slammed the door with the camera still rolling and with shaking fingers managed to snap her seat belt into place. She’d ridden in this very seat hundreds of times, and yet it felt awkward to be sitting here, staring straight ahead, trying not to meet the eyes of neighbors and the curious who had gathered. It was all so weird. Not just because of the bizarre media circus: police vehicles scattered about, walkie talkies crackling. And not just because her grandmother now lay dead in the big, old house. Her relationship with Jack was weird too.
She sighed. Now that she and he were separated, there was a little bit of “this is yours” and “this is mine” going on. While before it had been natural to share everything, and she’d never felt the least bit uncomfortable about driving his car, using his laptop, “borrowing” his toothbrush, or wearing one of his shirts as pajamas, now the rules had changed. Their way of interacting with their child, the division of their property, the days of the week when they could expect to see B.J., all this was now written in lawyer doublespeak and tied up with suspicion.
Jack strapped Beej into his car seat, then slammed the back door, jogged around his vehicle, and climbed behind the steering wheel. “The press,” he said with mock severity as he jammed his keys into the ignition. “All a bunch of vultures.” He offered her a self-deprecating smile, as they both knew he’d been a stringer for a local paper, then a full-blown reporter before coming up with the idea and backing for City Wise, his latest venture and the very magazine where Cissy now contributed.
She understood all too well about stories, spins, and angles, but she didn’t like it when the focus narrowed onto her and her family.
Jack cranked on the Jeep’s wheel and disengaged the parking brake as he pulled away from the curb. The SUV shot down the steep hill with its narrow, winding street, and Cissy, unaware that she was holding her breath, let out a sigh. “Thank God,” she whispered.
“Yeah, it’s good to be out of there.”
That was an understatement. Rubbing her temple, she sneaked a glance in his direction. Jaw rock hard, hands so tight on the wheel his knuckles bleached through, he didn’t seem to notice that she was studying his profile as the headlights from oncoming cars splashed bluish light into the Jeep’s interior, giving her short, almost strobe-light images of his honed features. Deep-set eyes, high cheekbones, rugged jaw, and thick hair that streaked blond in the summer. All he needed was a Stetson and boots and he could be Hollywood’s image of a modern-day cowboy. There was just something about him that whispered “rebel” and “independent” and “irreverent,” all the qualities in a man that attracted her…and now repelled her as a wife. Had he changed? Or had she?
Of course she’d been a fool to fall so fast and hard for him. He wasn’t the marrying type. She’d known it. All the warning signs had been there, right in her face, and she’d ignored every last one of them. She’d sensed he was a confirmed bachelor, a man who had wanted to play the field, a workaholic who spent countless hours on the job, ensuring the success and growing popularity of his local magazine. He’d worked with the Internet, rather than against it, when it had threatened circulation, and he’d been ahead of the game every step of the way.
He’d been described as a “rogue” publisher, ruthless and cutthroat with the competition, smarter than most.
And she’d loved every bit of it.
Until he’d stepped over the line.
Now, behind the wheel, he guided the Jeep downhill toward the financial district. As they merged onto Stanyan, she caught a familiar whiff of his aftershave and mentally kicked herself for remembering all too vividly how that scent, and the man, had turned her on. Even on the night when she’d first met him.
Cissy—in college and wondering what the hell she was going to do with her life—had gone to the benefit for Cahill House at her grandmother’s insistence. She’d intended to make a quick appearance at the stuffy old hotel on Nob Hill just to satisfy Eugenia’s need for “family solidarity,” then ditch out. Even though she thought Cahill House a worthwhile cause, Cissy saw no reason to rub elbows with the stuffed shirts on the board or make small talk with staid members of the several foundations who had helped fund the house.
Talk about boring!
What she hadn’t expected when she’d stepped into the grand ballroom with its cut-glass chandeliers, patterned carpet, and incredible view of the bay was Jack Holt with his tie already unbuttoned, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his hair messy from shoving his hands through it one too many times, and the scent of that clean aftershave. A drink in his hand, a cocksure smile on his lips, a square jaw, and a glimmer of irreverence in eyes that were a startling blue, he’d had the nerve to wink at her as she passed—as if the two of them shared a secret.
A player, she’d thought and written him off.
She’d run into him a couple of times more throughout the course of the evening, and each time there was something she found interesting, but it wasn’t until she was introduced to him by his father, Jonathan Holt, who knew her grandmother, that he’d gotten to her.
Maybe if she hadn’t been on the rebound from a rocky relationship with Noah Chandler, a soon-to-be lawyer she’d met at USC, she might not have fallen for Jack’s charms, but the truth of the matter was that she’d been looking for something or someone different. Someone edgier and fun. Maybe someone older.
It had hurt when she learned that Noah was seeing another law student, a smart, beautiful LA girl whom Cissy had met and sensed had more than a friendly interest in him. She’d known the girl had set her sights on him, though Noah, always playing the part of the innocent, had denied it and had even gone so far as to accuse her of being paranoid.
It’s hell always being right, Cissy thought with an inner snort.
A few days after graduation, she and Noah made a final break. A few days after that, Cissy was back in San Francisco and met Jack, all smiles and dimples and sexy eyes. He’d danced with her, drank with her, and, under his breath, made jokes about all the “stiffs” at the party. Ultimately, he charmed the socks—and her siren red dress—off her.
And it hadn’t ended that night. What started out as a hot one-night stand erupted into an incredible, heady affair ending with a wedding in one of those little chapels in Las Vegas being witnessed by complete strangers. The impulsive elopement had resulted in an incredible son and a marriage that seemed destined to fail from the get-go.
Cissy shut down the memory. What was the point? She stared out the windshield, watching the wipers slap away the thick raindrops as some old rock song drifted through the speakers. The lights of the city stretched out before them in a dazzling display, and beyond the grid of illumination, the inky waters of the bay stretched to the opposite shore, where more lights sparkled like jewels.
The beauty of the view was lost on her tonight.
She felt hollow inside. Numb. She’d never known life without her kid-gloved but iron-fisted grandmother, couldn’t imagine what it would be like now that Eugenia was dead. It could be easier in some ways, but it would certainly be less defined. Eugenia Cahill was nothing if not an autocrat, her rules unbending.
“You okay?” Jack finally asked.
“No.”
“I am sorry, Ciss.”
“I know.” She blinked against a new rush of tears. She could accept his callousness, even his fury, but not his kindness, not when they had no chance of reconciliation, which they hadn’t. “I
