corner, though, dawn woke her early. She was instantly aware of Dean—could hear and smell him even before she opened her eyes—but was still startled to see his dark head on her pillow, his large body tangled in her fuchsia sheets. She might have lingered watching him, had she not needed a semblance of normalcy.

Ignoring the protest of hips, thighs, and private spots that had been stretched to the max, she slipped quietly from the sheets and wrapped herself in the towel she had dropped by the bed the night before. She tiptoed to the dresser for a tank top and shorts and, taking care to coddle a few notoriously creaky treads, went downstairs to dress. Once she had fed the cats, checked the
Gut It!
website, and taken a shawl from the kitchen hook, she carried her tea to the porch.

The air was cool, the sun bright, the tea fragrant. Sipping it slowly, she let memories of the night drift back. None were bad. Some startled her—namely, her own hunger and forwardness. But she didn’t regret what she had done. Dean had satisfied her—actually, had done way more than that. She felt good. She felt feminine. Even despite that little bit of stiffness, she felt energized.

She thought about calling Annie.
So
much to tell.

But no. She wasn’t ready to tell Annie what she had done, and as for what she felt, she was barely beginning to break it down. She had been someone else last night. Where that fit into the
Who Am I?
debate, she didn’t know. And yet, in spite of that, in this early Thursday morning moment, she felt strong. She might have even felt
complete,
if things had been right between Jamie and her.

If she talked with anyone, it had to be Jamie.

Suddenly, doing just that seemed urgent.

eighteen

Jamie might have woken Thursday morning with her stomach in knots if she had actually slept, but what she had done the evening before wouldn’t let her. After leaving Chip’s, she had driven slowly home. Determined to contain the terror she felt by acting in a deliberate and responsible way, she took her time getting Tad ready for bed, methodically read and reread him his good-night story, stroked his hair until he was deeply asleep, and all the while, she took slow breaths aimed at calming her nerves.

Leaving his room, though, she felt no different from how she had felt leaving Chip’s. A truth had emerged that couldn’t be ignored. Nor would it wait.

In the kitchen, she picked up her phone and called Brad. “Can you come over?” she asked softly.

“Now? I’m still at the office. There’s a ton more to do here.”

Much as she respected the work Brad did, time was passing. Her conscience couldn’t have him choosing the office when doing the right thing meant acting now. “This is important, Brad. I’d come to you if I had a sitter, but I don’t.”

Her words were blunt, her tone no-nonsense. After a moment’s silence, he sighed. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Forty-two minutes later, he pulled up at the condo. The time wasn’t quite long enough to say he was making a statement, though it was plenty long enough for her to suffer. There were no second thoughts. She had to do this. But with each passing minute, her sense of dread rose. The last thing she had ever wanted was to hurt Brad. Now, she didn’t see how she could avoid it.

In hindsight, she would think about the lack of a kiss when he arrived and wonder if he sensed what was coming. He wasn’t angry to have been drawn from work so much as wary. He slipped his hands in his pockets, seeming determined to be cool.

She thought of gesturing him in, having him sit, maybe pouring him a glass of the Pinot he liked. But that seemed inappropriate. This wasn’t a social visit. He seemed to sense that when she took up a position just inside the door. There was neither a glance beyond to see the state of her condo nor a glance toward the stairs to indicate an awareness of Tad. He stood with his glasses in place, his shirt collar open, and his eyes on her as he waited for her to speak.

For a final moment, she held her breath, knowing that once she did this, there was no going back. In that moment, she felt a last tug of conflicting emotions—loyalty and hurt, compassion and resentment, even love and dislike. Had he broken the tension with warmth of any kind, she might have reconsidered. But his aloofness validated her decision.

Carefully, she removed her diamond ring and held it out. “This isn’t working. I think we both know that.”

He stared at the ring, then at her face. His own was as composed as when he was with clients, but she had to believe he was feeling something inside.

“I do love you,” she hurried on in an effort to soothe, “but we want different things now. You need a woman who wants those things, too.”

He frowned, but remained silent, and right now that was fine. Jamie knew what to say. She had enumerated all the arguments in those forty-two minutes he had taken to arrive.

“I suppose it’s good to find out before we’re married,” she said. “I mean, maybe there are other things we see differently, things we’ve just disregarded because in so many ways we’re right for each other. But this is a big snag, Brad. I’d say it hit like lightning, except that would be crude, given how Dad and Jess died.” She considered. “Only it did.”

He didn’t smile, didn’t nod, didn’t speak. So she said, “Remember the Logans? Theirs was one of the first jobs I did for MacAfee Homes. They spent a fortune on a teardown and wanted a rebuild that was as big as the footprint would allow. I had just given them completed designs when he had a heart attack, and suddenly they needed a lifestyle change and wanted something more modest. Those original plans weren’t good anymore. They had to be totally redrawn. That’s kind of how I feel about us. The situation has changed. I’m not the same person I was when we got engaged.”

“I am,” he said, as if the problem were all her fault.

“Yes.” She would take the blame if it made him feel better. “You are. But you don’t like the person I am now.”

“I didn’t say that, Jamie, but there’s the issue of honesty.” His gray eyes were cutting. “You could have told me you were Tad’s guardian.”

“When? Tell me. I mean, I didn’t deliberately keep it from you. I honestly never thought to announce it, because I never
dreamed
anything would come of it. You and I were barely dating when Tad was born, so was I going to warn you before we got more involved, like it was a disease? When Dad and Jess asked me, I was honored. I figured I’d eventually have kids of my own, and what was one more. I assumed that any man I wanted to marry wouldn’t have a problem with it. I just didn’t think about it again.”

“It’s the timing.”

“I had no control over that.”

“You could have told me right after the accident,” he charged.

“You mean, like when the police were here?”

“The first I learned of it was when you were telling Maureen.”

“Should I have been thinking about it before that? Should I have assumed Dad and Jess were
both
dead?” In a frustrated breath, she said, “Good God, Brad. Even if I’d told you six months ago, would you seriously have rejected me as wife material, just like that?
Please
. You would have thought the chances of Tad coming to me were as remote as I did.” Her voice rose on a wave of anger. “Tad is an amazing little boy who is smart and cute and friendly and warm. He would make an incredible big brother for our kids.” Brad’s stony look gave her pause. “Ahhh. But he isn’t yours. Is that it? Well, what if I hadn’t been able to conceive? What if I had some problem—what if
you
had some problem? Are you saying that we wouldn’t adopt a child? That you would not take in a child needing a good home and love him like your own if he doesn’t have your blood? You never told me that.”

“You never asked.”

“Like you never asked if I was Tad’s guardian?” she goaded. Yes, she wanted a fight. She wanted
some
show of passion from Brad. Calm and soothing were just fine until life demanded more.

She didn’t get more from him, though, not at first. It occurred to her that his passivity was a form of punishment. He certainly wasn’t making things easier for her. And that infuriated her all the more.

“Say something, Brad.”

“What do you want me to say?” he finally charged. “I’m human. All I wanted was to have a
little
control over my life.”

Confused, she shook her head. “Control? Have you been forced into something at MacAfee Homes that you don’t want? Has being engaged to the granddaughter of the president of the company deprived you of freedom? Is the idea of one day heading a company so bad that—” She cut herself off. “Gah. This is going nowhere. There’s no point in fighting.” She held out a rigid hand. “Take the ring, Brad. We aren’t a good match.”

That quickly it was done. He took the ring, closed his hand, and without another word walked out the door.

Angry at Brad, shocked at herself, sad and relieved and worried—she just stood there in the front hall for a time. Eventually, she went upstairs, but she spent the night alternately hot and cold in a tangle of sheets, her mind too agitated to rest. Oh, she had done the right thing. She knew that in her heart. But for the right reasons? The ones having to do with Tad certainly were. But those to do with Chip? The idea that, even only in part, she had broken up with one man to be with another was so uncharacteristic that she felt like a stranger to herself.

*   *   *

By the time the sun filtered through the shutters and Tad shouted for her, she was dressed and waiting. For a long moment, she simply held him, a silent little monkey with his arms and legs wrapped around her. He had done the same thing the last two mornings, as though he knew something primal had changed in his life, didn’t understand what, but needed grounding from Jamie. Much as she loved that, she needed grounding, too.

Setting him down, she grabbed the phone to text Caroline. Before she could, Caroline texted her.

It’s time we talk.

Yes. Now.
Her thumbs shook as she typed.
Can we come over?

Of course. I’ll make pancakes. Does Tad need milk?

Just water. Give us half an hour.
She felt such relief, she could fly there.

I’ll be waiting.

*   *   *

Eminently satisfied, Caroline pocketed the phone and stayed on the porch a bit longer enjoying her tea. When she returned to the kitchen, she sifted through a small index box for the dog-eared card her mother had passed down from
her
mother, who had printed the family pancake recipe in ancient blue ink. The recipe wasn’t unique. Caroline figured an online search would turn up dozens like it. But knowing that her grandmother had created this card, that her mother had used it when Caroline was young, that Caroline had used it when Jamie was young and would use it now for Jamie’s child—
Jamie’s child
—made it worth the sentimental moments she spent thumbing through other cards in the box.