The Other Woman's Son

“Couldn’t sleep. Didn’t have you next to me.” He pitched his voice low and sexy, reminiscent of the way he sounded when they made love.

Despite her suspicions, she melted. A favorite memory of him getting down on one knee flashed through her mind. She could hear him proposing, saying he wanted to spend the rest of his life with the woman he loved.

She was probably letting her imagination get the best of her. Yes, he’d smelled of what she thought was perfume after poker night last week, but he’d had a ready excuse. It wasn’t perfume at all, but the air freshener his friend’s girlfriend used to mask the scent of smoke in the house.

The hotel room door swung open. Jenna entered, holding two stacked coffee cups in one hand and anchoring them with her chin. She held the key card in the other.

“I should go,” Corrine told Maurice. “Jenna just got back with caffeine.”

“Tell Jenna I appreciate her being good to my girl. Love you, babe.” He hung up, leaving Corrine listening to nothing.

“You, too,” she whispered, then flipped her cell phone closed.

“The restaurant was crowded so I skipped the danish and got coffee to go. I thought you might like one, too.” Jenna handed Corrine the extra cup. “Double cream, double sugar, right?”

“Right. Thanks.”

Jenna sat down at the plush chair beside the mahogany desk and removed the plastic lid from her cup. “Were you talking to the charming Maurice?”

“You think Maurice is charming?”

Jenna’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed your husband has a way with words?”

And with women.

“It’s hard to miss.” Corrine deliberately changed the subject. “It’s just that you ignore Clay’s charms so well, I was starting to think you were immune.”

Jenna brought her coffee cup to her lips and drank before asking, “Why would you say that?”

“I saw the two of you talking last night. He’s obviously into you.”

“Not for the reason you think.”

“What’s that mean?”

Jenna cradled her coffee cup in both hands, staring down at the brown liquid before looking up at Corrine. “Nothing. He likes the way I sing, is all.”

“I’d be surprised if that’s all he’s interested in.”

“That’s all it is,” Jenna reiterated firmly. “What are you going to do today?”

“Catch the duck parade, then I was thinking about heading to Graceland.” The idea of visiting Elvis Presley’s former home had just occurred to her, but it seemed like a good one. Elvis could help take her mind off Maurice. “Want to come?”

“No, thanks. I brought some work with me, and this afternoon would be the perfect time to do it.”

“No way,” Corrine exclaimed in dismay. “The weekends are supposed to be about the music.”

“I’ll be singing the blues Monday morning if I don’t get this stuff done, but we could go to the exercise room together. The caffeine’s starting to kick in, so I have enough energy for a workout.”

Corrine noticed for the first time that Jenna was dressed in yoga pants and a dri-fit top. “Are you kidding me? I burn plenty of calories playing my guitar, thank you very much.”

After Jenna’s laughter faded and Corrine was once again alone in the hotel room, her gaze fell on the cell phone she’d left on the bedside table.

If she called home now and Maurice answered, she’d know he was telling the truth about getting the newspaper when she phoned the first time. If not…

She heard the seconds tick by on the bedside clock radio until one minute had passed, then two. Before the minute display could click over a third time, she anchored her hands on the bed and rose.

As she rummaged through her suitcase for the clothes she’d change into after her shower, she pointedly ignored the phone still lying where she’d left it.

JENNA STEPPED INSIDE Peyton’s Place and removed the sunglasses that had shielded her eyes from the brightness of the Saturday afternoon sun.

The bar looked different than it had the night before, the green of the tile and the booths more vivid, the wooden surface of the bar more glossy, the crowd even thinner.

But she could still feel the energizing thrill that infused her when she sang to the crowd—and the anger that had engulfed her when she learned the reason she’d gotten the opportunity.

Determination had replaced the sharp edge of the anger, fueling her steps as she marched up to the bar. She’d finished her accounting work hours ago, but now needed to take care of the real reason she’d skipped the trip to Graceland.

“Is Clay Dillon around?” she asked a tall, shaggy-haired bartender of about twenty-five who hadn’t been on duty the night before.

“He’s in the kitchen. Should be right out. Can I get you a drink while you’re waiting?” He had an engaging manner which made Jenna like him instantly.

“I’d love a double shot of whiskey,” she said, thinking it would help her get through the confrontation to come, “but I don’t drink in the afternoon.”

His grin transformed his long, narrow, freckled face into something special. “How about a cola then?”

“No, thanks,” she said. “All I need is for you to let Clay know I’m waiting.”

“Sure thing.”

She chose a booth farthest from the bar and a good distance from the other customers. Then she drummed her fingers on the table, fighting fatigue from her poor night of sleep. She wasn’t sure whether her tossing and turning had kept Corrine awake or vice versa.

It hurt that Corrine hadn’t confided what was bothering her, but then Jenna hadn’t shared her problems, either. From past conversations, Jenna was well aware that Corrine believed she should become acquainted with Margo’s daughter.

Corrine didn’t understand how Jenna felt. She couldn’t. Corrine hadn’t been the one who’d watched her mother struggle to rebuild her life. Or who’d grown up in a house with a gaping hole where a father should have been.

A warm, male laugh drew Jenna’s attention. Clay, his dark eyes crinkled at the corners, his lips split into a grin as he traversed the passageway leading from the kitchen. The grin disappeared as the bartender gestured to her table, but Clay didn’t waste time in approaching her.

He moved with the grace of an athlete and the confidence of a man comfortable in his own skin. The soft blue shirt he wore with faded jeans of almost the same shade softened his appearance, but Jenna wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating what he’d do to get his way.

“Jenna. I didn’t expect to see you.” If he were anxious about encountering her at Peyton’s Place in the middle of the afternoon, he didn’t let on.

“You didn’t expect to see me right now or you didn’t expect to see me at all?” she challenged.

He slid into the booth across from her, his expression guarded. “I’m an optimist. I was betting on you showing up tonight.”

“I’ll be here tonight. And I’ll keep coming until the terms of the contract are up.”

He nodded, neither gloating nor showing surprise, as though he’d expected her to say what she’d said. It ticked her off all over again, because he didn’t know anything about her.