Fate Intended (The Coulter Men Series Book 3) (10 page)

“No.” She laughed, kissing the dog’s ear. “He just has so little hair. You leave him alone.”

Trip grumbled good naturedly about the dog all the way to her door. He kissed her forehead. “You work early tomorrow?”

She nodded. “6:00 A.M.”

“Then get some rest. Dream good dreams?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” He kissed her again. “So, I suppose I better go.”

“I would invite you in, but….”

“Sasha might eat me?”

“No, she likes you.”

Trip raised an eyebrow at her.

Jane laughed. “Okay, so she maybe doesn’t. But I do. Isn’t that all that matters?”

“For now?” he asked. “Yes. I will be content that you
like
me.”

She grinned at him. “I like you way much more than just
like
.”

“Good. ‘Cause I’d hate to be
in like
all by myself.”

She started to walk away, but his hand held onto hers. He looked seriously immersed in thought. She took a step closer, gave him a light kiss and asked, “What are you thinking? You look a little grumpy.”

“Not grumpy. Just thinking how badly I don’t want to say goodnight and let you go.”

“How else do you say goodnight?”

His jaw clenched, and his brow dipped slightly, almost imperceptible.

His meaning washed over her. “Oh,” was all she said. She was ecstatic that he felt that way about her, yet couldn’t shake the total disappointment of the reality Sasha so clearly painted for her. No marriage. No babies. No happily ever after, because nothing erased truth. And the truth was she was a murderer.

Chapter 14

The two women arrived at the party ten minutes early. Jane tugged at the hem of her teal satin dress, but it wouldn’t budge lower than mid-thigh. She checked and rechecked her hair and make-up in the rearview mirror of the car. Was her hair formal enough in its simple twist? Was her dress too short for meeting Trip’s mother? Was her eye-liner too heavy, or maybe not heavy enough?

She snuck a look at Sasha, who stood outside the car blowing smoke rings into the icy air. Whether Sasha was nervous or not was a mystery. She looked as cool and calm as ever. Sasha dropped the cigarette butt on the ground and twisted it into the concrete with a turn of her stiletto. She reapplied her red lipstick using the window as a mirror and rapped on it with the case when she was done. “Hurry up, Jane. I am freezing my tits off out here.” Dropping the lipstick into her purse, she pulled the gauzy shawl tighter across her shoulders. “I swear,” she said to Jane as she emerged from the car, “if I die of pneumonia, I will haunt you.”

Jane’s dress was a satin sheath covered in chiffon. The gossamer fabric revealed well-shaped arms and shoulders without exposing too much flesh. It was simple and elegant. Her blond hair was parted down the side and swept back in a French knot. She traded in her usual dangling earrings for simple faux pearls. Sasha was dressed in a curve-hugging red dress that fell to mid-thigh and plunged daringly between shapely D-cups. Sasha’s ears were adorned with long diamond-encrusted earrings. Her red hair was a riot of curls, lifted off her neck, and spilling over the pins that secured them.

Sasha put the keys in her handbag and snapped it closed. “This is it. Are you sure we want to do this?”

“Of course,” Jane insisted, heading toward the door of the brownstone building. As she mounted the steps, her pace slowed. By the time she reached the top, she came to a complete stop. She turned to Sasha. “You go first?”

Sasha shook her head. “This is your party.” Reaching around her, Sasha rang the doorbell, then quickly retreated to the rear position, leaving Jane without as much as a moment to fortify her nerve. Before Jane could mumble a single word, the door swung open and a middle-aged man in the crispest suit Jane ever saw answered with a simple, “Hello.”

“Hi, I’m Jane. Um, Jane Mitchell. Trip invited me?” She bet Sasha was rolling her eyes. Jane’s throat went dry, wind and embarrassment made her eyes water.

“Of course, Ms. Mitchell. Mr. Trip told me to notify him immediately when you arrived. Step inside?”

He escorted them to a room with a grand piano, a couple of sumptuous brown leather couches, and walls covered with art from ceiling to mid-wall. He said as he backed out of the room, closing the door as he went, “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

With the door closed and the man safely out of earshot, Jane turned to Sasha and asked, “Real or fakes?”

“Real or fake what?”

“The paintings. Have you ever seen so many in one small space?”

“What makes you think I know?”

“I heard one of Poppa’s men say once that you could be an art appraiser…if you ever needed a legitimate job.”

Sasha sneered. “Stupid thing to say. My work for Viktor was legit.” Sasha crossed her arms over her chest as she walked around the room, slowly moving from one gilded frame to the next. She turned to Jane and let out a whistle. “All real. If I was still a thief I could live for a lifetime by scoring just a few of these.”

“Really?”

Sasha nodded. “What is it that Trip’s mother does?”

“She’s a senator.”

Sasha’s mouth dropped open and her head shook slowly as she said, “What are you thinking? We must go.”

“We can’t leave now, it would be rude. Besides…”

Jane’s words were interrupted by the opening door. “Jane!” Trip was in the room and gathering Jane for a hug before she could calm Sasha.

“Sasha, I’m surprised Jane talked you into coming. My work crew is here. I’m betting the sight of you will brighten their night.”

“Why, Trip, is that a compliment?” Sasha asked adjusting the purse on her arm.

“Yes. And since I’m being nice, would you do me the favor of not devouring any of my friends? They’re all good, defenseless men.”

“Pah,” she spat. “Defenseless and men can’t be used in the same sentence. But, for you…I will try to leave them whole.”

“Much appreciated.” Trip put a hand across Jane’s back. “This way, ladies.”

He guided them from the study to a huge room with high ceilings, twin fireplaces, and clusters of antique furniture where people gathered in pockets of conversation.

He led them slowly across the room, pausing to make small talk as he moved, to a bored looking group tucked in a corner. “These guys have become like family. I can’t wait for you to meet them,” Trip said to Jane.

Jane nodded and looked over her shoulder to assure herself Sasha was following. Instant anxiety formed in her belly like a wave that begins its swell way off shore. She clutched her bag to hide shaking hands and at least to fake calm, but it was useless. Her hands began to shake, and before Trip could make a single introduction, Jane seriously thought she might pass out. She took a deep breath.

Trip propelled her with a hand on the small of her back. “Jane, this ragtag group of shit…I mean miscreants, are my new co-workers.” Trip nodded to a handsome man with a neck as thick as a tree trunk. “This is Shane Cucculo and his wife, Faith. Faith’s grandfather married my mom, so that makes her my niece. Though, come to think of it, not once, Faith, have you called me Uncle Trip.” The group laughed. Faith, a tiny dark-haired beauty, shook her head at him, though her face radiated pleasure from his teasing.

Next was a tall strawberry blond with a smooth, friendly nature. He was first to step forward and introduce himself. His British accent took Jane by surprise. “I must express my sincere pleasure, ladies.” He took Jane’s hand and gave it a kiss. “Lieutenant Bruce Armstrong, Royal Air Force…. Retired, of course.”

“Back off, Bruce, she’s with me.” Trip warned with a grin as Bruce looked over Trip’s shoulder, his gaze falling on Sasha. Sasha sneered, pressed her hands together behind her back and looked away. Bruce smiled and backed up. He motioned to the people in the corner and said to Jane, “Any friend of Trip’s is, of course, a friend of ours. And his tales of your beauty were not, as we shamelessly suspected, at all exaggerated.”

“Oh buggers, Bruce. It’s bad manners to cozy up to another man’s girl in his presence. I thought Mum taught you better than that.”

“Oh, and the harpie? That’s my little sister, Cammie, and her unfortunate husband, Trevor Jimme.”

“It’s a pleasure.” Cammie stood. She was a tall woman, probably as tall as her husband. She looked sturdy and down-to-earth. She gave Jane a hug. “Forgive my brother, I fear he loses his mind when he sees a skirt.”

Bruce turned to Trip. “All lies, brother, all lies. I would never tread in another man’s territory.”

“I’d have to hurt you if you did.” Trip’s grip on her waist tightened as he said, “I’m keeping this one for myself.”

Jane’s heart fluttered.
He called me his!
But before she could digest the sweet sentiment, he was making more introductions. Next was Gunny, an ageless man with a trim, muscular body. Last there was Frankie Bonmarito. Frankie’s hair was as dark as his eyes, and Jane bet he was once a very handsome man, but now his face was covered in scars, and his frown lines ran so deep they looked like they were chiseled into his face. His arms were folded over his chest, and he didn’t even bother to nod a hello, his gaze scanned her briefly and then settled on Sasha.

Jane followed his gaze back to her friend and noted with some amusement that for once in her life, Sasha appeared to be blushing. She stepped nervously from one foot to the other and chewed on the side of her cheek. Sasha’s eyes dropped to the floor as if she was intentionally trying to not make eye-contact with Frankie. But like a magnet pulling on a shard of steel, she did. Jane thought she saw fear flash across Sasha’s face for a moment; the briefest fluctuation in color and a flash of wide-eyes. But then as smoothly as honey being poured from a spoon, Sasha’s seductive smile appeared and her body relaxed. She stepped from behind Jane and approached these new “friends” with handshakes and clever compliments.

Frankie’s eyes stayed glued on Sasha. It was a brash perusal that made Jane’s stomach tighten, but she ignored the feeling. Told herself Sasha could handle anything and allowed herself to be lured from the room by Trip. Sasha’s eyes bore into her as she exited. She felt a tad guilty, but she couldn’t refuse Trip’s request to meet his mother. He led her through a back hallway, stopping a moment to give her a kiss, his hands gripping her arms gently. He smiled down at her and twisted a tendril of hair by her ear around his finger. “Thank you for coming.”

Jane didn’t speak, her eyes were still closed, and her body felt warmed by his closeness. What she wouldn’t give to stay like this forever.

“You only have to meet my mom. My stepfather couldn’t make it. But maybe you can meet him New Year’s Eve. We usually go to Tres’s. I know they’d love for you to come back.”

Jane nodded, but that little voice in her head that spoke hard truths, reminded her that she couldn’t really make any plans for the future.

“You all right? My mother’s not that scary.”

Jane looked up at him and smiled. “A little nervous. But now that I’ve gotten a hug…I’m ready.”

“Then come with me, my lady.” Trip did his best Lt. Armstrong impersonation as he opened the door revealing his mother’s office. The walls were lined with book shelves that went from the floor to the ceiling, and yet books and papers were stacked on the desk and on the floor. It seemed a wreck, but further examination proved that the stacks were meticulously organized but too voluminous to be contained in the massive cherry desk. A tiny woman sat behind it in a red leather swivel chair. Bifocal glasses perched on the end of her nose, she sat clicking away at her laptop without bothering to look up when the door opened and closed.

“Mom?”

She slowly shifted her gaze from screen to son. “Ahh, Rowan.” His mom shoved her desk chair away from the desk and stood, arms outstretched to her son. Trip moved immediately to his mother and gave her a hug that lifted her feet from the floor. His mother laughed as she ordered, “Put me down. I’m a senator for cripes sakes, not a rag doll.”

“You need to put on some weight, old girl. Good thing you got all that hot air to hold you up while facing congress.”

Barbara Coulter shook her head at her son. “Where’s your respect?”

“I respect my mother.”

“Ha.” Barbara laughed and rubbed her son’s shoulder. Her good humor quieted as her eyes landed on Jane. Trip’s eyes followed his mother’s, and he cleared his throat. “Mom, I’d like for you to meet Jane. Jane, this is my mother, Barbara Coulter O’Leary.”

Jane said hi, though it was barely audible.

Barbara looked her son over, finally asking, voice crisp as frozen linen, “So, who is Jane?”

Trip flinched. He took Jane’s hand and pulled her closer to him. “I should have said something to you sooner, but I know how busy you’ve been and….” He took a deep breath and said, “Jane is a friend of mine.”

“Really.”

Jane’s body shook, and she gripped Trip’s arm tighter, nearly cutting off circulation. Barbara removed her glasses and looked Jane over like a stock animal. “So, Jane, what sort of education do you have?”

Jane’s voice stammered as she said, “I don’t have a degree. I studied at Oxford, but never finished.”

Barbara frowned. “Your accent? Not completely British?”

“Well, I have been in America for a year and before that I spent several years with my father in Russia.”

“So, your father is Russian?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, that’s very interesting. Does he have business in America?”

“I’m afraid he passed away.”

Barbara touched her hand to her chest. “I’m so sorry. Trip lost his father when he was a young boy. I know first-hand what that does to a child. Your mother?”

“Also gone,” Jane said barely above a whisper.

“Oh.” Barbara reddened. “Again, my apologies.”

Jane took a breath, played the part of orphan and looked at the floor.

“Well, I hope you enjoy the party. It was nice meeting you.” She turned to Trip. “Darling, might I have a word with you? It is a private matter. A…business matter.”

“Of course.” He turned to Jane. “Excuse me just a minute?”

Jane stepped out into the hall and waited.

Barbara closed the door and leaned close to Trip. “What’s going on with you and Olivia?”

“We broke up.”

Barbara glared at her son and grumbled, “Seems you’re making changes to your life right and left without speaking to your mother first.”

“That’s because I know you won’t agree with my decisions.”

“You never give me the chance to agree or disagree.”

“So, if I had asked, you would have supported my career change?” Trip asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Of course not. Damned dangerous foolishness you’re getting yourself involved in.”