Juliet decided she was somewhere in the middle. At the moment, anyway.
But, surprise, surprise, she found the other two allowed her to negotiate their differences. Because she was the oldest sister? It didn’t make sense to her, because she’d never been considered bossy in her life—dreamy, yes, agreeable, often—but it was obvious her sisters looked at her to take charge.
So she did.
With an assurance she hadn’t called upon before, she got them both to agree to table the decision—as well as more discussion—for a few days so they could all think it through on their own. They were going to make contact, or not make contact, whichever the case might be, as a group. Given their burgeoning closeness, it didn’t seem possible that one or two could get in touch with the man without compromising another sister’s privacy.
Cassandra seemed mollified, Nikki satisfied, and Juliet felt…pretty darn good, actually. Even after Cassandra—with Juliet’s permission—shared with her the name of their sperm donor after Nikki exited the shop. Knowing his identity didn’t redirect the way her mind was running.
She’d fled to Malibu & Ewe so that someone could tell her what to do. That was her usual MO. After her parents’ death, she’d looked to Wayne. After losing him, she’d relied on Noah to help ease her way. She’d too often placated as well—swallowing her thoughts so as not to upset the people in her life like Helen and Marlys.
But this afternoon, she hadn’t needed direction. She hadn’t rolled over, either. She’d stepped in, stepped up, and solved the problem.
This same sort of action would work in other areas of her life, too, she decided, as she drove back to her house. Instead of faking sleep, she should have faced Noah and asked the questions she wanted answered.
What now?
And why had he treated her like she might break? Did he worry she couldn’t stand up to a man’s passion?
Without giving herself time to fret about the confrontation, she marched straight from her garage to the guesthouse. In the tiger’s den, she’d take him on.
Its door opened the instant her knuckles left the wood. Oh. A dark-haired, gray-eyed man was on the other side.
Oh, hell. She’d forgotten about Dean. He stood gazing at her, and over his shoulder she saw Noah. He was looking at her, too, but she couldn’t decipher the expression on his face. She could only remember the whiskery roughness of his kiss, the sure touch of his hand, the seductive sweetness of his dirty words: I’m going to do you so good.
Her knees wobbled and she had to grab the threshold of the door. What was her face telling him? she wondered.
But before she could come up with an answer, a familiar, yet unwelcome voice cut through the silence. “Stepmama! Hey, boys, it’s going to be a foursome for our little barbecue after all.”
Thirteen
Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.
—ALBERT EINSTEIN
Marlys planned on taking Dean to her bed. That’s what she’d decided after their little late breakfast/early lunch rendezvous. So she’d showed up at his place after the boutique’s closing hours and demanded to be fed. Later tonight, serious was going to be supplanted by sex.
Of course, she was going to torture him first by using all her skills to tease him out of his mind. She owed him the abuse for showing up in her ordered, man-free life and making her feel all female. Soft.
Sex would give her a hold over him.
To that end, she sat on the arm of his chair in Noah’s small living area, while Juliet took a place on the nearby sofa. Marlys let her fingers run through the hair at the back of Dean’s neck. The dark stuff was thick and bristly, but already longer than the day they’d met. He shot her a glance, and at her innocent smile, he grimaced and reached up for her hand. Ticklish, huh?
She bussed a little air kiss in his direction and was satisfied to see his gaze drop to her mouth. Yeah, baby, keep on looking.
But she felt other eyes on her, too, and it was no surprise to find that her father’s wife was staring, her weird, bicolored gaze betraying surprise. The goody-goody likely had her granny panties in a twist over Marlys’s not-so-subtle signals that she intended to do the dirty with Dean, a man she’d known for only slightly longer than a couple of drinks at a dance club.
Fine, it surprised the hell out of her, too, because Marlys didn’t easily shed her layers—of clothes, emotional armor, what have you—but it was either take Dean to her sheets or chance finding him someplace much more dangerous. Shameful as it was to admit—and unprecedented—she was afraid for her heart.
She slid her thumb from Dean’s grasp and stroked the edge of her nail against the top of his hand. The long muscle on his forearm hardened, lifting against his skin in reaction. Smiling, she flicked him another suggestive glance, but the expression in his eyes snuffed her amusement. They were molten silver, and they seemed to promise wicked payback—when she was the one who was supposed to be holding all the weapons.