No More Mr. Nice - By Renee Roszel Page 0,68
two weeks ago? It hardly seemed so. Unable to control her unhappiness, her soul cried out to him, knowing even as she did, that it was hopeless. But why, oh, why, couldn’t his softening extend to his feelings for her?
She supposed she knew the answer. A few tickets, flowers and an after-school job were a far cry from committing to marriage and a family. Lucas had obviously come a long way in two weeks, but he would never allow himself to fill the emptiness in her heart with a vow of love.
Over the past four days, she hadn’t for one minute been able to put Lucas’s face from her mind—especially as it was that last time she’d seen him, with that haunted expression when he’d left her at his cottage. Why did she have to love a man who couldn’t allow himself to care for people? Overwhelmed by a sense of desolation, she swallowed back a sob.
“Mrs. Glen?” Spitball asked loudly, obviously trying to get her attention. “What?” she squeaked, then cleared her throat. “Yes, Spitball?”
He indicated the pudding bowl. “You think they have any more of that brown stuff? It’s funky.”
Moses grunted. “Hey, man, you come here to see Molly or starve her skinny butt to death?”
They all laughed and jostled Spitball, who reddened and grinned sheepishly. Jess struggled to concentrate on the kids’ jabbering about what was happening in school and their excitement over the upcoming Taylor Swift concert. She tried to put the elusive Lucas Brand from her mind, and failed, dismally.
LUCAS SAT IN THE BACK of his limo on the way to the airport, going over some last minute notes. His corporate jet was leaving for Tokyo in thirty minutes. He hadn’t expected to make the trip alone, but Sol was still in the hospital, recovering from flu and exhaustion, and Fletch was on a second honeymoon at the insistence of his wife, who’d hysterically demanded either he go away with her for two solid weeks or she was gone!
Lucas hadn’t minded giving Fletch the time off. They all needed a rest. Besides, he didn’t relish ruining a friend’s marriage. He’d ruined his own—at least that’s what his wife had said.
Long ago he’d purposely cast off all involvements. He’d never wanted to deal with the pain of loss again. The last time he’d gotten emotionally involved was when he’d married Karen. She was nineteen and he was twenty. They were both in college, and were happy for a year—until Lucas discovered she was into hard drugs. He’d thought he was doing the right thing when he’d intervened and had taken her, kicking and screaming to get treatment. He’d cared, dammit. He’d loved her, and had done everything in his power to help.
Having seen what drugs had done to his parents, he’d tried to save his young wife from the same fate. But, had she thanked him? No. Instead of running into his arms after she’d gotten out of the hospital, she’d divorced him. He’d been devastated, had tried to talk to her for two years, but no. She’d have none of it. None of him. Then, three years later, he’d heard she’d died of an overdose.
Lucas tried to refocus on his work, but as he’d found so many times over the past six days, it was impossible. Jess’s face kept appearing before him. Damn her. Damn her lovely, animated eyes. Damn her honest, sympathetic heart, her entangling personality. Her effect on him was undeniable. He admitted that. But aside from wanting her, aching for the silken feel of her body, the taste of her lips, moist and hungry against his, had he ever done anything so stupid as fall for her?
“Dammit, no!” he muttered with angry emphasis. More forcefully than necessary he pressed a switch that opened the window between his chauffeur and the large passenger area. “Jerry,” he barked. “We could make better time if you avoid the construction coming up on—” He halted midsentence, his chauffeur’s squawking police scanner catching his attention. “Did they just say a Mamie Ritter had been missing for over thirty-six hours?”
“Huh?” Jerry asked, angling the stretch limo into heavy traffic. “What, sir? I—”
“Quiet!” Lucas sat forward, and strained to listen. The dispatcher was relaying that a woman in her fifties by the name of Mamie Ritter, of Jess’s mother’s description, had been missing since yesterday morning. Lucas scanned the cityscape with apprehension. Snow was coming down hard, driven by an icy wind, making visibility poor, and the forecast called