See Jane Score

Chapter 12

Put in the Third Row: Hit Hard

“It’s weird not having a yard,” Marie said, talking about the differences in her life now that she lived in Luc’s Bell Town condo. “And I don’t do laundry anymore,” she added as they stepped out of the elevator on the nineteenth floor. “That’s nice.”

“Luc does your laundry?”

Marie laughed. “No.” They moved down the hall to the last door on the left. “We send it out and it comes back all clean and folded.”

“Even your underwear?”

“Yep.”

“I don’t think I want anyone touching my panties,” Jane said while Marie opened the door. At least not strangers, she thought as she stepped inside and came to an abrupt halt. The impact of the windows stopped Jane in her tracks and replaced thoughts of strange people folding her thongs. The windows ran from floor to ceiling and took up an entire wall. Beyond the tops of buildings, she could see the ships in Elliott Bay. The room was filled with a deep blue couch and chairs and wrought-iron-and-glass coffee and end tables. The angles of the rooms seemed to flow in on themselves and big potted plants thrived in brushed stainless steel pots. To her left, the Devils battled Long Island on the big-screen television, while Dave Matthews pumped through the stereo fit into a huge entertainment center.

Luc stood in the open kitchen separated from the living room by a granite bar. The cabinets behind him had glass fronts with chrome handles. The appliances were stainless steel and a bit futuristic-looking. Luc picked up a remote and cut the sound to the stereo. A smile curved his mouth and crinkled the corners of his eyes. “You look great, Marie.”

Marie dumped her bags on the floor and tossed her coat on the couch. She spun around for her brother. “I think I look twenty-one,” she said.

“Not quite.” He turned his smile on Jane, and she once again felt like a magnate, pulled by a force stronger than herself. “Wanna beer, Jane?”

“No, thanks. I don’t drink beer.” She set her briefcase and jacket on the couch.

“What do you drink?”

“Water’s fine.”

“I’ll take Jane’s beer,” Marie volunteered, bless her heart.

“As soon as you are twenty-one,” he said as he pulled a bottle of water out of a stainless steel refrigerator.

“I bet you drank before you turned twenty-one.”

“Yeah, and look how I turned out.” He shut the door with his foot and pointed the bottle at Jane. “Don’t say it.”

“I wasn’t going to say a thing.” She moved across the room and stepped between two chrome and gray leather barstools.

“Better not.” He tossed a few ice cubes in a glass and twisted the top off the bottle. He’d pushed up the sleeves of a plaster-colored ribbed sweater, and the edge of a white T-shirt showed beneath the crew neck. He wore his gold Rolex and a pair of olive cargo pants. “ ‘Cause I know stuff to blackmail you.”

He knew she melted when he kissed her and that she didn’t like to wear a bra. “You don’t know any of the really good stuff.”

A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “How good?”

Stuff that would blow his mind, and she just thanked God he would never figure it out. He would never know that she was Honey Pie.

“What stuff?” Marie wanted to know as she took a seat beside Jane.

“That I’m a Girl Scout,” Jane answered.

Luc lifted one dubious brow and set the glass on the bar.

“Well, I was,” she assured him.

“Me too,” Marie added. “I still have all my patches.”

“I was never a Boy Scout.”

Marie rolled her eyes. “Well, duh.”

Luc looked at his sister as if he meant to comment, but at the last second decided against it. Instead, he returned the water to the refrigerator and set a bowl of marinated chicken breasts on the counter.

“What can I do to help?” Jane asked.

Opening a drawer, he took out a fork and turned the chicken. “Just sit tight and relax.”

“I’ll help you,” his sister volunteered and slid off the barstool.

Luc glanced up and smiled, his blue eyes warm as he looked at Marie, and Jane’s heart squeezed in a way that had nothing to do with her lust for him. Nothing to do with infatuation, and everything to do with seeing the kinder, gentler side of Luc Martineau. “That’d be great. Thanks. Grab the pasta and get it boiling.”

Marie walked around the bar and joined Luc in the kitchen. She pulled down a red box from one glass-faced cabinet, then reached for a measuring cup. “Two cups of water,” she read out loud. “And a tablespoon of butter.”

“When Marie was little,” Luc said as she turned on the faucet, “she said ‘gotter’ instead of water.”

“How do you know?” Marie asked as she measured water into a cup.

“I heard you when I came to visit when Dad was still alive. You were probably two.”

“I was cute when I was a baby.”

“You were bald.”

She turned off the water and poured it into a pan. “So?”

He reached over and messed up her hair. “You looked like a monkey.”

“Luc!” Marie set the pan on the stove and brushed her hair with her fingers.

He laughed, a deep pleased-with-himself ha-ha-ha. “You were a cute monkey.”

“Okay. That’s better.” She turned on the burner and added the butter. “You’re just jealous because you looked like a Teletubby.”

“What’s a Teletubby?”

“Oh, my gosh! You don’t know what a Teletubby is?” She shook her head at her clueless brother.

“No.” A bewildered crease furrowed his brow as he turned his blue gaze on Jane. “Do you?”

“Unfortunately, yes. It’s a show geared toward very young children. And, as far as I could tell from the one time I watched it, all the Teletubbies do is run around in Teletubbyland babbling and baby-talking.”

“And they show pictures on their tummies,” Marie added.

His mouth fell open a bit, his eyes glazed, and he looked as if he were getting a sudden headache just thinking about it. “You’re kidding.”

“No.” Jane shook her head. “And in my own defense, I only know this because a few years ago, Jerry Falwell made headlines when he warned parents that there are gay undertones in Teletubbyland. Apparently because Tinky Winky is purple and carries a red purse.”

“Tinky Winky?” Slowly he turned and looked at his sister. “Holy hell, and you make fun of me for watching hockey.”

“It’s not the same thing. You watching hockey is like me watching school.”

She had a point.

He must have thought so too because he conceded with a shrug of his shoulders. “I can’t believe you watch those Telebelly things,” he said, but he did pick up the remote and shut off the hockey game.

“Teletubby,” Marie corrected him. “When I go to Hanna’s, she puts in the tapes for her two-year-old brother. It mesmerizes him so we can paint our fingernails.”

“Hanna?”

“The girl who lives on the third floor. I told you about her.”

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot her name.” Once Luc set the vegetables steaming, he turned on the stovetop grill and put the chicken on.

“I’m going to the movies with her after dinner.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“No.”

Luc had an innate grace about him, whether it was reaching for a puck or turning chicken breasts on a grill, an economy of motion and fluid style that was fascinating to watch. Almost as fascinating as the way his butt filled out those cargo pants. The bottom edge of his sweater hit just below his hips and right above the Nautica label sewn on his back pocket.

Jane listened to Luc and his sister talk about her day. Everything Marie had bought, and her plans for later. Jane knew from her conversations with Luc that he didn’t think he was doing a good job with Marie. Seeing them together, Jane wasn’t so sure he was right. They seemed to get along pretty well. They were a family. Perhaps not an average family, maybe not always easy, but family just the same. They stood at the stove, cooking, talking, trying to include Jane, but she still felt a little left out. Marie in the too-tight jeans she’d worn when Jane had picked her up that morning, and Luc in his pants that were just right.

Luc flipped chicken and Marie filled him in on the different designers Caroline had told her about. “I hope you finally bought some jeans that aren’t too tight,” he said as he checked on the steaming vegetables.

Marie looked across her shoulder at her brother and her blue eyes got a bit squinty.

Perhaps if Luc had glanced his sister’s way he would have noticed she’d just taken serious issue with him and he wouldn’t have added, “Your pants are so tight it’s a wonder you don’t blow out the seams.”

Uh-oh.

“That’s soooo mean! I don’t tell you your jeans are too tight.”

“That’s because they’re not. I don’t like anything up my butt.” Finally, he glanced at Marie. “What are you so mad about?”

Marie opened her mouth, but Jane headed her off. “Marie picked out some nice things and she looks really cute in them.” Well, except that studded belt. “Caroline helped her out. I’m not any good at fashion stuff or that whole color chart thing. That’s why I wear a lot of black.”

Luc moved to lean his behind into the counter. “I thought it was because you were the Queen of the Damned.”

She glanced into his smiling eyes and frowned. “No, rude guy,” she said and turned her attention back to Marie. “The next time I go get waxed, you should come along. I used to shave, but I’m a wax job convert now. It hurts like hell… ah, I mean the dickens… but it’s worth it.”

“Okay.” Marie smiled at her brother. “Can I keep one of your Visas, Luc?”

“Hell, no.” He crossed his bare feet and folded his arms over his wide chest. “You’ll buy twenty pounds of candy and bad Britney Spears CDs.”

Marie was back to glaring. “That only happened once, and it wasn’t twenty pounds. And I don’t buy bad CDs.”

“Twice. All that sugar is bad for you and Britney Spears is a mind-suck.” Tension strained the air, yet Luc didn’t seem to notice. Either that or he was just good at ignoring it. He straightened and checked on their meal. “Someday, when you still have all your teeth and your brain hasn’t turned to Jell-O because of Britney, you’re going to thank me.”

By the look on Marie’s face, that someday was a looooong way off.

By the time they all sat down at the dinning room table, Marie had pretty much gone mute. Even though Jane had been a teenage girl once, she didn’t recall ever being so moody. Then again, she didn’t have a brother who told her her pants were too tight and her music sucked. Just a father who used to aggravate and creep her out by blaming everything on her “woman’s time.”

Luc sat at the head of the table with Jane and Marie on opposite sides. Three glasses of milk sat beside their plates, even though Jane recalled telling him she didn’t drink milk when he’d asked. No one had served her milk since grade school, she thought as she placed her napkin on her lap and dug into her meal. She’d had men try to force alcohol on her before, but never milk.

Not only had Luc managed to make cooking look good, he made it taste good also. A guy who looked good enough to eat and could cook? If it wasn’t for his Barbie collection, and forcing milk on her, he’d be too good to be true.

“The chicken is wonderful,” Jane complimented him.

“Thanks. The secret is in the orange juice.”

“You make the marinade yourself?”

“Sure, the stuff-”

“Did you know,” Marie interrupted, “that dolphins are the only mammals other than man that have sex for pleasure?”

Luc’s fork stopped in midair and he looked at his sister. Marie was purposely baiting him and Jane was interested to hear his response, to see if he’d freak out and give her the reaction she wanted.

“Where did you hear that?” he asked.

“My biology teacher told me. And a kid in the class went to Disney World and swam with the dolphins, and he says they’re really horny.”

The fork continued to his mouth and he chewed thoughtfully. “I don’t remember learning about horny dolphins in school. We just dissected frogs.” He turned his attention to Jane. “I feel cheated.” Then he took all the wind out of Marie’s sails. “What about you, Jane? Did you get to learn about horny dolphins?”

She shook her head and tried not to smile. “No, but I saw on the Discovery Channel that they found some homosexual monkeys in Africa. So they’re fairly sure some species of monkeys also mate for pleasure.”

Luc’s brows rose up his forehead. “Homosexual monkeys? How did they determine that?”

She laughed and shook her head.

A smile pushed up the corners of his mouth and little lines appeared at the corners of his blue eyes. “Black-rimmed glasses and cow pajamas?”

“Don’t start that again.”

“What?” Marie wanted to know.

Jane returned his smile as she dug into her pasta. “He thinks I have ugly glasses.”

“And pajamas.”

“How do you know what Jane’s pajamas are like?”

Luc looked at his sister. “I caught her at the candy machine at the hotel in Phoenix wearing the ugliest cow pajamas you can imagine.”

“I was on a chocolate run,” Jane explained. “I thought the players were all in their rooms.”

“Luc doesn’t understand chocolate runs.” Marie rolled her eyes. “He only eats healthy stuff.”

“My body is a temple,” he said around a big bite of cauliflower.

“And anyone with long legs and big boobs is welcome to worship,” Jane added and immediately wished she could take that one back.

Marie laughed.

Luc smiled like a sinner.

Jane changed the subject before he could comment. “Who’s Mrs. Jackson?”

“The old lady who stays with me when Luc is gone,” Marie answered.

“Gloria Jackson is a retired schoolteacher and a very nice woman.”

“She’s old.” Marie took a bite of pasta. “She eats slow too.”

“Now, there’s a reason to hate her.”

“I don’t hate Gloria. I just don’t think I need a babysitter.”

Luc let out an exasperated breath as if they’d had this conversation before. A lot. He reached for his glass of milk and took a long drink. When he lowered it again, a slim white mustache rested on his top lip and he sucked it off. “Why aren’t you drinking your milk?” he asked Jane.

“I told you I don’t like milk.”

“I know, but you need the calcium. It’s good for your bones.”

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about my bones.”

“Not worried.” A sexy grin curved his mouth. “Curious, though.”

His words and the look in his eyes slipped inside and warmed her up in places that were better left cooled.

“Better just drink it, Jane,” Marie warned, missing the sexual innuendo between the two adults. “Luc always gets what he wants.”

“Always?” Jane asked.

“No.” He shook his head. “Not always.”

“Most of the time,” Marie insisted.

“I hate to lose.” His gaze drifted to Jane’s mouth. “I’m a do-or-die-trying kind of guy.”

Jane glanced at Marie, who was busy pushing her broccoli to the edge of her plate. “Whatever it takes?” she asked and returned her attention to Luc.

“Absolutely.”

“What about finesse?”

“Depends on my odds.” He looked back up into her eyes and said, “Sometimes I’m forced to play dirty.”

“Forced?”

A wicked grin curved his mouth. “Sometimes I just like to play dirty.”

Yes, Jane knew that about him. She’d seen him shove and hook skates and run roughshod in front of his net. But she didn’t think he was talking about hockey.

“When can I get my driver’s license?” Marie broke in and thankfully changed the subject.

Both adults looked at her, then Luc leaned back in his chair and Jane breathed easier. “You’re not old enough.”

“Yes, I am. I’m sixteen.”

“When you’re eighteen.”

“No way, Luc.” She gulped down her milk and placed it on her empty plate. “I want a new Volkswagen Beetle. I can buy it with my own money.”

“You can’t have your money until you’re twenty-one.”

“I’ll get a job.”

He watched her take her plate and utensils and move into the kitchen. “She’s in one of her moods tonight,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

“She’s mad because you told her her jeans are too tight.”

“They are.”

Jane gathered her napkin in her hand and laid it on the table. “I don’t think she’ll have that problem now. Caroline talked her into buying clothes that fit.”

“It was very nice of you and your friend to give up your Saturday and take my sister shopping,” he said as both of them watched Marie leave the kitchen and move down the hall to her bedroom. “I can’t imagine anything worse.” Luc slid his palm beneath Jane’s and he studied her fingers.

“Caroline did everything.” Her hand appeared small and very white within the warmth of his, and her chest suddenly felt too tight. “I can barely dress myself. I wear a lot of black because I don’t know what colors look good on me.”

“Red.” He turned her hand over and looked at her palm. Slowly, his gaze slid up her wrist and arm, past her shoulder to her mouth once more. He leaned closer, and his voice got a little deeper, hotter. “You look good in red, but I believe we’ve already talked about that little red dress of yours,” he said. His voice chased warm flutters across her flesh to the pit of her stomach.

“The one that hypnotized you into kissing me?”

“I’ve decided it wasn’t the dress. It was the woman in the dress.” His thumb brushed the side of hers. “You have soft girl skin.”

She placed her free hand on her stomach as if she could still the butterflies. “I am a girl.”

“I noticed. Even when I don’t want to notice you. Sitting in the back of the plane or bus or walking into the locker room after a game, ready to take on a bunch of guys twice your size, I’ve always noticed you, Jane.”

Nervous laughter got stuck in her throat. “Probably because I’m the only female traveling with thirty men. I’m kind of hard to miss.”

“Maybe at first.” His gaze took in her hair and face. “I’d look around and see you, and I’d be surprised because you weren’t supposed to be there.” He lowered his gaze to hers. “Now I look for you.”

Even as his words made her heart beat a bit harder, what he said was hard for her to believe. “I thought you didn’t want me traveling with the team.”

He placed her hand back on her napkin. “I didn’t.” He stood and gathered the plates and utensils. “I still don’t.”

Jane grabbed the glasses and followed him into the kitchen. “Why? I told you I’m not interested in a tell-all book.” And she wasn’t. Honey Pie was a fictional column. Erotic fantasy. Her erotic fantasy.

He set everything in the sink, and instead of answering, he took her full glass of milk and drained it. When he lowered the glass again, she repeated her question. “Why don’t you want me traveling with the team?”

His blue eyes stared into hers as he sucked his milk mustache from his top lip, and she had a feeling his answer was very important. To her. Because, though she wished it weren’t happening, and no matter how hard she tried to prevent it, she was falling in love with Luc. The harder she resisted, the more the force of it pulled her under.

“I’m leaving,” Marie said as she reentered the kitchen.

For a few brief moments, Luc continued to look at Jane before dragging his gaze to his sister. “Do you need money?” he asked and set the glass in the sink.

“I have a twenty. That ought to cover it.” Marie shrugged into a snowboarding jacket and pulled her hair from the back collar. “I might spend the night with Hanna. She has to ask her mom, though.”

“Let me know either way.”

“I will.” She zipped up her coat and bade Jane good-bye. As Jane watched Luc walk his sister to the door, her gaze fell on her briefcase and she was reminded why she was in his apartment in the first place. They might be attracted to each other, but they were both professionals and she was here to do a job. She wasn’t his kind of woman, and she didn’t want to fall in love with a man who would break her heart like a Dorito.

She moved from the kitchen to the sofa in the living room. She unzipped her briefcase and pulled out a pad of paper and her tape recorder. Jane didn’t want her heart broken. She didn’t want to love Luc Martineau, but each beat of her heart told her it was too late.

When Luc shut the door behind Marie, Jane looked up at him. “Ready to get busy?” she asked.

“Are we officially on the clock?”

“Yep.” She took a pen from the pocket of her briefcase.

He moved toward her, his long stride closing the distance between them. What was it about him walking toward her, looking at her through his beautiful blue eyes, that melted her beneath his molten mojo?

“Where do you want to do it?” she asked.

“Now, there’s a question,” he said through a warm sexy smile.