Anything For You
“What kind of medicine?”
“It’s something to help with impulse control and outbursts. This bread is fantastic, too.”
“The Mennonite market.”
“Right. Anyway, I figured I could strip for a few months and pay for it. It was harder than I thought.” She took the last bite of eggs and wiped her mouth with the napkin. “Those were the best scrambled eggs I’ve ever had. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He paused. “Jess, I could always—”
“No. But I appreciate the offer.”
Sure, he’d been about to offer her money. Who wouldn’t? “Do you want to pick up some shifts here?”
“No, but again, thank you. I have a job. And another job, too, actually.”
“Okay.” If she didn’t want to work for him, well...he got that. She’d always been proud.
She sipped her wine, then set the glass down, her movements controlled and precise. Now came the moment that she’d thank him and leave.
She didn’t. “How are things with you, Connor?”
The ordinary question sounded extraordinarily intimate, given the amber lighting and the late hour. “Well,” he said, “I’m a big brother. My father and his new wife had a baby girl tonight.”
“Wow. Congratulations.”
“Yeah. My dad’s been divorced from my mom for ten days. Married to Gail for nine.”
“Speedy.”
“He didn’t want the family honor stained by bastardization.”
Jess laughed. “Interesting definition of family honor. Not that I’m one to talk.”
“I’d say you know quite a bit on the subject.”
She swallowed. Took another sip of wine, and put the glass back down exactly in the spot it was in before.
“Are your parents still married?” he asked, more because he was afraid she was going to leave than because it mattered.
“Yep.”
“That’s good, I guess.”
“That’s not the word that leaps to mind. At least I got Davey out of there. My father thinks it’s funny to get him drunk, and my mom was teaching him to make cocktails.”
Jesus. His own father didn’t seem so bad, suddenly. “You’re an awfully good sister.”
She gave him a wry smile. “So I’m brave, I’m honorable, I’m a good sister... Where’s my Nobel Prize?”
“You’re also incredibly beautiful.”
She rolled her eyes. “Freak of genetics.”
So mentioning her looks was off-limits. “And smart.”
“I almost flunked out of high school, Connor.”
“Good grades don’t mean much. I was valedictorian, and I’m a cook.”
“I thought Jeremy Lyon was valedictorian.”
“No. Salutatorian.”
“You sure? Jeremy’s so perfect. I can’t see you beating him out there.”
Fucking Jeremy. Every female in town, from Connor’s own mother to his three-year-old cousin, was hung up on him. Oh, hang on. Jess was smiling. She was teasing him. Got it.
She was finished with her meal, and had drunk half her wine. But she wasn’t making any noises about leaving, either.
Connor had had a few girlfriends in the two years since they’d slept together. Two. He’d had two. One and a half, really. No one who’d really...impacted him, as much as he would’ve liked that.
Not like Jess.
He looked at her a long minute. “Remember when we, uh...hooked up? When you came to the Institute for that class?”
“No, Connor, you were just another notch on my bedpost.” She straightened out her fork and knife to the three o’clock position on the plate. “Yes. Of course I remember.”
“I didn’t sleep with you because of what you said, you know.”
“What did I say?”
“That I slept with you because I could. Because you were Jessica Does.”
“But that is the name you used.” She cocked an eyebrow at him, still keeping up with the cool-chick-with-an-edge attitude.
“It just...came out.” A crap answer, and yet the truth. That stupid name had been given to her young, and it had been liberally used throughout high school. Jess herself had used it.
“So why did we sleep together?” she asked.
“Is ‘because we’re both red-blooded American heterosexuals’ a good enough answer?”
The corner of her mouth hinted at a smile. “I mean, why did you bother? I’m guessing you have to beat the women off with a club.”
“Some days, sure. I try not to be too rough.”
“So why me, then?”
Was she serious? “I liked the way you ate dessert.” No game, he had absolutely no game. “And you smell nice.” Proof of his sorry, no-game state.
“Right now I smell like Irish Spring. You’re really living the cliché on that one, by the way.”
“A present from Colleen.”
“Ah. Well, most of the time, I smell like restaurant food and other people’s wine and whatever Davey’s wiped on me.”
“I like food. And wine. Not sure about what Davey’s wiping, so I’ll have to stay neutral on that. But you and I have a lot in common, Jess. We both work in restaurants—”
“Don’t. You’re a Culinary Institute–trained chef who has his own restaurant at the age of twenty-three. I’m a waitress.”
“So? It’s hard to be a good waitress.”
“It’s really not,” she said.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend you. I bet you’re a horrible waitress.”
“Just stop saying nice things.”
“Okay. You’re a really shitty dancer.”
She laughed.
She didn’t laugh enough. Or maybe she did, but he didn’t get to hear it enough.
“And your outfit had no imagination,” he added. “Mrs. Adamson, at least she tried.”
Jessica Dunn laughed again.
Before he’d really planned on it, he leaned in, slid his hand around her neck and kissed her as gently as he knew how. Her lips were soft and full, and he was an addict, just like that, not just wanting to kiss her, but needing it like he needed breathing.
Then she kissed him back, and light seemed to spark through his veins, hot and electric, and God, she felt so good, her slender, vulnerable neck, the silky, damp hairs there. He teased her mouth open and tasted her, and she was suddenly gripping his shirt in both hands.
He probably shouldn’t be doing this. Maybe this was...uh...what was the phrase? It was hard to think with his mouth against hers, their tongues sliding...
Oh. Right. Taking advantage.
He pulled back. Ran his fingertips along her jaw, the tender, smooth flesh just below.
Her pupils were dilated, making her eyes look darker, and her mouth was slightly open.
And then, just like that, she was back to the three-feet-away zone. Without so much of a flicker of an eyelash, the wall came down.
Someday, he was going to figure her out.
“Connor,” she said calmly, “you don’t want to sleep with a stripper.”
“You’re not a stripper. You got fired.” He picked up her hand and kissed it. Twice. The Irish Spring smelled better on her.
She swallowed. “I should get back to Davey.” But she didn’t leave, either. And she was staring straight ahead, at his chest, not at his face. It was as though she was waiting for him to convince her otherwise.
In fact, it was almost like she was shy.
Jessica Dunn, who’d beaten up boys twice her size in middle school, then slept with most of them in high school, and yet who also seemed like an ice princess, totally untouchable...seemed shy. Even if her tongue had been in his mouth a few seconds ago, even if his shirt had been fisted in her hands.
She liked him. He was almost sure of it.
He wanted to say a hundred things, about taking care of her, and wanting her so much he ached, and how his chest felt punched when she came out onto that runway tonight, and how if he didn’t kiss her again, fast, it might kill him, and if he couldn’t sleep with her again, it would definitely kill him.
“Who stays with Davey when you’re out?” he asked instead, his voice a little hoarse.
“Gerard Chartier. They’re the same mental age.”
“Can Gerard stay a little longer?”
There was a long pause, and Jessica was very still, and Connor’s whole being clenched with wanting, with hope, with please say yes.
She nodded.
Connor didn’t wait. He stood up, lifted her onto the bar and kissed her, a different kiss this time, hungry and full, his tongue against hers, his hand pulling out her ponytail and sliding his fingers through her long, damp hair.
She wrapped her legs around him and kissed him back, and that thrum of electricity became a lightning storm of white heat, and all that mattered was Jessica, her mouth, her neck, the shoulder blades that shifted under his hands, her long, beautiful spine and perfect ass.
He stopped kissing her for a second. “I live upstairs,” he muttered against her neck.
She answered with a little smile, and that smile, it just killed him. “I guess I should walk you home, then.”
Rather than let her walk him anywhere, he just lifted her up and carried her up the rickety stairs to his apartment, kissing her as he did. Kicked open his door, set her down and started on the buttons of her shirt, kissing her neck as he worked. His hand seemed to be cupping her breast. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her nipple hardened against his palm, and there it was, that blinding, stunning flash of want.
“Wait,” she said. “Wait. Hang on.” She pulled back a little, gripping his hands in hers. “This has to be a secret, okay? Because Davey will... He might... You know.”
“Okay.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Right now she could’ve said You have to cut off your right arm before we do this, and he would’ve answered Hey, not a problem! “Don’t worry. We can take it slow.” Slow. And fast. And hard. And—
“I don’t want your sister to be—”
“Nope. Me neither.” Because Colleen would be insufferable if she knew.
Jess looked at him, and for the first time all night, she really looked at him, and Connor got the impression it wasn’t easy.
Then she reached up and touched the scar on his cheek, and her fingertips slid down to the place under his jaw that dented in. The scars from Chico, all those years ago.
“Take me to bed,” she whispered, and Connor couldn’t help thinking that God did exist and was smiling on him for no good reason.
He’d take it. He’d take anything Jessica Dunn and the universe saw fit to give him.
CHAPTER SIX
Eight and a half years before the proposal...
FOR THREE WEEKS—well, twenty days—after her humiliating foray into the world of exotic dancing, Jessica, who wasn’t the type to spin out happy fantasies of how wonderful everything would be, was starting to feel kinda happy and wonderful.
On day three of their...thing, she presented Connor her terms, written on a note card.
Rule number one: no telling anyone. God forbid she date one of Manningsport’s favorite sons and have it not work out. She already had enough of a reputation to deal with. Plus, Davey. She had to figure a way to make him okay with this, and right now she had no clue.
Rule number two: no coming over when Davey was awake, and never without checking with her first.
Rule number three: no sappiness. Sappiness was just not her thing, and so no flowers, no cards, no you make me want to be a better man stuff.
Connor listened with a half smile and a raised eyebrow. “Anything else, majesty?” he asked when she was done.
“I’m sure there is. I just can’t think of it right now.” She put the index card back in her pocket.
They were walking on one of the paths on Ellis Farm, which was partially open to the public. It was cold, and she’d ridden her bike there, since her car was still acting finicky.
Hardly anyone came out to Ellis Farm on a cold, sleety November day, which was exactly why Jess had chosen it.
“So how long will we be a secret, Juliet?” he asked.
“As long as I say, Romeo. Is that a problem?”
“Anything for you.” He gave her a crooked grin. “Can I kiss you? Do I need permission for that first? Are there guidelines for that on your index card?”
She pulled the card out and pretended to check. Playfulness. That was new for her, outside of goofing around with her brother. “Well...you can, but you have to make it good.”
He did. He had the most beautiful mouth, his lips full, and he seemed to know just how to kiss her— gentle and soft, or urgent and hard, and no matter what, it made her insides curl and squeeze and light up in beautiful shades of purple and red. This kiss was long and slow and lovely, his mouth moving over hers, his hands sliding down to her hips to pull her against him, his razor stubble scraping gently. His tongue touched hers, and her knees buckled a little.
Then a dog barked, and they broke apart. Connor tapped the tip of her nose with his finger, smiled, and they continued walking. An Irish setter ran past, followed closely by its owner, not someone Jess knew.
“Horrible weather, isn’t it?” the guy said.
“Sure is,” Connor answered.
And when the man was gone, Connor took her hand.
That was all. They just walked, hand in hand.
Another first. Kind of embarrassing, the effect of Connor’s big, warm hand holding hers so firmly, and acting like it wasn’t a big deal. Boys hadn’t wanted to hold her hand back in high school. They’d wanted to get into her pants.
And since high school, when she’d been working toward getting Davey and herself out of the trailer park and away from her parents, she hadn’t dated anyone. There was no need to; Davey had a reputation as being liked by a lot of big, strong guys, and the bullying had mostly stopped. He was as safe as she could make him.
But now she was on a walk with a gorgeous man who was funny and thoughtful, who hadn’t made her feel like trash when he’d seen her embarrassing attempt at rhythm and stripping, who scrambled eggs for her, who didn’t ask prying questions about her family...who just seemed to like her, and who had been amazing in bed the five—and counting—times they’d done the deed.
She was pretty sure she didn’t deserve this. Pretty sure the other shoe was about to drop.
Hence, the rules. Hopefully, they would soften the blow.
They met when she could get away, always at his tiny apartment, sometimes in the morning, when Davey was at school, sometimes late at night, just for an hour or so. She’d leave a note for Davey—Going for a run!—and a stick figure drawing of her doing just that, then ask Ricky, the guy who lived next door, to keep the baby monitor on his porch; the houses were so close together that if Davey woke up, which he rarely did since the kid slept like a rock, Ricky could hear.
Then she’d head to Connor’s, her heart light and buzzing, a warm flush wrapping her like a hug.
On the night of the restaurant’s grand opening, she arranged for Davey to stay overnight with their mom, who was enjoying a brief sober spell. Dad was at a casino, so he wouldn’t be back for a day or so or longer. And Mom did love Davey, even if she was sloppy about looking after him. Jess had taken all the booze with her; she’d found Mom’s stash and dumped the half inch of bourbon and the half bottle of cheap vodka into the sink. With Mom’s sobriety, it was always a question of when she’d fall off the wagon, not if. Then Jess asked Mrs. Cooper to check on Davey once or twice, to make sure Mom was “okay,” which Mrs. Cooper knew meant awake and sober.
“You bet, honey,” Mrs. Cooper said. “I owe you from all the times you watched Sarah.”
The restaurant was jam-packed, and Jess knew everyone. Gerard Chartier talked her into joining the volunteer fire department, Colleen was making everyone laugh, Jeremy Lyon came back for the weekend from medical school, and this time, seeing him and Faith Holland together—still sticky-sweet in love—didn’t give Jess a pang.
She had a guy now, even if it was on the sly. And Jeremy had always been too perfect, anyway. Leave him for Princess Super-Cute.
That night Connor occasionally came out of the kitchen to press the flesh, and every time, his eyes found hers and rested a beat too long, and that wonderful, hot tightening would start in the pit of her stomach, making her feel what she imagined drunk felt like—not like her parents’ version of drunk, but happy and loose and hopeful.
The food was amazing. And free. Crab cakes, creamy lasagna, tiny cheeseburger sliders, quesadillas, salads, shrimp wrapped in prosciutto, slices of bread stuffed with garlic and spinach...every bite succulent and filled with layers of flavor. Colleen, ever gorgeous and lively, was putting on a good show, sliding beers down the bar, spinning martini shakers, but it was Connor’s food that practically brought people to their knees.
O’Rourke’s would be a smashing success; Jessica could see that. Because of Connor. Colleen was great, and Jess had always liked her, but Connor was the real star.
And he was hers.
The thought made her heart feel almost too big for her chest.
When the grand opening wound down, Jess waited in the park by the lake until the lights went on in Connor’s apartment, and then knocked at the back door.
A minute later Connor opened, hair wet from a shower, jeans on but not buttoned. No shirt, his muscular chest utterly perfect, the smooth skin on his ribs begging for her hands.
Her knees were already soft with want.
He leaned in the doorway, and a smile tugged one corner of his mouth.
“Jessica Dunn. What are you doing here?” he said, and his voice scraped against that soft, aching place inside her, and she wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him.
Good God.
She spent the whole night.
A thought occurred to her in the dark, after Connor had made love to her for the second time and was sleeping, his heavy, beautiful arm around her, a dangerous thought, the kind she knew she shouldn’t think, piercing into her brain like an ice pick.
She felt safe.
The thought itself made her almost jolt up in bed.
That was usually the forerunner of doom.
She’d thought she was safe when she was nine and her father actually won seven thousand dollars on a scratch-card, and that money was going to help them get a better place to live. It would be the start of a new life for them, where Dad could get a job he’d keep; he’d always thought he’d be a good mechanic, and they made lots of money, and Mom would sober up if they lived in a real house because it wouldn’t be so depressing, and Davey could get into that nursery school with the nuns who’d help him more than the public school, where he was always pulled out for speech therapy or put in time-outs.
That weekend, her father went to Rolling Thunder Casino and lost the seven grand plus eight hundred more...everything they had. The electricity had been turned off for six weeks, and Mrs. Cooper brought them food.
She’d felt safe, too, when Mom had three months of sobriety when Davey was six and Jess was thirteen. She’d lain there in bed, Davey’s soft little snores so sweet and lovable just a few feet away, and it dawned on Jess that at last, she wouldn’t have to be the one in charge, that maybe she could stay after school for extra help in math, now that Mom was sober and life was normal.
The next day, Davey had an outburst in kindergarten. Mom was called in and after she collected Davey, stopped at the package store for a handful of little Popov vodka bottles. When Jess got home, Davey was asleep on the couch in front of Terminator II, his face covered with dried snot from crying, and Mom was passed out in bed.
When she was sixteen, she’d felt safe after her mother’s mother came to stay, a woman Jess had only met once before. Mom was in the hospital with jaundice, and Dad was who knew where, and all of a sudden, Grandma had pulled into the trailer park with three bags of groceries. She cooked for Jess and Davey and did the dishes, too, and said she respected Jessica for having a job. She wasn’t a warm and cuddly grandmother, but she was there, she was sober and she took charge. Davey was scared of her, but he’d get over it, and it was so, so nice to have a real adult in the house. On her second night with them, around 10:30, Grandma looked at her and said, “You have to get up early. Why don’t you go to bed?”
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