The Kept Woman (19 page)

"Uh, Mom?" Lily asked over Chinese food. "What time are Monte and Simon supposed to come over to the house? What if they get there before we're even home? Isn't Jack's mom supposed to show up sometime today?"

"She's already there," Sam said, trying to sound like she'd nearly forgotten that little fact. "She got in late last night."

"Oh?" Greg put down his fork. "So you've already met the dragon lady?"

Sam widened her eyes at Greg and inclined her head toward Dakota, who was munching on his fifth fortune cookie. "I haven't actually met Mrs. Tolliver. We caught a quick glimpse of each other before she got settled last night, but we haven't spoken."

"Ah, so that's why it's been family fun day," Lily said, with a knowing smile.

Sam's final stop was O'Malia's grocery store, which looked like it had been raided by a horde of Vikings. She grabbed the last remaining half gallon of eggnog and the least broken-looking pack of Christmas cookies and headed home. Monte's car was in the drive when they arrived, and Sam said a silent prayer that Marguerite had already left for church.

The group came through the garage entrance and made their way into the kitchen, finding only Monte, Jack, and Simon. Jack had the biggest smile on his face when he saw them. "Merry Christmas!" he said.

"I'm sorry we're a little late."

"We didn't want to see the dinosaur lady," Dakota said, at the very instant Mrs. Tolliver set foot in the kitchen. Sam wanted to roll up in a ball and die.

"I have the most unfortunate timing!" Marguerite said with a stiff smile. "It seems I always arrive right in the middle of the festivities."

Jack's mother turned her laser-beam gaze on Sam. Marguerite had Jack's green cat eyes, their shape accentuated by a few too many trips to the plastic surgeon. She had draped her rail-thin body in thousands of dollars of designer clothes, shoes, and accessories. Sam tried to remember what she'd worn that day—which jeans and which sweater—and stammered out her introductions, starting with the children, who all addressed Marguerite respectfully, thank God. But when Sam got to Monte and Simon she could barely keep a straight face. She knew exactly what was going through her friend's head. How many times had they laughed about this at Le Cirque?

Marguerite sported Monte's pet peeve white woman hairdo, which she gleefully referred to as the "Rich Bitch A-line Bob from Hell," a style cut higher in the back than the front, pulled back from the brow, and held in gravity-defying place with what looked like several coats of polyurethane. It never ceased to amaze Sam and Monte how even women with money could cling to one bad hairstyle and refuse to part with it until the day they died.

Marguerite's version of the hated coif was made all the more hideous because of the overprocessed condition of her hair. She was what Sam and Monte called a cotton-candy blonde, a woman whose hair had been bleached for so many years that it had the consistency of dryer lint. This woman needed an emergency hair resuscitation and she needed it
now
.

"So very nice to meet you," Monte said to Marguerite, keeping her eyes away from Sam.

The front door chimes echoed through the foyer and Marguerite said, "That would be my driver. It's been a pleasure meeting you all. Samantha, would you mind very much walking with me to the front door?"

"I'd be happy to do that," Jack quickly offered.

"No, no. I just want a private moment with Samantha before we enjoy our respective evenings." Marguerite returned her gaze to Sam. "Shall we?"

"Mother, there is really no need to—"

"I've got it, Jack," Sam said with a nod. "I'd love to see her out."

This wouldn't be good, Sam knew, and that's why Jack had tried to spare her. But she steeled herself and followed Marguerite to the mansion's huge arched front door, where Jack's mother assured the driver that she would be just a moment. She turned a frosty smile on Sam.

"So now, which is it, Miss Monroe? Are you Jack's paramour or are you his employee? I must admit I'm flummoxed about the entire business."

Sam opened her mouth to say something just as Marguerite glanced down at Sam's ring finger and flinched. The woman slowly raised her eyes again and gave Sam one hell of an intimidating glare.

"I have only one thing to say to you, Samantha, and please listen carefully. Do not get your empty little head full of dreams that you will somehow snare my son. This is a temporary upgrade for you. Do not get used to it. Are we understanding each other?"

Sam blinked, stupefied. She'd done hair on women like Marguerite, women who believed that money and status gave them the right to treat a stylist like a servant, but those chicks had clearly only been a warm-up for this encounter. Marguerite Dickinson Tolliver was a beast, and two things had just become very clear to Sam: it was no mystery why Jack had issues with women, and it was a miracle that the man had any redeeming qualities whatsoever.

"It is quite obvious you have something you'd like to say to me, Miss Monroe. By all means, let's hear it."

Sam cleared her throat. Sure, she had a few things she wanted to say. She wanted to apologize for how everything had started so awkwardly between them. She wanted to tell her that she had no right to be so condescending. She wanted to tell her to stay away from her children or she'd get her ass kicked. But most of all, she wanted to tell Marguerite that Jack and Sam's relationship was none of her damn business.

Instead, all Sam could manage was, "Whoever's been doing your hair should be doing hard time instead."

"
You said what?
"

Jack sat cross-legged on the great room rug in front of Sam, staring at her in wonder. He'd been right about her from the start. She was a survivor. Anyone who could go toe-to-toe with MDT should get hazardous duty pay. Or a medal.

"I know I could have been more mature about it, and that she's your mother and this is her house, but I couldn't help it. She made me mad."

Jack grinned. He was having the best Christmas Eve he could ever remember. It had been a hoot watching the kids open their gifts, sheer wonder in their eyes as they tore open the wrapping paper on computers, iPods, clothes, music, and toys. They'd all thanked Jack politely for his hefty gift certificates. Simon had shaken his hand and said, "That was nice of you, man. Thank you." Greg had given him a hearty pat on the shoulder. And Lily had smiled at him shyly. Both Benjamin and Monte had thanked him for his gifts with unabashed hugs followed by kisses on the cheek, though Benjamin's was a bit sloppier than Monte's.

The highlight of the evening was when Monte opened the gift she'd received from Sam. With a puzzled look on her face, she held up a recent copy of
Indianapolis Monthly
emblazoned with the headline
Where the Boys Are: The Top Ten Hangouts of the City's Sexiest Single Men!

"You got me a two-month-old magazine for Christmas?" Monte asked incredulously. "Did you swipe this from the salon?" Sam had laughed and told her to open it to the marked page. They all watched as Monte read, then laughed, then opened an envelope that had been tucked inside. She wiped her eyes and sighed. "So what exactly are you inspiring me to do, girl? Finally take care of myself? Or use this exclusive fitness club gig to grab me one of them sexy single men?"

"All of the above, babe," Sam had answered, and the two women hugged each other and cried for what seemed like ten minutes. Jack used the time to help the older kids read their computer set-up guides.

Jack had saved Sam's gift for now, when everyone else had gone off to the north wing to sleep. Monte and the older kids had been instrumental in helping Jack decide what to get Sam and how to pull it together. He couldn't have done it without Monte's help yesterday. But everything was ready and he couldn't wait to see Sam's face the moment it was revealed.

"Are you ready for your gift?" he asked her.

A puzzled frown settled between her brows. "I thought I got my gift yesterday."

"Nope. That was just an appetizer, and besides, that was more for me, like I said. This gift is all for you. Let's go see it." Jack stood up, stretched his knee for a second, and reached down for Sam. He pulled her up and took her hand, walking with her up the central staircase. When they reached the landing, he felt her automatically turn toward the guest wing, but he redirected her.

"Where are we going?" she asked, a surprised smile on her face.

"Close your eyes, Samantha," he said, once they were in the south wing's hallway. "I'll tell you when you can look."

The door groaned loudly when it opened, and Jack made a mental note to get back up here and oil the hinges. He flipped on the overhead light and looked around at his handiwork. He hoped she liked it. Monte had assured him she would. "Stay put just a second. No peeking."

Jack went ahead and turned on the two high-resolution lights he'd bought at the art supply store, then checked one last time to make sure everything was in its place. He returned to her side and held her hand.

"Merry Christmas, Sam. You can open now."

This was not the reaction he expected. Sam stood completely still, her face twisting in pain as the tears ran down her pretty cheeks. She shook her head and mumbled, "No, no, no. . .."

"It won't work? I was hoping—"

"Oh my God, Jack." She walked into the center of the room, still shaking her head. He watched her touch the easels and the long worktable and walk over to the sink. Then she noticed how the floor was covered with pristine drop cloths. She glanced at the three six-foot-long sawhorses. Then she walked to each of the three bare, tall windows, finally stopping at the last window, leaning her hands on the sill, and looking out into the night.

Jack figured she was still crying, but he hoped they were tears of surprise and happiness. He hadn't wanted to offend her by this. He only wanted her to enjoy these coming months.

Sam finally turned toward him. She was scowling. She crossed her arms over her chest and walked up to him where he stood by the door.

"Why did you do this?"

"I—what do you mean?"

She waved her arms around her. "This! This is extravagant. Way over-the-top. I could have found a corner somewhere and—"

"Monte told me you were planning to work with some really big canvases, and I wanted to make sure you had enough room and light."

Sam's eyes got huge.

"I found those sawhorses out in the potting shed and thought they might come in handy for that. This room was my father's nursery and that's why there's a sink and bathroom in here. I thought it would make a perfect studio."

"Does Marguerite know you've done this?"

"Nope."

Sam laughed and shook her head some more. "You kind of like this, don't you? Waving me and the kids under her nose."

Jack took a deep breath and studied Sam. "Maybe you have a point. But I didn't put this studio together to piss off MDT. I did it for you. Please believe me."

Sam nodded. "It's just too much."

"No, it's not." Jack walked toward Sam and hugged her. He kissed her hair. "You deserve this, Sam. I can do it for you and it's something you have wanted for a long time. Please accept this gift."

She hugged him tight and buried her face in his chest. He just held her like that for several minutes, feeling her breathing slow.

"I am scared," she said, her voice muffled by his sweater.

"Of what, sweetheart?"

She pulled away from his embrace and looked into his eyes, all seriousness. "I'm scared of you, Jack. You're so good at this that you've managed to push all my buttons—outrageous sex, sweet thoughtfulness, attention, romance, concern for my happiness." Sam laughed and shook her head again. "I've known you less than two months and I'm going under, Jack. If you keep this up, we're going to have a really big problem. I'll fall in love with you."

Jack felt his heart stop. He'd been here too many times, and it was always the cue for him to go. He'd never wanted a woman to love him. He'd never trusted the ones who'd claimed they did. He'd never wanted love and commitment and the risk that went along with it. But for some reason, his feet weren't itching this time. There was no instinct to bolt with Sam Monroe. He was OK with this. Better than OK. Jack smiled down at her, realizing he was immensely pleased by what she'd just said.

Yet another mystery.

"You don't have to be afraid, Sam. And you're not getting all those things from me because I'm 'good' at this. I'm crazy about you. And I don't know how I got so lucky to have found you."

He kissed her. It felt so right to have Sam settle into his arms the way she just did, pressing up against him as her mouth yielded to his. She felt perfect. And he had the sudden realization that something changed in him when he was with her like this. He felt like a whole person, a person who was connected to something real. And he was overcome with the desire to do whatever it took to make this woman happy and to make this woman his.

"Come to my bed with me, Jack," Sam whispered into his ear. "Let me thank you properly for your gift."

They turned off the lights, shut the door, and made their way in silence to Sam's suite. He locked the double doors, flipped on the fireplace, and left the lights off, re-creating the night of the ice storm, the night his heart had begun to melt.

He managed to carry Sam to the bed this time, the way he'd always envisioned, and then slowly began to remove her clothes, the tiny buttons not as difficult to open as he'd imagined. He gasped. Beneath that simple sweater, Samantha had been wearing his gift, and the sight of her beautiful breasts spilling out from the red satin was more than he could take. He ripped off her jeans and his own clothes and he went to the foot of the bed and stared at her in wonder as his vision came to life. Sam raised one knee, threw her arms over her head, and smiled at him, her auburn curls spilling out on a sea of pillows. He felt something foreign and powerful well up inside him and he had to admit it was not completely welcome, but he went with it anyway. Jack crawled up the bed and covered her body with his, knowing that his tears were impossible to hide because they were running down Sam's neck more than his own.