The Best Man's Bride Page 5
“Are you okay?”
His gaze snapped back to meet hers. “Of course I’m okay. I’m here, aren’t I?”
Yes, but was he protesting a bit too much? She couldn’t tell from his expression, and he’d looked away again.
Even so, Celina felt an unexpected relief. “Well, good. The surgery was a success?”
He gave a brief nod.
“Great. Then you can get back to work soon.”
He didn’t answer, just looked past her at the painting on the wall.
And Celina suddenly remembered Jack’s tendency not to look her straight in the eye when he was going to say something she wouldn’t want to hear. Now he was staring at the painting of a hunting scene somewhere beyond her left shoulder, and in the three-quarter profile of his handsome face she could see the tightness around his mouth.
“You can, can’t you, Jack?”
He drew a breath and flicked a brief glance back her way before turning back to the hunt scene. “Yes, of course.”
She looked at him closely. “Are you sure?”
“They did surgery. Told me to rest. They would barely allow me to talk for, like, two months.”
“That’s why you didn’t come to San Michele for the engagement party?”
She’d just been relieved not to have to see him then. She had assumed he was touring somewhere, too busy for anything but the band. But he’d been ‘resting,’ whatever that meant. And she couldn’t help wondering with whom.
Now his lips twisted. “I went to ground. Back to Montana. Not to my parents’ place. The paps would look there.”
And this would be a story they’d be eager to write.
“I borrowed a friend’s cabin in the Crazies. Holed up by myself. Read books. Cooked. Played the guitar. Did the whole ‘complete rest’ thing the docs said I had to do to give the healing the best chance.”
And it’s okay now? She wondered why she cared. Well, actually she knew why. Because she was never going to not care about Jack even if he was an indulgence she shouldn’t have grasped, even if he was no longer a part of her life.
She tried to imagine Jack without South Face. Without music.
She couldn’t do it.
Music was part of his soul. It was how he spoke. How he thought.
The night she’d met him, when he’d rescued her and had taken her home, he’d played his guitar for her. Not the loud strident rock stuff. Not even the rhythm and blues stuff.
The music he’d played her was soothing. Gentle. It had seeped into the raw spaces her encounter with the jerk had left in her. The melody had filled them, soothed her, made her feel whole.
“Got another?” she’d dared ask when he finished and the last notes were still resonating in her bones. She’d been enchanted by this gorgeous man who’d seemed to sense exactly what she needed.
He’d slanted her a grin and brushed the mop of dark hair away from his forehead. “Thought you’d never ask.”
He’d played for an hour. Maybe more. Soft melodies, some lilting, some plaintive. The music – Jack – calmed her down, made her feel safe, made curl up on the sofa and tuck her feet under her, lean her head on her arm and watch his fingers move over the frets, watch his expression change from serious to sad to sweet to tender as he played. He took her out of herself and carried her with him on the music he played.
And just that fast she had begun to fall in love.
When he finished and said, “You okay now?” she’d been able to say yes.
“Thanks to you,” she’d added with a quick shy smile.
He hesitated a second, then asked, “You want to come hear us play tomorrow night? It’s not much. A gig at a coffee house.”
Celina couldn’t say yes fast enough.
She had known Jack’s coffee house music wouldn’t be just quiet melodies. But there were a few, as well as the rhythm and blues, a little bit of country, and rock that was far more appealing than the standard wall-banging stuff she was used to.
Jack’s guitar playing was easy and fluid, accomplished. Professional. His voice – he hadn’t sung the night before – was husky and aching, hard and powerful, teasing and sexy by turns. It made the nape of her neck tingle, made her whole body respond.
Jack didn’t just sing or play – he became the music, heart and soul.
So, even at her angriest and most hurt, she couldn’t imagine his life without music. She wondered if Jack could.
“We’re going on tour again right after the wedding,” he said abruptly. “Stockholm. Oslo. Amsterdam.” He rattled off a dozen more venues from Hamburg to Helsinki. “And Asia next winter.”
So she needn’t have worried. “Well, great!” She contrived to look pleased, practicing being cool. Pretending there were paparazzi in the room.
Jack didn’t say anything.
Celina looked at him more closely. He was still sitting on the bed, hadn’t moved, but his jaw was so tight she could see a muscle tick in his temple.
“What’s going on, Jack?” she demanded.
“Nothing,” he said quickly, then shrugged. “It’s on. The tour. The whole nine yards. All over the whole damn continent. Eighteen concerts. Welcome back, South Face!” His voice, still ragged, twisted on the words. “But my voice? God knows.”
“But the doctors –”
“Say it will be fine. Healed well for normal use. But what the hell is normal about singing with South Face?”
This wasn’t Jack. Jack never worried. Jack was the most optimistic guy in the world.
Wasn’t he?
And if he wasn’t, what difference did it make to her? Celina made a small sound. “I’m sure you’ll be fine,” she said, mustering her own optimism.
“Of course I will.” But his tone was flat.
“Can’t you do anything?” she couldn’t help ask.
He exhaled sharply. “Be best man at Joe’s wedding.”
And with that, he pushed himself away from the headboard and stood up. Six feet two inches of lean, hard Jack Masterson loomed above her, close enough that Celina wasn’t only aware of his hard body and tanned handsome features, but the weariness in his eyes and the lines bracketing his mouth as well.
She almost did reach out to him then. Muscle memory had a lot to answer for.
Deliberately she tucked her fingers into her pockets so they couldn’t do anything foolish.
Jack raked a hand through his hair. “It’ll be fine,” he said gruffly as if he could simply use words to shove away his doubts. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Celina just looked at him.
He rocked on his heels, then gave a little bounce. “And it’s not your problem anyway,” he said firmly, shutting her out. He started toward the door, then turned his gaze back on her again. “No one knows ... except the guys in the band,” he told her. “About the polyps. The surgery.”
“Not even Jonas?”
“No.”
“But he’s your friend.”
“There’s nothing he can do for me.”
But he’d told her. Celina eyed him warily. She tucked her hands in her pockets. “So why tell me?”
His mouth twisted. “You were there in the beginning. You ... helped make it happen. And it’s true. I didn’t want you to hear rumors. I owe you the truth.”
She blinked, surprised.
“I’ve always told you the truth, Celie,” he insisted. “And you know the music scene. The rumors lurking under every amp and guitar case. Speculation. Lots of bands take breaks. But when they’re home they record. We haven’t done an album since last summer. The guys have been doing some benefits. I’ve been noticeably absent. People are asking what’s going on. Where’s Jack? Is the band splitting up? That shit.”
“So tell them the truth.”
Jack grimaced. “I don’t know the truth.” He tugged at the hair at the back of his head. “But the paps will be around, asking. They’ll ask you.”
“Here? At Jonas’s wedding? Surely not.”
Celina was glad she had her own hands tucked safely in her pockets. She remembered all too well the feel of Jack’s whiskers against her fingers. Now she clenched them against the fabric as, completely unbidden, a soft sigh escaped her lips. She looked away.
“I’m sure it will be fine,” she said briskly, hoping he hadn’t heard the sigh. Wishing she hadn’t done it. She didn’t know if he had or not.
He just looked at her, digesting her tone. Then, “Never mind,” he said abruptly. He straightened his shoulders. “I just didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else. In the meantime, I’d be grateful if you didn’t spread it around.”
“I won’t spread it around.”
Their eyes met then, and try as she would, Celina couldn’t quell the sensation of falling under the spell of the blue magic of his gaze.
Jack lifted a hand. For a split second Celina thought he was going to touch her. She stilled, steeling herself.
And at her sudden stillness, Jack seemed to recollect how things were between them. His hand wavered, then dropped to his side. Abruptly he turned and opened the door.
“Good to see you, Celie,” he said with the same briskness she’d just used to dismiss him. “Celina,” he corrected himself. He paused, a hand on the doorknob as he looked back at her. They stared at each other.
“For what it’s worth, I did come after you,” he said roughly.
“What?” Celina stared at him, confused.
“Never mind.” He gave her a quick, almost impersonal nod and turned away. “See you around.”
Chapter Three
That went well.
The sarcastic voice in his head always knew when to attack, and Jack could hardly blame it.
He should never have gone to her room. What the hell had he been thinking?
He hurtled down the stairs two at a time and went out into the garden. But even the cool of the evening breeze barely touched his heated skin, and it didn’t shut off the commentary in his head.
You thought she was going to ... what? Take one look, tell you she’d been wrong to doubt you, and make everything right again, and fall into your waiting arms?
No, he hadn’t thought it. But, maybe, if he were honest, he’d hoped.
She hadn’t. Fair enough.
He sucked in a deep steadying breath, and then, when that one didn’t help still his pounding heart, he took another. And another. Nothing helped. His heart was still in overdrive, had been since the moment he’d spotted her behind the back of that sofa when he’d just arrived.
The sight of her had hit him between the eyes.
He hadn’t known she’d be there.
He’d told himself to be prepared to see her. She was, after all, Jonas’s friend, too. But bloody Jonas had never said a word. Hadn’t mentioned Celina at all in the past two years.
Not that Jack had asked if he’d seen her, talked to her, knew where she was. Because, damn it, Jack was pissed. If she was going to judge him without even letting him explain, he didn’t want to know where she was!
But Jonas could have said.
Should have said.
That was another thing. Jack had seen the way Jonas looked at her. If Jonas had had his way, Celie might well have been more than a friend. He’d seen the yearning in Jonas’s gaze, even though his friend had always made it clear that he considered Celie off-limits.
“She’s yours,” Jonas had said flatly when Jack had once wondered aloud if Jonas might have his eye on her, too.
“Damn right she is,” Jack had said then to make sure Jonas knew it.
But she wasn’t his any longer.
She still thought he’d been sleeping with the girl in his bed. Didn’t she know him at all? Hadn’t he been practically begging her to come on tour with him? Hadn’t he told her how damn lonely he was without her?
So, all right, she’d listened to that. And she’d come. But she hadn’t listened in the hotel room! She’d taken one look, judged him guilty, turned on her heel and dashed out of the room without looking back.
He could hardly go chasing after her wearing nothing but a towel!
Besides, he was angry. He couldn’t believe she’d misjudge him like that. And in his righteousness, he’d thought she’d come to her senses.
Celie had always been sensible. Steady. Calm. Far calmer than he ever was.
But she hadn’t come back. Not in ten minutes. Not in ten hours.
And when he’d called Tobin, their manager, to find out what he knew about Celie’s arrival, Tobin had just shrugged.
“She told me a couple of days ago she was coming. Asked me for a key. So I left her one. She said she wanted to surprise you.” He’d grinned. “Thought I’d have to come pry you out of bed for the flight to Paris. No?”
No.
He hadn’t told Tobin what happened. No one knew. Except him and Celie. The blonde girl had slept right through it. She’d woken up a couple of hours later, pathetically grateful, having no idea what she’d caused – what he’d caused letting her crash there. He’d just sent her on her way with a strained smile and a requested autograph.
“My friends won’t believe I really met you otherwise,” she’d said.
“Don’t tell them where you spent the night.”
She’d giggled. “No worries. Even an autograph wouldn’t convince them I’d spent it in your bed.”
He wished Celie hadn’t believed it either.
A lawyer had contacted him when the band was in Torino to tell him she was filing for divorce.
“Divorce!” he’d sputtered, still holding out hopes that she’d come to her senses.
Apparently it didn’t matter if she believed him about the woman in his bed or not. She wasn’t claiming adultery. She didn’t need to.
“Irreconcilable differences,” the lawyer told him. “No fault.”
Damned right there hadn’t been!
But it didn’t stop him feeling as if she’d stabbed him in the gut. Still he’d dared to believe she was bluffing. She loved him. She wouldn’t go through with it. She was the one in the wrong for jumping to conclusions, not him.
He’d been just stubborn enough, just proud enough to say, “Fine,” to the lawyer, then bang down the phone.
And when the stupid papers had arrived for his signature, he was furious enough to sign them. Let her see he wasn’t backing down.
But neither had she.
The bloody final divorce decree had caught up with him in Johannesburg. When he opened the envelope, he had stared at it in shock.
Then he’d thrown up. Later he’d got blind drunk and smashed a guitar – the only one he’d ever smashed in his life.
He’d ditched the band and flown back to the States.
But she wasn’t in Ames. She wasn’t at her grandparents’ farm. She wasn’t anywhere. Celie had simply disappeared.
No one had known where she was.
Except apparently Jonas who hadn’t said a word.
And why would he? Jack thought wearily. If Celie had told Jonas what she thought had happened in Barcelona, Jonas would have been on her side. Even if Jack had asked, Jonas might not have said, thinking he was acting in her best interests.
Jack felt a serious desire to wring his friend’s neck.
But at the same time he wondered if Jonas hadn’t set him up.
Was their mutual presence at his wedding Jonas’s way of giving them a chance to reconcile? Did Jonas even think that way?
Joe was the embodiment of the “still waters run deep” cliché, a guy who missed very little, but never gave anything away. Completely unlike Jack who couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it.
Jonas could have provided him with a bit of warning, though.
As it was Jack had been sta
nding there in the reception room of the manor house surrounded by a bevy of women, all tittering and chattering and batting their lashes at him – nothing new about that – when a skittering sense of awareness had slid up his spine and along the back of his neck, like fingers caressing him there.
It was eerie enough that he’d almost jumped and jerked his head around. Only some shred of self-preservation he wasn’t aware he had, had held him back.
Instead he’d turned slowly, keeping his moves deliberately casual as he’d replied to one of the women, all the while letting his eyes scan the room.
And there she was.
He could only see the top of Celie’s dark head and her wide eyes above the back of the sofa. Barely a glimpse.
He didn’t need much. He would know Celie anywhere.
His world jerked to a halt, as if the pieces that had been tumbling in a meaningless free-fall for the past two years suddenly hung suspended and unmoving, then slowly slotted into place.
Jack had stared, feeling his lungs expand. It felt as if he could finally breathe again. At the same time his heart had kicked over and surged to warp speed in his chest.
It had been all he could do not to part the crowd of eager women and head straight toward her.
He hadn’t, thanks to the tiny bit of common sense that hadn’t deserted him at the sight of her. God knew his cool had vanished along with every pretense he had convinced himself to believe about being indifferent to her.
He wasn’t indifferent. Not even close.
He wasn’t angry anymore, either. He’d lost his anger long ago. When he was a boy and had got in a fight with Jess, his best friend who lived on a neighboring ranch, Jack had been so mad he’d vowed to either shun him or fight with him every time he saw Jess after that.
“You won’t,” his father had predicted.
“Why not?” Jack had demanded, determinedly hotheaded.
“Because it’s too much work to hold a grudge,” his dad had said simply. “Besides, you want to play with Jess. He’s your friend.”
It turned out his dad was right.
And he was right about the anger Jack had been clinging to with Celie as well. Face-to-face with her, he couldn’t hold it. Didn’t want to. He just wanted her back in his life.