my future children,” he groaned.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I feel terrible.”
“Not as terrible as I feel, Duchess.”
“What can I do?”
“Distract me.”
“O-okay,” she said. “Okay. I, um, I have an idea. Want to hear it?”
“Does it include you takin’ off your sports bra?”
She shook her head no, but her emeralds sparkled just the way he liked.
“Go ’head,” he said, nodding weakly.
“I looked through the scripts. After we talked on Monday? I looked through them.”
He had no idea where she was going with this. “Okay. And?”
“I found one. A good one, I think. But it’s not a movie. It’s TV.”
“What’s the…difference?” he asked, the last part coming out in a groan as the pain lessened from white-hot intensity to a throbbing ache.
She shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”
“Go on.”
“It’s, um, well, it’s a police procedural called Philadelphia Vice, and I—”
“Like CSI?”
“More like Law and Order.”
This was interesting. “Based on the Philly PD?”
She nodded.
Unbelievably, her nonnaked distraction was actually helping. The nausea was subsiding and he could sit back a little. “Go on.”
“I was wondering…that is, if you had the time…”
“You want me to take a look at it? At the script?”
She shrugged, but her sweet lips had already tilted up into a little smile. “Would you?”
“Why not? I’ll take it with me and look at it tonight. I can still read, thank God.”
“Thank you!” she said, leaning forward like she was going to hug him, then wincing and taking a step back. “That means a lot to me. It’s the first project I’ve been excited about in months.”
“In that case, I’ll do you one better, Duchesse,” he said, finally standing up again. “Want to see a real cop hangout? Best way to know if your scriptwriter is capturing the real thing.”
“Are you serious?” Her eyes widened. “Yeah! I mean, yes! I’d love it.”
“Friday night?”
“Sure! Yes!” she said.
“One catch, though,” he said, taking a deep breath and hating what he had to say next. But if he was going to figure out how to live this life, he had to start somewhere. “I can’t drive anymore.”
Her smile was blinding. “Good thing I can.”
Exhaling with relief as he stared at her lips, he actually felt himself start to fall, and instead of scowling, he smiled back at her, because there wasn’t one goddamn thing he cared to do about it.
Chapter 9
Last night, Jax had enjoyed one of Mad’s signature dinners—blue cheese, fig, prosciutto, and arugula pizza with a fresh herb salad and homemade orange sorbet for dessert. Everything fresh. Everything delicious, of course.
As they sat down for dinner, Mad casually asked about Gard, and Jax’s expression alone was enough to let the cat out of the bag.
“Oh. My. God!” exclaimed Mad as Jax’s cheeks flushed. “Did you sleep with him?”
“Way to go, Jax,” said J.C., waging war with a difficult wine cork. “I would’ve thought there were cobwebs down there by now.”
“You’re disgusting,” she told her brother, who wedged the wine bottle between his thighs and kept pulling. “I hope you end up with Merlot on your jeans.”
“Shut up, Jean-Christian,” said Mad. She turned to Jax. “Tell me what’s going on!”
“It was…” She was about to say “nothing,” but she could hear his voice in her head saying, I don’t know exactly what it was yet…but it wasn’t nothin’, and she couldn’t. “We kissed.”
Mad gasped. “And…?”
Jax grinned, then rolled her eyes. “It was a good kiss.”
“Who is this guy again?” asked J.C., finally wrestling the cork out of the bottle with a satisfying pop.
“The Englishes’ gardener,” supplied Mad, holding out her glass.
“Huh. Slumming?” asked J.C., pouring a healthy splash for Mad.
“What?” Jax gave him a look. “No. No! He’s just…he’s teaching me self-defense.”
“And tonsil hockey,” said J.C., pouring Jax a glass. “Someone’s cavorting with the help.”
“Shut up, J.C. You’re a horse’s ass.”
“I’m an ass? What would our chère maman say about you fucking the neighbor’s gardener?” he asked with a smirk.
Jax’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not fucking him, one. And two…who cares? She’s in Paris.”
“Well, he’s certainly not the right kind. Kate English is the right kind,” J.C. reminded her, “and Maman barely tolerates her.”
“Well, in case you hadn’t noticed,” said Jax. “I’m an adult. I’ll screw whomever I please. Not that I am. I mean, we’re not. I just…I like him.” She shrugged, peeking at Mad over her wine glass. “And I’m reading scripts again.”
“You are?” asked Mad, her smile dreamy and happy. “Then I like him too.”
“Long live Queen Jax and the lowly gardener,” said J.C., raising his glass to her, then snickering.