Infamous (7 page)

“You’re right. There’s no reason I need to be here all the time. In fact, things have seemed positively dull lately. Maybe a little distance will be just what I need for a fresh perspective.”

Morgan blinked. One corner of his mouth kicked up.

“Make sure you’re up on all your shots, no telling what you might be exposed to in the suburbs.”

She gave a mock shudder and smiled back.

“How bad can it be? Like you said, I’ll still be within commuting distance.”

“Jessica,” he was serious again, “are you sure about this? I’m talking about a permanent move. I won’t have Kinsey upset by you moving out again in a month. I’m willing to give you a fair amount of freedom, but I expect you to make a commitment to providing Kinsey a stable environment for the next few years.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. He had some nerve lecturing
her
about commitment.
He
was the one who had realized he made a mistake four years ago. She would have stayed with him if he had wanted her. Instead, the reality of Jessica Sinclair had been more than he had been willing to accept. The minute her book had hit the shelves, her loving husband had been replaced by a representative from the Moral Majority.

“That’s so generous of you,” she said. “Just how much freedom do you intend to
allow
me? Do I need to submit a schedule? Will there be a list of approved acquaintances and activities?”

He had the decency to flush a little, but he didn’t back down.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m aware that you have different needs socially. I’m just asking for you to use some discretion. I don’t particularly want Kinsey reading any new articles about her stepmother in the tabloids.”

He made it sound so simple, like she made an effort to get herself mentioned in those sleazy rags. Did he really believe everything they printed about her?

“So I can keep a few of my boy toys as long as we’re
discreet
?” she taunted.

“No,” he said. “You damn well cannot. While you’re living in my home our relationship will be exclusive. If you can’t manage that, say so now.”

Well, that answered that question, she thought in the silence. There were several unflattering words for a woman who married a man for his money and kept lovers on the side. Was she seriously considering putting herself back in this relationship? Did she have any hope of changing his opinion of her?

She thought of the last four years, the success of her career, the fame. At the end of the day, she came home alone and none of it mattered. She couldn’t let this go without one last grab for the golden ring.

“Monogamy, what a quaint concept,” she said. “I’m up for trying it if you are.” She let her eyes travel up and down his body, “I’m sure I can keep you from getting bored, but maybe you want to brush up on your … technique?”

For a minute, she thought she had gone too far. Then he gave a bark of laughter. One hand snaked out to capture her wrist and he jerked her against him. The other hand cupped her jaw tenderly as he looked down at her.

“I don’t recall you complaining about my technique.” He grinned down at her. “But I’m definitely willing to do some extra research if required.” His thumb glided over her cheek. “I’m making quite an investment in you, and I’m always willing to do a little extra work to get a good return.”

The hand curved behind her head and drew her to him for his kiss — his very thorough, very expert kiss that annihilated her equilibrium.

She tried to pull him closer, but he raised his head and stepped back.

“I would love to continue this fascinating conversation, but I really do have to get back to the office.”

She stood in the middle of the living room while he went into the kitchen to retrieve his jacket. What had just happened? When he came back, he was the cool businessman again. She always found him a little intimidating in his full business suit and tie. Modern-day armor, she thought. It made her want to rip the jacket off and rumple his hair or maybe leave a huge love bite on his neck and lipstick on his collar — anything to make him seem more human, less perfect.

He pulled her to him for a final quick, hard kiss before he left.

“I’ll call you later to discuss getting you moved,” he said. And then he was out the door. She could hear him whistling in the hallway as he left.

• • •

Morgan didn’t even try to stop grinning as he pulled out of the parking lot. The image of Jessica’s lips closing around a nigiri roll was still playing through his head. Sushi had been a tactical error. He had spent most of lunch imagining her lips closing around other things than food. The situation hadn’t improved when they moved into the living room. Her thin T-shirt didn’t quite meet the waistband those clingy pants she had been wearing. He caught tantalizing bits of bare flesh every time she moved. She was barefoot. Somehow, even that turned him on. How did she manage to look glamorous barefoot and in sweats? He had felt dull and overdressed. And horny. Let’s not forget horny.

In the end, it had gone better than he had expected. She had agreed to move back in with him and she had agreed there would be no other lovers. His mood soured a little when he remembered her taunt about keeping other men, but he was determined to look at the positive today.

He didn’t know what relationship she had with Knight right now, but he would deal with that later. The bedroom was the one place he knew they were compatible. There was no way she was faking her response when she shivered and moaned in his arms. He would use that and her devotion to Kinsey as a foundation to build on.

It was a meager start towards a permanent partnership, but he was in the business of turning around hopeless situations. He was not the nerdy kid from the hardware store anymore.
The Wall Street Journal
had called him “the man you want when all hope is lost.” He did not intend to spoil his excellent track record on something as important as his marriage.

The house was dark when Morgan drove up. Sandy greeted him enthusiastically, but there was no little red sports car in the drive. He had wanted to help Jessica move over the past few days, had been looking forward to it with juvenile enthusiasm. The unexpected business trip couldn’t have come at a worse time.

It was one of the pitfalls of the type of work he did. Many of the companies he invested in needed more than a cash infusion. They needed financial and managerial guidance to make sure the investment was used wisely to get them on track to profitability. His hands-on approach was one reason his venture investments were so successful. Some companies balked initially at the degree of control he demanded when he invested. Most were small, privately held firms who did not want an outsider telling them how to do business.

He had realized early on that the reason many of those same companies were cash strapped was poor management at the top. Most of the owners were very good in their field, but they didn’t know anything about controlling costs or putting together a sound business plan. They let Uncle Bob do the books and Aunt Millie hire her friends’ kids for any job that was open. Or, like his own parents, they made decisions based on sentiment rather than sound business logic. They might complain about his methods when he bought in, but they were more than happy to enjoy the profits he created for them.

Crises like this last one were a dime a dozen and he usually dealt with them as a matter of course. He had cursed the timing of this one, though. For one of the few times in his career, he had considered telling the clients to deal with it on their own. Technically, he was under no obligation to assist — his commitment was for funding only. In the end he had decided to go. The owner’s parents and grandparents had scrapped their retirement funds to prop up the failing company. They were on the verge of finally turning a profit and there was no way he could let them down now. Anyway, it was no use bemoaning clients who put sentiment over business if he was going to do the same.

Jessica had been adamant that she did not need his help to transfer her things to the house. She had pointed out that this was exactly the reason she was moving. There was no need for him to worry about Kinsey while he was away. Kinsey was ecstatic and wouldn’t miss him. Staying home would only mean putting his investment at risk if the staff on site couldn’t sort the problem out. Reluctantly, he had packed and booked a flight.

The “minor accounting discrepancy” had stretched into a debacle that required three full days of in-depth auditing and the subsequent sacking of several individuals in the bookkeeping department. This morning, he had finally felt confident that he could leave the new team in place and booked a flight home.

Apparently he had not been gone long enough to be missed, he thought as he switched on the light in the kitchen. A piece of notepaper sat in the middle of the island anchored conspicuously under the salt shaker.

Gone shopping. Will bring home pizza for supper. XOXOXO Kinsey

He crumpled the note and dropped it into the recycling bin under the sink. It was stupid to feel disappointed they weren’t here. He had talked to them both every day. Jessica had made it obvious who she was coming back for and it wasn’t him.

He frowned as he carried his suitcase through the dark house. Nothing had changed. The house looked exactly like it had when he left, except it was dark and empty without Kinsey sprawled in front of the T.V. or in her room with the radio blaring. So far, there wasn’t even any evidence that Jessica had been here at all.

He dropped his suitcase on the bed and shrugged out of his jacket. It had been a long day. He had been up before dawn for a final early-morning meeting. He had not been able to get a direct flight back and the two layovers had been interminable. He could probably use a shower.

He stopped short when he hit the light in the master bath. The long marble vanity with its double sink was normally empty except for his toothbrush, toothpaste, and a small bowl where he tossed his spare change and keys. The key bowl was now lost in a confusion of bottles, jars, tubes, and brushes. A magnifying mirror vied for space with a blow drier and flat iron. The sash of something midnight blue and silky trailed over a half-open drawer and onto the floor.

Morgan felt a little lightheaded as tension he hadn’t realized existed flowed out of his body. Jessica was definitely home.

He had forgotten the astonishing array of paraphernalia she added to the bathroom. A picture of Kinsey blowing an exaggerated kiss was taped onto the mirror above one sink. Next to it was a bright pink Post-It with WWJCD scrawled across it. What was that about? Yet more bottles and jars in all shapes and sizes surrounded the sunken tub.

He stripped out of his clothes and headed into the shower. Standing in the hot jets of water from multiple heads, he searched among the bottles crowded onto the built-in shelf for his shampoo. There were over a dozen designer bottles crammed together. Morgan scanned the labels — shampoos for hydrating, extra body or deep cleaning, conditioners for volume or shine, sea salt exfoliant, organic herbal cleansing gel. He finally found his bottle of supermarket brand shampoo/conditioner behind something labeled crème douche vitalité.

Curious, he opened the bottle and sniffed at the contents. A musky scent rose up on the steam around him causing his body to clench in reaction. It smelled like Jessica, or part of Jessica. Her actual scent was more complex, something heady and exotic that drove him nuts every time she was close. Hastily he re-screwed the cap and dropped the bottle back onto the shelf. He couldn’t contain his memories as easily, though. They twined around him while the spray pounded onto his body.

Jessica, here in the shower, sliding down him like a warm tropical rain, her mouth engulfing him with its own moist heat. Jessica bent over his arm, bottles scattering around them as she braced herself against the wall and he slid into her. Jessica, limp and sated, her long hair trailing a river of water as he carried her back into the bedroom … .

He sucked in a breath and dialed the water temperature all the way to the right. The shock of the cold water on his skin made him gasp, but it allowed him to relegate the searing memories back to the past. When he was sure he had himself under control, he shut off the taps and reached for a towel.

Was he crazy to bring her back here? He wanted her, had never stopped wanting her. She was the one who had been willing to wander out of their marriage as casually as she had wandered into it. She had actually acted offended when confronted with the evidence of her own duplicity. Like he was the one who had done something wrong.

The smart thing would have been to let her go. But after seeing her again, he had known he had to make one last effort. Now he wondered if he had made a mistake. Just the scent of her soap made him crazy. How was he going to keep her from ruling the relationship when she was actually in his bed?

• • •

Kinsey was chattering happily as she and Jessica carted their purchases into the house. Jessica kept a smile fixed on her face, but her heart was racing at double-time. Morgan’s sedan was in the garage. It looked oppressively conservative and somber next to her sleek little sports car. She had the depressing feeling that the conservative exterior hid an engine powerful enough to leave her frivolous little coupe in the dust. Not that Morgan was likely to engage in anything as reckless as a street race.

Trying to envision Morgan gunning his engine and peeling out down a deserted strip of highway raised her spirits a little. She eased the hot pizza she was carrying down onto the island. She was pulling plates out of a cabinet when Kinsey’s chatter broke off with a squeal.

“Dad, you’re home. Wait till you see the awesome clothes Jessie and I bought.”

She took a deep breath and turned around.

The site of him hit her right in the gut. He was standing in the wide doorway that separated the kitchen and living room. He had just come from the shower and his dark hair was still damp and glistening. He was wearing a faded polo shirt that stretched over his broad shoulders. A pair of well-worn jeans clung to his lean hips. He hadn’t bothered with shoes.