by Sandy Curtis
“Yes,” she replied. “They can be good qualities, but not if they stop you from reaching out to your father.”
“Well, they don’t stop me reaching out to you, Jenna.” His hands gripped her arms. “They don’t stop me from wanting you, from dreaming about you, from needing your body next to mine, under mine, your lips on mine ...”
And he carried out his words, kissing her with such intensity she would have stumbled back if he wasn’t holding her. But all she could feel was his anger. Desire was there, evident in the hardness of his body pressed against hers, but it was fuelled by anger. In spite of this knowledge her body started to respond to his. She wrenched herself from his arms, surprised that he let her go so easily.
“You see, Jenna,” he mocked “you don’t love me either.”
Compassion welled in her chest, eager to give solace to the hurt child within him. It would have been so easy, then, to admit her love for him, to melt back into his arms, but she knew he would only be giving her his body while she was offering her heart.
“Perhaps if you took some risks with your love, Braden, you might gain more than you risk,” she retaliated.
His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”
“You love Caitlin and Alicia because they’re safe to love. They depend on you emotionally. They’re not going to run out on you. But you won’t risk loving a woman and asking her to share your life with you. You’ll consider marriage - but only to get a perfect hostess and someone to breed your children. You’re an emotional coward, Braden.”
She was shaking, hurt and frustration washing over her in spite of her resolve to remain calm. She was almost afraid to look at him, but she had called him a coward and could not let him see that she was one herself. She expected to see fury in the grey eyes, anger flushing his cheeks, but her stomach iced over at the bleakness of his face, the dull resignation in his eyes.
“Perhaps you’re right,” he muttered.
Before she could move, he pushed past her with long strides. Suddenly afraid of what she had done, she ran after him. His bedroom door banged shut. If it had been the study door she would have followed him in, apologized, told him she was way out of line. Anything to erase that dreadful look from his face. But his bedroom was different. She didn’t feel capable of confronting him in such an intimate setting.
Cursing her interference, her lack of professionalism, she turned reluctantly back to the dining room.
Why had she said that? She had been determined to be as calm and detached as was clinically possible. Was she trying to hurt him, to make him feel the pain that she constantly felt when she realised her love for him would probably never be returned? No, she hadn’t wished him pain. In her own bumbling way she had been trying to help. Dear God, what a mess. He was now more alienated from her than ever. Why hadn’t she left things alone? Since that day with Alicia she had almost felt...
Now she wished that Mrs Jenkins would return sooner than the eight days that were left, before the situation deteriorated further. Cut your losses and run, wasn’t that the saying? But she knew that no matter how far she ran she would never recover from the loss she would feel if she never saw him again.
Another note!
Had she hurt him so badly that now he didn’t even want to see her or talk to her? She was up at six o’clock, but he must have risen earlier. A coffee mug was in the sink, and the note on the bench.
This time it wasn’t even addressed to her. “I’ll be in Brisbane for the next few days. Any problems leave a message with my secretary. Braden.”
At least it gave her breathing space to work out how she could best apologize and try to get their relationship on a friendly footing. Relationship? What relationship? It see-sawed between a polite professionalism and a deep, overpowering desire that was tearing them both to shreds.
How much longer could she hold out before she gave in to the desire, the need, the sheer body-consuming lust that she felt every time she came near him. If it was only physical need she could have imposed her strength of will over her body’s craving, but she had fallen in love with him, and her heart had a wantonness all its own.
She tried to fill her day with activity. She took Caitlin shopping, then to a movie, swam in the pool, had pizza delivered as a treat for dinner, then read Caitlin stories in bed until the small dark head slipped sideways into sleep.
She threw a load of washing into the machine. Even this was no distraction. There was something poignantly intimate in sorting and washing the clothing of the man she loved, subtly implying a greater intimacy.
As the washing machine filled up on the rinse cycle she realised water was spilling out onto the floor from inside the machine. She lifted the lid, and instead of ceasing as it should, the flow of water into the machine continued. She reached to turn off the cold water tap but it moved effortlessly around and around in her hand. Darn! That’s all she needed!
Luckily there was a drain in the laundry floor but she couldn’t allow the water to keep running like this. She gritted her teeth in exasperation, then remembered the list of tradesmen who could be phoned in an emergency. Her watch said ten o’clock. She hoped the plumber had his mobile handy.
After the fourth ring her call was answered.
The plumber was sympathetic to her problem, but explained that as he and his family had just been celebrating the birth of their first grandson he was in no condition to drive. He was, however, familiar with the layout of the plumbing in the penthouse and advised her that outside the laundry there was an isolation tap which would turn off the water to the laundry and the bathroom she and Caitlin used but still leave water available to the kitchen and the en suite in the master bedroom. He promised that he would be there first thing in the morning to fix the problem.
She found the isolation tap and turned it off. It worked. She mopped the floor, put the clothes on the spin cycle then hung them on the line. But now she had another problem. She was hot and sticky and the only working shower was in Braden’s en suite. She was grateful he was staying in Brisbane for a few days.
She gathered her toiletry bag, nightgown and robe. It was strange, brushing her teeth at his hand basin, almost as though she could feel his presence. The sharp, clean scent of his after-shave lingered, enticing her with the images it conjured up.
In the shower cubicle she lathered her body, wishing they were Braden’s hands holding the lavender soap that glided over her breasts and between her thighs. She could have used his soap but knew, if she had, the scent would have lingered with her all night and the slim possibility of sleep would be totally negated. As it was her fanciful mind was conjuring up images of him in the shower with her and she let her wishful thinking run riot for several minutes before forcing herself back to reality.
She towelled herself dry, hung the towel on a rack, and walked to the vanity basin as she pulled off her shower cap.
She was running her fingers through her hair, fluffing out the curls, when the door opened.
“Braden!” It was a squeak, a strangled cry that struggled through her vocal cords. Her hands crossed instinctively over her breasts. “The tap ... laundry ... broke ... no water ...” Her throat seized up.
He was naked to the waist, his socks dangling from one hand, his shirt in the other, just as shocked as she at finding he wasn’t alone.
But he was the first to recover, dropping his shirt and socks to the floor and reaching a tentative hand towards her. As though in a dream she registered the intense blueness of his eyes, his arousal that was impossible to hide ... and her reaction to it.
It wasn’t the sight of the flaming curls between her thighs that sent Braden over the edge. It was the rosy nipple, rising and hardening, he could see through the gap between her crossed-over arms that was his undoing. It spoke more eloquently than words of the desire coursing through her body. And the already sparking arousal in his erupted with volcanic power.
He closed the gap between them in two quick strides. He sa
w her eyes widen, the pupils dilating ... in fear? No, the soft rosy flush suffusing her body told the true story. His hands found her shoulders, stroking down to her elbows. A tremor scorched through her. He bent his head and captured the lips that trembled beneath his. He nibbled gently on their fullness; his tongue seeking hers as her mouth opened with a deep groan.
Jenna’s hands moved against his chest as she made one last, futile effort to stop the madness that was engulfing them both. But of their own volition they moved swiftly around his back and drew him close against her. She felt him shudder as her breasts moved against his chest. Her nipples brushed his dark curls and heated skin, igniting explosions deep in his groin that rocked his hardness against her soft stomach.
His kiss deepened and she felt he was devouring her. She tasted the sweet, tender underside of his tongue and liquid heat flowed between her legs. Her moan told him her need.
Without moving his lips from hers, he held her close and lifted her up, then swiftly moved back into the bedroom, and unerringly found the bed.
There was no sanity, only passion blazing up between them in mind-shattering intensity. His lips on hers, her tongue seeking the nectar of his mouth. Their hands greedy for the sensation of each other’s flesh beneath them. His pants dropped to the floor and his body covered hers on the bed.
She knew it was madness, knew she should have run from him, but her instinct told her that this overwhelming need to consummate her love for him was as inevitable as the tide that forced the ocean back into the river in unceasing rhythm.
One large hand found her breast, teased and tantalized, then his mouth found the other nipple and surges of desire rose in her groin like cresting waves. She ached for him. Ached with a sweet, pulsating fierceness, the need building and building with a force of its own. She could hear her own voice whimpering, pleading. Her hips moved, writhed, seeking his length, his hardness.
And then he plunged inside her and it was so good, so incredibly good, she knew the dazed wonder on his face must be reflected in her own. Her hands ran down his back and across his buttocks, finding a sensitive spot that jerked him into her, and she revelled in this intimate knowledge.
She bit lightly into his shoulder and touched him again. The sweet sensation as his hard flesh jolted deeply into her had her moaning his name, her lips finding his skin, her tongue tasting the unique flavour of the man she loved. A wild surge of joy shook her, and her muscles tightened around him, savouring the pleasure he was giving.
Then he was moving, pushing, deeper, faster, again and again, strong and sure, creating a white hot flame that finally exploded inside her and shattered into a thousand tiny fragments. She writhed with pleasure so intense her mind ceased to function. She barely heard his tortured moan as his body shuddered again and again into hers.
Soft little prickles of awareness gradually eased into her being - Braden’s hard, lean body, warm and reassuringly secure on hers, his face close to hers, warm breath feathering her cheek, eyes closed in exhaustion. Then his eyelids fluttering open, his look of shock, disbelief. Her own heart plummeting as she read his reaction.
Oh, no, he hadn’t wanted what had just happened between them. The overwhelming sexual torrent that raged between them had carried them both beyond their control. But she loved him, and to her their love-making was an expression of that love. But the shock in his eyes showed her that it was different for him. She cringed at the look of horror on his face.
“Jinx!”
It took her several seconds to register it wasn’t Braden saying her name, but Caitlin’s voice calling from the hallway. Braden realized it too, and rolled off her. Grateful for the chance to escape before any recriminations could be made, she ran to the bathroom and slipped into her robe.
As she pulled open the bedroom door she heard Braden’s dazed voice say her name but she stepped into the hallway and closed the door firmly behind her.
Her heart was beating rapidly and tears misted her eyes but she saw Caitlin hurrying towards her and held her arms out to the child.
“Jinx, I had a bad dream and I called you and you didn’t come and I looked for you but I couldn’t find you,” she sobbed into Jenna’s shoulder.
“Hush, hush. I’m here.” Jenna’s slim fingers soothed Caitlin’s dark hair. She carried the girl back to her bed and laid her down.
“Stay with me, Jinx. Please don’t go away.” Caitlin’s eyes were huge in her pale face and Jenna’s heart wrenched as she remembered similar grey eyes that had only moments earlier ignited with a passion that had blazed out of control.
Braden, Braden, why couldn’t you love me? How can I stay here now? Every time I see you I’ll feel your lips on mine, your hands caressing my body, the ecstasy you gave me - and I’ll see the look in your eyes that told me what a terrible mistake you thought it was.
She lay down next to the child and gathered her in her arms. Gradually the trembling in the small body eased and she relaxed against Jenna with a soft sigh.
Jenna heard Braden’s footsteps in the hallway. They stopped outside the bedroom door. She tensed, waiting for him to open the door and walk in, but after a moment he moved away.
How long she lay there Jenna wasn’t sure. Caitlin fell into a deep sleep. Jenna couldn’t sleep - her mind replayed again and again the pleasure she had found in Braden’s arms. And the cruelty of memory also wouldn’t let her forget the shock and horror she had seen in his eyes. Her heart felt as though it was slowly being crushed in a vice.
As she eased away from the sleeping child the full realization of what she had just done hit her with stomach-plummeting force. For the first time in her life she had had unprotected sex!
Swiftly she did mental calculations. The timing couldn’t be worse. She was at her peak conception time. The fear of pregnancy suddenly oscillated with the thrill of expectation that she could have Braden’s child. She had always wanted children, and the love she felt for Braden would easily extend to his child. More so, because it was obvious it would be the only part of him she could ever have.
The thought of AIDS and other STDs briefly entered her mind but was squashed by the firm conviction that Braden had such control over his life that he would never allow himself to get caught like that. No wonder he was horrified to have lost control like he had. And perhaps part of his horror at making love with her was because he thought she might have something contagious. Tears trickled slowly down her cheeks. The only contagious thing she had was love and he was not likely to catch that.
Deep painful sobs racked her body. She ran to her own bedroom and shut the door.
CHAPTER TWELVE
This time there was no note.
Jenna half expected him to be gone when she finally dragged herself out of bed at eight o’clock and wandered into the kitchen. She felt terrible. Her head ached from lack of sleep. Caitlin was watching Sesame Street on television and called out that the plumber had been around at six o’clock and fixed the tap and Uncle Braden had gone to Brisbane.
She made herself a strong cup of tea and drank it in miserable silence. At least she would be able to use her own bathroom. The thought of having to use Braden’s was too painful to contemplate.
Her toiletry bag was sitting on the vanity basin. All her toiletries were neatly placed inside. All except her soap. He must have missed that she thought bitterly. Probably in too much of a hurry to get rid of all the reminders of me and the big mistake he made.
Tears threatened to spill but she pulled herself together. She wondered if he was coming back tonight. What would she say if he did? How would she behave? Her imagination swung from wonderful scenarios of him sweeping in and declaring his love for her to him coming back and telling her she was no longer wanted.
Her mind told her that just because he had let lust carry him away, she shouldn’t think that that would lead to love. But she found herself daring to hope that perhaps, just maybe, there might be a future for them. Then reality would remind her that in a week she wou
ld be gone anyway. One week. Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours to hope that he might come to love her. Before she would have to leave him.
In the end she resolved that she would wait for him to make the first move. After all, he’d made the first move last night, hadn’t he! But she hadn’t pushed him away. She’d tried, but she’d had no resistance in the face of his passion and her overwhelming need.
Although she did the housework and continued Caitlin’s exercises, the day seemed to drag. So in the afternoon she cooked casseroles, lasagne and quiches, baked biscuits and slices, and froze all but what was needed for the next day or two. The activity helped to keep her anxiety at an almost tolerable level. At five o’clock she was just starting to tackle the cleaning up when the intercom buzzed.
Caitlin scurried over and answered it.
“It’s ‘Ronica!” she called.
Veronica! That’s all she needed.
“Tell her your Uncle Braden is still in Brisbane,” she told Caitlin with a great deal of satisfaction. The last thing she felt like putting up with at the moment was Veronica’s supercilious attitude.
“She says she wants to talk to you. Says it’s important.”
A sharp knife of worry sliced into Jenna. Had something happened to Braden? Had he had an accident? She could think of no other reason Veronica would condescend to talk to her.
“Let her in,” she told Caitlin, and tried to tidy herself up as much as she could. Every time she saw Veronica she looked every inch the housekeeper she was paid to be. The thought rankled, even if she told herself she didn’t care what the other woman thought of her.
Veronica, as usual, was dressed impeccably, a kingfisher blue buttoned-through sheath with white accessories to match the buttons, and just the right amount of elegantly under-stated gold jewellery. She greeted Jenna with a deceptively friendly smile.
