Fighting the Undertow Page 10

  “Hello? Sure, hang on.” Brenda handed the phone to Val. “It’s not Ian, but it’s someone you need to talk to.” With that, she kissed the top of Val’s head and left the room.

  “Yes?”

  “Hey Val, it’s Jeremy.” The last person in the world she wanted to talk to. After Ian, anyway.

  “What’s up?”

  “You mean besides the fact that Ian’s afraid you’re going to bolt, and he’s a mess?”

  “I’m hanging up if you’ve called to pull some kind of guilt trip.” Val’s stomach churned, and she dug her nails into her palms.

  “No, don’t. That’s not how I meant to start. Look, I don’t have long to talk, because Nathan’s going to shove the phone down my throat if he realizes I called you. But I feel like part of this is my fault, and I want to help.”

  “Look, that’s sweet, but you’re an unlikely fairy godmother. What if Ian and I just aren’t fixable?”

  That thought clashed so completely with the depth of her attachment to Ian, a wave of panic crashed over her, and Val struggled to catch her breath. As she panted for air, she tried to remember everything she used to teach people about panic attacks.

  “Aaaaiiihhh!” Val scooted back so fast, she struck her arm on the headboard.

  “Val? Jesus, what’s wrong?”

  “I’m okay.” She glared across the bed at Kevin. “If you ever scare me like that again, I’m going to…” She gave up and shook her head. If ghosts were capable of looking contrite, Kevin certainly did, trying to hide behind the mop of sandy brown curls that almost covered his eyes.

  “What the hell? Is someone else there with you?” Jeremy’s voice sounded frazzled.

  “No, I mean, yes, sort of.” Oh, hell, Jeremy knew about Kevin; she might as well tell him. “I was hyperventilating, and I felt like I couldn’t get any air. Then Kevin showed up and startled me.” Understatement of the year. Her hands were still shaking.

  Did Kev’s presence mean he knew she’d sort things out with Ian? Or maybe he’d simply befriended her to the point where he’d stick around, regardless of whether or not Ian was part of her life?

  “Okay, ignore the ghost and listen to me, because this is important. Ian loves you. He may not know it yet, but it’s written all over his face. He was a wreck when he came back from the beach this morning. And no, that’s not a guilt trip, just the facts. He’s furious with himself that he didn’t explain things sooner, and scared to death of losing you.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes. Come over and talk with Ian. I promise, I’ll do everything in my power not to make things difficult for you.” There was a moment of silence. “Look, Val, I’d have acted the same way, like a jealous ass, if I thought Abby or Tyler was trying to hold me at arm’s length. We’re all close. I guess Brenda explained that. But I don’t need to share Ian’s bed to be his friend, and if you come back, I’ll play by your rules.”

  “Jeremy, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but…” Kevin scowled at her from across the bed, and remembering his fit of rage at the party, she shivered. “Look, I adore Ian, but I need some time to…”

  “You’re already one of us, you know. Do you think Ian would have brought you over to have breakfast with the Scotts yesterday if you weren’t? They’re like parents to him, and he was so damn proud to have you at his side. After Lisa left, part of him curled up and died. Until you came along. He needs you, Val.”

  I need him too, but how can I tell if that’s enough? “I’ve got to go, Jeremy.” Her voice cracked, and she had trouble sucking down enough air.

  “Okay, but please understand. You don’t have to do anything to be part of the group. You already are. In every possible way. Please, don’t make Ian wait to work this out.”

  Shit, she didn’t think she could stand Jeremy being nice to her much longer. But if he was right ‑‑ if she’d been wrong in assuming she’d have to get naked with Ian’s friends to be part of his world…

  “Look, I don’t know what else to say right now. You’ve given me more to think about, and what you’ve said might even help. But I still need a bit of time. I’ve got a ghost hanging around on my bed, and he looks like he’s not going anywhere until he and I have a little chat. Later, okay?”

  “Sure. Hang in there. And for the record, I think Ian was an idiot to let you run off this morning, as upset as you were. I’d have chased you down the beach and sorted things out right there.”

  “Thanks.” With a sigh, she hung up the phone and turned to face Kevin. “Well?”

  She half expected some kind of scolding, but he simply stared at her. She’d never noticed that his eyes were the same light green as Ian’s. As she watched, his image shimmered, growing fainter. He held his hands out toward her, palms up.

  “I’m okay, but you’d better go find Ian. I really messed with his day earlier.” She reached out, placed her hands over the ghost’s, close enough that she shivered at the flood of energy, and watched him fade into nothingness.

  Curling on her side, she decided love was like drowning. You kicked and fought, tried for all you were worth to reach shore, and at some point, you stopped struggling and let the water fill your lungs.

  Chapter Nine

  “So, how’s the book coming?” Abby hovered at the doorway of Ian’s office, waiting for an invitation to come in.

  Which she wasn’t going to get. There were foul moods, and then there were foul moods. This one could win prizes. Ian picked up a thick stack of papers, tossed them in the overflowing recycle bin by his desk, and spun his chair around to face her.

  “There’s not going to be a book.” He pointed to the discarded pile of papers. “Soon to be recycled into the finest paper products. Six months work, down the drain.”

  Ignoring his “don’t bother me” scowl, Abby walked over to the desk and rested her hands on his shoulders. When she started toying with his hair, so desperate for a trim it was starting to curl at the ends, he wondered if she planned to speak her mind, or stay here and fidget until she drove him insane.

  “I know the book was an excuse to avoid thinking about the divorce, not something you really wanted to do, but are you sure? Maybe it’s not a good idea to make major decisions when you’re upset about Val keeping her distance this week.”

  Almost knocking over the stacks of books that ringed his chair, he swiveled around to face his computer screen. Without hesitation, he located his book file and clicked Delete.

  As the “Are you sure you really want to throw away six months of work?” message popped up on the screen, Abby tackled him. Deceptively feminine in her silky sleeveless blouse and shorts tight enough to display every nuance of her pretty little ass, she latched onto his wrist with the resolve of a veteran wrestler.

  “Let. Go. Of. My. Arm.” Damn, he should have trashed the file first thing this morning. He didn’t feel like defending his decision. “I know you mean well, but like you said, the book was more of a coping tool than a real goal. It’s been hanging over me for months. I’d been blaming my writer’s block on the time I’ve been spending with Val. But since I’ve had time on my hands the past few days, I had to admit that I just don’t want to write the damn book.”

  Twisting free of her grasp, he clicked “Yes,” I do indeed want to delete six months of work. As the document disappeared, he felt like he’d hacked free of a set of iron manacles.

  “So, how’s it feel?”

  Interesting question. First time since Val requested some time to think a few days ago that he’d felt anything other than the strangling anxiety that she might not come back.

  “Feels good.” He still felt the gnawing worry over Val, but that couldn’t blunt the giddy rush of freedom he’d experienced when he deleted the book file.

  Abby pulled up a chair and made herself at home amidst the clutter. “So, what’s next?”

  As he tried to think of how to get her to leave, he experienced a twinge of guilt. She’d turned over her event planning business
to her partner, Nicole, for the past few days so she could stick around and play nursemaid to his insecurities. He should appreciate her company. But with the book disposed of, he wanted to put his head down on his desk and think about Val. Alone.

  “I called Rochelle at Historic Moments, and I’ll be writing for the journal full-time, telecommuting from the beach house. Which puts me back where I was after I got my Master’s. Talk about a regressive career path.” Giving up his position as managing editor hadn’t been one of his smarter moves.

  “At least this way, you’ll get your history fix without the pressure of writing a book.” She leaned close, until her dark, cinnamon-scented hair almost brushed his nose. “Besides, once you talk to Val and sort things out, you’ll have more time to spend with her than if you were stuck in Boston all summer, editing other people’s articles.”

  “Val’s not returning my calls. She said she needed time, but it’s been days.”

  “Which is why you’re going to march into the shop this afternoon and kneel at her feet if necessary. Whatever it takes, you’re going to get her to talk to you.”

  Ian stared at the small force of nature who’d invaded his office, the one room in the house that didn’t always sport a welcome sign. “You know, no one invited you in here.” He glared, but she met his ferocity with, God help him, a wave of laughter.

  “Give it up, Winters. I’m right, and you know it. No amount of male pride is worth another day worrying about what Val might be thinking, or where the relationship’s headed. Get some damn flowers and go talk to her.”

  Male pride? He picked up his mug, half full of tepid coffee, and banged it back down on his desk. As he grabbed a sheaf of papers and blotted at the brown puddle, he clenched his teeth. And here he’d thought it was the pain of possible rejection he’d been avoiding.

  “Look, I’d walk in there naked with a red bow around my neck if I thought I could make up for Brenda blurting out the facts of our cozy little group to Val, rather than me telling her right at the start. But think about what I’m asking her to accept.”

  “One of the greatest guys on earth. Not a bad deal, if you ask me.” Abby leaned forward to rest her head on his shoulder, making it damn hard to stay pissed at her. “She’s scared. But I don’t think you’re giving her enough credit. Tell her the whole story ‑‑ not just Lisa’s half, filtered through Brenda. And tell her how much you love her. I think she might surprise you.”

  “If I promise to consider it, will you go away and let me start researching some of the more arcane details of post-Civil War Reconstruction?”

  “Nope.” She stared him down as she straightened his rumpled shirt collar.

  Ian glowered at Abby, fresh as sunshine in her peachy top and as sweet-smelling as June flowers, and debated whether picking her up and depositing her outside his office would strain a long and cherished friendship.

  “I’m not leaving until you promise to go see Val. Jeremy said she was a mess when he called her the other day. And one of you has to ‑‑”

  “Okay!” Ian rubbed his hand across his forehead, trying to dampen the pain of a tension headache. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. I’ll go see her. Hell, what’s the worst that could happen?” A good dose of pain and rejection, but what’s a little more suffering in the general scheme of things?

  * * * * *

  Val shoved the door to the shop open so hard, the bells hanging on the door lashed against the glass with a discordant jangle. Excusing herself from a discussion with a couple of elderly customers, Brenda glided across the store, her green sundress fluttering around her legs as she walked.

  “The interview didn’t go well?”

  Val stalked over to the registers, stepped over a pile of merchandise Brenda had been checking in, and made her way behind the counter. Her shoulders tight with tension, she started sorting remnants of gift wrap into color-coded piles.

  “Obsessive organizing, not a good sign.” Pausing to ring up a purchase, Brenda kept an eye on Val. “Why don’t you take a few minutes, go upstairs, and change out of your interview clothes?”

  “Nope.” Her sleek black suit and no-nonsense heels suited her frame of mind. And if she was alone right now, her mood would take a one-way swing into a deep, dark sulk.

  “Want to tell me what happened?” Brenda’s gaze swept over the cluster of customers browsing at hand-blown glass vases. “Preferably in a calm tone of voice and without profanity?”

  “Things were going great. I liked the other therapists, hit it off with the psychiatrist conducting the interview, and the Boston location was perfect.”

  Okay, so she was leaving out the part that she did not, under any circumstances, want to return to counseling people whose lives were more depressing on a single day than most individuals managed in a lifetime. But that was a small technicality.

  Bottom line, it had been a job with benefits, a nice pay raise, and decent working conditions. And at this point, she sure as hell didn’t have any better ideas.

  “Everything was going so well. I expected to get an offer.” Val picked up a pile of gift bags and ruffled through them, biting back a curse as a sharp edge of paper sliced her thumb. “Then I met the founding partners. One of them looked familiar. First thing he said was, ‘Valerie Keating, didn’t you work for Dean Henkle?’ Turns out they play golf together, and Dean hasn’t been complimentary in his explanation of why I left his practice.”

  “He wouldn’t!”

  “Sure he would. I set his golf partner straight on a few details. Embezzling! Jesus! But I’m not going to apply in the Boston area after this. I’d have an uphill battle fighting the rumors, and it’s not worth the trouble.”

  Brenda paused to gift wrap a vase, complimented the customer on her exquisite taste, and waited until the woman walked a safe distance away to turn back to Val.

  “Honey, I hate to say it, but maybe this will work to your advantage. It would have been too easy for you to fall back into your old career. But you weren’t happy. Give it some time, and stop trying so hard. You may step into the perfect job when you aren’t expecting it.”

  “Okay, this is an intervention. I’m cutting you off from your supply of Precious Moments products until you come to grips with the real world.” Val’s lips curled into a wry grin.

  Unfazed, Brenda shook her head. “Honestly, it’s a good thing you weren’t able to fall back into the same old rut.”

  “Maybe.” Val offered a noncommittal shrug.

  At least the rush of anger had kept her from thinking about Ian for the past few hours. A physical sensation, as if someone were sticking pins in her heart, accompanied that thought. Hell, she was no closer to sorting out where to go next with him than she’d been a few days ago.

  “Let’s go to lunch once Casey and Cassidy get here.” Bren glanced at the clock, no doubt noting that the temps were running late. “I’m in the mood to try the new Thai place downtown.”

  “Sure, why not.” At least it would distract her from the urge to find a certain psychiatrist and engage in petty acts of revenge.

  * * * * *

  After lunch, Cassidy and Casey were doing fine at the registers, so Val left Brenda to the task of entering inventory into the computer and set about changing the window display. At least the abundance of Thai food had left her in a better frame of mind.

  As she placed a stained glass vase on the display shelf, she let her thoughts wander. She’d discovered one of the most effective ways to avoid thinking about the mess with Ian was to distract herself with scenarios involving his friends. Ironic, but effective.

  Thus far, she’d been alternating between fantasizing about Jeremy and Tyler. She’d even had an erotic daydream about Jeremy making love to Nathan. That one had been hot enough to leave her shaken and breathless.

  The more she agonized over whether she could accept Ian’s unconventional relationships, the more the group dynamics fascinated her. Did they schedule it on their calendars? Thursday night, Ian’s pl
ace, group sex. Or did it just sort of happen? Not to mention the perplexing details of what you’d do with all those hands, all those mouths, all those…

  Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Val placed a hand-painted china bowl on a display stand. As she stared at the image of two girls holding hands in a field of flowers, her thoughts turned to Abby. She’d never been one to fool around with her girlfriends in college, but like Jeremy, Abby seemed to possess enough sex appeal to attract people of any sexual orientation. Abby and Jeremy…

  Deciding to let the scene run its course, she glanced over her shoulder to verify that Brenda was sufficiently occupied that she wouldn’t notice Val was doing more daydreaming than decorating.

  She saw herself curled up on the leather couch when Jeremy walked through on his way to the kitchen. Fresh from the shower, he wore nothing but a velvety green towel wrapped around his waist. Dark tendrils of hair clung to the back of his neck, and she ached to brush the damp strands loose with her fingertips. His grin seemed to say, “I dare you.”

  She shivered when he sat beside her. Intoxicated by his scent, musky and warm with a hint of soap and shaving cream, she gave in to the urge to run her fingers through the silky hair on his chest.

  Smiling, he eased a finger under the waistband of her gym shorts and tugged the stretchy cotton past her hips. Her thong came next. He made an appreciative sound as he traced his fingertip along the thin scrap of cloth that disappeared between her legs. She squealed when he pulled that down too, gasped when he dipped two fingers between her legs, found the slick opening, and buried them deep.

  When Abby entered the room, Val tried to shove Jeremy’s hand away. But as the petite woman approached, softly sensual in her clingy apricot jersey and skintight shorts and perched on the arm of the sofa, Jeremy responded by sliding a third finger alongside the other two.

  There was something darkly erotic, seductive, and forbidden about having Abby watch as Jeremy withdrew his fingers and teased the folds of her labia, brushing close to her clit, but not close enough to offer the release she craved. When Jeremy leaned past Val to kiss Abby, the towel slipped. As his straining cock sprang free, Val made a soft humming sound.