Unravel Me (27 page)

This year, with the grief abating and her protective shell gone, too, loneliness would pierce her straight to the heart. At the thought, she felt her shoulders hunch forward a little, as if to ward off the chilliness invading her.

She looked up, a little desperate. “I want you at my house for Thanksgiving,” she announced to her sisters. Her voice sounded a bit too loud, but at least the invitation was out there. She held her breath.

Was it too presumptuous? They’d only known each other a short time and it would be natural for the two to have already made other plans.

Nikki didn’t pause in her knitting. “Thank God. I thought it was going to have to be me and Jay, and not only is he completely useless in the kitchen, but I have parties I’m catering the day before
and
the day after. I’ll bring the turkey and the dressing, though.”

Cassandra’s head rested on the cushions and her eyes were closed. Her body didn’t stir. “Sounds good to me. I volunteer for some vegetable side dishes.”

Juliet released her air in a silent sigh as warmth blossomed inside her again. Her smile must be curving from ear to ear, she thought. “Great.”

“Fine.” Cassandra opened her eyes and beamed at Juliet, looking happy, too. “Really fine.”

They shared a moment of pleased communion. Then Cassandra crossed one ankle over the other. “And sign me up for pumpkin—”

“
No
.” Two voices—Nikki’s and Gabe’s—were adamant.

Juliet looked at her youngest sister, then glanced at Gabe who’d just come back inside the shop with Noah trailing behind. “Um . . .”

“Don’t let her make pie,” Gabe said. “She doesn’t use real sugar. The flour has weevils ground in for extra nutrition.”

Juliet blinked.
Ew.
“Well, then that leaves you, Gabe. You’re our Thanksgiving pie man. My house, Turkey Day, two pies.”

“Wait. Whoa—”

“Noah’s going to come up with a special cocktail,” she said over the sputtering Gabe.

“I am?”

All right, so she was planning on her personal spring lasting at least through the fourth Thursday in November. Was
that
presumptuous? Optimism and happiness seemed to go hand in hand and she didn’t regret the pairing.

“I’ll have Jay put together a special three-sisters soundtrack,” Nikki offered. “And he’ll bring the wine. So c’mon, Gabe, you’re in, yes?”

“All right,” he agreed, though he didn’t look pleased.

Cassandra was regarding him with watchful eyes. Seeming satisfied, she relaxed into the cushions again. “Haven’t heard your ‘yes,’ Noah. Have you got other plans?”

Juliet’s heart clenched. She slid a look toward him, but his face was unreadable.

“I . . .” He glanced at Gabe, then his gaze settled on Juliet. “I give up,” he said, a small—rueful?—smile curving his lips. “I’m in. I’m in all the way.”

Juliet smiled back. Had she ever felt this joyful? Anticipation—of Thanksgiving and of the night ahead—carbonated the blood rushing through her veins. As if he was drawn to her good mood, Noah crossed to the couch and hitched his hip against the back of it, his hand making a soft pass down her hair. She shivered, as if the caress was tickling her naked skin.

Cassandra cleared her throat. “At the risk of nuking all this camaraderie and happy holiday planning, can we please make a decision regarding”—she hesitated as if searching for the correct term—“Donor 1714?”

Juliet’s mood took an instant dip—but then the renewed argument threatening to rain on her beautiful spring didn’t happen.

She tried explaining it to Noah as they left the Malibu & Ewe parking lot a few minutes later.

“Cassandra needs to see this all the way through. That’s what I realized.” To be truthful, Juliet was so pleased with her world that she wanted everyone else to get their fondest wishes, too. She would have done nearly anything to make her sister happy. “Maybe Jay’s been working on Nikki to soften her up, or maybe the idea of our first family Thanksgiving gave her a new perspective. Whatever the case, Cassandra has the permission she needs now.”

Noah took the turn that led them into the hills above Malibu. “Everyone was talking in code back there and I didn’t want to stop the flow of conversation. Halfway through I walked out to help Gabe look over Cassandra’s car. I don’t know what agreement the three of you just made.”

“Oh.” She remembered, now, that the last time she’d discussed the subject with Cassandra and Nikki had been right before getting locked in her office with Noah. After that, discussing Donor 1714 had fallen low on her list of priorities. “It’s about our biological father. He registered on a website of sperm donors looking for their progeny. We’re going to make contact.”

Noah pulled his truck into the driveway and she popped open her door. Before she could slip out, he was there, his hands up, ready to lift her off the high-perched seat. Smiling down at him, she hesitated, giving herself time to appreciate his rugged handsomeness in the moonlight. Giving herself time to marvel that he was hers.

For the moment, of course.

But it was going to be his body against her body when they got inside. His hands stroking her skin, stoking the fires she’d never known she had. This man, who treated her with such care, but who also treated her to his unchecked passion. In the morning, he’d point out a thumbprint bruise on her hip maybe, or perhaps a tiny bite on her inner thigh, but it wouldn’t be to apologize or to show regret.

He’d point it out because he knew it turned her on—her body, her mind—to be with a man who found her woman enough, passionate enough, to mark with his untempered need.

A delicious shiver rolled over her skin and a knowing smile curved his luscious mouth as his hands closed around her waist. When he tugged her off the seat, he let her make a slow, intimate slide along his body until her feet touched the ground.

He was already on his way to arousal, his erection hardening against her belly. She lifted her face for his kiss.

His mouth took hers, his tongue painting the inside edge of her lower lip. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders and he eased up, giving a parting tug with his teeth on her upper lip. “You and your sister,” he said. “Sorceresses. She can get me to knit and you can make me so hard so fast I’d do it in the back of the truck if it wasn’t so damn cold out here.”

She laughed, smug in her power over him. “You looked very cute in the shop, cowed by Cassandra’s tutelage.”

“Cute. Cowed.” He spit the words out in disgust, but it only made her laugh more as he pushed her toward the front door. Once she had the key inserted in the lock, he turned it, then put her behind him as he went inside to deactivate the alarm. She smiled at his back, indulgent of his protective habits. Returning to her side, he took her hand, shut the door behind them, then led her toward the bedroom.

Already her breathing was shallow, her skin prickling with eagerness for his touch. As if he sensed her growing impatience, he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Cassandra’s going through some sort of third party to contact the donor, isn’t she?”

Juliet shook her head, guessing he was trying to distract her with talk to draw out the anticipation. Fiddling with the top button of her shirt, she contemplated stripping her clothes before he had the chance. “She’s known the donor’s identity for months, and she’s really eager to get on with it.”

Noah halted a few feet in the bedroom and faced her, a frown on his face. “That’s not a good idea, Juliet. Tell Cassandra—”

“Not Cassandra. Me.”

“
You
?”

“It was Nikki’s one condition. She still isn’t certain she wants to have anything to do with him, and she thinks Cassandra will fall all over herself liking the man, no matter what. So, as the oldest, it’s up to me.” And it was funny how gratified she was by their trust and how natural the responsibility felt to her. “I’m going to get in touch with him and introduce myself.”

Juliet Weston, former widow-made-of-glass, now was not only an industrious employee but the trusted oldest sister.

Noah dropped her hand. “Well, you can tell them it’s not going to happen. Not right away. And not like that.”

She stared at him. “What?”

“Use your head, Juliet. You don’t contact someone and give them personal information about yourself. What if he’s a liar—best case—or some sicko pervert?”

“I hadn’t quite worked out the details in my mind yet . . .” That was true. If she’d had more than a moment to think about it she would have come up with concerns on her own and discussed them with her sisters before proceeding.

“Don’t bother your head with the details. You give me his name and I’ll find out what you need to know and
if
he’s someone you can safely speak to. If so, I’ll contact him myself first.”

Don’t bother her head with the details?
Don’t bother her head with the details?
Now a new fire raced over her skin—and this one wasn’t kindled by need. Strange, how short a step it was to walk from the heat of desire into the inferno of anger. “You’ll determine to whom I ‘can safely speak?’ ”

Apparently she was the only one who heard the ominous edge to her voice, because Noah didn’t hesitate. “Yes. I’ll take care of it.”

Her fingers balled into fists. Her throat went tight. “I don’t need ‘taking care of.’ ”

Wariness entered his expression. “Listen, honey—”

“Don’t—”

“Juliet.” His jaw went rock-hard and anger sparked in his eyes, too. “I can’t let you—”

“I can do whatever I damn please.” The words shot from her mouth, and she was so mad her hair felt like it was lifting from her scalp. Her palm itched to slap him silly again, but that had been a one-time deal. Struggling to control her fury, she slammed her arms across her chest. “Noah, you should go now.”

“Forget it.” His feet took root on the floor. “I refuse to allow you to do something foolish.”

“Refuse? Allow?” Her voice was rising, she realized. And why not? The words needed to be yelled from a mountaintop if that’s what it took for Noah to understand. “I don’t need to be cared for like a child.”

“Then don’t act like one!” He voice was raised now, too. They were both breathing hard, chests heaving, as if they’d just broken apart in bed . . . instead of maybe just broken up.

But she was so incensed that the thought didn’t bother her. “Jerk!” she said.

Noah threw up his hands, then heaved in a breath and tried visibly to take hold of his temper. “Honey, listen to me. You’ve been sheltered . . .”

A ceramic hairpin box from her dresser dashed to the ground with a shocking crash. Juliet stared at the mess of shards, aghast, baffled, and then more aghast and baffled when she realized it was her hand that had thrown the thing.

Noah took a step toward her. “What is the matter with you—”

Smash!
The little tray she used to hold her earrings before she went to bed shattered into a hundred pieces between them. This time she wasn’t surprised by what she’d done. “Leave.”

He hauled in another quick breath, looking ready to refuse again, but then his gaze caught on her hand creeping toward a glass figurine that she’d never really liked.

“We’ll talk when you calm yourself,” he said through his teeth.

The figure hit the back of the bedroom door he closed behind him. She was never talking to him again.

This time when she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror over the dresser she wasn’t surprised at the flush of color on her face or the bright color of her eyes.
This is how I look in passion and in anger.
A full circle. A complete person, not someone’s idea of the perfect lady, or damsel in distress, or elegant hostess.

Juliet Weston, former widow made of glass, now was an industrious employee, a trusted oldest sister, a hot-blooded woman.

Okay, and maybe sometimes hot-tempered, but only when honestly provoked. It felt good, like spring verging on summer, to let her emotions have free reign.

The phone on her bedside table rang, and she snatched it up, not sure if she hoped or didn’t hope that it was Noah.

It was Nikki.

And what she had to say chilled Juliet, an unwelcome and forcible reminder that winter was on its way.

Sixteen

O peace! how many wars were waged in thy name.

—ALEXANDER POPE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Nikki, Jay, and Cassandra arrived at the house, Juliet was already in the foyer, in the process of rolling her largest piece of luggage from the storage closet near the garage to her bedroom. Her youngest sister took one look at the wheeled suitcase and frowned. “Running away won’t solve anything.”

Juliet pushed it down the hallway, then turned to face the others. “Short of disappearing altogether, my preference, what other choice do I have?”

“Maybe it’s not that bad,” Cassandra suggested. “It’s just some ridiculous celebrity gossip site . . .”

Jay lifted the laptop he had tucked under his arm. “Let’s look at it together.”

He set it up on the kitchen island, while Cassandra bustled around making tea. Beside Juliet, Nikki hovered impatiently. “Jay’s e-mailed a weekly preview from a few of the celebrity rags and websites because
NYFM
’s online edition has a feature they call ‘Rumor Roundup.’ ”

A few keystrokes, and there it was, in all its blazing ugliness. “Happy Widow and Her Happier Pool Boy.” A dull knife stabbed Juliet right through the heart.

The headline was more loathsome than the photo, which she recognized as she and Noah at The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf on Halloween. They were physically close, thanks to the chain’s tiny tables, but yes, they appeared emotionally close, too, their gazes focused on each other.

It looked bad.

The text of the article, brief though it was, contributed to the tawdriness. It was all there: Wayne, Juliet, Noah. Rife with innuendo, it said that the man she was pictured with had been her husband’s aide during the last months and days of his life.