by Joan Hohl
The evening was an unqualified success. By the time Jonas drove her back to Janet’s apartment Valerie felt sure she was going to like Marge Kowalski very much. The woman was warm, friendly and obviously willing to do anything to ensure Jonas’s happiness.
Numbering her days like a condemned prisoner, Valerie had grown steadily more tense as her wedding day approached. With each passing day she grew more quiet and withdrawn, leaving Jonas obviously irritated and Janet very worried. And even though she knew her behavior was far from mature, Valerie could not shake the feeling of dread.
And last night! Valerie grimaced. Last night had seemed a never ending torture. Not wanting to disturb Janet, Valerie had remained in her room, in her bed, caught up in a wide-awake nightmare. She had a wild desire to jump up, fling some clothes into a suitcase and run for her life.
She couldn’t and she didn’t, of course, but now, her eyes shifting to the vivid expanse of blue just beyond the small window, she wished that she had.
Everything had gone off like clockwork. With Janet as her attendant, Valerie had met Jonas, Marge and Charlie McAndrew at the exact time Jonas had stipulated. They were in the judge’s chambers for exactly sixteen and a half minutes. From there they went directly to the Kona Kai, where a table, complete with hovering waiters, had been prepared for an elegant luncheon. Toasts were given and accepted. Valerie ate, drank, talked and smiled, all the time acting on reflex alone.
Jonas had not lingered over his food. As soon as the meal was eaten and the contents of two bottles of Dom Perignon consumed, he announced: “Time to go.”
With the assurances of Janet and Charlie that they’d see Marge back to the house, Jonas led Valerie out of the hotel and into the silver-gray limo. The drive to the airport had been made in total silence.
“I’m going forward for a little while. Try to get some sleep, you look exhausted.” Those had been Jonas’s first words to her since they had left the hotel. Glancing at her watch, Valerie smiled wryly; Jonas’s little while had stretched to two hours and ten minutes.
Though she knew they were going to California, she had no idea of their specific destination—nor did she care. At the moment she didn’t care if the plane’s wheels never again touched down on a landing strip.
A chill touched her spine as Valerie heard again the echo of the judge’s low, melodic voice reciting the traditional marriage ceremony. Her nails dug into the armrest as she again felt the warm touch of the entrapping circle of gold that Jonas had slipped onto her icy finger. And her entire body jerked with a shudder of remembrance at the cold, thin-lipped kiss Jonas had brushed across her mouth.
That…that insult of the lips had brought her previous feelings of dread to the point of smothering panic. After Etienne’s gentle tenderness, how had she allowed herself even to consider this union with a man so totally devoid of emotion?
The sound of Jonas’s voice preceded him into the compartment, giving Valerie the precious seconds needed to lower the seat back and close her eyes in pretended sleep.
Her feigned sleep soon became real and Valerie knew no more until she was awakened by the touch of his hand.
“It’s all right,” Jonas murmured when she stiffened. “I’m sorry I disturbed you, but your seat belt had to be buckled. We’re coming in to land.” The buckling completed, Jonas moved back to his own seat. Minutes after he’d latched his seat belt the plane banked and made its approach to the landing strip.
San Francisco! Valerie had often longed to see this city, considered by some to be the most beautiful city in the world. She had longed to see it, but not with Jonas Thorne! Nevertheless, her eyes were glued to the window of the plane as they made their descent.
Had she been in a frame of mind to be impressed, the elegant hotel would certainly have impressed her. But Valerie viewed the elegant spaciousness of the lobby, the exquisite merchandise displayed by the many shops and the expensively clad patrons through eyes dulled by fatigue.
Mutely, she walked beside Jonas, first to the registration desk, then, following the bellhop, to the elevator, and finally along a carpeted hall. As she was ushered, with something of a flourish, over the threshold to their suite her ennui was dispatched by the blatant luxury of the rooms.
A wry smile curving her lips, Valerie silently surveyed the small sitting room. Bemused by the opulence surrounding her, she was unaware of the door’s closing or of Jonas’s eyes watching her.
I don’t know why I should be surprised, she told herself cynically. After his house, the private jet, the cars—her eyes rested on the open doorway to the bedroom, which was also sumptuously elegant—what in the world did I expect, a tiny, rustic motel room in some backwater town?”
“Well?” Jonas prompted dryly. “What do you think?”
“Lotusland,” Valerie replied coolly, disparagingly.
“A suitable setting for the princess of never-never land?” he retorted.
Stung, Valerie spun to face him, her eyes showing life for the first time in weeks. “It’s positively immoral,” she retaliated. “I can’t imagine what it must cost just for one night.”
“As I have no intention of telling you,” Jonas drawled, “there’s no need for you to tax your imagination.”
The amusement gleaming in his eyes sparked flashing anger in her own and gave her tongue a sharp edge. “The French kings never knew this kind of indulgence,” she snapped, indicating the suite with a condemning wave of her hand.
“Ah, but then,” he literally purred, “the French kings never earned an honest dime—or heard of capitalism.”
“That—that’s exactly what you are—a capitalist.” Valerie flung the words at him, fully expecting a quick denial. Wasn’t everyone ashamed of the title today? Apparently not. At least, not Jonas Thorne.
“To my back teeth,” he admitted easily. “Capitalism has made me a rich man.” Now he glanced around the room, waved his hand encompassingly. “I’m not ashamed of my money,” he informed her seriously. “I didn’t inherit it. I didn’t steal it. I earned it.” Hard arrogance underlined every word. “I’ll spend it any damned way I please, without anyone’s permission—including yours.”
“I never—” Valerie began in protest.
“Stop,” he interrupted sharply. “Your prim, shocked expression has made your disapproval of my self-indulgence as clear as any tirade would have done.”
Bewildered by his harsh accusation, Valerie cried, “I told you once, I have no objection to money.”
“Only mine,” he sighed striding away from her into the bedroom.
Feeling unfairly accused, Valerie retreated into hurt silence. Moving listlessly, she walked to the wide window to stare out at the city she had yearned to see with sightless eyes. Oh, God, she thought despondently, what have I let myself in for? This—pretense can’t possibly work. I can’t even talk to him. How could I have thought I could bear to have him touch me? I can’t, I can’t, she thought wildly. She spun around, and her eyes fastened on the door to the hall. I have got to get away. Her legs moved to put her thought into action. Where she would go, what she would do were unimportant at that moment, for now, her only objective was getting through the door. She was brought to an abrupt stop by a clipped order issued from the bedroom.
“Come in here, Valerie.”
Valerie had heard and responded to that same command so many times over the last month that she did so now without conscious thought. It was not until she was inside the room that she paused to wonder why she had obeyed him. Annoyed with herself, she attacked him.
“Who do you think you’re ordering around?” she demanded imperiously. “I’m no longer your secretary, remember? I’m your wife.”
“Oh, I remember,” Jonas said softly. “It was your memory I was concerned about.”
Valerie didn’t have the vaguest idea of what to say to him. That he had seen her move toward the door was pretty obvious. What could she say? I’m sorry, Mr. Thorne, but the very idea of your hands on me makes me
sick to my stomach? Hardly. His reaction to a statement of that sort would very probably be swift—not to mention painful.
“I—I haven’t forgotten,” she whispered.
“No? Then where were you going?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted.
Jonas’s lips twisted wryly. “You were just going to run, huh?” He shook his head. “To what? To where? Val, you are twenty-seven years old—when are you planning to grow up?”
Stung, Valerie lashed out at him wildly, thoughtlessly. “I’m getting pretty tired of hearing from you how immature I am. I am grown up. Just because the idea of being married to you doesn’t appeal to me, that doesn’t mean—”
“That’s enough,” Jonas barked. “No one twisted your arm or kidnapped you. And, whether I appeal to you or not, you’re stuck with me, and I’m stuck with you.” He grimaced. “So I guess you’ll have to bite the bullet and bear it.”
“As you will,” Valerie taunted.
“Yes,” Jonas sighed. “As I will.” He stood rigidly a moment, just staring at her, then he shrugged. “This is getting us nowhere, Val. What’s done is done. I’m not about to back out and I’m not going to let you renege, either.” The tautness went out of his face and his tone softened. “So, what do you want to do?”
“Do?” Valerie repeated nervously.
“Yes, do.” The wry smile was back. “It is now—” he shot a quick glance at his watch “—four-twenty. Would you like to do a little sightseeing? Or would you rather start fresh in the morning?”
“I—” Valerie hesitated, thrown off-balance by his offer. “You’re willing to take me sightseeing?” she asked disbelievingly.
“Well, of course I’m willing,” Jonas snapped in exasperation. “We are on our honeymoon,” he added dryly. “Were you afraid I’d planned to confine you to the bedroom?”
His chiding shot hit home and Valerie blushed, her color deepening when he laughed softly.
“You’re really a winner,” he jibed, still laughing.
“What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?” she demanded.
“You’re so transparent.” He shook his head wonderingly. “You ought to win a prize for surviving so long with your eyes firmly closed to reality.”
Reality—again? Valerie’s flush of embarrassment changed to a flash of irritation. “Watching the man you love die is very real, Mr. Thorne, I assure you.” For a few sweet moments she had the satisfaction of watching his face fall, but only for a very few short moments. His expression grim, he took one step toward her, then stopped.
“Mr. Thorne?” Jonas gritted. “I’m warning you, Mrs. Thorne, don’t Mr. Thorne me again in that tone of voice. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Valerie gritted back. “If you understand I will not be talked down to. I am sick to death of being treated like a child.”
“I was not talking down to you, Valerie. Nor was I implying you are a child,” Jonas said patiently. “What I was implying is that you are a coward.”
Biting her lip, Valerie turned to move away; Jonas moved faster. Crossing the room in a few long strides, he grasped her arm with one hand and her chin with the other, forcing her to look at him.
“I know it took courage for you to watch him die,” he said softly. “But I’d be willing to bet you have displayed precious little since. You can’t run away from the truth, Val. Sooner or later it will catch up to you.” Then all the patience and softness left his tone. “He’s dead,” he went on brutally, ignoring her gasp of protest. “Nothing is going to change that—ever. You are here, and so am I. Accept that fact—and me—and you’ll know what is real again.
“I—I can’t accept it,” Valerie cried.
“You will,” he promised grimly. “You have my word on that.”
Chapter 9
For one terrifying second Valerie thought he was going to draw her into an embrace, but then he released her and stepped back.
“I think we’ll leave the sightseeing till tomorrow,” he said decisively. “Even though it’s early here, it’s past dinnertime in Philly and I’m hungry.” His eyes flicked over her. “You barely touched your lunch. I suggest we have dinner here in the hotel and call it a day.”
Valerie dawdled over her dinner, convinced Jonas’s blandly stated “call it a day” meant one thing—bed. That he was fully aware of the growing tension inside her was made perfectly clear when, after she asked for yet another glass of wine, he chided sardonically:
“If you are deliberately trying to drink yourself insensible in the hope I’ll postpone the inevitable, forget it.”
His words sent a chill of certainty through Valerie. There was no way she could avoid what was ahead of her, and she knew it. Still she tried.
“Jonas, I—I can’t,” she whispered pleadingly.
“You can,” he stated flatly. “And you will. You were fully cognizant of what was expected of you.” He lifted one eyebrow mockingly. “Unless, of course, you know of another, less physical, way of producing an heir?”
Controlling all but a tiny tremor in her fingers, Valerie carefully placed her glass on the table, and with equal care, moved her chair back. Jonas was at her side by the time she stood up and no amount of willpower could prevent the shiver that rippled through her when his fingers curled around her elbow. Holding herself stiffly erect, she allowed him to lead her out of the large, nearly empty dining room and across the lobby to the elevators. On entering the suite, Jonas went directly to the fully stocked drinks cabinet provided by the management.
“I’ll have a brandy while you shower,” he said tonelessly. “I’ll be in when my glass is empty—whether you’re out of the shower or not.”
Valerie walked into the bedroom with cool dignity, but all pretense ended with the closing of the door. With frantic haste she tugged and yanked her way out of the pale lilac dress Janet had insisted she buy before leaving France. As her fingers fumbled with the hooks at the back of her bra her eyes settled on her still closed and locked suitcase.
“Oh, no,” she muttered, digging through her handbag for the key to her case.
Finally, divested of her clothes and with nightgown in hand, she dashed into the bathroom and under the shower. She was hastily rubbing herself dry when she heard Jonas enter the bedroom.
Grimacing at the outrageously expensive white chiffon gown Janet had given her that morning, Valerie slipped it over her head and reached for the doorknob. It was suddenly yanked away from her fingertips.
“Perfect timing,” Jonas drawled as she scurried past him.
Panic rising in her throat, Valerie searched out her hairbrush and tried to calm herself by the age-old method of slow, repetitive brushing. She had no success.
I can’t. I can’t. The chant repeated itself over and over in her mind as she stood, still as stone, staring through the window at the fog-shrouded twilight.
“Etienne.”
Whispering his name aloud called forth a plan. Jonas had repeatedly accused her of not facing reality. Well, now she would deliberately suspend reality. By the simple process of superimposing Etienne’s image over Jonas’s, she would not only enable herself to get through the coming ordeal, she might even enjoy it.
And so, when she heard the bathroom door open, Valerie turned calmly to face her husband with a warm smile of welcome.
Her smile faltered as her glance encountered his naked body. Concentrating fiercely, she dredged up her recollection of Etienne’s form. The image wobbled and refused to stay together.
Etienne. Etienne. Etienne. Valerie repeated his name in time with Jonas’s steps in a desperate effort to reassemble the fading image and hang on to her crumbling plan.
It was impossible, for in no way did this tall, lithe, powerful-looking man resemble the fiancé her memory was having such a hard time picturing.
Why couldn’t she remember him more clearly? Why now, when she needed…
“It won’t work, Valerie.” Jonas’s softly taunting voice scattered her thoughts.
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“Wha—what won’t work?” she stuttered.
“Your little game,” he grated. “Your smile was the tip-off.” His voice dropped to a threatening growl. “I will not play stand in for a dead man, Valerie.”
Intimidated by his tone and his overwhelming presence, Valerie moistened her suddenly hot, parched lips. Before she could form words of denial, he confused the issue by lifting his hand to finger the gossamer material of her gown, asking softly, “Are you trying to make a statement with this frothy bit of virginal white?”
“No!” The disclaimer was out before she could even consider her chances of getting a reprieve by avowing purity. “The—the gown was a bridal gift from Janet,” she finished softly.
Gathering great folds of the chiffon into his hands, he drew it up her body. “In that case I’ll remove it very carefully.” The material caressed her skin as he lifted it over her head, and it fell to the floor soundlessly when he tossed it aside.
“Jonas, I—Oh!” Her breath caught with a gasp in her throat at the feel of his palm against her breast.
“Your heart’s pounding away like mad,” he murmured. “Don’t be afraid, Val.”
Valerie’s eyes closed when his mouth brushed her forehead.
“I’m not a brute, you know. I do know how to be gentle.”
As if to prove his claim, he dropped feather-light kisses across her forehead to her temple. When, in trembling reaction to his touch, she attempted to move away from him, he grasped her around the waist with a softly cautioning, “No.”
Holding her still, Jonas proceeded to cover every inch of her face with light, teasing kisses; every inch, that is, except her quivering lips. He kissed his way with excruciating slowness down her neck, across both shoulders and then, even more slowly, to her breasts. Valerie’s trembling increased while her breathing grew slow and labored.
Feeling her senses beginning to swim, Valerie strove to recall her plan. Etie—, Oh, Lord, what is he doing! Eyes flying open in disbelief, she watched Jonas drop to his knees and lower his head to her breast. Raising strangely heavy arms, she gripped his shoulders to push him away, then dug her nails into his flesh at the riot of sensations his nibbling teeth exploded inside her body.
