The Usual Family Mayhem

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Abigail was at the house.”

Jackson repeated my point for the third time. “Standing in Mags’s kitchen?”

We really needed to move this along. He told me he’d arranged to meet his father at the condo right about now. Jackson tried to call a few minutes ago and wave his dad off but couldn’t reach him. The clashing of our schedules was my fault, not Harlan’s. I’d stopped by without warning. I hoped to be long gone before Harlan arrived in all his glorious splendor.

This was why Gram had those call-first visitation rules. I got it now.

We stood in Jackson’s quiet family room with the television turned off. No music. Not a pillow out of place. Not a dish or cup on the kitchen counter. Not a stray scrap of mail floating around. The place had a show-home feel. Classy not flashy. Streamlined with soothing colors. Basically, it looked like no one lived there.

My initial plan didn’t include rushing through my new Abigail information. Drawing out the visit, testing the attraction, maybe working in another kiss before talking about poison—because kiss before poison was the right order—sounded good. Then Gram and Celia unloaded on me, and a hundred topics jumbled in my brain, all of which had to be sorted before Harlan showed up.

Celia and Gram knew about the kiss. Hell, knowing them they might have photos of it. They’d danced around their concerns about it happening but the fact they had any concerns was confusing. Did they really have a problem with the kiss?

Jackson slipped off his suit jacket and tie and sat down next to me on the couch. “Abigail being with Mags and Celia doesn’t necessarily—”

“Jackson.”

No. We were not playing this game. “Don’t even try to make it make sense.”

“She’s a client.”

Why were we debating this? The woman probably offed her nasty spouse. Thanks to seeing Abigail in person, talking with her, I grew more confident about my conclusion the more I thought about it. The open question was if Gram and Celia’s fingerprints were all over this mess. “The woman just lost her husband and is under suspicion for his murder. Instead of grieving in private, she’s running around town, visiting Celia and Gram.”

Jackson lounged, looking calm but engaged. “People handle death in different ways.”

“I get that. I’m not a fan of competitive grieving or telling people how they should act when they lose someone.”

As a person who waded knee-deep in family trauma for most of my life, I understood how complex and complicated grief could be. Pain could sneak up and drop you to your knees at unexpected times, often after years of being tucked away and cordoned off. Seeing a mother and daughter walking in the park. Standing in line behind a woman with the exact shade of brown hair that you’d seen in family photos.

Smelling chocolate cake, my mom’s favorite.

Riding out the alternating waves of fury and agony was a job society demanded survivors perform in private, behind thick walls where sound and light couldn’t penetrate. Mourning was fine but once the body of this precious person was laid in the ground your grieving needed to find an outlet, a quiet one that didn’t make other people uncomfortable. It was your job to transform, rise above, be brave, and move on . . . or pretend to.

Living that lie ate up an enormous amount of energy. So did keeping the despair at bay. The hard fact was that you didn’t overcome a loss of that magnitude or grow to accept it. If you were lucky you found a way to survive it. Even then, rage could burn uncontrolled, begging for an outlet.

Dragging out those murky memories and dissecting them had a time and a place but this wasn’t it. So many issues fired around Jackson and me. So many ways to trip up. We needed to talk this through, and “this”

meant one of many open topics.

I focused on the most obvious one, and the supposed reason for my visit. “We can make up excuses but why was Abigail at the house? Because she wanted a cupcake? The cupcakes are great, but I doubt that’s the reason.”

He opened his mouth then closed it again. Whatever lecture he planned to give seemed to vanish. “I don’t know.”

That is not where I thought he was going with that windup. “You never say that.”

“I’m not an asshole. I don’t pretend to know everything.”

His fingers slipped into my hair. The light touch kicked off a yearning I didn’t have the strength to lasso and subdue. “No, you’re not an asshole. Confusing. Frustrating. Hotter than you have a right to be, but not an asshole.”

“Want to talk about the ‘hotter’ part?”

He flashed a smile that said who cares about any issue but this one?

“No.”

Didn’t need to. The thought played nonstop in my mind these days.

“You once told me I looked like a car ran over my face.”

I laughed because younger me had been quite the charmer. “I was nine at the time and you deserved it. You tattled to Gram about my eating a chunk of Celia’s birthday cake before the party.”

“You did eat it.”

Not quite. I ate three chunks then had to deal with a different type of chunk. I threw up for an hour but was that the point? “No one likes a teenage narc.”

“My job was to lie and take the blame for you?”

“Nice of you to finally admit it. Yes. And you’ve grown into your face. It’s cute now.”

He pretended to weigh those words. “I think that was a compliment.”

“I kissed you last night, didn’t I?”

Yep. I brought up the topic I’d planned to avoid until absolutely necessary. Dragged it out and set it on the table in front of us.

Smooth.

“Technically, I kissed you,” he said.

I saw it that way, too. “It was mutual.”

“And amazing.”

His fingers dipped deeper into my hair and his thigh pressed against mine. That uniquely Jackson scent wrapped around me, knocking out what little common sense I still possessed.

“Are you flirting with me?”

Please say yes.

“The fact you can’t tell is very frustrating. How exactly do men in DC date?”

Talk about killing the mood. My mind flipped to my last few dates, and I renewed my vow never to pick a blind date over a night in, watching a Housewives TV marathon, again. “You don’t want to know.”

“I’d like to kiss you again.”

My heart took off on a wild roller-coaster ride. He’d barely touched me while he whispered the words I longed to hear. My self-protective shields crumbled.

Still, a woman could not be too careful. Rushing in—my lifelong method of doing anything—was the wrong choice here. Our lives were too bound up and interconnected for that. “Why?”

His eyes widened. “Why?”

“It’s a legitimate question. You’ve spent years being annoyed by me. You’ve never shown any interest before now.”

I refused to describe our first kiss again as an example, especially after his mouth dropped open like that. “What’s with the face?”

“For a smart woman you can be pretty clueless.”

His thumb brushed against the skin on the base of my neck. The shiver that ran through me almost knocked me off the couch. He had to have felt it.

I didn’t even know what we were talking about anymore.

“What if I kissed you right now?” he asked.

No thinking it through and weighing the consequences. “I wouldn’t stop you.”

That sexy smile of his made another appearance. “Interesting.”

He cradled my head in his palm. The pull between us tugged until my body leaned in. My mouth hovered an inch from his. “I’m a complex woman.”

“That you are.”

Then his mouth was on mine. This kiss, scorching and fierce, made the same demands as the last one. Stop worrying. Lose the inhibitions. Don’t think about what could go wrong. Dive in and feel. I mentally said yes to all of it.

The kiss raged on. He lifted his mouth long enough for his breath to brush over my cheek, then our lips met again. The couch cushion dipped, bringing his body tight against mine. My hands roamed over his shoulders. His arms wrapped around me.

When his mouth moved to my neck every nerve ending kicked to life. My eyes begged to close so my body could savor the moment. My brain started to shut down. I fought to remember why I came to the condo and what mattered so much that I had to see him that night.

Oh, right. “We’re supposed to come up with a plan for me to come clean with Gram and Celia.”

I sounded breathless and blamed that thing he was doing with his tongue. What was that? If his mouth skimmed over my ear one more time he’d find me on his lap.

“That’s definitely a later problem.”

He sounded equally out of breath as his hand slid down my side. His fingers slipped under the hem of my shirt. “I suggest we table any conversation about other people and deadly concoctions.”

He pressed gently, pushing our bodies down deeper into the cushions. I pulled him in close. Brought his body tight against mine as my back hit the couch.

“I suppose you think that’s sexy lawyer talk.”

He lifted his head just long enough to wink at me. “I can give you sexy talk, if that’s what you want.”

That deep voice was going to be the death of me.

I wanted his suit off and to somehow get to his bedroom. He had one, right? Who the hell knew at this point.

“Dad won’t be here for . . .”

He glanced up at the clock. “Oh, shit.”

Harlan. Yep, the mention of his name killed the moment. I relaxed into the pillows stacked behind me and sighed because sighing seemed like the right call.

“Gram and Celia saw us kiss.”

The words popped out. It took me a second to realize I was the idiot who said them.

Jackson froze above me but didn’t get up. “What?”

I was in it now. If we were going to kill the mood, we might as well stomp on it and bury it as well. “They were lurking at the upstairs window. We really need to find them a hobby.”

He frowned. “They told you they saw the kiss?”

His body slipped over mine in a way I’d dreamed about for years, but we were talking about the ladies. An unsettling combination and pretty much the norm for us lately. “They thought I was cheating on my boyfriend with you.”

“What boyfriend?”

He didn’t shout but got really close.

“Brock.”

Jackson shook his head but that didn’t clear the confusion in his eyes. “That guy?”

“Now you know how I felt during the entire conversation with them.”

“Okay . . .”

He lifted his body up on his elbows.

I detested even that small distance between us. “They’re very up in our business.”

The familiar sound of the doorbell rang out and Jackson lowered his head in what looked like defeat. “I can’t catch a break here.”

“It’s been that kind of day.”

“I’m sure it’s Dad.”

Jackson exhaled. “I’d say his timing sucks but I’m the one who invited him tonight. This is on me.”

I could smell Jackson’s hair. Run my fingers through it. Breathe in the scent of him.

Then I thought about Harlan and how Jackson had to be adopted because they were too different to be blood related. “I wanted to be long gone before he got here. Then you lured me to the dark side with that hot mouth of yours. I forgot about Harlan because I never think of Harlan and kissing at the same time.”

“That last part is especially good to hear.”

Jackson sat up and took me with him. Our arms and legs tangled. Neither of us rushed to separate or open the door to Harlan.

The doorbell rang again. As if I needed another reason not to like Harlan. “I don’t suppose you have a window ledge I could hide on.”

“You’re afraid of heights.”

“It was a joke.”

I stared at the window, trying to figure out how high off the ground the third floor actually was. “Mostly.”

He brushed my hair off my face. “You could—”

“I’ll hide in the bedroom.”

I didn’t wait for his vote. I jumped up and nearly dropped again when my knees buckled.

He stood up in time to catch me. Didn’t miss a beat. “Or you could be here when Dad comes in because we’re adults. You’re allowed to be in my house. In fact, I want you in my house.”

Those strong hands against my back. That cute face hovering above mine. A woman could get used to this. “You’re the only Quaid man I’m interested in spending any time with.”

He wiggled his eyebrows, which was both cute and the least Jackson move ever. “We’re going to talk about that after Dad leaves.”

“I’m about talked out for one day. Gram and Celia were on fire.”

Banging this time. No more doorbell. It sounded like Harlan had switched to pounding his fist against the door. I could hear him calling out for Jackson.

“Let him in before he ticks off the neighbors. I’ll be in the coat closet, so make his visit short.”

Not the most adult thing I’d ever said, but not the worst either. “You don’t want to disappoint him.”

Jackson’s smile fell. “But I always do.”