They settled into a routine after that night, and he’d never felt happier in his entire life as the next few weeks passed. Jessie worked part-time, usually going to the gallery in the afternoons. By the time he got home in the evening, she was refreshed and interested in hearing about the things in which he currently was involved. After dinner they watched television or pored over baby books and catalogues, looking for things for the nursery they were slowly putting together. And after that…after that came the part of the day he looked forward to from the time his eyes opened in the morning.
Apparently, his satisfaction with his life showed, because people remarked on it and congratulated him on his marriage everywhere he went. One day as he was leaving after a lunch in the restaurant that occupied the old Federal Reserve Bank at the Hotel Le Meridien, a man passing through the door hailed him.
It was Mort Brockhiser, a friend as well as the vice president in charge of commercial loans at Boston Savings Bank.
“Good to see you, Ryan,” Mort said, shaking his hand vigorously. He was a small, rotund man with a fringe of graying hair stretching from each temple around the back of his head, and he had a habit of smoothing his hand over the shining crown of his bald head. “Emmy and I extend our congratulations on your marriage.”
“Thanks, Mort.” Ryan had known Mort and his wife, Emmy, since his senior year at M.I.T., when he’d applied for the patent on Securi-Lock and Mort had backed his loan request to start production of the technology. “How’s your family?”
“Fine, fine. Youngest is finishing at Harvard this year. I’m going to be throwing a ‘No More Tuition’ party next May.” He chuckled at his own wit, then went on. “Maybe you and the wife could join Emmy and me for dinner some night. Where’d you find this lady? Emmy’s dying to hear all the details.”
“We grew up together,” Ryan said. No point in trying to explain anything else; it sounded too crazy. “Her maiden name was Reilly. Jessie Reilly.”
A sudden look of comprehension settled over Mort’s face. “Of The Reilly Gallery?”
Ryan nodded. “One and the same.”
“She applied for a loan a few months ago,” Mort said. “I visited her shop. Very nice. Would have liked to make the loan, but you know how cautious the board is these days. Her financials were a little shaky.” Then his eyes narrowed thoughtfully and he chuckled. “But I guess they’re not shaky anymore.”
“Jessie’s very independent and an excellent sales-woman,” Ryan said. “If I were you, I’d back anything she chose to try.” And if he were a banker, he would. He had faith in her business acumen. And he’d become intimately acquainted with her shop and the things she stocked. She had great instincts, which was half of what it took to survive in the market.
“Hmm.” Mort nodded once, then the intensity faded from his gaze. “As I said, we’ll have dinner.”
Ryan nodded. “Jessie would like that, but it may have to wait awhile. We’re expecting twins in October.”
Mort’s eyes bulged. “Good Lord!” He had two sons of his own. “You’re going to have your hands full.”
“I know.” And he loved the thought of it.
The weeks passed and so did the seasons. Spring slid into summer, and Jessie grew larger and larger as their babies grew inside her. They still were able to make love, and to his delight she was endlessly inventive and far more agile than her increasing bulk indicated. And when they lay together afterward, when she snuggled into his arms and laid her head on his chest, his heart felt as if it were going to swell and burst right out of him with the feelings he struggled to hide.
One afternoon he gave Finn the night off and came home well before Jessie was expected, to prepare a surprise for her. He’d bought roses, a stunning bouquet of red and pink ones to symbolize the love he hoped they were beginning to share, as well as the friendship they’d had for so long.
Before Finn left to visit his mother, he prepared a spinach salad and a platter of cold roast beef. Ryan had called that morning and asked him to set the glass-topped wrought-iron table for them on the terrace, and when he took the vase of roses up, he discovered Finn had done far more than simply set the table.
It was covered in a white linen cloth with snowy napkins gracing the porcelain plates. Waterford goblets for wine and water sparkled in the late-afternoon light. There were candles on the table, and two large brass candelabra with white tapers were strategically placed with an arrangement of potted palms and ferns around them. He set the vase of roses on a side table and noted the bottle of Dom chilling in the ice bucket. Good. Very good.
He took a deep breath. He’d made up his mind. Tonight he was going to do it.
Tonight, he was going to tell Jessie he loved her. That he’d loved her for what seemed like forever, that she made him happier than any man had a right to be. If he was right about the feelings growing between them, she would return the words. And his life would be complete.
Leaving the terrace, he went down to his room for a quick shower and changed into casual linen pants and a cotton shirt with a faint blue stripe. She loved him, he was nearly sure of it. If she didn’t, she should be in Hollywood. She’d be a shoo-in for an Oscar.
He rummaged in his drawers for a pack of matches. The big lighter was downstairs, but he was pretty sure he’d seen matches here somewhere…they probably were in Jessie’s room. Finn was always lighting good-smelling candles in there.
As he moved into her room, he thought again of the way she moved into his arms for a passionate kiss every morning before he left the house. The way she greeted him with shining eyes and another kiss in the evening. The way she moved with him when they made love, as if she knew exactly what he wanted and how to please him utterly. Last week she’d brought home a hand-blown glass paperweight in the forty shades of Ireland that she’d ordered for the store. But she’d given it to him because, she told him, she knew he’d like it in his office. She could have given him a piece of limestone and he’d have liked it, because she’d thought of him.
He pulled open the drawer of her bedside table. No matches.
Moving to the dresser on which sat a fat, scented candle, he opened the first drawer. Pay dirt. As he reached in for the match box he’d located, a folded piece of paper atop the dresser caught his eye.
Dining room, it was labeled in Jessie’s handwriting. Slowly, he picked up the sheet of paper and unfolded it. Shock replaced incredulity as the words penetrated, and that in turn was replaced by a burgeoning pain. A leaden weight encased his heart as he read down the page:
Sideboard: Kirk-Steiff silver tea service, Kirk-Steiff cutlery for twelve, two Irish lace tablecloths, twenty-four linen dinner napkins. Breakfront: Waterford crystal goblets—champagne, water, three kinds of wine…
There were several sheets of paper. List after list of the rooms in his home and the contents of each. She’d been casing the place, for God’s sake!
Carefully, he folded the papers exactly as they had been. He felt as if he couldn’t take a deep breath as he closed the drawer and walked back through the bathroom to his room. What an idiot you are, he told himself bitterly. You knew going into this that Jessie didn’t marry you for love. And now that he thought about it, he was sure his financial status had a lot to do with her decision to recruit him to father her children.
“Ryan? Where are you?”
He sucked in a deep breath. He wasn’t ready to face her. Blowing it out, he met his own gaze in the mirror. No choice. “I’m up here,” he called. “Bedroom.”
He stayed where he was, listening as her footsteps tripped lightly up the steps and came down the hall. She entered her own room first and came through the bathroom to find him.
“Guess what?” Her voice was jubilant and her whole face was alight. She looked so beautiful and vivacious that his heart squeezed viciously into a small, tight knot.
“What?” His own voice sounded distinctly unenthusiastic to his own ears but she didn’t appear to notice.
“I
got a loan! The Reilly Gallery is officially going to expand.” She came straight to him and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Ryan, I’m so happy!”
Automatically he put his hands at the sides of where her waist used to be. “That’s great.” He worked hard to make his voice sound more normal. Carefully he set her away from him and walked into the bathroom, going to the faucet and washing his hands to give himself something to do. “When do you plan to start?”
“Right away.” She followed him, still smiling, but when he glanced at her there was a puzzled, wary look in her eyes. “I’ve already spoken to the owner of my building about leasing that empty space next to the gallery and knocking down a wall. He didn’t seem to think there would be any problem.”
“No grass growing under your feet.” He forced himself to turn and smile at her. “Hungry? You can tell me all about it over dinner.”
“Starving,” she said, “but we might be forced to fend for ourselves. Finn’s not here, and the table isn’t set in either room downstairs.”
“I, uh, I asked Finn to set a table for us on the terrace,” he said, seeing no way to get out of it. If she’d come home just a few minutes later… “I’ll go get the food and send it up in the dumbwaiter.”
“Okay. Just let me change and I’ll be up.”
He went down to the kitchen, glad to escape for the moment. Idiot! he thought again. How could he have let himself think for a minute that she cared for him? Just because they’d found a great deal of physical satisfaction together didn’t necessarily mean her emotions were involved.
She was faster than he’d expected, and he barely beat her up to the terrace on the roof. Wheeling the cart loaded with food over to the table, he concentrated on setting everything in place as she approached.
“This is lovely,” she exclaimed. “It looks so…so romantic.” Her voice dropped.
“You know Finn. I guess he got a little carried away,” he said casually. “Looks nice, but the candles are overkill.” Briskly he grabbed the candelabras and carried them to the far side of the terrace, then dragged the potted trees back to their original positions spaced around the fringes of the furniture. There was nothing he could do about the flowers or the wine, he supposed. He’d just have to live with those.
Jessie’s face, when he dared to glance her way, wore a slightly disturbed expression. Probably relief. When she’d seen the romantic setting, he imagined she’d feared he was going to do something stupid. Something like telling her he loved her…
Stop whining, Shaughnessy, he ordered himself. You wanted her, you wanted babies. You got both. You never expected her to love you, anyway. Not really.
Thank God he’d seen those notes. Ignoring the throbbing ache in his heart, he held her chair. “Have a seat and tell me about your loan.”
Jessie hesitated. Then, casting him a glance from beneath her lashes, she slid into the chair. As he took his own seat, he casually moved the roses off to one side.
“Are you going to open the wine?” she asked.
“Uh, I wasn’t planning on it,” he said. “You’re not supposed to be drinking. I don’t know what Finn was thinking when he set that out.”
“One glass of wine would be all right.”
“I don’t want to take any chances with these babies.” He couldn’t look at her. “We’ll save the real celebration for when your store’s completed.”
“Is something wrong?” Her voice sounded uncertain.
“Not at all.” He forced himself to meet her troubled gaze. “So talk to me.”
“All right.” She continued to watch him. “Let’s see…what do you want to know?”
“Who made you the loan?”
“Boston Savings. Can you believe it? They were polite but absolutely adamant when I made my pitch before.”
Boston Savings. It couldn’t be a coincidence that he’d seen Mort Brockhiser and now she’d gotten a loan from Brockhiser’s bank. “Did he say what changed?” he asked neutrally.
“No. I asked him that, too. He said he’d thought all along I was a good prospect and that he was glad the board of directors had a change of heart.” Her smile flashed in the evening light. “I’m too happy to care what was said, as long as they make me that loan!”
That was good. He decided not to tell her about his conversation with Mort. It wasn’t as if he’d cosigned her note or anything like that. And, anyway, hadn’t she married him for the financial benefits that came with him?
Nine
Ryan was behaving strangely.
He shooed her off to get ready for bed after dinner, telling her he would take care of the dishes. In the past they’d cleaned up together on the infrequent nights when Finn wasn’t around. Jessie couldn’t shake the feeling that he wanted to get rid of her, and the idea hurt her feelings. She thought they’d broken through a barrier to a new level of intimacy when they’d begun making love. Tonight Ryan was acting as if he didn’t really want her around.
And what the heck was the deal with that dinner? When she’d walked out onto the terrace, her heart had leaped into her throat. The greenery and candelabra made a stunning backdrop for the roses, and the table service had gleamed in the evening sun. It had made a lovely, romantic picture, and she still wondered if Ryan hadn’t asked Finn to set it up and then changed his mind for some unknown reason.
It was depressing.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror and sighed. Speaking of depressing—it was the beginning of July and she still had more than a third of this pregnancy to go. Already she looked like she’d swallowed helium balloons. How long would Ryan continue to be attracted to someone he couldn’t even get his arms around?
She shucked off the oversize denim blouse and navy shorts with the stretchy front panel, then tossed them into the clothes basket along with her underwear. Donning a short silk robe, she headed into the bathroom and prepared for bed. Then she climbed into “her” side of the large bed she’d shared with Ryan for the past few weeks.
She was reading a book on infant growth when Ryan came into the room, and she set it down with a stifled yawn. “I’m glad you came up. I’m getting sleepy.”
He didn’t respond, though he smiled absently at her. Emptying his pockets, he stripped to his briefs and got ready for bed, then removed those and got under the covers on his side of the bed. When he turned out his light, she did the same.
She waited for him to reach for her and draw her into his arms, but tonight he merely laid one hand over the swell of her belly. “Lots of movement today?”
“Tons. But they’re pretty quiet right now.” She placed her hand over his. “Did something happen at the office today that upset you?”
He was silent for a long moment. “No,” he said finally. “What makes you think that?”
“I don’t know. You just seem…subdued.” Withdrawn.
In the darkness she felt him shrug. “It was just one of those days, I guess.” His hand began to trace small circles over her belly. “How are you feeling physically?”
She chuckled wryly, covering the hurt that sprang up when she realized he was shutting her out. “Huge. I can’t imagine getting much larger, but I know I will.” She still couldn’t avoid the conviction that something was wrong, but he didn’t seem willing to share his problems, and she didn’t know how else to let him know she wanted to be there for him. Then her attention faded from her concern as he continued to stroke her body.
The gentle circles grew larger, and his big, warm hand brushed over her breast. She sucked in a sharp breath of pleasure as sensation cut a jagged path through her. Her breasts were so sensitive right now that even his lightest touch brought heat flowing to her abdomen and made her pulse race. “Your skin is so soft,” he breathed, “so smooth. I love touching you.”
“I love it when you touch me, too.” She shifted toward him for a kiss, resisting the impulse to blurt out I love you.
But he wouldn’t let her turn to him. Instead, he rolled her onto her s
ide and snuggled behind her, drawing her into the heat of his large body and cradling her head on his arm. He drew his knees up, and the rough hair along his legs brushed the backs of her thighs. The movements of his awakening flesh pressed against the soft flesh of her buttocks, and he flattened his palm against her abdomen. She squirmed as the pressure of her tightly closed legs created an erotic pleasure, then she gasped as his fingers slipped beneath her top leg and drew it up over his.
The motion pressed him forward, his hips firmly pushing at the tender cleft between her legs, and she moaned. His big hand slid up over her, cupping and stroking her breasts, his rough thumb rasping over the tender nipples until she was moving desperately against him, her pulse hammering in her throat and at the apex of her thighs. He lifted his head and caught her earlobe between his teeth, lightly scoring the tender flesh and then soothing the small sting with his tongue. He pressed a string of kisses down her neck and along the smooth plane of her shoulder. At the same time, he slipped his hand down over the mound of her belly to the hidden cove beneath, combing his fingers through the moist curls he found there.
When he lightly pressed down with one finger, she cried out at the waves of intense pleasure that burst through her, then buried her face in the pillow as one long finger slid stealthily into her humid channel. Her hips bucked and writhed, and he groaned softly into her ear, then lightly nipped at her shoulder.
She swept her hand back and down between their straining bodies, finding and freeing his swollen shaft, drawing him forward to the portal of her feminine flesh, wordlessly urging him to complete their union. Ryan spread his palm over her abdomen again, holding her in place, and she felt the blunt probe of the broad head slowing pushing into her, filling her.
Billionaire Bachelors: Ryan Page 14
