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WITH THE LIGHTS out, the bathroom was pitch-dark, the window shrouded by a heavy shade and curtains. Standing in the old claw-foot tub under a hot shower, Meg groped for the water-control lever and turned it the wrong way. A burst of icy spray squeezed a hoarse scream from her throat.
She screamed again as the shower curtain was suddenly whipped aside and the water abruptly stopped running. A large, powerful hand closed over her mouth while another snaked around her back to haul her up against a long, hard, thoroughly male form.
Warm breath tickled her ear. “Hush, honey, the girls are wired enough without hearing their mama scream bloody murder.”
She pulled his hand off her mouth. “Jack.” She was breathless, shivering from cold and a surge of adrenaline. He helped her out of the tub. “The girls... are they okay?”
“They’re having a blast. Don’t worry about them.”
“The door—it’s open.”
He kicked it closed. Now she didn’t even have the gray rectangle of the doorway with which to orient herself. There was only velvet blackness... and Jack.
He pulled her close, enfolding her in his heat, heedless of the water soaking into his clothes from her wet skin. She knew she shouldn’t let him do this, shouldn’t let him stroke her wet hair and run his big, hot hand down her spine.
But it was dark and her senses were filled with him, with the seductive power of his touch, the heady masculine scent of him, the feel of her breasts crushed against his thin T-shirt, absorbing his warmth and the rhythm of his heart.
“We—We shouldn’t—”
“Shh...” He pressed her head to his chest, and she allowed herself to relax against him. Just for a few moments, she let herself be seduced by the fantasy that nothing had changed. That she hadn’t spent the past two years painfully alone, missing the feel and smell of this man, the low, melodic timbre of his voice in the dark as he whispered of devotion and endless craving.
He dipped his head and she felt his damp hair brush her cheek, his beard stubble scrape her shoulder. And then the warm satin of his lips on her neck, the barest touch, a whisper of sensation. She shivered anew and his arms tightened around her.
“You smell so good,” he murmured. “You always smell so damn good.”
Boldly he cupped her bottom with one hand and drew her hips into the cradle of his. She felt the power of his need, the insistent ridge against her belly. She moaned, a helpless, desperate sound.
“It’ll never be any other way between us, Meg. We’ll never stop needing each other.” He punctuated his words with a subtle movement of his hips that left her dizzy with longing. Still, she managed to pull back.
“There’s more to marriage than that.”
He was silent and she wished she could see him, could see the expressive blue eyes so like his daughters’. At last he said, “Was I cruel to you, Meg? Did I abuse you? Did our children go hungry?”
“Not yet.”
She heard his sharp, indrawn breath. In a tight voice he said, “The brew pub’s doing real well.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“That’s it? ‘I’m happy for you’?”
“It’s all I can give you, Jack. Don’t make this harder than it has to—”
He hauled her to him. Held her fiercely and whispered into her hair, “What happened, Meg? What happened to the life we built together? You and me. Remember what we used to say? That we’re a team? That together we can do anything? When did that change?”
She drew in a shaky breath and let it out. “It was an illusion. Hopes and dreams built on vapor. I tried, I tried to make it work, but I just... couldn’t take it anymore. The insecurity. It ate away at me. I’d always promised myself I wouldn’t fall into that trap.”
His fingers tightened on her scalp. “Don’t do this, Meg. I’m not your father.” Gently he set her away from him. In the blanketing darkness he asked the question she’d hoped never to hear. “Would you have married me if you hadn’t gotten pregnant?”
“Jack, don’t—”
“Answer me, dammit.”
She forced the truth past her constricted throat. He deserved that at least. “No. I wouldn’t have married you.”
Her admission seemed to take on a life of its own, making the air heavier, the room smaller, snapping the last fragile thread of hope.
A knock on the door startled them both. “Meg? Are you in there, darling?” Winston.
She cleared her throat. “Yes. I’m here.”
“Are you all right?” She heard the doorknob turn.
“No! I mean yes. I’m fine. Don’t come in.”
His indulgent chuckle carried through the door. She dropped her forehead to Jack’s chest and he kissed the top of her head.
“Very well, darling. I’ll see you downstairs.”
Jack felt around and produced a towel. She let him dry her in the dark. His hands still knew her well. She tried to ignore the buzz of desire his touch engendered as her body swelled and flowered and wept for a joining that was not to be.
He finished by toweling her hair. When he draped the damp terry cloth over her shoulders, his fingers brushed her nipples, stiff and aching. He was right. It would always be like this between them. She couldn’t hope to hide her response. Even in the dark.
He reached for her, as she knew he would. She grasped his wrists and whispered hoarsely, “No. We can’t do this.”
Slowly he pulled back. After an eternity she sensed him moving, saw a sliver of gray, partially blocked by his shadow.
“The hall’s clear.” His voice was composed. Remote. “I’ll go check on the girls.” And he was gone.
She hadn’t lied when she said she’d tried to make it work. At first she’d thought Jack would change on his own once he was responsible for a wife and child, once he’d become a “family man.” Foolish of her. Had she learned nothing from her mother’s mistakes?
When he showed no inclination to settle down and get a real job, she found herself turning into what she most despised: the hectoring wife. For all the good it did her. Even the obligations of fatherhood didn’t sway him. All she’d accomplished with her nagging was to erect a barrier between them.
With his brains and ambition, he could have had a wonderful career, could have completed his degree part-time and gone on to law school, med school. Anything. It would have been rough the first few years, but could it have been worse than what they’d endured?
Or instead of a professional degree, he could have gone to work for some big company. Medical plan, pension, the works. They could have been a normal middle-class family.
It was all she’d ever wanted since she’d been old enough to know such a thing existed. Was that asking too much?
She’d found out too late the answer was yes. Jack had been determined to set up shop, be his own boss, despite the inherent risks. He was convinced he’d never be satisfied working for anyone else. As if the rest of humanity were deliriously happy working nine-to-five for a paycheck.
Every time they argued about it, Meg felt the same sick, gut-clenching fear. The fear she’d come to know all too well growing up with a shiftless father and a spineless doormat of a mother.
For the first couple of years Jack worked odd jobs while he learned the microbrewery and pub-management businesses, investigated licensing regulations, and made the necessary contacts. Meanwhile Meg clipped supermarket coupons and learned sixty-two ways to serve spaghetti. She offered to get a part-time job, but with two toddlers to care for and another on the way, they both knew that was unrealistic. Somehow they managed to scrape by. As Jack had said, they never went hungry. They always had a roof over their heads.
Just before Daisy was born, he and Kevin Mann located a site, pooled their resources, and applied for a small-business loan. The Wolf Mann Brew Pub was a reality.
Getting the pub up and running was more of a challenge than anyone had anticipated. There were problems with equipment, personnel, and quality control. Disagreements with Kevin about advertising, cash flow, and insurance. Meg’s guts twisted into knots every time she thought about the hefty bank loan hanging over their heads. She wondered how long it would take her husband to realize he’d bitten off more than he could chew.
Between the fledgling business and three small children, there was never a moment to relax together, to unwind and talk about their hopes and fears—or to simply hold each other and recall the special bond that had brought them together in the first place. They were too wrapped up in the minutiae dogging their lives, the plodding, day-to-day effort of just getting by.
The arguments escalated. Exhausted from his grinding schedule, Jack came home each night long after the girls had been put to bed. More often than not he ended up slamming out of their rented apartment and sacking out God knew where. Perhaps at Kevin’s or even the pub. Meg never suspected another woman. When would he have found the time?
After a year of this, when her nerves were ready to snap, Pete renewed his offer of employment with his game company in Queens, 250 miles away. He lured her with the promise not only of a generous salary but flexible hours as well, a valuable perk for a working mother. And, too, Meg knew her sister Laurie, who lived on Long Island, would be happy to keep the girls while she was at work. They’d be with their aunt and cousins, not hired help or a day-care center.
Yet she refused Pete’s offer—again—in the misguided assumption that she owed it to her husband to stick by him and support him in his chosen profession, even if it was a pipe dream.
Wasn’t that what Mom had always done? Stood by her man?
Daddy’s starting a landscaping business, Meggie. This one’ll be it, you’ll see. Course, he’ll have to borrow a lot of money for a truck and the equipment, but he says he’ll make it back the first summer and then some. He’s got it all worked out, Meggie. We’ll move out of this old trailer and get a real house. You’ll see.
At least Meg had finally stopped deluding herself. Jack was never going to change. Not for her and not for their daughters. He simply didn’t want to.
Uncle Pete was persistent, and the prospect of a generous, regular paycheck became more and more seductive. Still, she resisted until that last big blowup after some catastrophe struck the brew pub, something to do with mash tuns and tubing. She’d never understood the specifics. As much as Jack had tried to get her interested in the business, she’d purposely avoided learning about it. If she ignored it, maybe it would go away.
During this crisis he left the apartment before she awoke and returned in the wee hours. They didn’t see each other for three days. Finally she waited up one night to confront him when he staggered in at two in the morning. As soon as she saw his face, she knew the timing couldn’t be worse. He was past exhaustion, on the verge of collapse, his temper close to the surface. But she was frustrated, had bottled up too much for too long.
She said things then. Vicious, wounding things. Things she’d thought but never dared to voice. Things she hadn’t even known were inside her, festering, waiting for a moment like this. And he gave as good as he got.
For five years she’d struggled to overlook her husband’s nature and the harsh lessons she’d learned at her mother’s knee. Tried to fool herself that her marriage was different, that Jack had nothing in common with her father.
That night as she stared into her husband’s weary, tormented eyes, she’d known it was over. She felt no relief, only a deep, oppressive sadness.
She’d never stopped loving him. Even now she loved him, wanted him in every way a woman could want a man.
If only that were enough.
*
“WHAT DO YOU call this stuff again?” Pete upended his bottle for a huge swallow. He’d declined a glass.
“It’s an amber ale,” Jack said.
“Not bad. Hey, Winston, bet you didn’t know there’s a Murder Won movie script in the works.” Pete squirmed in his favorite easy chair, looking decidedly uncomfortable in the dress slacks and wing tips Tanya had no doubt badgered him into wearing. Given his druthers, he’d go for baggy trousers belted below his big gut any day.
“My word,” Winston said. He sat on the sofa next to Meg, sipping delicately from a glass of merlot. “A movie based on your board game. Quite a coup, that.”
The girls were upstairs in their room playing Barbies while the adults congregated in the living room to enjoy a preprandial cocktail by candlelight. The lights were still out and the storm showed no sign of letting up.
Meg sat stiff and still with her fiancé’s arm draped possessively around her shoulders, clearly ill at ease with her ex looking on.
Good.
Seeing her in the flickering glow of the candles and the fire blazing in the hearth was almost more than Jack could bear, taking him back to candlelit dinners they’d shared as newlyweds. Her skin glowed against her simple black silk dress. Her hair was a river of gold. Her gold-green eyes looked dark and mysterious. God, she was beautiful.
And she was someone else’s. Her engagement ring captured what light there was, glowing like a beacon. With every movement of her hand, the thing winked at him. Mocked him.
Jack reached for a chicken canapé. At least it looked like chicken in the meager light. He took a bite and forced himself to chew and swallow. Grilled eggplant doused in some kind of funky vinegar. He started to set it on his cocktail plate when a slim hand restrained him.
“I’ll finish that for you, Jack.”
Tanya was perched right next to him on the arm of the sofa, so close he could count the diamonds on her ankle bracelet. To give thanks for God’s bounty and honor her Pilgrim forefathers, she’d selected a screaming-hooker-red slip dress that barely covered her breasts, thighs, and giblets.
She raised the tidbit to her mouth and made a private show of savoring what had passed from his lips to hers. Well, not quite private. Even in the dim light Jack saw Meg’s jaw tighten, while Neal sat slumped in a deep leather club chair, nursing a tumbler of bourbon on the rocks and glaring sullenly at Jack.
Tanya lifted the bottle of merlot. “Winston?”
“Oh, no, thank you, Tanya. I never have more than one glass.”
Jack imagined Mother Kent’s invisible hand patting her boy on the head.
“We’re getting a Saturday-morning Murder Won cartoon show off the ground, too,” Pete announced.
“Kinda rough for kids, no?” Jack asked. Feeling his hostess sliding closer still, her breath hot on his neck, he leaned forward as if eagerly awaiting Pete’s answer.
“They’re tying it in to a new version of the game coming out next year—Murder Won Junior.”
“Good Lord.”
“You got a problem with that, Wolf?”
“Do I have a problem with hawking a game to impressionable kids that glorifies murder?” He could sense Meg holding her breath, and experienced a perverse pleasure in taking his time selecting another hors d’oeuvre—endive with smoked salmon, no problem—and eating it slowly while the tension in the room swelled to a quivering crescendo.
He grinned. “Hey, who could have a problem with that, right? You’re the new director of marketing, Meg. You don’t have a problem with it, do you? Hell, maybe you could test-market it with our own kids, whaddaya think?”
He knew that look of hers. Too still. Too controlled. As if her face might crack at any moment.
What the hell was he doing?
Going out with a bang, not a whimper, perhaps.
Pete had a funny little smile on his face as if he’d just picked up a second pair of kings. Jack felt the hairs on his nape rise up and salute that smile.
Pete said, “So what you’re saying is, maybe some kid’ll play my game and maybe it’ll influence him to do something rotten. Something maybe even illegal. Like knocking over a liquor store maybe. Is that what you’re saying?” He took a long swig of his amber ale, keeping Jack in his sights.
Jack sat very still. He felt sweat start to bead on his upper lip.
“You didn’t answer. Is that what you’re saying, Wolf?”
The room was unnaturally quiet except for the roaring in his ears. Everyone was waiting for his answer.
It wasn’t possible. Those records were sealed. Jack smiled. He’s bluffing. Bastard has an instinct about these things. It’s what makes him such an animal in business, but it’s only a guess. He’s got nothing.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “I guess that’s what I’m saying.”
Pete’s eyebrows rose in mock admiration. “Noble sentiments, Wolf. Thing about noble sentiments, though, they have this funny way of coming back and biting you on the ass.”
He held Jack’s gaze a long, sickening moment—he’s got me!—and showed his hand. “I wouldn’t go spouting all that holier-than-thou crap if I’d done fifteen months in Sing Sing.”
Meg’s gasp cracked the air like a bullwhip.
Reading Jack’s mind, Pete added, “It’s amazing what a good PI can sniff out.”
Tanya became unnaturally subdued at her husband’s mention of a PI.
“What were you in for again?” Pete asked. “Oh yeah, armed robbery. A liquor store, am I right?”
“You enjoying yourself, you son of a bitch?” Jack barely heard his own low, rage-choked voice.
“Jack?”
He looked at Meg, who was leaning forward, her face white, her eyes wide and stricken.
“Jack, what’s he talking about?”
He glanced around, noted Neal’s mean little smirk, Tanya’s take-me-now body language. “I won’t discuss it here.”
“What’s he talking about, Jack?” Meg tried to rise, and Winston restrained her with a hand on her shoulder and a gentle word in her ear. Bastard must be enjoying this almost as much as Pete.
Jack rose. “Come with me, Meg. I’ll explain—”
“Don’t go anywhere with him,” Winston said, and something inside Jack broke free of its leash. He lunged for the counselor, seized his collar in both fists and slammed him hard against the sofa before he even knew he was moving. Neal and Pete sprang to their feet.
Jack said, “You don’t tell my wife what to do.” It was a ragged whisper, strangely disembodied. He stared at his own hands mangling Winston’s jacket collar and slowly unclenched them. Meg’s fiancé glared at him with such cold hatred Jack had to look twice. He hadn’t thought the man capable of real fire or passion.
Maybe he did sweat in bed.
Jack had to do something with the raw fury that was eating him from the inside before he lost control altogether. Mechanically he stalked three paces to the wall adjoining the den, hauled back, and slammed his fist through the Sheetrock. Chunks of plasterboard rained onto the hardwood floor.
Pete sneered, “You’re not so high and goddamn mighty now, are you, Wolf?”
Why had he never realized how truly evil Meg’s uncle was? Fleetingly Jack wondered how long Pete had known about his past. Why bring it up now?
The answer came in the next heartbeat. Hadn’t he felt Pete’s malignant gaze whenever he and his ex-wife had been together, even when they’d been amicable?
Especially when they’d been amicable.
Perhaps Pete had feared a reconciliation was in the works and decided to nip it in the bud. If so, he’d done a first-rate job.
Meg rose shakily to her feet. When Jack moved toward her, she said, “No. I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m not interested in what you have to say.”
“Meg—”
“The fact is, I just don’t care. Your life ceased to concern me when I left you.”
“Meg, for God’s sake, honey, I was a kid. Let me—”
“Give it up, Wolf,” Pete said. “She dumped you even before she knew you had a record. What makes you think she wants to listen to your crap now?”
Jack stared him down. “You did everything in your power to break up my marriage. But even that wasn’t enough, was it? Get one thing straight.” He took a menacing step toward Pete. Neal and Winston reacted with a little jerk, like puppets on a string.
Jack could not tell himself later that he spoke in haste, without thinking. The truth was, he’d never been so clearheaded. “If you interfere with my family again, I will kill you.”
The ugly threat hung in the air, dense and menacing, like gasoline fumes waiting for a random spark to set them off.
“I’m hungwy. Can we eat now?”
All eyes swiveled to the dark hallway over their heads. Jack could just make out Daisy standing there, clutching her cowgirl Barbie. His heart kicked so hard it nearly threw him off balance. How much had she heard?
Meg managed to answer, “Y-Yes, honey, I think we’re ready.” Marie and Nora appeared then and the three girls pounded gleefully down the stairs and into the dining room.
Jack had no intention of sitting down to dinner with Pete until Meg threw him a beseeching look: Pretend everything’s normal. For the girls’ sake.
If he’d ever seen her looking more miserable, he couldn’t remember. He’d always done this to her, he thought. Brought her heartache when all he’d ever wanted was to make her happy.
He’d pretend everything was normal if it killed him.
*
“MMM... WHO MADE this yummy sweet-potato casserole?” Jack made himself scoop up a large helping of the orange glop with its crust of browned marshmallow. A giant fist squeezed his stomach. Forcing anything into it would take a heroic effort.
Daisy rose to the bait. “I did!”
“You only ate the marshmallows,” Marie charged.
Nora said, “Daddy, you’re wearing the shirt we gave you for your birthday.”
“That’s right, sweetie. It’s my favorite shirt.”
“And you’re not scratchy anymore,” Marie said.
He ran a hand over his smooth jaw. “You didn’t like my whiskers?”
She wrinkled her nose.
“I liked them,” Tanya said. “They made you look rugged. Like some, I don’t know, lumberjack.”
Pete and Neal speared Jack with identical baleful expressions. They’d never looked more alike.
Nora said, “Please pass the stuffing.”
Jack was about to praise the politeness of her request when Winston intercepted the serving bowl. “You may have more stuffing when you finish your green beans, Nora.”
Nora whined, “The beans are gooey.”
Marie said, “Eat the crunchy onion stuff on top. That part’s okay.”
Jack sent a wordless message to Winston, who defiantly held his stare for one long, sizzling beat. Winston was the first to break eye contact, muttering, “I don’t suppose it would hurt to skip your green vegetables just this once.”
Meg’s alert gaze ricocheted from her fiancé to her ex-husband. That look said, Did I miss something here?
Neal turned to Tanya. “After dinner I wanna show you that sugar bowl of Great-grandma Fleming’s I told you about.”
Who did Neal think he was fooling? Jack wondered. Did the little weasel actually believe no one had noticed the two of them slinking into the house through separate doors earlier? Soaked to the skin? With wood chips clinging to their clothes?
Neal and Tanya put their heads together, ostensibly to discuss Great-grandma Fleming’s crockery, while Pete announced, “The old broad’s sugar dish’ll have to wait. We’re all gonna play Murder Won after dinner.”
Neal pried himself away from his stepmother to say, “Tanya and I will take a rain check.”
“I said everyone’s playing. A little murder and mayhem is good for the digestion. Even for a mama’s boy like you. You telling me there’s no one at this table you wouldn’t like to bump off?”
The flesh around Neal’s eyes tightened fractionally. His gaze slid away from his father, and a mottled flush crawled up his throat. Tanya patted his arm and whispered something in his ear.
Oblivious, Winston said, “Well, I for one would love to try my hand at this game of yours, Pete. Reminds me of Thanksgivings when I was a boy. We always gathered in the music room after dinner for some cutthroat backgammon.”
Pete said, “You want cutthroat, you’re in for a treat. This is no fairy-mary backgammon. It’s life or death. Kill or be killed. Survival of the fittest.”
Neal picked up his fork. “Hey, Jack. I thought you ex-cons had your own special eating style. You know.” He hunched over his food in demonstration, his arms circling his plate, his eyes sliding around the table suspiciously.
Pete snickered. Winston appeared to be biting back a smirk.
Meg’s stricken eyes met Jack’s. Just for an instant. Long enough to make him wonder if she was humiliated for him or for herself, for having ever been Mrs. Jack Wolf.
Daisy asked, “What’s a ex-con?”
Jack laid his fork on his plate. “You know, Neal, teaching you some manners would almost be worth the trip back to Sing Sing.”
“Jack...” Meg’s tortured whisper sliced right through him.
Daisy cried, “I wanna go to Sing Sing!” What a jolly-sounding place.
Pete said, “That brother of yours. Mike, is it?”
Meg groaned, “Pete, please...”
“He still there? At Sing Sing?”
Jack watched Marie and Nora exchange wide-eyed stares. They’d never been told they had an uncle. “It’s Mitch,” he said tightly. “And yeah, as far as I know, he’s still there.” Pumping iron and filing appeals.
Not even for Meg would he subject himself to this. Rising with as much dignity as he could muster, he politely excused himself and went in search of something stronger than amber ale.