by Carol Devine
Still, she didn’t move. He stroked and kissed and did what he wanted, and the knowledge made Meg tremble inside, tremble because she didn’t want him to stop.
It was humiliating to stand there with her face turned aside and her back against the wall and feel the yearning of full-fledged desire. Her body thrummed with it. The hand she managed to wedge between them clutched at his shirt, clutched at the strength of the silk, clutched at his heat mixing with her own.
She had to hold on, had to fight back, had to ignore the power of his words and his mouth and his body and his mind. She had to remember Katie.
“No!” she shouted, and shoved, ducking by him. But he was behind her in seconds, snagging her waist and bringing her back, cradling her against the hard arousal of his body.
“Let’s marry next week, Meg,” he whispered in her ear. “Neither one of us can wait any longer.”
With a cry, she elbowed him and wrenched out the door, down the hall, into the wall that was her brother. Bram caught her in mid-flight. “Meg? What is it?”
She covered her mouth and choked back all sound, but the grimness in Bram’s face told the story as he looked beyond her.
“What the hell is going on here?” he demanded.
“What does it look like?” came Jack’s cool reply.
Meg grasped at her brother’s clenched fists. “Bram, it’s okay. I’m all right.”
“No, you’re not.” He looked down at her, the green in his eyes sparking in concern. “Tell me what happened.”
“Nothing. Nothing happened. Where’s Katie? We have to get home.”
She felt Bram’s anger in his tightening grip. “Did he make a move on you? Is that what this is about?”
“Bram, please,” Meg begged. “Just come with me.”
He didn’t budge but looked past her, pointing his finger at Jack. “You stay away from my sister, you hear?”
“Your sister doesn’t want me to stay away from her.”
“I don’t care what your excuse is—stay away from her or you’ll answer to me. Come on, Meg.”
He towed her unceremoniously down the hall, calling for Katie. Amanda appeared as they entered the living room, but her smile vanished the moment she saw them. “Bram, what’s wrong?”
“It’s your damned brother. Where the hell are his car keys?”
“Here,” Jack answered, entering the living room hand in hand with Katie. “Uncle Bram is going to take you and your mom home now, Katie. Will you give him these keys, please?”
“Okay.” Katie skipped across the room, jingling the keys happily, while the two men stared at each other.
“Watch yourself, Jack,” Bram warned. “I don’t want you anywhere near them.”
“That might be a little tough, since Meg and I have recently started seeing each other,” Jack replied evenly. “In fact, my mother has agreed to invite her and Katie to join us for Thanksgiving dinner. Bram, I’m sure you’ll approve. Meg and Katie are, after all, family.”
Four
“Let’s not have this conversation in front of Katie, Bram,” Meg said as they settled into Jack’s sleek black Jaguar.
Bram gunned the engine and backed out of the underground parking space, tires squealing. Katie piped up from where she was strapped in the back seat. “Mommy, are you and Uncle Bram having a fight?”
“No, sweetheart. We’re just talking.”
Bram swung the car up the exit ramp. “Meg, you may as well tell her the truth, because I’m not leaving this alone.”
“You’d better leave it alone,” Meg retorted. She refused to allow him to malign Jack within Katie’s hearing. “You may be my big brother, but you’re not my keeper.”
“He’s no good for you, Meg. You’ve got to know that.”
“So noted. You’ve done your good deed for the day. Now, if you mention his name again, I’ll march right back to that penthouse apartment and have him drive me home instead of you.”
“What are you thinking? The man is the exact opposite of Allen. The life-style, the jet-setting, the women—”
“Bram,” Meg warned. “That’s enough.”
“I can’t believe you’re defending him. I can’t believe you’ve been seeing him. When did this start?”
“None of your business.”
“None of my business? Since when did you get so stubborn?”
“Mommy, what’s stubborn?” Katie asked.
Meg cast a sidelong glance at Bram. “It means you are not listening very well.”
Bram moved through the late-night traffic to the Lincoln Tunnel with aggressive ease. “I want what’s best for you, Meg,” he grated. “You and Katie.”
“You think I don’t?” She flipped on the radio, but the tension between them remained thick enough to cut with a knife. Meg couldn’t blame him, either. She’d barreled out of the bathroom as though she was being chased by the devil, which she was.
How could she have let Jack kiss her like that? And the things he’d said. He was crazy to think she’d marry him any time in the near future. Yet her heart was beating and her palms were sweaty, and worse, the powerful vibration of the car’s engine made her body’s response all the more scandalous.
She refused to look at Bram, much less Katie, not when she was red-faced with mortification. Clearly, she couldn’t control Jack. She could barely control herself.
Thanksgiving was less than three weeks away. Was it possible to make herself immune to him by then? Their affair had been intense, but she didn’t remember this tumult of heat and blood singing through her veins. All he had to do was touch her and she started panting like one of Pavlov’s dogs. Lust to the nth degree.
Except lust meant absolutely nothing. He was the one who’d taught her that great lesson, lo, those many years ago. She was merely another conquest, a pawn he used in the games he played.
Meg crossed her arms. So she got a little hot. So he noticed. Big deal. It wasn’t a crime. Lots of women found him attractive. He wasn’t called the most eligible bachelor on earth for nothing.
So what if she was physically attracted to him? Okay, that might be a slight understatement, but the point was, she wasn’t in love with the guy. She was in lust. Plain old manageable lust. A workout here, a cold shower there. Her heart was not involved. Not her inner heart, where Katie and the other people she loved lived.
Jack Tarkenton wasn’t one of those people. And he wasn’t going to be, either, not if he pulled another stunt like he did tonight.
The passing lights of the city came into better focus and Meg breathed deeply, striving for control. Her number one concern was Katie. What was best for her?
Tilted in the back seat, she lay asleep, her head resting against the door, sooty-colored lashes spread on apple red cheeks. Jack hadn’t been anywhere nearly as aggressive with her. He wasn’t showering her with gifts, wasn’t overwhelming her with attention. If he truly was sincere about having Katie’s best interests at heart, then Meg had to admit the ambush he engineered was made far less traumatic by the inclusion of Bram, Amanda and J.J.
Most important, Jack was honoring his promise not to force the issue of paternity. As long as he kept his word on that score, Meg was bound and determined to keep hers.
He had caught her off guard tonight. Next time she saw him, she had to be ready for anything. She had to make him play by her rules, not his. Next time they were together, she was going to be prepared.
To Meg, prepared meant wearing loose-fitting winter white slacks, a matching tunic sweater and chaste pearl button earrings.
Prepared also meant contributing to the Thanksgiving meal. She didn’t want to feel the least bit beholden to any of the Tarkentons. Snuggled in the hatchback of her Honda Civic was a high-crusted homemade pie filled with cinnamon-scented apples. Katie was so proud of having helped make it, she wanted to present it to the Tarkentons herself.
One look at the enormity of their Southampton estate, however, and Meg wondered if that was such a good idea. Sittin
g like a castle upon a hill, the Roman-inspired, white-columned mansion was surrounded by acres and acres of rolling grounds. Thick stands of evergreens and winter-naked elms intermittently cut off her view, as did the heavy posts of the intricately carved ironwork fence, but that didn’t stop Meg’s rising sense of awe...and nervousness. Bram had never mentioned wealth or security like this.
The closer she got to the entrance gate, the more she slowed the car. Straddling the middle of the gate was a slant-roofed guardhouse, manned by an actual guard. His stiff-visored hat dipped as he took note of her license plate number.
Katie sat up and looked around, rubbing her eyes. “Are we there yet. Mommy?”
“I think so, sweetie,” Meg responded with forced cheerfulness. She would look like a coward if she turned around now. Easing the car up to the gate, she lowered her window to speak to the guard and inhaled sharply at the blast of frigid air. No Thanksgiving for this poor man.
“Name, please?” he asked.
“I’m Meg Betz and this is my daughter, Katie.”
His breath fogged in the chill as he checked the information against his clipboard. “Meg Masterson Betz?”
“That’s my full name, yes.”
He touched the brim of his hat and opened the gate.
Negotiating the serpentine road to the top of the hill took a full five minutes. The road emptied to a circular drive in front of the mansion, and Meg bit her lip when she saw the layout. Fifty feet of flagstones lay between the driveway and the colonnaded entrance. Icy, uneven flagstones. To let Katie carry the pie up that long walk courted disaster.
The valet who met the car appeared to agree. He opened the passenger door and helped Katie out. “Watch your step, little honey. It’s slick out today.”
Rather than wait for the valet to come round to open her door, Meg scooped up the foil-wrapped pie and exited. If she was lucky, Katie would be too caught up in the majesty of their surroundings to remember the pie.
Thanking the valet, Meg took Katie’s hand.
“Mommy, I want to carry the pie.”
“It’s a long way to the front door, sweetheart. Tell you what. I’ll carry the pie to the house, then you can have your turn and bring it inside.”
Katie halted in her tracks. “But you said I could carry it by myself!”
“I didn’t know we’d have to walk so far, sweetie.”
“But you promised!” Fat tears welled in her eyes.
Meg considered giving in. The last thing either of them needed was a tantrum at the Tarkenton’s front door. And it was Thanksgiving, after all. But if Katie dropped the pie or, worse, fell, she’d be inconsolable. She had utterly rejected wearing her winter boots, too, refusing to get into the car when Meg had suggested bringing them “just in case.”
Those patent leather shoes of hers might be pretty, but they were not in the least practical. And Katie wanted to wear them all the time. The price of vanity would be brought home far more effectively by this situation than continuous battles whenever they ventured outside.
“I’m sorry, Katie, but no. It’s very cold and icy out. Since I’m the only one wearing boots, I will carry the pie.”
The tantrum was in full swing by the time they made it safely to the mansion’s front door. Meg left the stupid pie on a wrought-iron bench on the porch and picked Katie up, hoping to distract her with the prospect of lifting the big brass knocker centering the middle of the massive front door.
The plan was foiled when the door opened of its own accord.
With a guard at the gate and a valet for the car, Meg expected a housekeeper. Instead, the matriarch of the Tarkenton family welcomed them in all her graceful splendor.
“Come in, come in,” Eleanor Tarkenton said, her famous blue eyes crinkling with her patrician smile. Silver-blond hair was piled on her head like a coronet. She wore a long cardigan of butter-colored wool over a soft brown pantsuit, accented by necklaces of gold.
Meg stepped inside, embarrassed to the bone, holding the wailing Katie. So much for making a good first impression.
“I’m sorry about my daughter. She’ll be fine in a minute. We brought a pie. It’s on the bench outside—”
Jack’s deep voice cut through the din. “Allow me . . .”
The sleek ebony of his cashmere turtleneck and tight charcoal jeans should have overwhelmed someone with his blond coloring. Unfortunately, Jack Tarkenton wasn’t just someone. He retrieved the pie, handed it to his mother and shut the door in one fell swoop, then whisked Katie into his arms.
She halted in mid-scream and blinked at him with wide, wet eyes. “Hi, Katie,” he said. “Remember me? I’m J.J.’s Uncle Jack. This is my mother, Eleanor. She likes to be called Grandma, but she’ll answer to Oscar the Grouch, too.”
Meg held her breath. Katie, however, did not. Her next scream was the loudest one yet. Frowning, Jack had no choice but to relinquish her, and Meg took her back, allowing Katie to resort to her old habit of sucking her thumb in order to quiet her. But the damage was already done, and in the awkwardness of the moment, Meg tried to explain. “Katie’s pretty shy with strangers.”
Jack flinched at the remark, making Meg realize how her feeble excuse struck home in a way she never intended. Fortunately, his mother retrieved the situation with gracious good humor. “It appears my son is not quite the lady-killer he seems to think,” said Eleanor.
“Apparently not,” he agreed. “Mother, you remember Bram’s sister, the ever-lovely Meg Masterson.”
Put on guard by this salvo, Meg offered her hand. “Meg Masterson Betz,” she amended with a smile. “Thank you for including Katie and me in your family celebration, Mrs. Tarkenton.”
“Please call me Eleanor, my dear,” she said. “You and your daughter are already part of our family with your brother here, along with Amanda and, of course, little J.J. We’re happy to have you share the day with us.”
She ushered them further into the magnificent palazzo-style foyer. The Italian influence extended into a huge formal living room, decorated in Florentine tones of gilt and olive green. Laid out in the dining room beyond, Baccarat and gold plate glittered in holiday profusion.
A maid appeared from nowhere to take their coats. Overwhelmed by the grandeur of it all, Meg set Katie on the ground. Jack crouched next to her and pointed out the chandelier suspended above.
It was easy for Meg to see why. Hundreds of crystals threw rainbows on the high domed ceiling, creating a light all their own. Entranced, Katie tipped her head back.
Meg’s heart skipped a beat. The resemblance between father and daughter was subtle, but it was there. The color of their eyes, the way they turned their heads. Meg glanced at Eleanor. What, if anything, had Jack told her?
“You have a beautiful home, Eleanor,” Meg said.
“Thank you, my dear.” Eleanor replied, showing them into a long hall off the foyer. “My husband and I bought this house soon after Amanda was born. John so loved the country. The memories I have of him here have steadied me in the years since his death. I was so sorry to hear of your own husband’s passing.”
Meg pressed her hand, moved by her obvious sincerity. “Thank you.”
She linked arms with Meg. “I know the holidays can be a difficult time. Please consider joining us for Christmas Eve. It is a tradition in our family to open gifts then.”
“Except the ones that Santa Claus brings,” Jack added, coming abreast with Katie at his side.
Wondering if he had provided the impetus behind the invitation, Meg decided to nip this presumptuous attitude of his in the bud. “I’m afraid Katie and I have other plans.”
Katie tugged Jack’s sleeve. “Where’s J.J.? Mommy says she’ll take us to see Santa Claus. I want to tell him.”
“Coming right up.” Taking her hand, Jack led Katie down the hall, calling for J.J.
“What a beautiful child,” Eleanor commented.
“Thank you,” Meg said, struck by the bittersweet realization that there was a subtle
resemblance between Eleanor and Katie as well. “I apologize for her behavior when we arrived. She and I were involved in a bit of a contretemps on our way in.”
“With the raising of my own children, I know how these things happen.” She patted Meg’s hand, smiling with the aspect of shared experience. “I understand you and my son have struck up quite a relationship.”
“It’s more an acquaintance than anything else,” Meg hedged, looking ahead. Of course, Jack was nowhere to be seen, having disappeared with Katie through an archway at the end of the hall.
“I hope I don’t presume too much by giving you my blessing,” Eleanor continued. “You have my prayers as well.”
Meg tried to appear nonchalant. “I’m not sure if I should be alarmed by that or not.”
“Not alarmed, my dear. Careful. He takes after his father in many ways. Perhaps too many. But you will be good for him, I think, you and your daughter. Please reconsider coming here for Christmas Eve. We really would love to have you.”
Meg hesitated. “To tell you the truth, this is Katie’s first Christmas without her father. I’m not sure how she’ll react under the circumstances. Please understand.”
“We understand perfectly, don’t we, Mother?”
A heavy arm descended across Meg’s shoulders as Jack gave her an overly affectionate squeeze. She wanted to sink into the floor. Ten minutes in and she’d managed to put her foot in her mouth twice while he was up to his same old tricks. She couldn’t plead her case, either, not with his mother there.
He steered them both into a room Meg could only describe as an informal library. Lined with shelves upon shelves of leather-bound books, the room was dominated by a fireplace on one side, while a theater-size TV dominated the other. Comfortably large burgundy leather sofas and chairs were scattered around, and in one cleared corner, Katie was already hard at work with J.J., building a tower from a huge pile of wooden blocks.
Bram left his seat in front of the televised football game and greeted Meg warmly with one of his patented bear hugs. He eyed her more critically than usual, however, and Meg knew she was in for a very long day when Bram turned the same critical eye on Jack.
