The Family Simon: Jack Part 1

Jack.

By Juliana Stone.

Chapter One.

If Jack Simon was a betting man, he'd lay money down on the fact that tonight wasn't going to end well. h.e.l.l, if he could go back in time he'd be up for a do-over, because about two minutes after he'd opened his eyes, his day had pretty much gone into the toilet.

For starters, his roommate (a fluff ball named Coco who weighed less than a small cat) decided to c.r.a.p on the floor instead of waiting to be let outside. He'd inherited the dog after a nasty break-up with his ex, and d.a.m.ned if the little guy didn't do everything in his power to p.i.s.s Jack off. He supposed the dog had a right to be a pain in the a.s.s, what with being male and having a name like Coco, but still....

After dealing with that mess, Jack had gone for an early morning jog, and he'd somehow managed to twist his ankle on a piece of driftwood. Seriously. Driftwood.

He'd hobbled back to his place-cursing the entire time because what kind of moron runs over driftwood on a near empty beach-only to find that the little t.u.r.d, Coco, had somehow managed to open the patio door and was gone.

Now another guy might have let it go. Closed the door and forgotten about a dog who, according to Jack's way of seeing things, wasn't worth the aggravation. But Jack Simon had a conscience, and even though he and Coco didn't see eye to eye most days, he couldn't leave the dog outside to fend for himself. Christ a G.o.dd.a.m.n eagle could fly away with him.

He found Coco hiding underneath the porch of a neighboring beach house, the one owned by a crotchety old lady named Ella. The woman was grumpier than his uncle Bellamy, and that was saying something. Not only was she a staunch Republican who disliked pretty much everything that Jack stood for, she also liked to gossip, and she'd been riding Jack about Donovan James for months.

Seems Ella had always been a fan of the singer and was mighty excited about the prospect of Jack and Donovan reuniting. Photos of Jack and Donovan had surfaced a few months back, and she'd been riding his a.s.s ever since.

Ella: So when are you going to up and marry that girl?

Jack: When I do, you'll be the first to know (sarcasm drenched retort).

Ella: Don't be smart with me, Mr. I'm-so-handsome-it-hurts-to-look-in-the-mirror.

Jack: Aw, Miss Ella, you're making me blush.

Ella: Only women blush. Are you a pansy or what?

By the time Jack returned to his own beach house with Coco he was severely behind schedule. Something his mother had been more than happy to remind him about much later in the day, since he was nearly an hour and a half late for his own fundraiser.

A fundraiser for the Everglades, and one he'd been working on for the better part of four months. A fundraiser that most of the Simon clan had come out to support, including his brothers Tucker and Beau, as well as his cousin Cooper.

And a fundraiser that Donovan James had definitely not been invited to.

So why the h.e.l.l was she across the room wearing a dress that barely covered her lady parts, with some guy's arm draped across her shoulders as if it had every right to be there? Jesus, his hair was almost as long as Donovan's, and Jack knew that wasn't her thing. Who the h.e.l.l was he?

"Keep that up and the gossip rags are going to have a field day," Tucker Simon said, as he sidled up to the bar where Jack was currently nursing a scotch and glaring in the general direction of the woman who still managed to get under his skin like no other woman he'd ever known.

"What?" Jack barked, turning to his brother.

"You look like you want to take that guy down." Tucker's grin was wide as he accepted a cold beer from the bartender. "And don't think I'm the only one who noticed. Mom's got her eye on you, and if you're not careful, she'll drag someone over to occupy your time and G.o.d forbid it's one of Marianne Meddencourt's daughters. They're all lined up like a bunch of Barbie Dolls just waiting for a chance at one of the eligible Simon boys. Maverick was smart to stay away from this event."

"No s.h.i.t." Jack's scowl deepened. "Who invited her?" he asked gruffly.

"Marianne Meddencourt?"

Jack took a moment. If his brother wasn't careful, Jack would have no qualms about taking him out back and working out some of the aggression he was currently feeling.

"Donnie," he replied, before downing the entire gla.s.s of scotch in a gulp that would have made his Uncle Bellamy proud (the aforementioned old grump), and Uncle Bellamy was a professional drinker.

"You didn't?" Tucker asked and Jack could tell his brother was surprised.

"No, dammit. I did not invite Donovan James. She and I are like oil and water. You know that. Christ, I've barely recovered from the mess those pictures created the last time I saw her."

Silence greeted his outburst, and Jack sighed heavily. "Sorry, Tuck. I just...I wasn't expecting to see her. Not tonight. It's been a s.h.i.t day."

Tucker cleared his throat and gave a slight shake of his head, and if Jack had been on his game, he would have picked up on it. But Jack was so far off his game, he didn't have a clue. And when she spoke, his mood went from dark to much darker. As in he needed to break something, darker.

"Sorry, sugar. I can leave if y'all want me to, but I don't want to disappoint the crowd."

Jack's eyes narrowed and every single muscle in his shoulders tightened. He glanced up at the bartender, Mike, according to the name tag. The guy didn't hesitate. He poured another double scotch and handed it over. "You're gonna need this, Mr. Simon."

Smart man, Jack thought.

He grabbed the tumbler and turned around, aware that some of the folks nearby were doing that polite-stare-thing. You know, the one where they pretend like h.e.l.l that they're not listening, but in fact a bunch of naked people could waltz through the room and they wouldn't notice.

Donovan stood a few inches away, and it was obvious that she'd heard everything he'd just said. All signs pointed to the fact that the woman was more than a little p.i.s.sed. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes shiny like gla.s.s. But most telling, the tick was there. That small little tick near her mouth on the ride side, a smidge past the most famous mole in the world (or infamous according to some).

For a moment, he couldn't tear his eyes away from her mole. Or that luscious mouth. But then, of course, she opened it-the mouth that is-and ruined any fantasies that still lived inside his head.

"Jack Simon, if you don't stop staring at me like that, I'm going to start thinking that you still have feelings for me."

Oh he had feelings for the woman, but they were nothing along the lines of what she was insinuating. He flexed his hands and rolled his shoulders. That ride had crashed and burned years ago, and she'd been the one driving the G.o.dd.a.m.n car.

She paused, smoothing her hands over her little black dress, which only managed to stretch the fabric tight across her chest and her hips.

"But that's not possible is it? I mean, you high-handed political types don't like to mess around with us hee-haws from the Ozarks...at least not in public."

The jab was subtle, but it was there nonetheless. Should he feel sorry for her? Maybe, but right now all he felt was a slow burn settling under his skin.

After they'd been photographed leaving that d.a.m.n Miami nightclub a few months back, the story had gone viral, and it was a story that still had life. The paparazzi had made his life h.e.l.l and though Jack was used to being in the spotlight, it had become more than a little insane. His brother Beau with all his Hollywood hype was used to that kind of exposure, not Jack.

Jack's people had immediately put their own spin on the pictures and the story, telling the media that he and Donovan, though a couple years ago, were definitely not involved. Their past was just that, the past, and had no bearing on the present.

That night had been wrong from start to finish.

Jack had ended up at the nightclub with a crowd he didn't usually hang with, including a few up-and-comers in the Democratic party. The place was buzzing because Donovan James was in the house. And d.a.m.n, but she was more than a little drunk. The girl could handle her whiskey just fine, but he'd seen her sucking back wine like it was water. Why else would she have rubbed herself all over him like a cat?

One look at her, and he knew trouble was coming if he didn't get her the h.e.l.l out of that club. They'd been broken up for years, but she still managed to tug on that over-protective streak inside him. There'd been stories that had managed to penetrate his coc.o.o.n. Out-of-control partying, fights with her manager (who also happened to be her mother), and love affairs gone bad.

Jack was pretty sure fifty percent of it was bulls.h.i.t, but still it didn't help that she seemed so G.o.dd.a.m.n small and vulnerable.

She'd come to the club with some second string movie actress known more for snorting lines than saying them-and no security. After she tried to kiss Jack for the second time, he'd taken her outside, and they'd grabbed a cab, though Donovan had pa.s.sed out before they made it back to her hotel. Once she was safe in her room, he'd called his cousin Maverick. The two were close and he knew that Rick would look after her..

He and Donovan were no good for each other. h.e.l.l, the only thing they were good at was s.e.x and fighting, and he'd outgrown that kind of relationship years ago.

That was it. End of story.

Yet as he stared into eyes so blue they looked as if the sky was captured inside them, he had to wonder if it was the end of the story after all.

She'd called him the next day, but by the time he'd gotten the message, she'd already cleared out of the hotel and was headed back to LA. Jack had left it at that, figuring Donovan James was a can of worms he could do without opening. He didn't have time to deal with something that would only bite him in the a.s.s.

She arched a brow at him. "So how's your lady friend, Monique? I don't see her here."

"We're not friends anymore."

"That's too bad."

"Isn't it."

Tucker's fiance, Abby Mathews joined them at the bar just then, a smile on her face as she slipped into his brother's embrace. "What's up?" she asked.

Maybe her words were the catalyst that moved Jack forward, or maybe it was the fact that the guy who'd been all over Donovan moments earlier was heading their way. Whatever it was, he was pretty d.a.m.n sure that Donovan was just as surprised as Jack was when he took that step and grabbed her hand.

The fundraiser was being held at the Beach House Golf and Country Club in the keys and Jack led her out back to the gardens that overlooked the ninth green.

It was humid and he tugged at his tie irritably. What the h.e.l.l was he doing?

"You can let go," Donovan said slowly.

"What?" Jack bit out, eyes moving over the shiny blond hair that hung past her shoulders in loose waves, the way a woman's hair should. She was tiny, barely coming to his chest in heels and he felt a powerful urge to scoop her up.

"My hand," she said again, tugging a bit until he released her. She took a step back, her subtle scent left to linger between them, and jutted her chin out. "What's going on Jack?"

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"Grace asked me to come and sing."

"Grace." Of course. His younger sister's mission in life was to be a pain in his b.u.t.t.

Donovan smiled, a slow kind of thing that didn't spread to her eyes. No way in h.e.l.l. Those glittered like cold chips of blue ice.

"Grace likes my music, and I've always had a soft spot for her. We've kept in touch." She shrugged. "I couldn't say no."

"Bulls.h.i.t." Jack tugged on his tie so hard the top b.u.t.ton of his dress shirt popped off. He yanked the offending piece of silk from his neck and stuffed it into the front pockets of his slacks.

This was all wrong. All of it. What was he doing dancing this dance with Donovan? There was nothing between them but a pile of hurt, and from his perspective, that pile wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

"You're right," she answered taking a step closer to him. "I'm not here just because of Grace. I had another reason to come."

For several long moments, he stared down at her, watching the play of shadows across her face.

"Are you going to share that one with me?" he asked, his voice a little thicker than he'd like to admit.

Long wisps of hair danced in the evening breeze as those eyes continued to regard him in silence. She licked her bottom lip and d.a.m.n if he didn't feel a stirring of l.u.s.t well up inside him. Some things never changed, and this woman had always tapped into that He-Man part of him. The part that wanted nothing more than to bend her over the table to their right, so that he could bury himself inside her.

"I'm here for Cooper."

Wait. What?

"Cooper," he repeated, all thoughts of l.u.s.t fleeing as he glared at the woman in front of him. A woman who used to belong to him but now....

"You're here for my cousin?" Something dark and heavy swirled inside him, and Jack clenched his hands into fists.

Donovan nodded. "You know what they say, Jack."

"No," he managed to spit out. "I don't. Why don't you enlighten me?"

Donovan's eyes flashed. "Well you should since y'all fed those lies to the rags. The ones that said I'm nothing but a...." She c.o.c.ked her head to the side, chest heaving and for a moment, he caught a glimpse of something painful.

"They said I was nothing but a man-eater intent on making my way through the Simon clan. I think one of the stories said I, uh, liked a different man every night."

"Donnie," he said, feeling like a s.h.i.t for the first time.

"Don't call me that," she said, chin up.

For a moment, there was silence, and then she spoke, her voice full of smoke and whiskey. "I guess it doesn't matter that the only Simon I've ever had is the one who makes no bones about the fact that I'm beneath him. Did you tell your people to spread those nasty things? What was it your press guy said? Ridiculous notion?" She shrugged and mimicked his press guy perfectly. "The up-and-coming senator-to-be and the white trash country singer from Arkansas. Now there's a hit song if I ever heard one."

"Donovan," he said roughly. His throat was tight, and the urge to hit something was getting stronger by the minute. He'd stopped that s.h.i.t as soon as the stories started spiraling out of control. He'd not authorized a pack of lies, and he'd fired the person who'd spread them.

But Donovan was done, and he never got the chance to explain. She slipped past Jack and just before disappearing inside the venue, she gave him one parting shot. "Thing is darlin', I've decided that I don't mind having myself another Simon or two, and Cooper will do just fine."

Moments ticked by. Moments where Jack didn't see anything but black, because the anger inside him was that strong. He didn't move for a long time. Not until he heard her voice, that raspy, whisky soaked voice that slid across skin and leeched into bone. She was singing, and though he couldn't make out the words, the notes were all minor. Sad notes. Melancholy notes.

"You okay?" Tucker asked quietly from the shadows. Jack must really be off his game because he hadn't heard his brother approach.

"Not even close," he replied.

Tucker just nodded. "You want to bail? I'll come up with an excuse."

Jack couldn't lie. The thought was tempting, but he shook his head. "Nah, I'll be fine."

He squared his shoulders and followed Tucker back inside.

Chapter Two.