Jack hugged his aunt, relieved for the few extra seconds
before he had to confront his brother's wife. When the
Heaven Scent threatened to send him into a sneeze attack,
he eased from his aunt's grasp and pecked her cheek. "I
know, Aunt Ginny, I know." Then he straightened and faced
her.
She wasn't nineteen anymore, that was damn sure. Her
breasts filled the pink sweater and he could guess at the
tell-tale signs of ample cleavage rimming her bra, despite
the absence of a neckline. His eyes were trained in female
body parts which had nothing to do with his medical
expertise. Jack knew women's bodies, knew how to please
them, knew how to drive them wild.
He'd known how to do both to her. Seven weeks of pure
lust.
He'd never told a soul about it. Had she? He glanced down
which proved another fatal mistake as he caught a glimpse
of thigh. Were her legs still strong and tonedโlike
they were when she used to wrap them around his back?
"Jack," Aunt Virgina interrupted his less than brotherly
thoughts, "this is Audra Valentine." She
paused. "Christian's wife."
There it was, thrown right back in her face. Audra
Valentine, the girl from the wrong side of town. In his
family's eyes, she would always be a Valentine first, a
Wheyton, second. Jack lifted his gaze and met hers. Huge
mistake. Horrible. Disastrous. She still had the most
entrancing eyes, like whiskey burning his throat all the
way to the lining of his gut. Right now those eyes were
staring at him and through him. "Audra." Somehow he
managed
to slide her name through his lips without heaving. "I'm
very sorry." Sorry I had to see you again. Sorry I ever
touched you in the first place. Sorry I compare every woman
I'm with to you.
"Thank you."
The huskiness of her voice sent a thousand jolts of
electricity through him. Damn her. Damn him. This was his
brother's wife, for Chrissake. But she'd been Jack's
lover
first. Or had she been sleeping with both of them at the
same time? That was one torture that never left him. He'd
find out before she flew back to California, even if he had
to pull every beautiful strand of mahogany hair from her
head to do it.
She brushed her gaze past him with a coolness that
surprised him. The old Audra Valentine wouldn't have been
able to dismiss him so easily. But this one pushed him
aside as though he were day-old coffee. Christ, it was
going to be a long few days.
"Audra." Leslie sliced through his thoughts. "Leslie
Richot. We never officially met but I've heard quite a bit
about you."
Jack cleared his throat. And none of it good. You're the
one who stole the man she was going to marry. He knew
that's what Leslie was thinking, knew that's what the
whole
room was thinking.
Audra's lips pulled at the ends. "I'm sure you have."
"Leslie's Jack's fiancรฉ." Aunt Virginia clutched
Jack's
hand and squeezed.
"Aunt Ginny, that's not exactly correct." He snatched a
glance at Leslie who watched him with open curiosity.
"Why not? You've been seeing this girl for two years,
haven't you? And you're thirty-five, my boy. Time for
wedding bells and babies. No more dilly dallying." She
plumped out her thin lips and nodded. "It's your duty."
Heat crept up Jack's neck, smothered his cheeks and chin.
He was thirty-five years old but right now he felt
sixteen. "This really isn't a good time, Aunt Ginny."
"No," she agreed, yanking out a crumpled tissue and
swiping
her nose. "It's not." She hiccoughed and the tears
escaped,
streaking her rouged cheeks.
"Oh, Virginia," Leslie patted her arm. "I know." She
lowered her voice to a sympathy pitch. "I know."
Audra glanced at him one last time before he moved toward
the casket. He didn't want to look at his brother. He'd
just faced Christian's wife and he'd certainly not wanted
to do that. But this? He swallowed and cleared his throat.
This was his little brother, shrouded in cream silk and
roses, his lips an unnatural pink, his skin drenched in
pancake makeup. It wasn't right, and it wasn't fair and
it
didn't matter that Jack was a doctor and knew life and
death had nothing to do with right and fair.
Two days ago he'd stood beside his mother as she stroked
Christian's cold cheek and told him about the cherry pie
she'd baked for him and how she'd bought his favorite
horseradish cheese at the deli. Jack's father grew pastier
with each recount and by the time his wife started on about
the stuffed pork chops she'd planned for Christian's
welcome home dinner, the old man let out a groan and half
limped, half ran from the room.
Jack stood before the casket now but refused to look at his
brother's face. His gaze fell to the hands, clasped
together, graceful fingers laced over one another, the gold
wedding band glinting love and commitment. Jack squeezed
his eyes shut. I'm sorry, Christian. Sorry I ever touched
her. Forgive me. God, forgive me.
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