Just Friends To . . . Just Married

As he walked away, she said, “I worry that she’s using you.”

“Don’t worry about me, Trace.” He left her office and headed toward his.

More than anything in the world, he wished Tracy’s impassioned misconception of Kim were true. If she really were that selfish, using him to salve her ego, he could make quick work of ridding himself of her. But she wasn’t, and deep down Tracy knew it. She knew Jax well enough to know he didn’t suffer fools or false friends easily.

Kim was one of the most giving people he’d ever known. She simply took their closeness for granted, like breathing. If anybody deserved to be blamed, he did. It wasn’t Kim’s fault that he didn’t have the guts or the heart to tell her how much her visits hurt. Being highly sensitive she would be wounded beyond repair to discover that the faintest touch of her hand could bloody his heart.

Kim heard the garage door open and knew Jax was back. That morning she was disappointed to find him gone. She’d hoped they could chat over breakfast. Last night she spent a lot of pent up energy going through his cabinets, planning a breakfast of veggie omelets, whole wheat muffins and her famous strawberry-banana smoothies. Hopefully tomorrow she could coax him to stay later, let her fix him breakfast, since he obviously consumed nothing this morning but coffee. She knew he had a busy life and she didn’t want to impose. Just because she had a little free time and a broken heart was no excuse.

But he was home now and she planned to make herself useful. He was wonderful to let her show up out of the blue, so she wanted to make her time there as pleasant for him as she could. Tonight they’d have taco salads a la Kim. She checked herself in the mirror over the dining room buffet then fluffed her hair and the neck ruffle of her silk blouse. She was almost as excited to see Jax as she had been to see Perry. For different reasons, of course. Jax wasn’t her lover. He was more important than a lover. He was, well, Jax.

She could hear footfalls on the back stairs that led up from his garage. When he came into the kitchen, she positioned herself in front of the kitchen table, arms wide. “Well, give, Jaxon! I’m starved. Lets get going on those taco salads.”

He carried a brown bag in each arm. “It’s good to see you, too,” he said, his smile half-cast.

She plunked her fists on her hips. “Well, naturally it’s good to see you. That goes without saying. I always adore seeing you.” She took one of the bags from his arms and gave him a smooch on the jaw. “Mmm, you smell good. What is that cologne?”

He walked to the stainless steel countertop and set down the other bag. “I think it’s called Badboy.”

She set her sack next to his. “Badboy?” Hadn’t she used that exact description while thinking about him last night? She noticed the wayward curl that gave him such a roguish quality dangling over his forehead. “‘Badboy is very appropriate.”

He’d begun to empty the groceries. When she made the remark he paused, glanced at her. “It is?”

She laughed at his dubious tone. Clearly he’d never thought of himself as a bad boy. She reached up and ran a finger along the errant lock. “That’s the bad boy look I love, right there. Such a deliciously delinquent curl. It makes you seem so…” She stopped, thought about it. “So…” The word “sexy” almost slipped out but she caught it in time and searched for a substitute word.

“So—what?”

Feeling oddly restless she lowered her hand from his hair and looked away, busying herself with the groceries. “Oh, uh, I don’t know. Like a mobster or something.”

“A mobster?” He sounded doubtful. “A la Al Capone?”

She couldn’t help smiling and glanced his way. “Well, maybe a mobster’s accountant.”

He squinted at her, evidently not flattered by the comparison. Could she blame him? But she dared not admit that the misbehaving curl made him look like a sexy pirate. Such a remark would be blatant flirting, and—well, that’s not why she came to Jax.

He raked his fingers through his hair. “If we’re through discussing my hair, why don’t you finish putting this stuff away while I change.”

“Sure.” She avoided eye contact. “Take your time. Even better, let me fix the salads. You relax. You’ve had a long day.”

“No, I said I’d help. I’ll be right down.”

“Don’t be silly.”

He stilled. She couldn’t help looking at him and experienced a tingle of pleasure at the sight. His attempt at erasing the mobster curl had failed. “I have a secret ingredient,” he said. “Therefore you can’t do it alone.”

She cocked her head in playful challenge. “Oh, really?”

He nodded, appearing serious. “Just grate the cheese. Is that understood, woman?”

Clamping her lips together she fought a grin. When she could manage it without giggling, she said, “My, how masterful you’ve become.”

He indicated the cheddar on the counter. “Just grate. I’ll be right back.”

She elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “Don’t let that mobster accountant thing go to your head.”

He turned away, headed toward the door. “You can’t un-ring a bell, sweetheart.” His voice mimicked the distinctive delivery of an old-time movie tough guy.

“Heaven help me,” she said, laughing. “I’ve created a monster.”

“No, a mobster’s accountant,” he corrected in the same tough-guy voice.

After he disappeared from view, she took up the cheese package and began to open it, grinning to herself. Jax could be so cute. Strange. She had a perfectly awful day, accented by bouts of crying and feeling sorry for herself. Then Jax shows up, and—bam!—sunshine streams in to warm her cold, old soul.

After dinner, Kim insisted they leave the dishes for her to do later. She took Jax by the hand, leading him into the living room to drink their coffee. When they reached the sofa she gently pushed him down, then took a seat, kicked off her sneakers and curled up on the far side. “Can we have a fire?” she asked, feeling better than she had all day. “I love the smell.”

“Sure.” He grabbed a remote off the end table and pressed a button. Instantly fire flared in the hearth.

“Oh—my—heavens!” She giggled, set her coffee on the end table and leaned over to run a hand along his biceps. “What a pioneer type you are. That must have been quite a strain.”

He lay the remote aside. “The wood fairy didn’t carry in that wood, you know.”

She smiled. “I’m kidding. Your place is awesome. Pushbutton fires, yet.” She lounged back, picked up her coffee, but continued to look at him. He’d changed into jeans and a soft, golden sweater that accented his torso nicely. Looking at Jax made her feel better, and she sighed. Then she had an amusing thought. “So your secret taco ingredient is taco seasoning, huh?”

He peered her way. “Yep.”

She laughed. “I hate to tell you, but your secret’s out.”

He frowned, faking shock. “No.”

She nodded, giving him a pitying look. “‘It’s true.”

“Damn. There goes my shot at a show on the cooking channel.”

She laughed, scanned his wayward bad boy lock of hair, his well toned chest, flat belly, solid thighs…” You work out, don’t you?” she said, surprised to hear the remark aloud.

He sat his coffee on the sleek, espresso-brown coffee table. “I told you that last night.”

How embarrassing. Not only because she had asked a second time, but because neither time had she meant to say anything out loud. She crossed her arms before her, pretending to be casual and conversational. “Oh? Must have slipped my mind,” she lied. “Well, it shows.” She winced inwardly. Had she lost the ability to think something without blurting it out?

His brow crinkled, as though he wasn’t sure how to take the remark. “Thanks.”

“Feel free to smile, Jax. I won’t tell.”

That remark provoked a bona fide glower.

She sat up, concerned, and scooted over to him. “What’s the matter? Have I done something to upset you?” She took his hand. “I know I’m a terrible disruption, and I was only thinking of myself when I burst in on you. All through dinner all I did was babble about Perry and my job. It’s been me, me, me, and you’ve been so good, listening and…” The sentence died as she had a distressing thought. “Heavens—it’s a woman, isn’t it?”

“What?” She’d clearly caught him off guard with that question. He stared, looking cautious.