Thorne's Way

by Joan Hohl

  It seemed there really was a first time for everything. But who needed all these firsts within less than a month? Never before had he had to fight to suppress an almost relentless physical desire for almost three weeks. Yet the opportunity for satisfaction had presented itself in the very lovely form of Maria Cinelli and he had simply not been interested.

  Moving his head restlessly, Jonas closed his eyes, fully aware that he was experiencing another first by ignoring the work on his desk. The physical need for that one particular woman has rattled your brain as well as your libido, he told himself dryly.

  Why? Why the urgency to possess this particular woman? Eyes still closed, Jonas examined the question clinically. True, she is a very beautiful woman, in a wistful, elusive way. But thousands of women are beautiful, in as many different ways. So why this one? She’d certainly never given him any encouragement. The only side of her he’d seen thus far had been the prickly side.

  The grim smile disappeared. Now you’re getting close, Thorne. Close hell, he was on top of it, and knew where his convoluted train of thought was heading right along. He knew exactly why and when.

  The ride from Edouard Barres’s Paris office to the airport had seemed surprisingly short, and not only because Barres’s Mercedes ate up the distance so smoothly. He and Edouard had been involved in business meetings and discussions that whole week and still the ideas and plans flowed like a never-ending river between them. Jonas respected Edouard’s knowledge and expertise and he was well aware the respect was reciprocated. Even after the car had pulled to a stop he had paused in the act of alighting to give consideration to Edouard’s last remark.

  Still pondering the feasibility of Edouard’s idea, Jonas had taken very little notice of the two women waiting for him, merely nodding in Janet’s direction as he walked to the plane. He had just reached the decision that Barres’s ideas was very probably worth the time, energy and money that would be required to develop it when the screech of tires broke through his concentration.

  About to enter the plane, he had turned to find the source of the racket, and groaned silently. What’s-her-name, the rising young whatever of the French film industry, was running toward the plane screaming, “Darling, wait.”

  Darling? Sudden irritation quickly bloomed into full anger. Damning Edouard for his stupid dinner party, and himself for going in the first place, he stepped by Parker with a tersely ordered, “Get rid of her,” knowing full well that Parker would.

  Inside the plane, he headed straight for the bourbon. Glass in hand, he started toward his seat, stopping midstride when Janet’s fledgling entered the compartment. In the few seconds the door was open, the pleading, somewhat rehearsed, and definitely hysterical sound of the actress’s voice reached him and his anger changed to disgust with the female sex in general. They were all leeches! The only difference being that they sucked a man’s money as well as his blood.

  The blanket condemnation was unfair, and he knew it. Jonas had been around long enough to realize there were every bit as many male leeches in the world as female; maybe more. At that moment, though, he wasn’t too concerned with being fair.

  Lifting his glass to sip at the bourbon, he studied the young woman who stood, seemingly mesmerized, just inside the doorway.

  Beautiful package, he mused. Lovely face. Good figure. Perfect breasts. Big deal. If what Janet had told him about her was true, and he had no reason to doubt Janet’s word, she had turned her back on life. Had he come all this way to end up playing nursemaid to a stupid little fool with a death wish? That thought in no way sweetened his disposition.

  Why had Maria picked this particular time to do her disappearing act? Jonas fumed. He knew the answer, of course. She was pushing him, turning the rack. At least, she thought she was. Jonas suppressed a sigh. He would have thought, after all this time, that she’d know better than to actually put the screws to him.

  All the while he was ruminating on Maria’s unwise actions, his eyes remained fixed on Valerie Jordan. Now he moved impatiently to her. Was she in a stupor, for God’s sake? Biting down on his anger, he extended his hand.

  “I gather you are Valerie Jordan?”

  “Yes.”

  Jonas felt his lids narrow in automatic response to the iciness of her tone. For the first time in his life he had to fight the urge to strike a woman. Sure that if he gripped her hand he’d crush it, he briefly brushed her fingers before withdrawing.

  “Jonas Thorne.” Jonas made his tone insultingly curt. “Your employer.” The last was a deliberate nudge. Watching her closely, he felt a tiny flicker of respect at the fearless way she returned his stare. Was she fearless, he wondered, or was she past caring about anything? Jonas decided to find out.

  “You do want the job, Miss Jordan?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ahh, better, much better. At least she cared about something. Pivoting away from her, he advised her to sit down and buckle up, and then he dismissed her from his mind; or he tried to.

  Her spark of defiance had drawn an answering spark of interest from him. After the plane was airborne, he got down to work with Janet in an attempt to ignore Valerie’s presence. Doing so proved not only difficult, but almost impossible. Janet’s concern for her friend was obvious, and she repeatedly shot worried glances across the aisle. That was another thing in Valerie’s favor. Jonas knew Janet. She was not a woman to expend time and energy on a total washout.

  His inability to give his complete concentration to his work stirred fresh anger in Jonas. Not one to evade any issue, he faced the fact that he was much too aware of Valerie’s slightest movement. Although Janet thought she was asleep, Jonas knew better. Valerie Jordan was playing possum, studying them through slitted eyelids. This deepened his anger to the point that when Janet assured him he would not be sorry for taking Valerie back to the States, he deliberately drawled a disbelieving, “We’ll see.”

  When he’d finished briefing Janet on the Paris transactions, he tilted his seat back and played his own game of possum while returning her careful regard.

  How had he known? What had been the tip off? She certainly had not betrayed herself. To anyone else watching her she would have appeared soundly asleep. Yet, somehow, Jonas knew the moment she decided to prove him wrong about her. And, at that moment, everything alive inside his body responded to that decision. The feeling of sexual excitement that had gone through his body at that moment was one he had not experienced in a very long time—if ever.

  A very sobering thought. Not curative, but sobering. Sitting in his chair, behind the enormous desk, eyes closed, a small smile tugged at Jonas’s harshly etched lips. I want that woman. After nearly three weeks of continual want, there’s no doubt at all. I want that woman more than I’ve ever wanted anything. And I’m going to have her. With or without her consent.

  Lifting his lids lazily, his gleaming eyes focused on the long white couch. You had better come up with the right answer tomorrow morning, my sweet, he advised Valerie silently. Or you just may find yourself on that couch, giving me what I want without benefit of the legal sanctions.

  He was still tormenting himself with picturing the scene when his private phone rang.

  His lips twisting in self-mockery, he snatched up the receiver and growled, “Thorne.”

  “Jonas, it’s Marge,” his ex-mother-in-law said hesitantly. “Am I disturbing you?”

  Not nearly as much as my own thoughts, he answered silently. Aloud, he soothed, “Not at all. What’s up, Marge?”

  That something unusual had happened he was sure. Marge never called him at the office on a mere whim.

  “I got a letter from Mary Beth.” Marge’s voice hummed with excitement.

  “And?” Jonas prompted.

  “Jonas, she’s coming home.” Marge sounded ready to explode. “Our baby’s coming home.”

  “When?” Jonas’s tone revealed none of the emotions leaping in his body. Their baby. His baby. His Mary Beth.

  “She’s boo
ked a flight for May fifteenth, the day after school’s over. Oh, Jonas, I can hardly wait. She’s been away so long.”

  “Yes, I know,” Jonas murmured. Although he knew the date, his eyes shifted to his desk calendar. April sixth. Six weeks. Six weeks and he’d have her home again. How would she react to Valerie? The thought was a revealing one. Pushing it aside temporarily, Jonas addressed the more immediate question. “I’m afraid you have no choice but to wait, Marge. But I have a suggestion on how you could fill the time.”

  “Do you? What is it?” Marge’s eagerness was endearing.

  “Why don’t you fix up her bedroom? As a matter of fact, go the whole route, redecorate completely.”

  “May I, Jonas? Really?”

  Jonas could practically see the wheels turning in Marge’s head. The image amused him and he laughed softly. “Yes, Marge, you really may.” Suddenly the laughter was gone and his voice held a hint of rebuke.

  “I would have thought, by now, that you wouldn’t have to ask.”

  “Oh, Jonas—”

  “Never mind, Marge.” Jonas sighed. How many times had they had this same kind of conversation? “Make as many changes as you like. Don’t—I repeat—don’t consider cost. Remember, it’s all for Mary Beth. Send the bills to me here at the office.”

  “Thank you, Jonas, I—”

  “Marge.” Jonas cut in on her teary-sounding voice. “Enough, okay? Oh, yes, don’t plan on me for dinner tonight.”

  “All right.” Marge paused, then murmured timidly, “And—Jonas? I love you, you know.”

  “Yes, Marge, I do know,” Jonas replied huskily.

  Jonas sat staring at the phone long minutes after he’d replaced the receiver. What a woman, he mused. Too bad the daughter was so unlike the mother.

  That thought was the catapult that flung him into the past.

  * * *

  He was seventeen the first time he saw her. Seventeen and hungry for life, starved for affection, filled with unnamed desires.

  It was midsummer and it was hot. It was lunchtime, and he was starving, but, as he was also broke, he faced the empty feeling in his stomach stoically. It was nothing new. He was nearly always hungry and always broke.

  A sound—half sigh, half groan of relief—hissed through his lips as he entered the small air-conditioned appliance shop. For an ecstatic moment he closed his eyes, savoring the cool air against his sweaty skin. For another moment he gave in to the weariness pulling at him. He’d been up at four and by four-thirty he’d just about finished squeezing the carton of juice oranges for the breakfast trade. The small diner where he’d worked for over a year now as short order cook was not air-conditioned.

  Jonas’s moment of delight in the sweet coolness came to an abrupt end when someone entered the shop behind him, and a young female voice called, “Daddy, where are you? You’ve got a customer out here.”

  Swiveling around, Jonas felt the breath hiss out of him again, only this time not from the cold.

  She was young, somewhere around his own age, Jonas guessed, and the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on. She had sun-kissed gold hair and skin tanned to a golden brown. Bright blue eyes sparkled in a face that belonged on a goddess, and her red mouth pouted prettily at him. As if her face alone were not enough of an assault on his senses, she had a figure that wouldn’t quit, with high, pointed breasts that seemed to quiver under his gaze. Suddenly, painfully, all of his vague, unnamed desires were centered on that one female body.

  “Hi, can I help you?” She asked sweetly. “I don’t know where Daddy is.”

  “Uh, yeah, that is, I don’t know.” Feeling like a jerk, Jonas felt his face redden. “I saw the sign in the window.” At her blank, frowning expression, he stuttered on, “The—the Help Wanted sign? I—I came in to apply.”

  “Oh, that.” Her red lips parted to reveal small, white teeth. “Sure, you can apply, that is, if I ever find Daddy.” She paused to draw a deep breath—an exercise that had Jonas staring in reaction to the thrusting lift of her breasts—then she yelled again, “Daddy?”

  “For crying in a bucket, Lynn, I heard you the first time.”

  Jonas spun to face the rear of the shop and the gruff-voiced man entering it from a back room. Lynn! Her name was Lynn. Beautiful.

  “I brought your lunch.” Lynn walked to the counter and deposited a brown paper bag Jonas had not even noticed she’d been holding. “And this guy,” she tipped her gold head at Jonas, “wants to apply for the job you have open.”

  “Okay, thanks, honey.” Although his tone had altered, the voice was still rough.

  Jonas had been aware that he was being scrutinized by sharp blue eyes ever since the medium-size, stocky man had entered the shop. Dragging his gaze from Lynn, he coolly returned her father’s appraisal. The man had closely cropped, curly blond hair, a shade darker than his daughter’s, and his face had a ruddy hue that spoke of high blood pressure or too much alcohol, or both. He was overweight, but his shoulders and arms were muscular and hard-looking. The bright blue eyes that returned Jonas’s stare were shrewd.

  “Okay, honey, I’ll take care of him.” He shot a quick smile at the girl. “Run along.”

  “Can I have a dollar, Daddy?” she coaxed. “It’s so hot. I want to stop for a coke.”

  The sweetness of her voice charmed Jonas and had he possessed a buck himself he’d have whipped it out and offered it to her. She obviously had a similar effect on her father, for he dug in his pants pocket and withdrew a bill, handing it to her with a rueful grin.

  “A coke costs a dollar now?” he teased.

  “No, silly,” she teased back. “But I want to treat a friend.” As she turned to leave she shot Jonas a mischievous smile.

  “Stosh Kowalski.”

  The rough voice penetrated Jonas’s bemusement and he shifted his eyes back to Lynn’s father.

  “Jonas Thorne, sir,” he replied respectfully, stepping closer to grip Stosh’s outstretched hand. “I came in to inquire about the Help Wanted sign in your window.” Not a hint of the stuttering boy remained in Jonas’s demeanor. Without Lynn’s tongue-tying presence he was all business—and all premature man.

  “You know anything about electrical appliances or television repair?” Stosh asked, not unkindly.

  “No, sir,” Jonas answered truthfully. “But I learn fast, and I work hard.” Jonas watched as Stosh ran his gaze over his tall, too skinny frame, and felt his hopes sink. He was unaware that though his lanky body appeared weak, his face had strength of purpose and determination indelibly stamped on it.

  “You out of school, son?”

  “No, sir,” Jonas admitted. “I have one more year to go. But,” he went on quickly, “I can work full time for the rest of the summer, and after school during the winter. As many hours as you’d want.”

  “Wouldn’t your parents object?”

  “I have no parents, sir,” Jonas said steadily. “I live in a foster home.”

  “And your foster parents would have no objections?” Stosh probed gently, his eyes observing the wisp of a cynical smile that fleetingly touched Jonas’s lips.

  “No, sir,” Jonas answered flatly. Jonas forced himself to breathe normally as Stosh Kowalski’s eyes measured his worth. A sigh of released tension whispered through his lips when the older man grinned.

  “Okay, Jonas.” Stosh nodded his head once, decisively. “I’ll give you a try. I usually come in around eight so I can get some uninterrupted work done in back before opening the store at nine-thirty. What time could you start?”

  Jonas considered a moment, taking his own measure of Stosh Kowalski, then he decided to lay all his cards on the table. “I’ve been working for over a year at the Sunrise Diner on the other side of town. I work the grill for breakfast and finish at eight-thirty when the lunch and suppertime cook comes in. I could be here by ten minutes to nine, if that would be all right?”

  “You want to work both jobs?” Stosh frowned.

  “Yes, sir,” Jo
nas said firmly.

  “I’d want you to stay until six most nights. What time do you start at the Sunrise?”

  “Four-thirty.”

  “Four-thirty!” Stosh exclaimed. “You’re talking one hell of a long day, kid. Can you handle it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Something in his tone convinced Stosh, for, after giving Jonas a long, hard stare, he shrugged, then grinned. “Okay, Jonas, I’ll give you a try. You can start tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I appreciate the `sir’, kid, but it’s not necessary. We’re going to be working together all day. Call me Stosh.”

  When he left the shop some ten minutes later, Jonas was so buoyed by the idea of earning more money for his college fund that he almost missed seeing Lynn standing under the tattered awning of a tiny dress shop two buildings away. As he drew alongside her she said, pertly, “Did you get the job?”

  Yanked out of his own thoughts, Jonas turned to face her and felt the blood begin to pound through his body again. Gosh, she was pretty!

  “Yes.” He grinned idiotically.

  “Good.” Lynn grinned back, starting to walk up the street. After only several steps she stopped and jerked her head in a beckoning motion. “How about a coke to celebrate?”

  Jonas felt his heart sink. “I don’t have any money,” he said tightly.

  “That’s okay.” Lynn grinned. “I have a whole dollar. It’ll be my treat.” When Jonas hesitated, she teased, “Come on, dopey, I’ve been waiting for you to come out for what seems forever. I’m hot and thirsty. Let’s go.”

  Completely enchanted, Jonas went, feeling as though he’d been blessed by heaven. Even the teasing “dopey” sounded enchanting.

  Jonas was hardly aware of his none too clean surroundings as he sat across the table from her in a booth in the corner of a small luncheonette. And afterward he never could remember what they talked about. All he knew was that she was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen and he wanted to touch her gold hair and kiss her red mouth. He didn’t, of course. At least, not that afternoon.