Shadows At Sunset - Anne Stuart [26]
No, the pizza was too good to waste. And what about the man who’d ordered it? Did she need a new man in her life, someone to distract her from her cravings? Someone to think about, dream about, be young and silly and giddy with as she hadn’t been in what seemed like most of her life?
She’d started noticing the men at the meetings. Or at least one man in particular. The dark one, probably Mexican, with the rumpled clothes and the handsome, weary face. Not that it did her any good. As far as she could see, AA was full of rules. One of which was no major changes in your first year of sobriety. No new lover, no new job, no new life. If she had to have a year of sobriety before she had sex again then she might as well enter a convent.
At least Coltrane wouldn’t know the rules. Somehow Rachel-Ann got the feeling that Jilly wouldn’t be too happy about it if she went for Coltrane, which surprised her. Jilly was almost virginal when it came to men—and Alan Dunbar hadn’t made things any better. Alan was a shit, a gorgeous, romantic, egotistical, uncaring shit. Much more Rachel-Ann’s type than Jilly’s. And while he was energetic enough in his lovemaking, it was performance art, devoid of any kind of caring or communication. Which had suited Rachel-Ann just fine, but left Jilly feeling empty and used.
Rachel-Ann had no idea whether Jilly knew at the time that she and Alan had been having an affair through most of her sister’s short-lived marriage, though she knew now. Rachel-Ann had told her, repentant. If frenzied quickies, spiced with the thrill of almost getting caught, could be called an affair. And Jilly had forgiven her, because she loved her unconditionally. She was the one person who did.
So maybe Rachel-Ann would keep her hands off Coltrane, even if he was as cold-bloodedly gorgeous as Dean said he was. Jilly would have enough sense not to want him, but for some reason Rachel-Ann got the very strong impression that her sister didn’t want anyone else to have him, either.
So be it. Small enough penance for the crime of sleeping with Jilly’s husband.
Besides, it was probably moot. Jilly had said if she had her way Coltrane wouldn’t be coming back to La Casa. And Jilly was notoriously stubborn.
It would be a cold day in hell before Jackson’s pet lawyer set foot on La Casa property again.
6
By the time Jilly arrived home from work the next afternoon Coltrane had already moved into La Casa de Sombras. She’d kicked off her shoes, shaken her long hair free and grabbed an iced tea from the refrigerator, pausing a moment to stare into the suddenly replenished depths. And with sudden dread she knew what had happened, even before she went out on the terrace to find Dean, immaculate in white linen, laughing uproariously at something Coltrane had said.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded abruptly, not even bothering with a greeting.
Dean frowned at her, his blandly handsome face creased with disapproval. His thinning blond hair was swept back off his high forehead, and he looked like the clever dilettante that he was. “Where are your manners, darling? Coltrane’s living here.”
The pit of her stomach felt like ice. Dean was fairly cavalier about his relationships, equally involved with both women and men, and she’d known he’d found Coltrane attractive, but she’d assumed Coltrane wasn’t interested. It shouldn’t matter, but it did. Desperately.
She sat down in a chair, abruptly, hoping they wouldn’t notice how shaken she was. Coltrane was watching her, an enigmatic expression on his face. “I didn’t realize you two were a couple,” she said finally in what she hoped was a breezy voice.
Dean looked amused rather than offended, fully past his sulks. “We’re not, darling. Coltrane’s town house had a fire and Jackson suggested we had more than enough room to put him up for a few weeks until his place gets repaired. Surely you couldn’t have