Heirs Book Two: American Lady (17 page)

Through the open window she could hear a
chorus of birdcalls. The range of trills blended into a haphazardly
harmonious symphony. It was the sound of spring. She hadn’t even
opened her eyes and she knew it was going to be a glorious day. She
felt so totally relaxed and happy for the first time in months.
Since she’d met St John she had been tense, on edge, never knowing
whether he would call or whether she would ever see him again.

In the soft focus of her happiness was an
image of Declan. How strange that after their previously
antagonistic reaction to each other they had been able to become
friends. Bolstering that friendship was the reliably sunny, cuddly
teddy bear, Newt. Her fondness for him made her almost forgive his
father’s steamroller tactics for developing the town.

The boys had returned to Peppermint Vale
after their spring exams and she had spent every free moment of the
past week with Declan and Newt, sometimes cooking dinner for them
at their condo. It had been an idyllic week.

Last night they had squabbled good naturedly
about setting up their law partnership.

“Alphabetically it should be Cassidy and
Kincaid,” Declan joked.

“It has to be Kincaid and Cassidy because
I’m going to graduate before you and therefore I will be the more
experienced partner,” Newt rebutted. “Hence I deserve the respect
of being listed first on the letterhead.

“Ah, but the name Cassidy has more prestige.
The Cassidys are linked with politics and the Kincaids are
associated with construction,” Declan pointed out.

“More like destruction,” Jazz felt
comfortable enough to interrupt.

“No trading in on the Cassidy family name
and connections!” Newt booed, throwing a cushion towards Declan and
catching Jazz off guard, igniting a free for all pillow fight.

Declan took her skiing, hiring a pair of
skis and patiently teaching her to stand on them.

“I can’t believe you live on a mountain and
don’t know how to ski!” he’d laughed.

So they made their way up the mountain and,
in need of sustenance before such arduous activity, they would find
a secluded wind-protected spot washed in the warmth of the sun and
picnic. He would spread out the colorful Indian throw from her
cottage for them to sit on, then from his backpack he would bring
out Moët champagne, a crusty French loaf, pate, Swiss cheese, Brie
and green olives. Dessert was usually Hershey’s kisses. Although
Jazz much preferred Declan’s kisses. Those long, slow, tender
kisses that made her insides feel like cheese melting under the
grill.

Her head told her she was being a fool
again. Just like St John. But her heart was so much stronger than
her head that she pushed those thoughts aside.

The doorbell buzzed and made Jazz leap out
of bed. Who would be calling at this time of the morning? She
pulled on a robe, dragging the brush through her hair, her heart
leaping at the thought of Declan. Impatiently the chimes rang out
again, while Jazz paused to dab on lipstick and brush blusher over
her cheeks.

When she opened the door she was overwhelmed
by a massive bouquet of yellow roses. There were at least two
dozen, thought Jazz dazedly.

“They’re beautiful,” she gasped.

“I’m so glad you like them.”

Shock held her rooted to the spot as she
heard St John’s voice behind the floral arrangement. Without
waiting for an invitation he pushed past her into the room,
casually dumping the roses on the kitchen table.

“You look like you were expecting me,” he
smiled silkily at her, his brilliant hazel eyes shining
speculatively.

She stared back at him, mesmerized like a
rabbit staring into a car’s oncoming headlights, knowing it was
about to be crushed but unable to move out of the way. It was as if
she had surrendered her will to him the moment he walked in the
door and he had taken control.

He undid her robe, exposing her spaghetti
strap nightgown and gathering her into his arms. His mouth was
hard, his tongue so probing she felt he was trying to remove her
tonsils. It was such a contrast to Declan her body automatically
stiffened in rejection.

“Have you missed me?” Now he was mouthing
his way along her jaw as he squeezed her breasts through the thin
nightgown and roughly tweaked her nipples. “Or have you been a
naughty girl?”

Pushing him away, she pulled her robe around
her and retied the belt. “I wasn’t expecting anyone so early in the
morning,” she said.

“Not even Declan Cassidy?” St John looked at
her so penetratingly that hot color crept up her face. “I hear he’s
in town.”

So was it just his competitive nature that
had brought St John hotfooting it back to the snowfields?

Turning her back on him, Jazz moved into the
kitchen to look for a vase. Or two or three, she thought eyeing the
massive bouquet he’d purchased from the airport florist. Her
relationship with Declan was none of St John’s business and vice
versa. It wasn’t as if either man had made any sign of commitment
to her. She hadn’t seen or heard from St John since the Valentine
Polo Ball.

“I have a surprise for you,” St John
continued.

“What kind of surprise?” she called,
searching through her cupboards for something larger than a bud
vase. She found an old coffee jar and a crystal vase with a very
wide mouth. It had been a graduation present from her foster
parents. She had never used it but it would be perfect.

“Come and see.” St John was now lounging on
the sofa.

Jazz turned to glimpse St John waving an
airline ticket like a fan.

“For you. Tickets to Cannes. I hope your
passport’s in order.” He was grinning as though he was sure this
gesture would blow Declan’s interests out of the water. “I want you
to come with me to the Festival. My father and sister are there for
the awards and I thought we’d join them.”

“But I can’t go, St John,” she wailed. “I’m
working. Talking of work,” she looked at her watch and bolted for
the bathroom. “I’ve got to go. Tom will have a fit if I’m late
again.”

“Not until you promise me you’ll come.”

“But I can’t!”

“You should know that’s not a word in my
vocabulary. Doesn’t your slavedriver boss give you a vacation?”

“Yes, but I have to arrange my days off
ahead of time,” she rationalized.

“Look, think seriously about it. I’m flying
out this evening. I’ve got a hire car so I’ll meet you back here at
seven tonight and we’ll drive to the airport together. You’ll love
it – plenty of celebrities to gawk at. Plus you’ll get to meet my
dad Sir Roddy and my insufferable sister Jennifa Rhodes-Ross.” He
stood in the doorway of the bathroom while she discarded her
nightgown and leapt into the shower. “I’m tempted to jump in and
give you a hand. Or two.” He was watching her lasciviously as the
soap foamed over her breasts and ran down her stomach.

“Why don’t you call in sick today?” St John
hurriedly stripped off his clothes and plunged into the shower with
her. She gave a smothered screech of protest as his hands slid over
her soapy buttocks and between her legs.

“Just relax and enjoy it.” He put her soapy
hands around an erection so large it needed a condominium to cover
it. She felt his skin moving like silk between her palms. “Just
think, no mess afterwards.” He pushed her to her knees. Water
sprayed into her face as she opened her mouth as wide as the rose
vase and took him between her lips.

* * *

“That’s the second misdiagnosis you’ve made
today,” Tom Laurence chastised a pale-faced Jazz standing with
bowed head and hands stuffed into her white coat pockets. He
continued to lecture. “That ovarian cyst should have been obvious
to you during the pelvic exam, Jasmine. Especially after Mrs Wilson
gave you a list of her symptoms. I don’t know how you missed it.
I’ve made a note to send her for an ultrasound to check it out
further.”

“I’m sorry, Tom,” Jazz said miserably.

During her entire shift she hadn’t been able
to drag her agitated mind away from reflections of St John and
Declan. St John’s unexpected appearance that morning and her
passionate reaction to him had stunned her. During her relaxed,
cozy evenings with Declan and Newt she hadn’t given St John a
thought. But he was like an incurable addiction and when he
appeared she seemed unable to resist him. Plus, she had no idea if
her strong feelings for Declan were reciprocated. If she went to
Cannes with St John she would blow any chance she might have with
Declan. But was there any point in passing up the trip to Cannes if
Declan wasn’t interested?

“It’s just as well I’m on the ball today.
The last thing the hospital needs is a malpractice suit,” Tom said
shirtily, flipping through patient charts. Jazz had been unusually
silent throughout her shift and uncharacteristically woolly-headed.
Looking up, Tom finally recognized how pale and strained his
assistant’s face was. “Is there anything wrong? Are you coming down
with a cold?”

Jazz quivered. She certainly didn’t feel her
best. Her whirlwind thoughts made concentration on work an
impossible task. Maybe a break from the hospital would help.

“My head is pounding,” Jazz admitted. “Maybe
I’m coming down with the flu.”

“Well take a few days off. At least the ski
season’s all but over and there’s nothing I can’t handle,” he said
magnanimously. “The last thing we want is a bug to get into the
hospital air conditioning and half the staff to call in sick.”

Relieved, Jazz fled the hospital. She had
promised to fix dinner for Declan and Newt after work and she had
left St John asleep in her apartment that morning when she rushed
off to work.

Only Newt was at the condo when Jazz pulled
into the driveway.

“Where’s Declan?” she asked.

“Buying groceries for tonight if you can
believe that!” Newt laughed. “What’s up? You look like you could
use a stiff brandy.” Despite her protests he forced her to take a
few sips.

“What would you say if I took a raincheck on
dinner tonight?” she asked hesitantly.

“No sweat. Samantha’s been angling for an
invitation to cook since we arrived.”

Jazz immediately felt irritated that she was
being replaced so easily. With their money they could have taken
her out for dinner, she thought, and yet she’d prepared meals for
them on several occasions so they could relax and enjoy the
intimate atmosphere at home.

“So as soon as I can’t do it, you just haul
in the next bimbette.” Jazz didn’t try to hide her irritation.
“Well I’m glad I haven’t upset your plans for the evening.” Any
guilt she had been feeling about St John evaporated.

Newt laughed. “Relax – Samantha’s no threat.
She’s dying to get married and she had to give up on Declan when he
told her regretfully that he could only marry a Catholic. She did
momentarily contemplate taking Holy Communion but I talked her out
of it. So now she’s communing with Protestant me instead of
Declan,” he said smugly. “Drink up your brandy, it’ll put some
color in your cheeks.”

At his words Jazz’s thimble-f of hope
expired and she slouched despondently. “Is that true, Newt, that
Declan would only be serious about a Catholic girl?” She
desperately tried to sound offhand.

Newt sat down beside her and took her hand
in his. “Declan comes from one of America’s most prominent Irish
Catholic dynasties. His family have high political expectations for
him. What do you think?” he asked her, his freckled face for once
grave and concerned.

Jazz sniffed and gulped the brandy which
burnt her throat and made her splutter. If Declan was only going to
get serious about a Catholic girl that meant their time together
was a mere dalliance. She had been a fool to expect anything more
from him.

“Now that we’ve written Declan out of the
picture, are we still buddies?” he opened his arms invitingly.

“Still buddies,” Jazz returned his bear hug
but couldn’t stop the tears brimming in her eyes.

“Hey, what’s this?” Newt wiped a thumb
across her cheek to dab away the sparkling trail.

“I’m going to miss you guys,” she
sighed.

“We’re not going anywhere just yet,” Newt
objected.

“No, but I am. Will you say good bye to
Declan for me?” Jazz decided it was fruitless waiting around to be
dumped. She might as well mend her broken heart in the Riviera with
a gorgeous hunk to keep her company.

“Hey, this is very sudden. Just last night
you were making plans with Dec and me for the weekend. I shouldn’t
have opened my big mouth. Why don’t you wait till Dec comes home
and we can talk about it? He’ll be sorry to miss you.” Newt’s
cheeky face now looked seriously upset.

“I can’t stay, Newt. It’s been a great week.
I know Declan has to get back to NYU for Summer school so it’s not
like I’ll ever see either of you again.” Jazz gave him another
quick hug and dashed to her car before she changed her mind.

She concentrated on the road to distract
herself from falling apart. Damn it, why had she fallen for Declan
so quickly! She had fooled herself into thinking they might have a
future. She was far better off sticking with St John. At least she
knew where she stood with him.

* * *

Driving Newt’s pick up truck down the main
street on his way to see Jazz and extract an explanation from her
about bailing on their evening, Declan passed a shiny blue Ferrari
coming the other way. Long, red hair flying out the window made him
take a second look to recognize St John Rhodes-Ross at the wheel
with Jazz beside him. His foot hit the brake, causing angry honking
from the two cars behind him as he peeled off the main road into a
side street.

His first instinct was to wheel around and
follow them, grab Jazz by her red mane and demand to know what kind
of game she was playing. The idyllic week they had spent together
had made him think he could be falling in love.