Just a Little White Lie(16)
“She’s good, isn’t she?” Lucinda whispered. “She sounds so tearful that I’ll bet three-fourths of the viewers believe she’s crying. Yet notice not one drop has actually fallen. It would ruin her makeup.”
“Is she that calculating?”
“Oh yeah. Don’t ever underestimate my mother, Jake.”
His eyes clouded. “Maybe you should give her a quick buzz. My mom would be beside herself.”
A quick stab of pain zinged through her. “Don’t confuse your mother and mine, Jake Parker. Your mother probably would be worried.” She waved a hand, dismissing his concern. “With my mom, it’s all about the mess I’ve created. The social implications of what I’ve done, not with how I’m personally coping.”
“That sounds rather harsh.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes life is harsh.”
The pizza arrived. Jake threw her a disquieted look and jumped up to get it. They turned to a rerun of Seinfeld while they ate, tabling their conversation about mothers.
The later it got, the more awkward Lucinda felt. Strange, but it had been easier the night before when she had actually shared a bed with Jake. Of course, then, she could chalk it up to a situation pretty much out of her control. But tonight? Here they were, two healthy adults sharing a house, a decision both had made more or less of their own free will.
Jake lounged on the couch, remote in hand, surfing the channels the same way he had the night before in the hotel. TV. A man’s refuge. She’d flipped through the same magazine three times. Nothing caught her interest.
Except Jake. The man was hot. Flash-point hot. Lucinda swore the very air around him vibrated with a sexual charge. And it infuriated her that her mind raced along that path. Fantasized about where it could lead.
No. It absolutely could not go there. Time to escape. She bid Jake a hurried good-night and scampered off to her room.
She still had no clothes and had borrowed another of Jake’s shirts to sleep in. She prayed Maynard would get his butt in gear early tomorrow and get her things on their way. Bad enough to be so totally out of her element, but to have to do it without any of her clothes, any of her things…worse, much worse.
She showered, brushed her teeth and slipped into Jake’s soft cotton tee. After hand-washing her bra and undies, she hung them over the shower rod to dry.
Then she crawled into bed and, without warning, started to cry. One, two tears. A few more, then a barrage. The harder she tried to stop, the faster they came.
Jake couldn’t sleep. Knowing Lucinda was tucked away in his extra bedroom, wearing only his shirt, was bad enough. Add in her delicate, lacy underwear draped over the shower rod in his bath, and his willpower strained beyond the breaking point. His mind couldn’t help straying onto very dangerous ground.
Picturing her in the role of the enemy didn’t work anymore. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t imagine Lucy going along with Darling Enterprise’s carpetbaggery in Mississippi.
True, he’d only spent a day and a half with her. Still, he was certain she didn’t have it in her to toss families into the streets. She simply didn’t possess the cutthroat coldness it would take. Again, he remembered her wrapped around him last night. Her warmth. Fire leaped in his gut. Dangerous.
Maybe a beer would help. He’d found a six-pack in the back of the fridge and decided it alone deserved saving. The sole survivor of his refrigerator purge.
He was halfway down the hall when he heard her.
Panic, absolute and intense, grabbed him. If there was one thing in this world he couldn’t deal with, it was a woman’s tears.
He’d expected them last night.
They filled him with a bone-deep terror.
He could just creep back to his room. She’d never know. Or he could try to make it to the kitchen, take the whole darn six-pack to his room and drink the situation away.
Or he could knock, ask if there was anything he could do to help.
He called himself every kind of fool as he rapped on her door. What the heck was he doing? Run, fast and far.
But before his feet could move, he heard her voice, tremulous and hesitant. “Yes?”
That was followed by loud sniffling.
He opened the door a crack and peeked in. His heart broke. She sat in the middle of the bed, nearly lost in his faded shirt, a mound of tissues beside her, crying up a storm. Her eyes were red and swollen, her nose running.
She sure didn’t look like his idea of a high-society maven.
“Ah, Lucy. Don’t.” He stood in the doorway, unwilling to enter. Throwing caution to the wind, he went with his gut. He crossed to the bed, sat on the edge and pulled her to him. Held her tight.