Friends and Lovers Trilogy 02 - Charmed (8 page)

Chapter Nine

“If you’re not out in three minutes, Jean-Pierre, I’m leaving without you.” Rudy pounded on the bathroom door, glanced at his watch. “Two minutes and fifty-eight seconds.”

The door whipped opened. “Calm down, Bunny. I am ready.”

If he weren’t so ticked, he would’ve admired the view. An avid runner, Jean-Pierre had a killer body—buff torso, rock-hard thighs—and a package that belied his average height. Instead of voicing his admiration, he stated the obvious. “You’re in your briefs.”

“Oui.” Jean-Pierre breezed past him, into their bedroom.

Rudy smirked. “But you’re ready.”

“Oui.
Une minute
.”

The doorbell rang. Rudy threw up his hands. He’d wanted to leave an hour ago, but Jean-Pierre had stalled saying it was rude to show up uninvited at someone’s house before dawn. Rudy wasn’t feeling polite. He certainly didn’t think of Colin Murphy as
polite.
He wanted to drive over to check on Lulu and Sofie in person. He trudged down the stairs of the two-story townhouse, as bristly as a nylon brush. Sleeping had been impossible last night. He opened the door, narrowed his eyes. “I want to talk to you.”

“Ditto.” Jake Leeds walked past him and jogged up the stairs.

Rudy followed, admiring his best friend’s husband’s attire. The man was a walking Gap store. Faded denim jacket pulled over a classic navy T-shirt. Blue baseball cap. Work boots. The jeans—low rise, slim fit—were especially nice.

“You better not be checking out my ass, Gallow.”

“Get over yourself,” Rudy said, although he’d been doing just that. If Afia were here she would have been ogling right along with him. They both agreed her husband had the butt of a Greek God. The rest of him deserved equal worship. Short blond hair. Killer green eyes. Jean-Pierre once commented he had the lips of Brad Pitt. True. No wonder kissing had become Afia’s favorite past time.

“Where’s JP?” “Golden-boy” asked as he crested the stairs.

“Getting dressed.”

“What’s for breakfast?”

Rudy rolled his eyes. “You don’t have food at home?”

“I didn’t want to bang around in the kitchen. Afia was sleeping.”

“So what?” Earlier this year, after the IRS had confiscated her house, and before she’d met Jake, Afia had spent a month as Rudy’s houseguest. Too polite to take his room, she’d crashed on the sofa. “Afia sleeps like the dead.”

“Not lately.” Jake pushed up the brim of his baseball cap and headed toward the kitchen. “I thought she was insatiable before, but now that we’re trying to have a baby … She’s killing me, man. Every time I turn around she wants to have sex.”

“My heart bleeds for you.” Rudy knew the P.I. was as hot for Afia as she was for him, and it wasn’t just about baby-making. No matter what the future held, no matter if they had zero or ten kids, they’d always be together, in love and in lust even after they’d turned old and grey. He smoothed a hand over his thick, choppy locks, wondering if Jean-Pierre would be as attracted to him when his hair thinned and his muscles shriveled.

And vice versa.

“Cereal.” Jake smiled when he spied the box on the counter. “Excellent.” He swung open the refrigerator door nabbed the skim milk. “Got any fruit?”

“Blueberries. Second shelf.” Jean-Pierre sauntered into the living room zipping up his favorite Ralph Laurens.
“Bon jour,
Jake.”

“Morning, JP.”

Rudy braced his hands on his hips, flabbergasted at his partner’s state of undress. Although he’d poured himself into the brown and tan floral print jeans, he was still barefoot and shirtless. “You take longer to get ready than a woman.”

“Doubt it.” Jake nabbed a bowl and a spoon. “Ever been around when Afia’s trying to pick out something to wear?”

“Yes,” they both answered.

Jake chuckled. “Right. Sometimes I forget.”

“Who’s this Murphy character,” Rudy asked, trying to swing the conversation back to the source of his foul mood.

Jake brushed past him armed with the breakfast of champions. “A protection specialist.”

“I got that much last night,” Rudy said, following him into the dining room. “Who is he to you, and what’s he doing with Lulu?”

“He’s an associate, and he’s doing his job.”

Jean-Pierre carried in a carafe and three cups.
“Café?”

Jake released an orgasmic sigh. “God, yes.”

“Ah,
oui, café
is life.” The Frenchman grinned and poured. “I could use another cup myself.
Someone
has ants in his pants this morning. Keeps rushing me.”

Rudy grunted. “I happen to be concerned about a friend. I don’t know this Murphy.”

“I do.” Jake pointed to Rudy with his spoon. “Take a load off. Have some bean-juice.”

“But—”

“Sit.”

Talk about controlling.
Rudy frowned. “I don’t know how Afia puts up with you.”

Jake grinned. “That makes two of us.”

“If you say this Murphy is trustworthy, then of course we believe you,” Jean-Pierre said. “We simply wish to look in on Lulu, to make sure that she is feeling better. Also, we need to return her car.”

“The pink Beetle parked out front? I wondered about that.” Jake shook his head, sipped his coffee. “Who the hell drives a pink car?”

“If you knew Lulu,” Rudy said, “you’d understand.”

“This is so.” Jean-Pierre smiled, nabbed his steaming cup.
“M’excusez, s’il vous plaît.
I am going to finish dressing.”

“It’s about time,” Rudy grumbled.

“Love you too, Bunny.” Jean-Pierre planted a chaste kiss on his frowning mouth, and then hustled toward the bedroom, cup in hand.

Jake groaned. “I hate it when you guys do that.”

“Screw you.”

“You wish.” Jake waggled his brows, and then spooned wheat flakes into his mouth.

Rudy laughed. He couldn’t help it.
That
was why Afia loved the guy. There wasn’t a judgmental bone in his body. Not really. “All right. So what did you want to talk to me about?”

His hetero friend sobered. “Lulu and Murphy.” He met Rudy’s gaze. “And Afia.”

Dread warred with curiosity, causing Rudy to lean forward. “What about Afia?”

“She can’t know about any of this.”

“Any of what?”

Jake toyed with his cereal. “Late last night I remembered where I’d heard the name Princess Charming. Lulu performed for the kids at the Sea Serpent, didn’t she?”

The daycare center where Afia volunteered. “Yeah. She did a show there last month,” Rudy said. “So what?”

“So Afia knows her.”

“Casually.”

“And likes her.”

“Everyone likes Lulu.” Rudy crossed his arms over his chest so as not to bang his fist on the table, or worse, into his friend’s nose. “You’re irritating the hell out of me, Jake. What’s going on?”

“Golden-boy” pushed his bowl aside and leaned forward. “Afia would want to help the woman if she thought she was in trouble.”

Rudy’s pulse quickened.
“Is
Lulu in trouble?”

“It would seem so.”

“Why didn’t she say something last night?”

“She’s not aware of the situation. Yet.” Jake shrugged, repositioned his ball cap. “It’s complicated. And it’s about to become more so, because I’m dragging you and JP into it. Murphy’s not happy about that, which personally floats my boat, but I told him you were already invested and wouldn’t be easily dismissed.”

“You got that right.” He dragged a hand over his goatee in exasperation. “So are you going to fill me in before the first snow?”

Jake angled his head, his emerald eyes glittering with determination. “As soon as you agree that Afia’s out of the loop.”

Rudy’s expression was just as adamant. “You know what happened the last time we kept her in the dark.” She didn’t speak to Rudy for days, and broke up with Jake for months.

“We’ll just have to risk it.”

Which meant the danger level was in the red zone. Rudy jolted his senses with two gulps of cinnamon-laced caffeine. “Agreed. Now spill.”

Sundays were Lulu’s favorite day of the week. Old-fashioned to the bone, she rarely worked on the seventh day. It was a sacred day. Not that she attended church regularly, but that was only because she found it hard to accept one specific faith as the true faith. She supposed she was more spiritual than religious. She had Viv to thank for that. Her grandmother was a loving, tolerant soul and the finest example of a human being that Lulu had ever known.

No, Sunday wasn’t so much a day to attend church as a day to attend one’s soul. To reflect upon one’s life and family. To kick back and enjoy. A day to count one’s blessings.

Even when things had been at their worst–when Terry had been so terribly distant because, yet again, she’d failed to conceive–she’d managed to count her blessings. He was healthy. She was healthy, relatively. They had each other. That was enough. Or so she’d stupidly thought.

As of late, Sundays were a depressing reminder that she was a failure as a wife. Considering her bungled attempts to seduce Colin Murphy, she supposed that made her a failure as a woman, period. Talk about depressing.

Okay. On second thought, she hated Sundays.

Forget that she’d slept until noon and had enjoyed a leisurely shower. She still felt distracted as she towel-dried her wet curls and moisturized her dry skin. She couldn’t stop thinking about yesterday. It was like one long, blurry dream. The back-to-back loonytales, Murphy’s visit, her escapades on the dance floor. She cringed when she thought about the way she’d rubbed up against all those men,
especially
Murphy. Her only excuse was that she’d been delirious from exhaustion, lack of food, and that stupid flu bug.

Asking Murphy to have sex in a coat closet had been the topper.
No,
puking on his shoes had been the topper, or rather the downer of the evening. Kissing him … she scraped her teeth over her lower lip and sighed … Kissing him had been bliss. She’d told him it had been “nice,” but in truth she’d seen stars. Orbited the moon. Who would’ve thought one’s soul could soar because of a kiss?

Of course, if she had claimed an out-of-body experience, he would’ve thought her juvenile or daft. Obviously, she hadn’t set any of his body parts afire or a-flight. He’d pulled back, clearly uncomfortable. At the time she’d eased the sting of her humiliation by telling herself that he was being a gentleman. She should feel blessed instead of disappointed. He so totally could’ve taken advantage.

Which only made her want him all the more.

This man was considerate to the bone. She reflected on how he’d carried in her prop bag and nagged her about home security. The way he’d been there for her at Oz and later at home when she’d felt spooked. How he’d carried her upstairs when she’d fallen asleep and comforted her when she’d awakened in a panic.

For a few brief hours Colin Murphy had been her true life hero, her very own Prince Charming. She’d felt cherished and protected.
Special.

Then Sofie had come home and broken the spell.

Groaning, Lulu jerked on her black cargo pants, a long-sleeved white oxford, and her Converse All-Stars. Her mind buzzed. She assumed Murphy and her drop-dead gorgeous sister had met downstairs to discuss that pearl thong. Imagined they’d exchanged heated looks and sexy banter. They were probably really good at that. She knew Sofie was. She wondered if they’d succumbed to temptation. Did Sofie model that thong? If she did then Murphy probably ravaged her. She imagined them kissing. They were probably really good at that too. She knew Murphy was.

By the time she was through—she had a heck of an imagination—Murphy had morphed from Prince Charming into Casanova. Her stomach churned, the tips of her ears burned, and it wasn’t due to that dratted bug.

Fists clenched, she tiptoed down the hall to Sofie’s room and peeked in. Her sister was conked out, sprawled across the bed, face down. Good thing Murphy had gone home, at least she assumed he had since he wasn’t in Sofie’s bed, because she would’ve given him an earful for taking advantage of her sister when she’d been so upset. Although Sofie had attributed her bleary eyes to alcohol, Lulu didn’t believe it. She’d never seen Sofie drunk. Nope, she’d been upset about something, but instead of spilling her guts to Lulu, she’d smothered the hurt with sex. Maybe not with Murphy, she thought rationally, but most probably with her mystery date.

“Oh, Sof,” she whispered. “What am I going to do with you?” Wishing Viv were there to make them both feel better, Lulu trudged down the stairs muttering, “I hate Sundays.”

She hit the bottom step and smelled cinnamon rolls and coffee. She inhaled deeply, allowing the dreamy aroma to soothe her grumpy mood. Cinnamon was Jean-Pierre’s favorite spice. Hopeful, she peeked out the front window. Yup, her Bug was in the drive and Rudy’s motorcycle was parked behind. If anyone could cheer her up it was Rudy and Jean-Pierre. They’d tease and gossip and make her forget all about the quietly-charged bodyguard who’d shocked her comatose sexuality to life.

She wasn’t ready for this … attraction. Along with desire came longing, frustration, and a gazillion insecurities. Numbness had been preferable.

She moved effortlessly through the living room and dining room, marveling that she didn’t have to hop over or sidestep a single item. The guys had been busy. They’d put away the bolts of fabric and scattered sewing supplies. Shelved and alphabetized her videos and DVDs. They’d even organized her games and props, and Sofie’s magazines.