Just Friends To . . . Just Married

He frowned as he always had when she put on a pout. Once again he removed his fingers from hers. “I prettied up for a client dinner.”

“Oh.” She clasped her hands before her and nodded. “I see. Well, I guess I can get over the blow to my ego.”

He scanned her from head to toe, admitting only the smallest fraction of what he thought. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” Raising an eyebrow at her, he asked, “I presume you got all—” he wanted to say adorable, but thought better of it “—chic for me.”

She touched the collar of her pink linen suit jacket. “This thing? I flew from Vegas to St. Louis earlier today. Then when—” She cut herself off, swallowed. “Anyway, then I flew here. If I’m not a wrinkled, grimy mess, it’s a miracle.”

To him she looked like she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine. “Since neither of us prettied up for each other, and our egos are sufficiently crushed, do you want to freshen up or talk first?”

She seemed to give the matter a moment’s thought. When her glance drifted to the staircase, he knew her choice before she spoke. “I think I’d like to take a good soak and get into sweats.” She looked at him, her expression one of hope. “Will you still be up?”

What could he say? He wanted to be asleep. He should be asleep. It had been a very long day. But he knew even if he blew her off and went to bed, he’d get no sleep tonight. Not with her in the next room. “Since when have I not been here for you when you wanted to talk?” he said. Why are you going to be here for her now? Are you that much of a glutton for punishment? he admonished inwardly, but he wasn’t listening to reason. He was too focused on Kimberly’s beautiful eyes.

“I’d have to say you’ve always been there for me.” She smiled, reaching up to pat his cheek. “I’ll be down in a half hour.”

“Would you like something to eat.”

“I’d kill for some of your great pancakes.”

“Pancakes, it is.” He carried her bag up the steps, watching her as she moved ahead of him. Her long, slim legs hypnotized him. The slight sway of her hips transfixed him. The swinging bounce of her hair tormented him. He bit back an oath. When they reached her room he set down her bag. “See you…whenever,” he said, feeling uncharacteristically awkward.

“See ya, Jax.” She hugged his neck and planted a kiss almost—but not quite—on his lips. She and her suitcase had disappeared before he could breathe again.

When he managed to turn away from her door, he ground out, “Blast you, Jax.” He headed downstairs. “You are the world’s heavyweight champion fool.”

Kim lounged in a tub of steamy water, her hair piled in a swirly heap on top of her head. Bubbly jets massaged her from all sides. Such luxury. Jax had come a long way since the days when he lived in the cookie-cutter tract house next door. She loved this bathroom. All marble and mirrors, and the guest room closet was huge. Empty and huge. Well, it was empty before she hung up her stuff. She sighed and inhaled the fragrant air. She could smell Jax’s cologne. Odd. Maybe it was in her hair. She reached up and tugged down a strand and sniffed. “Ah,” she said through a sigh. His scent lingered there. “You smell so good.” She inhaled deeply once more before stuffing the strand back up out of her face.

She closed her eyes and thought about him. How great he looked. Had she ever seen him in a suit before? She couldn’t recall. Though he didn’t have on a tie or suit jacket, he still looked very dashing, very GQ. And she liked his hair. She’d forgotten how shiny and soft and jet-black it was. With just a touch of curl. When it was slightly mussed, and an errant lock fell across his forehead, he gave off appealing, swashbuckling-pirate vibes. For a science geek, it was totally against type, but charming. His hair had been that way tonight. Slightly disheveled with a hint of “rogue pirate.” While the rest of his attire spoke of solidness, reliability and good character, that one curl screamed “sexy bad boy.”

She giggled at the absurd notion. The preoccupied nerd who won Science Fairs, who was valedictorian of his senior class and whose dog never ate his homework, a bad boy ! “Very funny,” she said aloud. She’d purposely dropped the word “sexy” from the “bad boy” image, since long ago she’d placed Jax in a category where sexy and sex and all its ups and downs had no place.

Suddenly restless, she decided she’d soaked long enough. Besides she could smell pancakes. She turned off the stimulating jets and rose from the tub, feeling better, at least physically. The delicious aroma of the pancakes reminded her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, a cold muffin and bitter airport coffee as she ran for her flight.

“Jax,” she said as she toweled off with the softest, thickest navy terry towel she’d ever seen, “You are my rock. I love you.” She grimaced, stopped, then shrugged it off. “Of course you love him,” she said. “He’s your best friend in the world. You can say ‘I love you’ and not rock any boats.” She hung her towel on its bar and walked into a bedroom decorated in tasteful shades of green and beige. “Naturally, though, you probably shouldn’t say it to him.”

She didn’t know why not, really. It just seemed like going too far. Every man to whom she’d said those three words had eventually walked out of her life. “No,” she said. “That must never happen to me and Jax.”

A few moments later, dressed in comfortable navy sweats and a pair of thick athletic socks, she bounded down the stairs. “It smells good in here,” she called. “Where are you, Jax?”

“In the Lunar Module preparing for landing. Where do you think?”

She laughed, amazed that she could. “In the Lunar Module preparing for landing, of course. I keep up.” Around the corner from the main living area, she headed past a contemporary dining-room table and chairs. Beyond that she spied a door and walked through it into the kitchen where a small, round oak breakfast table and four matching chairs snuggled in an alcove before a floor-to-ceiling bay window.

Outside, Kim could see the light show of downtown Chicago’s high-rises. When she turned away from the scenery, she noticed the table set for one, and looked curiously at Jax. Shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, he stood over a skillet. A platter sat beside the gas range piled high with pancakes. “Hey, how many of those do you think I can eat?”

He turned toward her. “You mean I can stop now?”

“You could have stopped about a dozen pancakes ago.” She plunked her hands on her hips. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m attempting to keep my figure.”

He turned away and flipped the last pancake on the griddle. “Can’t say that I have,” he murmured.

“Gee thanks.” She took an extra minute to gaze at him. He was such a wonderful person, and he’d matured into a very handsome man. She couldn’t recall his shoulders being that broad, or his hips that trim. “Do you work out?” she asked, then registered she’d said it aloud. She snapped her gaze from his buttocks to his face just as he turned to look at her.

“What?”

She shrugged sheepishly. “Making conversation. I asked if you work out.”

“Oh.” He nodded and turned away. “I hit the gym several times a week.”

“See, I can compliment you even if you can’t compliment me,” she teased. “You have a great butt.”

He glanced at her again, this time frowning slightly. “Thanks.”

She walked up behind him and slid her arms around his chest to hug him from behind. He felt solid. My good, solid Jax. She inhaled. My good, solid, great smelling Jax. “Isn’t it weird the way we can be apart for so long, but we get back together and it seems like we just saw each other yesterday? I don’t feel like I’ve been away at all.”

He said nothing for a moment then, “Yeah.” He sounded a little hoarse. After a few more seconds, he gently disengaged her hold on him. “Weird isn’t the word.” He turned off the gas and headed to the refrigerator. “Do you want butter, syrup, whipped cream or all of the above?”

Left alone facing the gas range, she made herself useful by taking the serving platter to the table. “Syrup and butter.” She pulled out the chair where he’d set a plate and silverware, then paused to glance at him. “Do you have any nonfat butter?”

A corner of his mouth lifted, but less with mirth than cynicism. “Yeah, sure.”

She shook her head. “Oh, fine. All my efforts will take a big nosedive if you feed me like I’m a two-hundred-fifty-pound trucker.”

“Your reservations were relatively last minute. Even I need a little time to tend to details like nonfat butter, if there is such a thing.”

“Okay, okay.” She sat down. When he brought the syrup dispenser to the table she took his wrist. “Aren’t you going to join me?”

“I just ate.” He took an adjacent seat. His knee grazed hers but she didn’t move away. When he did, she experienced a stab of deprivation. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but Jax seemed somehow different. Like he wasn’t completely thrilled that she was here. Oh, that’s crazy Kimberly, she told herself. He’s your best friend and you’re his. You’re just super-sensitive right now.

“I’m here to listen, remember?”

His prompt brought her back. She nodded. The reminder of why she’d come to him rushed back full force, almost overwhelming her. She struggled to keep from bursting into tears. She stared at the platter of pancakes for a time, then picked up her fork and stabbed several, sliding them onto her plate. She spread butter over them and doused it all with syrup. With a quick, grateful smile in his direction, she picked up her fork, cut into the stack and took a bite. Delicious. Jax’s pancakes were so light and airy they melted in her mouth. She winked her approval at him, feeling less depressed. Upon finishing the first taste, she said, “You, Mr. Gideon, should be in jail.”

“What?” His brow crinkled. He looked so cute she felt a zing in the pit of her stomach. “Why?” he asked.

“Because, it’s a crime that you didn’t go into the pancake-making business. That’s why.”

He lay a forearm on the table and leaned toward her. “I think you’re stalling.” His expression was gentle, earthy brown eyes direct. “So tell me. What happened to get you up here to doom me to prison in the middle of the night?”

“It isn’t the middle of the night.” He might be right. She probably was stalling. But she didn’t intend to admit it, so she checked the kitchen wall clock and said, “It’s not even midnight.”

“Okay, so what got you up here at ‘not even’ midnight?”

She cut into the pancakes and took another bite. This time she had more trouble swallowing. Not because the food was any less delicious, but because Perry’s desertion loomed so large in her mind. The harsh image of that empty condo and the pile of rejected gifts hurt to think about.

Her meal blurred and she blinked back tears. Realizing putting it off would make the telling no less hurtful, she laid her fork aside, but couldn’t bring herself to look at Jax. “Okay, I thought I’d found Mr. Right. But when I got home from a business trip today, I found our place empty, except for a few shirts and other things I’d given him, in an insulting little lump on the bare floor.” She rushed through the story, not wanting to prolong it with whimpery details. “He left a note. Called me commitment phobic and—and…” She choked back a sob. If she planned to make it through without crying, she’d better hurry. “And…well, his rejection was out of the blue—and his so-called reason for leaving totally untrue. Just because I didn’t want to get married, doesn’t mean I wasn’t committed.”

She stared blankly at her cooling food, forearms on the table, every ounce of her attention attuned to the man whose opinion she held in the highest regard. He said nothing for a long time. So long, in fact, she cast him a sidelong look. He was frowning—thoughtful? Compassionate? Dubious that her argument had a leg to stand on? She couldn’t tell. “Gee, thanks, Jax. I’m all better now,” she quipped with false enthusiasm, hoping to prod him into revealing what hid behind that frown.

“He took your things, too?” he asked.

“My things?”

He nodded. “Your furniture, rugs, whatever.”

“Oh.” Why did he have to zero in on that one tiny inconsistency for her “commitment” argument. “Does my heart count?” she asked, wanting to impress upon him what was important here and what wasn’t.

She got a reaction. He winced a little. “Sure, it matters. I meant did he steal your things?”

“No, nothing like that. He left my clothes, the two framed prints I’d bought and a what-not shelf I took from my room when I left home.”

“That’s all that was yours?”

She didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. “So what? What are things? It’s the emotions of a relationship that matter, and my emotions were totally—committed.” Why did she falter on that last word? She had been committed to Perry and to their future together.

“Hmmm.” He nodded, his expression solemn. “But you didn’t want to get married?”

“What are you, a prosecuting attorney?” she asked, trying to keep things light so that his probing wouldn’t bug her. She didn’t want to be mad at Jax. “It’s not a felony to say no to a marriage proposal.”

He didn’t smile.

“Come on, Jax. Lighten up. My heart may be broken but I don’t need a transplant. Just tell me it’ll be okay and give me a hug and help me heal like always.”

He cocked his head, watching her. “So you came here for a hug?”

She broke eye contact, embarrassed and unsure why. Antsy, she picked up her fork and toyed with it. “Well…duh.” She ran the fork prongs through the melted butter and syrup, making a curvy row of lines from one edgeof the plate to the other. When she peeked at him again, she was serious. “You know my mother’s story, Jax. Marriage doesn’t guarantee anything. I thought we were fine the way we were. Why rock the boat with meaningless contracts and promises?”

“Apparently they weren’t meaningless to him.”

She hadn’t come here for an inquisition. “Since when did you join the debate team?” she asked, annoyed. “I need a friend—a hug—not a cross-examination.” Slapping her palms to the table, she bolted up. “Look, if you can’t see that he was in the wrong, then I made a mistake coming to you. I thought you were my friend.”

“I am your friend. I’m only trying to get the whole picture.”

“The whole picture is I’m upset and I need you to be on my side. Be my friend. Tell me he’s a beast and I’m well rid of him.”

“Okay, he’s a beast and you’re well rid of him,” he dead-panned.

She crossed her arms and glared. “That’s a good start. Now let’s work on making it sound like you mean it.”

He eyed her silently, then said, “I am your friend, Kim. But a friend tells you the truth. If you want a yes-man then you’ll have to hire one. From me, you get honesty.”

“Is that so?” she asked, “Then how much would you charge to be my yes-man?”

“Stop kidding.”

“I’m not kidding.” She struggled to keep from bursting into tears. She didn’t know why she was so agitated or why she was on her feet. Apparently her relaxing bath with all those yummy bubbly jets were no match for Jax’s disapproval, even if, at this stage, it was only a possibility on the horizon. She patted around on her hips as though searching for pockets. “I don’t have any money on me, but if I run upstairs and get ten bucks, would it buy me a ‘Perry is a big jerk and everything will be all right’?”

“Perry.”

“Huh?”

He seemed to have turned inward for a second. When she spoke, he refocused on her. “Nothing.” Appearing vaguely troubled, he worked his jaw. She wondered what he was thinking. After a second, he indicated her food. “Why don’t you eat, then get a good night’s rest. We can talk when you’re fresher.” He stood. “I think it would be best if I leave you alone for a while.”

She was so surprised and disconcerted by his abrupt decision to go, she couldn’t move or speak. She didn’t want him to leave. The whole point of coming here was to be with him. When she opened her mouth to say so, he stopped her by taking her arm and firmly guiding her back to the chair. “Sit.” With both hands on her shoulders, he coaxed her down. “Eat.”

Once sitting, she stared up at him. “But—”

“You’re tired. I’m tired,” he said, before she could go on. “I can see you’re in no mood to be rational.”

“Rational!” She started to stand, but he foiled her plan by placing a restraining hand on her shoulder.

“Sit.” He shook his head at her. “Stay.”

She made a face. “I am not your dog.”

He exhaled heavily and turned away, mumbling something that sounded like “A dog would be less trouble and more affectionate.”

“What?”

He didn’t turn back, merely shook his head. “I said leave the dishes and turn off the lights as you go to bed.”

“That’s not what it sounded like.”

“Good night, Kim,” he called back, disappearing from view.

She glared at the empty kitchen door, fists balled. After a few seconds, she calmed down enough to realize he was right. She needed time and distance from this afternoon to be totally rational on the subject of Perry’s desertion. Jax was an expert on “totally rational” because if there was one thing Jax was, besides brilliant, it was rational.

She could hear his rapid tread as he jogged up the stairs two at a time. He was really going. “Hey,” she shouted. “What happened to my hug?”

Somewhere in the distance a door slammed.

CHAPTER THREE

FOR Jax the night became an endless roller-coaster ride. He got no rest, tossing, turning, pacing and glaring out of the window, then tossing and turning some more. He couldn’t bear to have Kim around, so near him, her scent driving him to distraction, her soft, radiant hair begging to be stroked. Her blasted need to be hugged, with those “best friend” pecks on his cheeks and jaw driving him crazy. Was it possible she didn’t know what she did to him? Or was she so narcissistic she needed to torture him to get her jollies?

He ground out a blasphemy. Of course, she didn’t know. He blamed his frustration and fatigue for such asinine thinking. Standing before his window, exhausted yet wide-awake, he peered at his watch. Illuminated by the rosy glow of dawn, its silver hands broke the bad news: 5:33 Heaving a weary groan, he decided he might as well go in to work. Yawning between mumbled curses, he went through the motions, his mind clouded by conflicted emotions.

He heard no stirrings from the guest room, so he quietly went downstairs to find the kitchen spotless. Apparently Kim hadn’t left the dishes after all. “Thanks for that, at least,” he grumbled. “You kept me up all night, wanting you, knowing I can never have you, but the dishes are clean.” Resentment spiked in him. The trade-off was light-years away from being even.

By rote he made his usual pot of coffee and filled his insulated travel mug. Before he left he scribbled Kim a note about being back around six, suggesting she relax and promising to bring home the makings for her favorite dinner. Taco salad. A favored meal would set a better tone for a frank discussion. Perhaps she might even be willing to admit her commitment phobia. Maybe she could begin to understand that if she ever wanted to have a lasting relationship with a man, she needed to deal with that first. If he did his job as friend and fixer well, one day Kim would find lasting happiness with some man.

Some other damn man.

He headed down the stairs to his garage, slid into his Jaguar coupe, and fired up the engine. “The irony is,” he muttered, “the one relationship she’s genuinely committed to is ours—so pathetically platonic it’s killing me.”

At six-thirty, he arrived at the high-rise office of Gideon and Ross, Business Productivity Consultants, to find his partner, Tracy Ross, already there. No great shock, since she practically lived in her office. Her door stood open, so as he passed by he crossed her line of sight.

“Hey,” she called, “I didn’t expect you for another hour. What gives? Problem?”

He didn’t want to air his “problem” with Tracy, but knowing her burr-under-the-saddle personality, he might as well come clean, or she’d poke at it until it bled. Tracy was an exceptional businesswoman and an able partner, but she was an equally exceptional snoop with an exceptional snoop’s radar.

He glowered at her. “Is it illegal to come in early?”

She grinned at him from behind her polished steel and Plexiglas desk. Tracy was a handsome woman with a close-cropped cap of naturally platinum hair and features made striking by exquisite bone structure. Designer half glasses perched on her slender nose. In heels she towered nearly as tall as he, which made her an intimidating six-three. She was as no-nonsense in business as she was classy in her choice of attire. Without any long-term, personal relationships and no interest whatsoever in the male sex, her life was her work.

Therefore, their business relationship was simply that, un-complicated by sexuality. They both knew that many of their clients assumed they were lovers. The premise amused them. In actuality, they were a well-oiled machine, moving up fast in their profession, with an outstanding reputation for competence and positive results. He respected Tracy, prized her business acumen, was comfortable with their relationship, except at moments like these, when a male partner would ignore an awareness of a problem or never detect one at all.

“It’s not illegal to come in early, Jax Man.” She removed her reading glasses and set them on the legal-size notepad in front of her. “If it were, I’d be a lifer.” She motioned for him to come in. “I brought muffins.”

He half smiled. Even as all-business as she was, there were times when she reminded him of his grandmother. “Homemade?”

“Naturally.” She shoved the open tin toward him. “These are not only delicious, they’ll add ten years to your lifespan.” As he approached her desk her grin faded. “Man, you look like twenty miles of bad road.”

Here it came. “Only twenty?” he asked, his tone sardonic.

“I was being generous. It’s more like fifty.”

“Ah, the truth,” he said, without smiling. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

“I’ll have to get back to you on that.” She lifted the tin in his direction, as though it was imperative that he benefit from their life-enhancing sustenance. “I bet you haven’t eaten.”

“Wrong.” He lifted his insulated mug.

She wrinkled her nose. To her, caffeine was poison. “You need a muffin. Did you even shave?”

He thought he had but he felt his jaw to verify. Instead of smooth skin he detected definite stubble. “Damn. I guess not.”

She set down the tin. “I’ve never seen you with a 6:30 a.m. shadow before.” Pausing, she assessed his new look, then shook her head. “I have to say, on a scale of one to ten, with ten being fantabulous, I give it a minus one thousand.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow at her barbed assessment. “When you make up your mind about how you really feel, don’t hesitate to tell me.” He picked up a muffin and took a bite. For health-nut food, it was actually good.

“So what brings you here at daybreak with us workaholics? Or are you coming down off an all-night bender? Maybe you spent the night in jail for speeding around in that British playtoy you drive?” She eyed him critically as he finished the muffin and downed the rest of his coffee. “On third thought, after I left you at dinner last night, did our client, Derk, drug your coffee and have his way with you in the alley?”

Jax didn’t have to work hard to show aggravation. Frustrated and tired, he was in no mood for jokes. “A comedienne you’re not.”

She sat back in her jade-green leather chair and clamped her hands on the padded arms. “Okay, you tell me what brought you in here at this hour, looking like a hit-and-run victim?”

She didn’t know how painfully close to the truth her comparison came. Characterizing Kim’s connection to Jax as hit-and-run was horribly precise.

He propped a hip on the corner of Tracy’s desk, and broke eye contact to gaze unseeing out of the window. He glanced down at Lake Shore Drive. Bumper to bumper traffic snaked along as the morning rush hour kicked into gear. His gaze drifted across the greenbelt of parkland and trees to Lake Michigan, sparkling in the morning sun like a placid, inland ocean. “Kim’s here,” he said simply.