by Joan Hohl
Valerie’s entire body was suffused with heat at his sardonic tone. Well, one could hardly accuse Jonas Thorne of being trite or predictable! Valerie lowered her eyes in embarrassment as she lifted her own glass. One sip and she was transported back to Paris and the last time she’d had champagne—the night before Etienne’s accident.
Etienne. Etienne.
Valerie was unaware that her trembling hand had placed the glass safely back on the table, or of the man who sat next to her watching her every move through narrowed lids. His tightly controlled voice jerked her into the present.
“Wake up, Valerie,” he advised warningly. “You are here now—with me—Jonas,” he gritted, leaving her in no doubt that he knew her mind had flown back in time, to Paris and Etienne. “Pick up your wine and drink to your future, with me, beginning in a few weeks’ time.”
A few weeks’ time? Valerie’s head jerked up and she froze as the full meaning of his words registered. Her eyes took in his tall frame and her skin crawled at the idea of that body touching hers. A memory of the night she’d spent in Etienne’s arms filled her mind and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying aloud: I can’t. I cannot bear the thought of another man replacing Etienne in that way.
“Damn it, Valerie, come back,” Jonas commanded harshly.
“What?” Valerie blinked, suddenly aware that she had superimposed Etienne’s image onto Jonas’s sprawling form.
“I said come back,” he muttered darkly. “You cannot live in the past. You cannot exist on memories. You can starve to death on dreams and wishes.” Standing abruptly, he pulled her up in front of him. “We will be married in two weeks. That is a reality you can rely on.”
“No!” Valerie hated the puny weakness of her protest even as she admitted her own meager store of strength was no match for his. Wetting fear-dried lips, she tried again. “Jonas, please, I—I can’t—I—”
“You can and you will.” His assurance sliced through her stuttering. “You cannot go back. You cannot stand still. That leaves only one direction—forward. I will make it as easy for you as I can—but I will not let you out of it.” His hand opened to slide around the back of her neck, holding her still. “Face it, Val. I will allow no kind of retreat.”
His promise held a distinctly ominous undertone and Valerie sighed with relief when he released her. As he turned away she drew a quick breath. Without thinking, she condemned herself with her opening words. “Mr. Thorne, please…I…”
“Damn you!” Jonas turned on her, his eyes blazing. “If you call me Mr. Thorne in that tone one more time I swear I’ll hit you. Two weeks, Valerie. You have two weeks to come to terms with yourself and the facts of life.”
The facts of life. Why, Valerie wondered distractedly, was it so important that she face life? She didn’t want to face the facts of life; they hurt. She didn’t want to face the reality of this hard man glaring at her. She wanted to be left alone. Her thoughts fragmented at the insistent prodding of Jonas’s harsh voice.
“Do you understand?”
“I loved him.”
Valerie bit down on her lip. She hadn’t wanted to say that. She hadn’t wanted to say anything. A chill feathered her body at the way Jonas’s face settled into harshly defined lines.
“I know,” he said tightly, through rigid lips that barely moved. “But he’s dead, and you’re alive—at least partly so.” Ignoring her wince of pain, he went on, roughly, “Life is too precious to waste, Valerie, and I’m not going to let you waste any more of yours.”
Escape! It was not a conscious thought but an urge that consumed Valerie’s entire being. Jerking away from him, she took off at a run. She didn’t know where she was going; all she knew was that she had to get away from this man who used his cold voice and his cruel words to inflict torture.
She didn’t get very far. With two long strides he caught up to her, his big hand reaching out to tighten painfully around her upper arm.
“There’s only one place left to run to, Val,” Jonas grated as he pulled her around to face him. “And that is to me.” Grasping her other arm, he held her still. “I don’t want to hurt you Val.” His voice softened. “And I won’t unless you force me to. You accepted me this morning. I’m going to hold you to that acceptance.”
Valerie stared at him, violet eyes bright with moisture, confused by his swift change from monster to human. She was behaving like a hysterical teenager, and she knew it. What he’d said was true. She had accepted him, and he had every right to hold her to it. Defeat settled heavily on her shoulders.
“Jonas, please.” Valerie could not manage more than a whisper. “I’m so tired.”
“I know that, too.” Although his hands loosened their hurtful pressure, he did not release her. “This weariness dragging at you is unnatural, don’t you see that?”
The sense of defeat deepening, Valerie nodded dully. “Yes, I guess so.”
Jonas’s fingers gripped, then eased again. “Don’t guess—know,” he urged softly. “Will you keep to our bargain?”
The tension in his body was transmitted to her through his fingertips. Valerie could actually feel it, and it unnerved her.
“Jonas—”
“Will you keep to it?”
Valerie wet her lips and wondered at the brief but sharp pain caused by the convulsive dig of his fingers.
“Yes.”
He was very still for a moment, and now Valerie imagined she could feel the tension flow out of his body. Shaking her head to dispel the fanciful thought, she murmured, “Jonas, please—”
“I know,” he interrupted. “I’m going now.” He hesitated, leaning toward her slightly. Then, as if catching himself, he released her arms and stepped back. He hesitated again at the door. “Are you coming into the office tomorrow?”
“Yes, of course.” Valerie frowned. “Why shouldn’t I?”
A sardonic smile played around the edge of his mouth. “There are going to be a lot of questions.” He shrugged fatalistically. “And a lot of speculation.”
Valerie grimaced. “The first of the facts of life I’m going to have to face?”
Jonas nodded once, sharply. “The first of many, I’m afraid.”
“So am I,” Valerie admitted. “Afraid, I mean.”
Chapter 8
Two weeks later, en route between the East and West coasts, Valerie was no longer merely afraid: she was scared to death.
A narrow gold band gleamed on one of the hands gripping the arm of her seat. The entrapping circle of gold had been slipped onto her finger less than four hours earlier, along with a diamond solitaire so large she felt a jolt of shock every time she looked at it.
Valerie shivered and forced her fingernails out of the plush upholstery. Jonas was not in the compartment. Just before takeoff he had stood over her until she’d fastened her seat belt. Then he’d left her with a terse: “I’m going forward for a little while. Try to get some sleep, you look exhausted.”
The way I look doesn’t tell the half of it, Valerie thought now. Sleep—how she longed for it! It had evaded her since that night in Janet’s apartment. Remembering that night, Valerie shivered again. She had felt the trap closing then, yet she hadn’t had the strength to break free of it. Maybe, if she’d had another month or so before Jonas commenced his onslaught she would have been strong enough to refuse him—but she hadn’t had that month.
God, he scared her! That was one fact she’d faced without any prodding from anyone. She had wanted—no, ached—to tell him to go to hell, but, she simply did not have the nerve. She was filled with self-loathing. What a sniveling little coward she was! A pitiful creature without a backbone, bending in whatever direction Jonas Thorne dictated. She had been defenseless and he’d known it. He’d taken advantage of her weakness ruthlessly.
What did a man like Jonas Thorne want with her, anyway? She had asked herself that question over and over during the last two weeks. And she knew she was not the only one asking it.
Valerie
was not disliked at J.T. Electronics. She knew that. But speculation had run rampant through the staff, just as Jonas had predicted it would. Valerie would have had to be deaf, blind, and unconscious not to hear the whispered remarks, see the calculating glances, or be aware of the hum of avid interest that permeated the entire office complex.
How it had affected Jonas, if at all, was just another question Valerie did not have an answer for. Jonas could, and did, don a mask at will. A mask in which his cool eyes observed everything, while revealing nothing.
Luckily, for Valerie’s peace of mind, the pace of business in the office the last two weeks had increased considerably. There had been a number of transatlantic telephone calls between Jonas and Edouard Barres in Paris. The results of those calls seemed to electrify Jonas, who, in turn, galvanized the entire staff into action.
Except for Charlie McAndrew, no one, including Valerie, knew as yet exactly what it was all about. All that was known was that an office was being readied on the executive floor for someone, presumably from France, who was to work closely with Jonas on something. Valerie was grateful for this new source of gossip—it shifted the spotlight off her precipitous engagement to Jonas. But for all the speculation, the details of whatever was brewing remained securely locked away inside Jonas Thorne’s head. He certainly hadn’t confided in her!
Giving up all pretense of trying to sleep, Valerie sat up and gazed out the window. The incredible expanse of blue sky went unseen as she reviewed the events of the preceding two weeks.
The morning following Jonas’s first visit to Janet’s apartment, he had made known his intention to marry simply by leaking the information to the company grapevine via Charlie’s secretary, Eileen. Before lunchtime Valerie had had at least a dozen interoffice calls, all with the same query: Was it true?
In the office Jonas was all business. When they were alone he was terse, edgy and impatient with her lack of enthusiasm for any suggestions he made about their wedding. And the more impatience he revealed, the more tense she became until, finally, near the end of that first week, feeling boxed in and panicky, she shouted, “I don’t care what you do. Make any plans you wish.” She had shocked herself with the outburst, yet, once started, she had not been able to stop. Shaking all over, she had released her nameless fears by lashing out at him. “You’re the one that insisted on this farce, do as you please.”
“I always do.”
If he had raised his voice, or even sounded angry, Valerie might have made a bid for freedom. Jonas did neither. Instead, he seemed to close up before her eyes. He stared at her so frigidly she felt her blood run cold.
“I must be out of my mind,” he said quietly, as if to himself. “All right, Valerie, I’ll allow you to play the role of Sleeping Beauty a little longer. I was considering your feelings by asking your preference in the proceedings.” He was quiet for several minutes, his eyes steady on her pale face. He continued dispassionately. “Friday morning we’ll apply for the license and get the medical requirements out of the way. I have a friend on the bench who, I’m sure, will be delighted to marry us in his chambers—I’ll let you know what day.” This last was drawled sardonically. “And by the way, we’re having dinner with my mother-in-law on Sunday.”
“My mother?”
“I said my mother-in-law,” Jonas replied tiredly. “Your mother is my future mother-in-law, Val. I’m referring to my daughter’s grandmother. She wants to meet you.”
Valerie hadn’t appreciated his tone of weary boredom. She hadn’t particularly enjoyed having her stupidity pointed out either. Nonetheless, she tried to use a reasonable tone when she inquired, softly, “Why should your former wife’s mother want to meet me?” She knew she’d failed the moment the question was voiced, for irritation, not reason, colored her tone.
“Why indeed?” After his previous self-control, Jonas’s sudden flare of anger startled her. “I suppose she thought it might be nice if you two became acquainted before the marriage takes place—seeing as how you are going to be living in the same house.”
“You live with your mother-in-law!” Valerie exclaimed.
“No, she lives with me,” Jonas corrected.
“But why?”
“Because I choose to have her do so.”
Valerie had been rendered speechless by the blatantly cool arrogance of his statement. She had also been made uncomfortably aware of the fact that Jonas did not welcome questions about his motives.
Valerie had followed his directives unquestioningly as they applied for their marriage license on Friday. At the end of that very long, tiring day, one bit of information remained sharply defined in her mind. Jonas Thorne was only thirty-eight years old!
He had not missed her expression of surprise when he’d marked that bit of information into the date-of-birth blank on the license application.
“You thought I was older?” he’d mocked her softly. “Well, console yourself with the thought that I will be before too long. I’ll be thirty-nine in two months.”
There were times, many times, during that two-week period when Valerie questioned her own sanity. How else could she explain her rash, ill-considered acceptance of Jonas as a life partner? He was cold, he was mocking, he was derisive—except, she was to find, when he was in the presence of his first wife’s mother. To Marge Kowalski, Jonas was charming, and considerate, and very gentle. Somehow, his attitude toward her hurt Valerie, even while she asked herself why it should.
Valerie had looked forward to the dinner with rigidly concealed distaste—well, there was something very odd about a thirty-eight-year-old bachelor living with his ex-mother-in-law, wasn’t there? But it proved to be a relaxing, enjoyable affair.
In fact, the evening turned out to be surprisingly enlightening. What had she expected? Moving her head restlessly, Valerie examined the plush interior of the expensive aircraft. A mansion. What she had been expecting the previous Sunday was a mansion—and possibly a matriarch in residence.
What she had found once they had left behind the two huge iron gates that guarded the entrance drive was a large, rambling natural stone and glass house. It had drawn a gasp of appreciation from her.
“Does that strangled sound denote approval or dismay?” Jonas asked as he pulled on the hand brake.
“It’s absolutely beautiful,” Valerie breathed softly.
The late afternoon sun bathed the house in gold, its massive windows reflecting the rays back to the ball of near red hovering on the horizon. She could feel Jonas’s eyes studying her rapt expression, but at that moment she didn’t care, for what she was experiencing was close to love at first sight. Jonas’s amused tone broke into her enthrallment.
“I’m relieved,” he drawled. “I’d have hated to give it up.”
Marge Kowalski was almost as dramatic a surprise as the house itself.
Having only Janet’s carelessly delivered, “You’ll like Marge,” to go on, Valerie had drawn her own conclusions about what her future husband’s mother-in-law would be like. After only a few minutes, she knew that the conclusions she’d reached were wrong.
At sixty-one Marge was, if Valerie but knew it, exactly as she had been when Jonas first met her, at least as far as her personality was concerned. Her expertly arranged hair was completely white and she wore the age lines on her face as proudly as any soldier ever wore a medal of honor. Having, she claimed, earned every white hair and wrinkle, she was comfortable with them.
“Mary Beth, being her father’s daughter, kept me running while she was growing up,” Marge said easily as she gave Valerie the grand tour of the house before dinner. “I think credit for more than a few silver threads goes to the cracker as well.” An expression of pure love lit her face as she indicated Jonas, sauntering along, drink in hand, behind them.
“You worked in the mines?” Valerie asked him, vaguely remembering someone else referring to him as a coal cracker.
“No.” Jonas gazed indulgently at Marge. “But it amuses Marge on occasion to
call me a coal cracker simply because I come from the coal regions.” His smile turned into a soft laugh. “But, she forgets that she came from the same place as I do, so she must be a cracker too.”
“Lady residents of Tamaqua are not crackers,” Marge teased him. “Only male residents hold that honor.”
“You made that up,” Jonas bantered back. “Admit it.”
Marge laughed up at him. “Okay, I admit it. So sue me!”
For some unfathomable reason, their affectionate exchange caused a strange, almost painful sensation in Valerie, possibly, she theorized, because it had been so long since she’d been exposed to the warmth of this kind of affectionate wordplay. Turning away, she concentrated on following Marge up the short, curving stairs that led to the third level of the house.
The lowest level had consisted of a small enclosed area that housed the heater and central air-conditioning units, a good-size laundry room, and a huge family room—in which the largest TV Valerie had ever seen held pride of place.
The second level was comprised of a beautiful, compact kitchen, a large dining room with one wall made of glass, a living room of a size equal to the dining room, four good-size bedrooms, two large, full bathrooms and a powder room.
As she mounted the stairs Valerie hesitated to even guess what would be on the final level. What she found was her future home—with evidence that Jonas had been in residence for some time.
The apartment was self-contained and could be made completely private by the simple act of closing the door directly across the carpeted landing at the top of the curving staircase. Except for the master bedroom, the rooms here were smaller than on the floor below, and sliding glass doors led off the bedroom onto a wide redwood deck, at the end of which was a flight of steps that descended to the three-car garage. The furnishings were contemporary and expensive; warm and welcoming. Had she been viewing it with the idea of renting the apartment, Valerie would have jumped at the chance to live in it. But the prospect of sharing it with Jonas was daunting, and took the edge off her pleasure.
