Who Do You Love? Read online

  Jack blinked, pretty much bowled over at this point and trying real hard to keep in mind that this was a lady, a real lady, and not the type of girl he usually warmed his nights with. She was class personified. She was grace…they had certainly named her right. His hands were on her back, but not too hard, and he didn’t dare move them. He felt as if he were holding something too clean to touch.

  She smelled good. Like sunshine and wildflowers.

  A throat cleared very slightly. Grace gently backed away, her blue eyes wet as she smiled up at him. Jack got the sense of other people in the room. It hadn’t been Harry’s throat-clearing just then. But for the life of him, he couldn’t look away from the woman whose hands still rested slightly on his shoulders.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “But when I think how close we came to losing him…”

  “It wasn’t that big a deal.”

  “Nonsense!” Harry boomed. “This young man saved my life. The killers had weapons!”

  “They were muggers, Harry, and all they had was a pocketknife—”

  “You should have seen him, Mitsy,” Harry went on. “On-lookers actually applauded!”

  Jack felt his brows pull together and for the first time he got that little niggling feeling at the back of his neck that told him something wasn’t quite right. Gently, his hands resting at Grace’s waist, he moved her to one side. “Harry, what are you—”

  “I can’t tell you how grateful we are, young man,” a woman said. Jack looked her way, met her eyes and saw an older, shorter version of Grace. She had to be the girl’s mother.

  “I was only doing my job, ma’am,” he said.

  The woman moved toward him, thrust out her hand. Jack took it. “Mitsy Phelps, darling,” she said. “And exactly what do you mean, you were doing your job?”

  “Ah, that’s the same line he fed me, Mitsy!” Harry gushed from the bed. “His duty as a citizen, and all that!”

  Again, Jack felt his brows pull together and his warning bells go off. He was not liking this.

  “What line of work are you in?” Mrs. Phelps asked.

  “I’m a—”

  “Jack’s in law,” Harry said.

  “Oh? A lawyer?”

  “Not exactly,” he told her.

  “Jack’s a…uh, security expert. I’ve been trying to lure him away from his current employer. I’d like him working for me.”

  “And who is your current employer, Mr. McCain?” Mitsy asked.

  “Mother, really,” Grace cut in, and Jack thought her voice sounded a lot like the bell ringing just before the champ went down in the tenth round. “Mr. McCain didn’t come here to be given the third degree.”

  “It’s all right,” Jack said, amazed that he actually managed to get a word in. But when he said it, he looked at Grace again, and his vocal cords seemed to stop working. Her sparkling blue eyes had some kind of laser-beam force, or electromagnetic grip that just wouldn’t let his go. And they made him shiver with…something that was both terrifying and delicious.

  “Jack works for the government, Mitsy. And, uh, I’m afraid that’s all I can say on the subject, if you get my meaning.”

  Jack heard the man, but vaguely. Then he heard his wife’s swift intake of breath, followed by her slow and awestruck, “Ooooh.”

  Blinking, Jack realized that Harry was making him sound like some kind of government intelligence expert instead of a plain ordinary cop, and he wanted to know why. But he decided to give him a minute on that. It was obvious he was making a huge effort here, and he may very well have his reasons.

  “Jack…you don’t mind if I call you Jack, do you?” Mitsy Phelps said, reaching out to give Jack’s hand a friendly squeeze. “You simply must come by the house, and let us thank you properly.”

  Yeah, right. And you might as well invite a jackass to the Belmont, Jack thought. Out loud, he said, “Well, I don’t, uh, know if that would be—”

  “Please say you will,” Grace said.

  Jack looked into those eyes. Laser beams. “Okay.”

  “You can come tomorrow night, for the party! I told you about the party, didn’t I, Jack? For Gracie’s graduation from college?”

  Jack looked at her. God, she was gorgeous. “Ph.D.?” he asked her, hoping like hell for a brief insane moment. Then realizing it didn’t make a damn bit of difference how old she was.

  Her smile was bright and dazzling. “Just a B.A.”

  Jack swallowed hard. That would make her…twenty-two or so. He was thirty-five. Not that it mattered, because she was so far out of his league it wasn’t even funny.

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you. Will you come to my party?”

  “I…thought it was tonight.”

  “It was…but that phone call of Daddy’s kind of broke it up. Everyone will be back tomorrow night to pick up where we left off.”

  Jack looked at Harry again. “You think you’re going to be ready for a party so soon?”

  “I’m going home, son! Just as soon as my doc gets back in here with the paperwork. It wasn’t a heart attack.”

  “But it soon will be if you don’t start taking care of yourself,” his wife said.

  The older man shook his head. “Why don’t you two beauties go and see what’s taking Doc Emerson so long? Jack and I need to discuss a few things, anyway.”

  “Of course, dear.” Mitsy went to the bed, leaned close and kissed her husband’s cheek. “Fifteen minutes?”

  “I couldn’t stand a second longer,” he told her.

  Grace went and kissed his other cheek. “We’ll be right outside if you need us, Daddy,” she told him. Then she went to Jack. She paused, staring at him, and then she kissed his cheek as well.

  Jack tingled all over, from his cheek to his toes, and he figured there ought to be a law against the feeling, and he ought to be doing time for feeling it.

  She left. Jack watched her go, turning around fully, unable to stop himself. The door swung closed behind her, and the deep laughter from the bed made the blood rush into Jack’s face.

  He turned slowly, eyed the man. “Just what do you think you’re doing, telling them all that bull?”

  Harry stopped laughing, dabbed at his eyes with the corner of the sheet. “Come here and sit down, son. I have a little proposition for you.”

  And every warning bell Jack’s hard-knock life had built into him started ringing like crazy. But for some reason, he went, and he sat, and he listened.

  Chapter 2

  Jack sat there, listening to the old man talk, and he kept thinking maybe he ought to call one of the nurses because Harrison Phelps, millionaire, seemed to be delusional. He lay there in the bed, with a white sheet over his barrel-shaped body and his blue-patterned hospital gown, and just talked. He should have looked ridiculous. And his notions should have sounded ridiculous.

  So why the hell didn’t they?

  “My Mitsy’s done a hell of a job raising our daughters,” Harry said. “A hell of a job. And for the most part, I’ve been perfectly happy to step aside and let her. Hell, I wanted the best for them, too. And what did I know about manners and clothes and piano lessons, anyway?”

  “I’m sure you’ve both done fine by your kids, Harry. But I really don’t have a clue where you’re going with this. I just came to take your statement.”

  “Bullcookies. You came to see if I was all right, and to keep that promise you made me. I may not know about party dresses and manicures, son, but I’ll tell you what I do know about.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I know the difference between a polished-up pretty boy and a real man.” Harry crossed his arms over his big chest, and gave his head a hard nod as if some major decision had just been made.

  “That’s really fantastic, Harry. But, um, about this statement.”

  “That’s why I didn’t tell Mitsy you were a cop. She’d never let you through the front door if she knew!”

  “I’m…not going to need to come to th
e house, Harry. We can take care of this statement thing right here, and then I’ll be on my way.”

  “Well, boy, you might not be quite as sharp as I thought you were,” he said, eyeing Jack and frowning.

  “How’s that, Harry?” Jack asked.

  “How in the Sam Hill are you planning on seeing my Gracie again if you don’t come to the house?”

  Jack feinted backward slightly, as if trying to dodge a blow, but the blow seemed to land, anyway. The old bastard hit him right between the eyes. “Well…I—I wasn’t exactly planning to see her again at all.”

  “She likes you, Jack. I could see that plain as day. She never once looked at one of those three-piece-suited phonies the way she looked at you.”

  Jack lowered his head and tried to remain hard and cynical. Tried not to go soft inside at the very notion—because there was no notion. No chance. No way. “If your daughter looked at me in any special way, Harry, that was only because you made me sound like some kind of hero who saved her father’s life. Don’t you think?”

  “Nope. That had nothing to do with it.”

  Jack licked his lips and lowered his head, trying to figure a graceful way out of whatever scheme the old guy was hatching. But he supposed, deep down, he wasn’t trying very hard.

  “You liked her, too. Sparks were practically flying across the room between you two! I’m not blind.”

  Jack’s throat was very tight and dry. “I—your daughter is…an attractive young woman.”

  “So date her.”

  Closing his eyes slowly, Jack swallowed hard. “Date her?”

  “Why the hell not?” Harry asked.

  “Well, for starters, she’s at least ten years younger than me.”

  “Is that all? I’ve got fifteen on Mitsy.”

  “Harry, this just isn’t—”

  “Hey, I’m not asking you to marry the girl, for Pete’s sake! Just… Look, just come to the house tomorrow night for the party. At least do that much. Hell, the family would think it strange if you didn’t! And Mitsy’s gonna be shoving pretty boys in poor Gracie’s face all night long. She ought to have at least one decent, honest-to-goodness man to compare them to.”

  Jack stared at him. He couldn’t talk much. Basically he was speechless. But Harry wasn’t.

  “Gracie…she hates this kind of thing.”

  “What kind of thing do I hate, Daddy?” the deep, honey-rich voice of the woman asked from the doorway behind Jack.

  He turned around, saw those eyes, electric-blue and almond-shaped, dancing over her father with concern and real love.

  “I was trying to convince Jack here to come to your party tomorrow night.”

  Did those eyes light up just a little bit? Jack couldn’t be sure. Hell, maybe it was wishful thinking on his part. If it was, it sure shouldn’t have been.

  “That would be…wonderful.”

  “Would it?”

  Smiling slightly, she nodded. And Jack was trembling way down deep on some subatomic level. He could feel it, but it didn’t show. As if it was his soul shivering in reaction to hers, not just his body.

  “Yes. Will you come, Jack?”

  Oh, man, when she said his name it was like electrocution. When he caught his breath again he said, “Only if you promise me a dance.”

  She smiled so suddenly it was like a flash of heat lightning. And her cheeks went warm and pink as she lowered her head. “As many as you want,” she whispered, not meeting his eyes.

  Jack’s stomach was doing weird things, and it seemed as though his hands were in the way. He didn’t know what the hell to do with them, so he stuck them into his pockets and felt like a schoolkid with his first crush. “I, um, I have to go.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow night, then.”

  “Yeah. See you then.”

  Jack left the room, but as he did he glanced back and saw that old man grinning from ear to ear.

  He should have stayed. He should have asked the old guy just how far he intended to carry this ruse—this lie he’d dragged Jack into. He should have asked him just what the hell he was supposed to do if he ended up falling head over heels in love with his daughter. What then? She’d have to learn the truth sooner or later, wouldn’t she?

  He should have asked. But he didn’t. Because it seemed like such a small lie…at the time.

  “Dammit, Charlie, how could this possibly be happening?” Grace yanked yet another blouse from the closet, eyed it, and then threw it atop the mountain of clothing on the bed.

  “How could what be happening?” Charlie sat there as if she hadn’t a care in the world. She wore a pair of black warm-up pants with a white stripe down the side, a New York Liberty warm-up shirt and a baseball cap. Gracie had the exact same clothes, hidden way in the back of her closet. She and Charlie had bought them together on Charlie’s fortieth birthday when Grace had taken her to Madison Square Garden to see a game.

  Good old Charlie. She didn’t look any older than Gracie did, except for the twenty or so pounds of adulthood she carried around her hips.

  “How could it happen that my mother was actually right all these years?” Gracie wailed.

  “Oh, yeah. Maybe in her dreams. What was she right about?”

  “About me, Charlie. About how being a tomboy and a jock would ruin me, and how no decent man would ever look twice at me unless I acted more like she wanted me to.”

  Charlie leaned back on the bed, cocking one eyebrow. “And since when did you decide your mom was right about that?”

  “You should have told me, you know. You were my nanny! It was your job to tell me.”

  “I tol’ you what I knew, kid. To be yourself. To do what you love best, and to hell with the rest. And I sort of thought it had served you well. I mean, you were the lead scorer on the college basketball team, weren’t you? And you did win that kickboxing championship last summer, right? And if I’m not mistaken, that box full of trophies hidden under the bed belongs to you, too, doesn’t it?”

  “Charlie!” Grace glared at her, putting a finger to her lips. Then she ran to the door and peered out into the hall. She looked up and down, saw no one. Sighing in relief, she closed it again. “You know better than to talk about any of that out loud.”

  “Jeez, Gracie, you’re a grown-up now. Don’t you think it’s time you came out of the locker room already?”

  Sighing, pacing, Gracie shook her head. “Mother was right,” she said. “Last night, when I met Jack…I was wearing that stupid getup Mom bought me for the party, those dumb pearls at my throat, and my hair all tamed down and tugged back. And he… Oh, Charlie, the way he looked at me…”

  Charlie rolled her eyes. “If you think he liked you like that, you wait till he sees you in your basketball jersey, sinking a three.”

  “No.” She shook her head firmly. “No, he can’t see me like that. I mean…he wouldn’t have looked twice at me. No one ever has before. It was that whole image Mom made me put on last night. Don’t you get it, Charlie?”

  “No. I don’t get it.” Charlie got up, took Gracie’s shoulders, turned her and stared at her. “Your mother doesn’t mean to do what she does, Grace.”

  “Mother doesn’t…do anything.”

  “Yeah, she does. She withholds her love until and unless her daughters conform to her idea of perfection. She’s done it to you all your life. For crying out loud, they were scouting you for the pros, Gracie! A dream come true! And what did you tell them?”

  Gracie told herself that the burning in her eyes and the tightening of her throat had nothing to do with what Charlie was talking about. “Maybe that’s not my dream,” she said, sniffling.

  “I raised you, remember?”

  Gracie blinked. “It doesn’t matter. I made the decision and that’s the end of it.”

  “Damn right it is. Chances like that don’t come along twice in a lifetime.”

  “Let it go, Charlie.”

  Charlie sighed, but she let it go. “So what’s your point, kid?”
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  “My point is that I think I met the man of my dreams last night, and he’s coming back tonight! I can’t wear the same thing, and I suck at putting these kinds of clothes together. I need help, Charlie.”

  Charlie shook her head slowly. “I may be good at sneaking little girls out for phony etiquette lessons, helping them change into blue jeans and taking them to the park to play ball, all without getting caught, kid. But I’m not good enough for the level of deception you have in mind.”

  Grace stared at her, blinking in shock at the judgment in her tone. “It isn’t deception!”

  “Yes, it is. And the worst kind. What we did, we did so you could be who you really were. But maybe I shouldn’t have made it so damn easy for you. Maybe I should have made you stand up to your mother from the start, so you wouldn’t be too afraid to do it now.”

  “I’m not afraid—”

  “But even so, at least back then you were being yourself. What you’re doing now is pretending to be something you’re not. And no good can come of it, Gracie.” She headed for the door.

  “Charlie, if you don’t help me, who will?”

  Charlie shrugged. “Swallow your pride, and go talk to your big sister.”

  Then she was gone.

  Gracie fell backward onto the mountain of clothes and closed her eyes. Dammit, she hated to go to Hope for help. All her life, she’d resented her older sister. For being feminine and petite and perfect. For being small and beautiful, and for falling into the image of well-mannered heiress almost naturally. Hope had been waved in Gracie’s face constantly. “Why can’t you be more like your sister, Grace? Why don’t you ask your sister to take you shopping next time, Grace? My goodness, your feet are so big, Grace! Not tiny and cute like your sister’s…”

  “Ooooooooooh!”

  There was a tap on the door.

  Grace leaped to her feet and yanked it open. “Thank God, you came back, Charlie. I knew you… Oh. It’s you.”

  Hope stood there in a cute pink sheath that perfectly matched her nails, her shoes and her lips. Her hair was perfect, blond and gorgeous. Her makeup was flawless. Her eyes were big and innocent. “Yeah, it’s me. I was listening in. So what’s this about you coming out of the closet?”