Boy, she really knew where to hit me. “I can take care of you, honey.”
“I know, but you’re not a lady. When I’m sick, I like soft hands like Mommy’s.”
Hell. I hated to have Jillian stay, but I couldn’t find a way of denying the request that didn’t leave me feeling like a monster.
“Well, if Jillian doesn’t mind—okay.”
“I don’t mind,” Jillian said. “I don’t mind a bit.”
49
matt
Hope was wearing that thing I first saw her in, that sheer floaty gown from the 1940s, and we were in the diner in Mississippi, dancing like Fred and Ginger. We were doing all these wonderful, graceful, spontaneous moves—twists and dips and swings and what all. As the music slowed, I stretched her on a table—but then the lighting changed and the room kind of twirled and the table became a bed. The bed rotated and somehow so did we, so that she was behind me, spooning. She was warm and soft, and her arm was draped across my chest.
Something jarred me a little, pulling me up from the depths of sleep into shallower dream waters. I sighed and tried to fall back into the dream, imagining Hope was snuggled against me, and her hand was moving down my chest... down my belly... down to my cock, which immediately hardened.
My eyes jerked open. This was no dream. My sweatpants were loosened and a hand was closed around my penis, stroking up and down. Pleasure poured through me. Hope must have sneaked back into the house and into bed with me.
“This is quite a pleasant surp...” I rolled toward her, and the moonlight slanting through the window hosed my dream—and my erection—like cold water.
The face on the pillow wasn’t Hope’s; it was Jillian’s.
“What—what the hell are you doing?” I gasped.
“Let me love you, Matt.” She rose on an elbow, still reaching for my crotch.
I gripped her wrist and twisted away.
“It’s okay,” she purred. “It won’t take away from your love for Christine. It can be so wonderful if you’ll just let it happen.”
“Stop it!” I scooted to the edge of the bed and switched on the light.
“You’re upset.”
I could barely bring myself to look at her. When I did, I wished I hadn’t. She was wearing some low-cut nightgown that looked like it came from Frederick’s of Hollywood. “Hell yes, I’m upset!”
“Matt, I can make you love me. I can love you enough for both of us until you do. I love the girls, and they need a mother. I’ll be good for you. I can make you feel everything you felt with her, I swear it.”
“Jillian, I don’t want...” What the hell was I supposed to say? I ran a hand down my face and searched for the right words. “Look—I don’t feel that way about you.”
“You could if you’d give me a chance. You wanted me a moment ago. You were hard in my hand.” She slid off the bed and onto her knees before me. Holy Moses—was she trying to go down on me? “Jesus, Jillian! Stop it!” I moved across the room to my dresser.
“Daddy?” I heard the door rattle. Apparently Jillian had locked it. Thank God for that. But still—Sophie was standing outside!
I adjusted my sweatpants and tried for a normal fatherly tone. “Are you feeling okay, honey?”
“Yes. But I heard voices. Is Aunt Jillian in there with you?”
Christ. What the hell was I supposed to do? If I lied to her, she could just walk down the hall and find Jillian’s bed empty. She might have done that already. I opened my dresser, grabbed a T-shirt and pulled it on while Jillian wrapped herself in the bathrobe she’d apparently worn to my room. I strode to the door and opened it. Sophie stood there, sucking her thumb. She peered around me and waved at Jillian.
Great, just great. She’d tell her grandparents, and everything would turn into a big ugly mess. “Jillian came in just a moment ago because, uh, she was, uh, feeling bad.”
“Oh,” Sophie’s eyes unexpectedly filled with tears. She looked at Jillian. “Is it ’cause Zoey lied?”
“What?” I asked.
“She acted sick when she wasn’t. My friend Savannah said that if you pretend to be sick when you’re not, someone you love will get sick for real.”
