"Caesar," came Trev's fierce rebuke, "Caesar, heel! Get back, damn it. What the hell…? Caesar!" He loomed over them, tugging on the dog's collar, shouting commands that Caesar blissfully ignored.
Jennifer, meanwhile, both laughed and cried—out of irrepressible sentiment rather than fear—rolling defensively this way and that, shoving Caesar out of her face with one hand and burying her fingers in his fur with the other. Vaguely, she knew that Trev and someone else hovered over them, and before long, the slobbering, misty-eyed beast whom she loved so much was pulled off her.
Trev gripped Caesar's collar and held him while the dog strained and whined. The other man clipped a heavy chain to his collar, opened the living room door, and together they forced the loudly protesting dog to the outside.
The tall, slender, handsome young man with coppery hair and her old pal Christopher's vivid blue eyes slipped outside to deal with Caesar, while Trev extended a hand to Jennifer.
"I'm sorry, Jen. God, I don't know what got into him." He looked shaken and somewhat pale beneath his tan as he helped her to her feet. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine." She wiped moisture from beneath her eyes with the back of her hand, sniffled and smiled, feeling rather shaky herself. But when all was said and done, it was nice to be remembered—and welcomed back with such warm enthusiasm.
"Are you sure you're not hurt?" Trev searched her face with concern, dashed a wet trail from her cheek and ran a quick visual check of her body. Finding no broken bones or lacerations, he let out a long breath and pulled her to him in a hug. "When I first saw him lunge, I thought he was attack-mg.
"He wasn't."
Trev held her tightly against him until his own heartbeat slowed to normal. "I figured that out soon enough." Which had been a damn good thing. Caesar in attack mode could probably rip out a person's throat in the blink of an eye. As much as he loved that dog, he'd have killed him, if necessary, to save Jen.
"He was just being friendly," she said, her voice muffled against his chest.
"Friendly? He was exuberant. Any happier, and he'd have been doing cartwheels." He loosened his hold on her and gazed at her in wonder. She hadn't been afraid. An unfamiliar dog the size of Caesar knocked her to the ground in a frenzy, and she hadn't panicked.
She'd been laughing. And crying a little, but not in fear. Why had she been crying?
And why had Caesar reacted like that? Bewilderment churned with vague, undefined anxiety in Trev's gut. The only time the dog came close to behaving that way was when Trev returned from long trips…
An almost eerie sensation slid over him, like the shadow of a passing cloud.
"It was probably my sandals," Jen theorized, stepping away from him to brush dog hair off her jeans. "I was visiting my neighbor yesterday before you came for me. She has a female shepherd, and I believe she was in heat. Caesar probably picked up her scent from my sandals."
"Yeah." He forced a smile. "Maybe that's it." But he knew that a female dog hadn't been the cause of Caesar's excitement. Caesar had been neutered years ago, and he wouldn't find a female in heat particularly exciting.
No, it seemed to Trev that Caesar had recognized Jen, and was ecstatic to see her. As if she were a long-lost friend.
Actually, more than just a friend. Way more.
Like, a long-lost mistress.
* * *
8
« ^ »
What the hell was he thinking? The suspicion gripping him like a vise was so bizarre, so out-of-the-blue, that Trev could barely bring himself to put it into words, even in his own mind.
He'd have to be crazy to jump to the conclusion that anything covert had played a part in Caesar's reaction to Jen. He'd have to be crazy to think that Caesar had been welcoming home his long-lost mistress … and that Jen might actually be Diana.
Intermittent waves of hot and cold rushed through him. She couldn't be. No. She couldn't be.
It was easier to believe that Caesar had mistaken her for Diana, as Trev had. He remembered his gut reaction when he'd first heard the sound of Jen's laughter, and when he'd caught sight of her in the hotel lobby. Though her hair was blond instead of dark, familiarity had been immediate. Bone-deep. Absolute.
He'd been wrong, though. At closer look, many differences became obvious. She wasn't Diana.
But as he studied her now, he realized that most of those differences were superficial. Hair color and style. Body weight. Age. Eye color, which could be altered with contact lenses. And the changes in her facial structure could have been engineered with cosmetic surgery.
God Almighty, why was he even considering this?
The whole idea was ludicrous. Did he really think there was a possibility that Diana had voluntarily left him, undergone cosmetic surgery and was living as someone else? It made no sense.
But then, neither had her disappearance.
Nor Caesar's reaction to her. The dog couldn't have mistaken her for Diana, as Trev had, on the basis of sight or even sound. Dogs identified by smell. And smells, to a dog, were so distinctive that a man could be tracked by the mere path he'd walked.
Another psychogenic chill swept through Trev. Caesar wouldn't have mistaken one person for another.
Which meant he must have had another reason for pouncing in exuberance on Jen. Something she'd said or done. A scent that clung to her—maybe from the portfolio that held Diana's play, which Jen had been carrying earlier.
Or maybe Caesar's reaction had nothing at all to do with Diana. Maybe he'd reacted to Trev's admittedly explosive feelings about Jen. Dogs often sensed extreme emotional reactions in their masters, didn't they? Fear or distrust on the part of an owner could easily raise a dog's shackles. Who was to say that a positive emotion wouldn't register on some level, too?
And he wouldn't deny feeling something positive and wild and strong for Jen. Too strong, maybe.
He gazed at her now in near desperation. She couldn't possibly be Diana. Just the fact that he'd conceived the idea made him wonder if his sexual need for her had pushed him beyond the limits of reason, into obsession. Delusional obsession. She'd said as much to him, when he'd confronted her yesterday morning in her office. You're delusional. Was he?
"Trev." Jen's soft voice cut through a blinding haze of ludicrous, half-formed suspicions and alarming self-doubt. He blinked rapidly, struggling to reorient himself, and focused on her face. Her beautiful, vitally familiar face. "I'm assuming this is your brother Christopher," she prompted with a rather tense, questioning smile.
Trev realized then that Christopher stood before them, his hands in the roomy pockets of his fashionably wide jeans, his amiable blue-eyed gaze lingering on Jen in clear curiosity.
"Uh, yes," Trev said, spurring himself with an effort to function as a rational human being. "Jen, this is Christopher. He's hearing impaired, but he reads lips amazingly well, even when you don't want him to. Christopher, meet Jen, a … a friend of mine." As he said it, he realized how wrong it felt to call her "a friend." She was already much more vital to him than that. He felt as if she belonged to him.
That couldn't be a sane reaction to a woman he'd known for only five days. And yet, he'd felt the same with Diana, from the first time they'd spoken. Had he fallen in love with Jen, in the same instantaneous, soul-possessing way? Or were his feelings for her based on her similarities to Diana, and therefore just another symptom of obsession?
But there was another possibility, too.
His muscles clenched, and he broke out into a light sweat at the thought. Maybe he perceived clues on a subliminal basis, and his feelings for her stemmed from fact—the fact that she did belong to him. The fact that she was his wife.
Chaotic emotions clashed and warred with his common sense, and he gritted his teeth to retain at least a semblance of sanity. He couldn't allow himself to get so carried away, with nothing but vague suppositions to go on. He had to ground himself in reality. But he was no longer sure what that reality was, or if he'd lost touch with it alt
ogether.
Ignoring his inner havoc, he focused with keen determination on Christopher and Jen. She'd uttered a polite greeting and extended her hand. Christopher had responded with a courteous shake and a smile.
"I can tell you're brothers," she was saying now, her voice soft, warm and a little raspy, her eyes shining. "There's a strong family resemblance. You have the same smile." She swallowed, pressed her lips firmly together, then curved them into a smile. With an effort, it seemed.
Was it his imagination, or was she struggling to repress some strong emotion … regarding Christopher? It had to be his imagination. She was a perfect stranger to him, and had no reason to get misty-eyed and all choked up.
But then, she'd shed tears when Caesar had rushed to her. And now that he thought about it, those tears had looked suspiciously sentimental.
Swallowing a curse, Trev turned away from her, angry with himself for allowing these wild speculations to color his perception of her. He couldn't go on this way. Determinedly, he channeled his attention to Christopher. "Thanks for bringing my car." He clasped him in a brief, back-patting hug. "When I rented one at the airport, they were out of all-terrain vehicles. I've been itching to get back in the woods on my new property and explore."
Christopher replied in sign language, I figured as much.
"You're here early. I didn't expect you until Friday."
Yes, I changed my plans, Christopher said with expressive movements of his hands. Yvonne came with me. She's in the car.
Trev glanced through the living room window, toward the pretty brunette who sat in the passenger seat of his all-terrain vehicle. His disapproval of their relationship hadn't deterred Christopher from pursuing it, and Trev saw no use in rehashing the arguments now. "Tell her to come in."
I have something to tell you first.
The taut, wary look on his brother's face warned him of trouble. Though Christopher's silent part of the conversation was undoubtedly lost on Jen, Trev considered taking him to another room where they could talk in private. Before he acted on the impulse, though, Christopher signed, We're flying to the Virgin Islands this evening.
Trev lifted a brow in surprise. Maybe privacy wouldn't be necessary, after all. He wasn't yet accustomed to the higher life-style his brother enjoyed, now that he'd come into his money, but Trev certainly didn't object to him taking an island vacation. He'd prefer that Christopher go without Yvonne, of course, but since she was already with him—
To get married, Christopher signed.
Trev stared at him, stunned. He'd known his brother had lost his head over the woman, but he hadn't expected this. "Don't do it, Chris. Don't rush things."
Anger sparked in Christopher's eyes. I'm not a kid anymore. You can't run my life. Whether you like Yvonne or not, I love her. We're not changing our plans.
Hushing with anger, Trev responded in sign language, You'll regret it.
Christopher's jaw hardened. Give me the keys to the car you rented. I'll return it to the airport for you. It'll save me from calling a cab.
Nothing infuriated him more about Christopher than his refusal to listen to reason. They'd been butting heads like this since their parents died, and Trev had taken over raising Christopher when the boy was fifteen. Emphatically Trev signed, You're not going anywhere until we talk this out. She'll only break your heart … along with your bank account, if you let her.
Christopher's face grew ruddy and he glared. I'll have Yvonne call a cab. Stiffly he drew a cell phone from his shirt pocket, pivoted on his heels and stalked outside.
Trev clenched his jaw and fought the impulse to drag him back into the house.
"What's going on, Trev?" Jen asked, sounding dismayed and concerned.
"My brother's about to make the mistake of his life."
"Is this about … his girlfriend?"
"Technically, his fiancée."
"You don't like her?"
"Whether I like her or not is irrelevant. She's lived next door for two years, and in all that time, barely said a word to any of us. Last month, Christopher came into money—a trust fund set up from a lawsuit my parents settled years ago. It was over the medical error that left him deaf as an infant. Now that he's driving a Ferrari and wearing ridiculously expensive clothes, Yvonne is suddenly in love with him." Trev tried to tamp down on his frustration, but couldn't. It was fueled by fierce protectiveness. "The money can never make up for his loss, but it's his, damn it. I won't have a gold digger bleed it out of him—and then break his heart when it's gone."
Jen studied him in a silence for a moment, then mused aloud, "You believe his disability makes him more emotionally vulnerable, don't you?"
He compressed his lips in annoyance. He should have known better than to try to explain. He'd never been good at expressing his feelings—especially about Christopher. "His disability has nothing to do with this."
"I think it does. I think you're afraid that—"
"Please, Jen, don't psychoanalyze me now. I don't want my brother taken advantage of. Period." Realizing that he'd been too curt—with everyone—but unable to think beyond his worry over Christopher's future, Trev strode to his newly created office and shut the door.
He'd call the cab company and cancel the cab Christopher had probably ordered. After he'd given Christopher time to cool down, he would try to talk to his brother again. If worse came to worst, he'd give him the key for the rental car. As angry as he was, he wouldn't repay Christopher's favor of driving his car across country by forcing him to take a cab to the airport. He hoped Christopher wouldn't mistake the gesture as acceptance of his intended marriage. Trev intended to fight that in every way he could.
Jennifer, meanwhile, walked out the front door of the house and resolutely headed for the silver all-terrain vehicle parked beneath picturesque palm trees.
Christopher stood at the rear of the car, angrily jerking luggage from the trunk and tossing it onto the crushed-shell driveway. Yvonne, the slim, dark-haired young woman who had been sitting in the passenger seat, was now strolling toward the beach, smoking a cigarette.
Jennifer was glad to find Christopher alone. How exasperating he and Trev could be! Trev was too protective of him—as he was with everyone he loved, but especially Christopher. His concern only made Christopher resentful and headstrong. As often as she'd seen them argue, though, she sensed that this time, their anger was more detrimental. If Trev didn't soften his stand, Christopher and his bride might always hold a grudge.
And that would break Trev's heart. She couldn't allow that.
Highly aware of her status as a stranger in their lives, Jen approached Christopher without a clear idea of what to say, but knowing that some form of intervention was imperative.
Stopping beside him, she leaned sideways, into his line of vision, and wriggled her fingers in a little wave to alert him of her presence. He tossed aside the suitcase he was holding and turned to her in mild surprise.
"Hello," she said, wishing she could just break free from her assumed identity and open her heart to him. Since she couldn't, she kept her gaze as impersonal as she could and squarely faced him so he could easily read her lips. "I know that I should keep out of this, but Trev has told me so much about you, I feel as if I know you." A lie, of course. Trev hadn't said much at all about his family. "He loves you very much. He's afraid that you'll get hurt."
His eyes took on a stormy look, and his mouth thinned with annoyance.
"I know you think he doesn't like Yvonne, but that's not necessarily true. He just isn't sure she loves you."
Christopher wrenched his gaze away from her and abruptly turned to finish removing his bags from the trunk of Trev's car. He couldn't have told her more clearly to mind her own business.
She touched his shoulder, bringing his gaze back to her. "Please, Christopher, give him time. As soon as he knows that Yvonne loves you, he'll take her to his heart as one of the family. Then he'll be one of her staunchest supporters. You'll give him that chance, won'
t you?"
As if he couldn't hold back the words, even if he had to sign them to someone who wouldn't understand, he spelled out with quick, emphatic motions of his hands, Doesn't Trev believe a woman can really love me?
Jennifer's heart gave a pang. "He knows so. That's why it's killing him to think that Yvonne might not."
They stared at each other for a long, emotionally charged moment. Then a flicker of realization disrupted Christopher's gaze, and puzzlement mingled with surprise. You understood me, he signed.
Ignoring a prickle of unease, she said, "I understand a little sign language, but not much. And I haven't learned to do it well myself." Nervously she clasped her hands behind her back. It occurred to her that if he focused too intently on her hands, he might recognize them. He'd spent months teaching her signing techniques. "I've worked around deaf children, and learned to read the basics."
His gaze lit with the same approving warmth that had always touched her in years gone by. You're a good person, Jen. I don't know what your relationship is with Trev, but I hope it will be a long one. I'm sure he needs you.
Warm gratification and affection for him filled her. She wished she could hug him. She wished she could swear that she'd never leave Trev, and that if Christopher himself ever needed her, she'd be there for him. She couldn't promise either of those things.
Before she'd marshaled her feelings enough to reply, his gaze narrowed on her eyes. He then searched her face. A frisson of fear curled through her. Had he recognized her? Had her emotions given her away?
"Is something wrong?" she asked, her heart beating high in her throat.
His intensity slowly dissipated, and after another moment, he shook his head. No. Nothing's wrong. You just remind me of someone. With a gentle but sad smile, he added, Someone both Trev and I loved.
She had to turn away from him, then. She couldn't take the chance that her emotions might show too vividly again. But her sudden pivot toward the house brought no respite from watchful eyes.
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