Infamous (6 page)

He knew what she was asking. The best answer was probably yes. It was what she wanted to hear — that she could keep playing her games with Knight and whoever else she kept dangling in Hollywood. He remembered Knight kissing her at the premiere party. But it hadn’t been Knight she had gone upstairs with. His hand tightened on the keys still in his hand.

“I’m not hiring a nanny, Jessica; you’re my wife. If you move back here it will be as my wife.”

“No.” She took a step back. “No, no, no.”

“Why not?” Like he couldn’t think of a million reasons on his own.

“I’m not that desperate.” She was balanced on the balls of her feet, like she might turn around and run any minute. “Jesus, Morgan. I know you think I’m easy, but I’m not sleeping with you just so I can see Kinsey.”

“I’m not asking you to.” Stay calm. He couldn’t let her see how her words were affecting him. “We’re not strangers. We were doing okay four years ago until … .” Better not go there. “Look, we’ll know what we’re getting into this time.”

“We’re too different,” she said. “We don’t have anything in common to make this work.” She was looking down at her feet, fidgeting a little. At least she didn’t look on the verge of running anymore. He took a cautious step toward her. He put one hand under her jaw, tilting her head up so that her eyes met his. They were confused and a little desperate. He rubbed the pad of his thumb against her lips, marveling at how soft she was.

“We have this in common,” he murmured. He touched his lips to hers, gently, so gently — not devouring her the way he wanted. He sucked on her lower lip, his hands moving to cup the back of her neck. When she sighed and relaxed against him, he deepened the kiss.

“We have Kinsey,” he cajoled, in between kisses. “She needs you.” It was getting harder to remember why he was talking. Her arms went around him. He felt her soft breasts pushing against his chest, and he couldn’t talk at all. He leaned back against the desk and pulled her between his thighs. Just like always, he was lost in her — out of control and mindless just from kissing her. It wasn’t until his hands touched the skin under her shirt that she pushed him away.

She took a step back, away from him, and held out her hand. Reluctantly, he dropped the keys into it.

“I’ll think about it,” she said.

She walked out of his office and he listened to the engine of her little car rev as she accelerated down the drive. Leaving him.

He was a fool, he thought.

But was it for asking her to come back or for letting her walk out again?

• • •

On the highway, Jessica opened the sunroof and let the speedometer climb well over the speed limit.
Running away
. It was getting to be a habit with Morgan.

She didn’t know why he had asked her to move back in. Morgan was always so logical. The situation with Kinsey must be worse than he had let on for him even to consider it. It was not as if he wanted reconciliation with her. He had neither forgotten nor forgiven her sins of the past.

Bad, bad, Jessica Sinclair. Queen of the tabloids, mistress of Hollywood gossip. It was her one bona-fide talent — landing in the most compromising situation available at any given time. Once, she had thought Morgan would be the one to see past all the celebrity hype and bad-girl bravado.

To what? She gave an inner shrug. The “real” Jessica?
Access Hollywood
probably knew the “real” Jessica better than she knew herself. She could hardly blame Morgan for waking up one morning and realizing she wasn’t going to fit in to his little suburban paradise.

He didn’t approve of her
lifestyle
. Her lips tightened at the term. He made it sound like she was hosting orgies or frequenting the types of clubs where one partner was on a chain. She sighed. Compared to the environment he had created for Kinsey, she supposed she might as well be living in Sodom and Gomorrah.

So why had he asked her to move back?

And what was she going to tell him? Because, despite everything, she wanted to. She wanted to move back so badly she ached for it. She just wasn’t sure she could survive loving him at close quarters, when she knew he could never love her.

She turned the radio up until it drowned out her thoughts and sped back toward the city.

Jessica stood in front of her refrigerator and took stock of the contents. Prospects for a nutritious lunch were slim. She poked cautiously at a cardboard carton of leftover Pad Thai. How many days had it been in there? Not a good sign if she couldn’t remember. No yogurt, no juice, no fruit — okay, one avocado, she revised, one side imploded and obviously inedible. Her stomach growled. It seemed silly to order in for lunch. Probably, she should just go to Whole Foods and stock up. Food supplies had been dwindling the past few days and a shopping trip was inevitable.

Or, she could admit the real reason there was no food. She hadn’t stocked the refrigerator because she wasn’t planning on living here much longer. She had made her decision; she was just too big a coward to call Morgan. He hadn’t exactly been pressing the issue, either. She hadn’t spoken to him since she left his house on Saturday. What if he had changed his mind?

She gnawed on her lower lip. It seemed likely. Morgan gave new meaning to the phrase “overprotective father.” Asking Jessica Sinclair, darling of the tabloids, to take care of his teenage daughter was way out of character.

She hadn’t slept well since seeing Morgan again. Every night she lay awake going over the reasons she should
not
move back in with him. Somewhere in the middle of the list, she would find herself sidetracked by the memory of his kisses, of him carrying her to bed, of those two months when they had lived together as newlyweds. They were two months she wanted to regret and instead remembered as the two best months of her life. Two months when she had believed she could fit into the all-American family and make life with Morgan and Kinsey work.

She stared balefully at the empty refrigerator. Lack of sleep and hunger were making her grumpy. She blamed Morgan. How dare he stir up all these unwanted memories and then change his mind?

She jumped when the doorbell rang, startling her out of her reverie. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Delivery maybe? At the door, she checked the security display. Her mouth dropped. Great, she was hallucinating now.

Morgan stood under the camera holding a paper bag. Stupefied, she watched him for a few minutes until he began to fidget and hit the buzzer again. This time he gave the camera a very direct, very impatient look.

She pushed the button beside the door.

“Hello?”

“Buzz me up.” On the screen, Morgan held up the paper bag. “I brought lunch.”

Without giving herself time to think about it, she hit the button that would unlock the outside door to the condominium complex. She watched Morgan disappear from sight into the building.

Then panic set in.

She looked down at the comfortable sweatpants and T-shirt she normally wore while working. No time to do much about that. She flew to the bathroom and yanked out the clip holding her hair. Frantically, she scrunched her fingers through her hair, hoping for a little extra body. In the mirror, her bare face stared back at her complete with sleep-deprived baggy eyes. She managed a coat of mascara and a quick swipe of lip gloss before she heard Morgan’s knock at the door.

By the time she opened the door, his hand was raised to knock again.

“Forget I was on the way up?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I was just saving my work. If people called before they showed up, they wouldn’t have to wait.”

“Point taken.” Morgan responded amiably. He carried his brown bag into the kitchen. “Have you eaten lunch?”

“Why are you here?”

“It’s lunchtime, I was in the city. We both have to eat, I figured we could talk over lunch. Call it an impulse.”

Impulse
. She chewed over that. Morgan was not the impulsive type, unless you counted his marriage to her. More likely he had come to make it clear that he didn’t want her back. He had found some other solution. It was the type of thing Morgan would decide needed to be done in person.

She watched him as he took several cartons out of the bag and placed them on her tiny table. He looked incongruous moving around her kitchen in his suit and tie. As if reading her thoughts, he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it carefully over the back of a chair.

“I brought sushi — do you have anything to drink?”

He turned and opened the refrigerator. She winced at what he would see — the take-out container, imploded avocado, a few condiments, and half a bottle of white wine. After a minute he sighed, took out the wine, and began opening cabinets until he found her wine glasses. When everything was arranged on the table, he settled into a chair and picked up a pair of chopsticks.

“Well? There’s plenty for both of us,” he gestured to the colorful array of food.

She considered telling him she wasn’t hungry. The last thing she wanted to do was prolong this meeting. If he didn’t want her, he could damn well tell her and get out.

Unfortunately, her stomach picked that time to growl again. With bad grace, she sat down opposite him and devoted her attention to the food.

Neither of them attempted conversation during the meal. She watched him while he ate. He handled the chopsticks expertly, and she noticed he still favored the sashimi. She remembered sitting cross-legged on the floor of his den, feeding each other choice bits of fish, learning each others preferences, punctuating each bite with kisses and laughter. It pissed her off. The memory was too clear, more vivid than the lunch she had with J.T. just yesterday. She pushed it aside and picked up an avocado roll.

Trust Morgan to bring really good sushi. The last time she had gone out for sushi, it was all about being seen in the trendiest new place. There had been hot stones and lots of elaborate preparations, none of which she could actually remember tasting.

When she finished eating, she found she was not in any hurry to hear what Morgan had come to say. She began clearing the table, picking up the take-out cartons and carrying them to the recycling bin. The bottle of wine was almost empty. She held it over Morgan’s glass, but he shook his head.

“I have to get back to the office.”

“Am I corrupting you with wine at lunch? You should loosen your tie a little, Morgan. It’s not like you have to worry about the boss finding out.” She dumped the last of the wine into her own glass.

“My decisions have consequences for a lot of people,” he said, “I prefer to keep a clear head while I’m working.”

It was obvious he thought her work was beneath being damaged by a few drinks. He left his glass on the kitchen table as he followed her into the living room.

“Kinsey’s been talking about you all week,” he said. “I didn’t realize you had kept in such close contact. I didn’t even know she had a web page.” He sounded disapproving.

“Facebook,” she murmured, “she has a Facebook page. You should pay closer attention, Morgan. She didn’t even have her profile set to private until I convinced her to change it. The ’net can be dangerous.”

Here it comes, she thought. No doubt she would be blamed for Kinsey having the page in the first place. He hadn’t just changed his mind, he wanted her completely out of Kinsey’s life. She kept her back to him, so he couldn’t see the hurt when he said the words.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” he said. “There are things Kinsey shares with you that she doesn’t share with me. It’s why I’m asking you to come back.”

At first the words didn’t make any sense. Asking her to come back?

“So you’re asking me to move back in with you because I know Kinsey has a Facebook page? It seems a little extreme, Morgan. What, exactly, do I get out of the deal? For that matter, what do you get? Is this situation with Kinsey really worth having me underfoot all the time?”

Was she crazy? She had already decided to move back, now she was going to talk him out of it?

Morgan took his time answering.

“I assume that you get out of it exactly what you wanted when you married me in the first place. Business has been good the past few years. As my wife, you won’t have to worry about hitting your credit limit.”

She blinked her eyes against the tears. She had married him because she loved him. She had wanted the three of them to be a family. Stupid, but true. She hadn’t even realized until later what he was worth.

Not that she would admit that, now. She had a little pride left. Let him think that her reasons had been just as cold and practical as whatever his had been.

“Don’t be an ass, Morgan. I don’t need your money. I have the trust fund for emergencies and my books are selling well.”

“You’ve done very nicely for yourself,” he said. “But you have expensive tastes. As my wife, you wouldn’t have to work at all if you don’t want to.”

There was almost a question in his voice, but she ignored it. Maybe she wasn’t winning any Pulitzer prizes, but she enjoyed writing. It was at least one success she had of her own and she had no intention of giving it up.

“As for the other,” Morgan moved closer behind her and let his hands rest lightly on he shoulders. “I can think of a few compensations for both of us.”

He lowered his head to nuzzle gently at the base of her neck. She felt the heat of his body soaking into her, warming her in places she hadn’t known were chilled. She let herself lean back against him. Did he guess how much she needed this? Needed his warmth, his stability? She wished she dared pull his arms around her and ask him to hold her.

It was something the infamous Jessica Sinclair would never do — admit needing to be held, to be loved. It was a weakness she couldn’t afford to expose. She savored the feel of his warm body at her back for another second and then forced herself to step away.

“Very enticing, darling,” she purred. “As it happens I’ve already given the matter some thought.”

Was there a flash of tension in his face when she turned to him? She couldn’t be sure and he just dropped his hands to his sides and waited for her reply.