"Sure." He dug into his pocket and produced his handkerchief for her. "Plenty of times."
"Well, then my crying shouldn’t bother you," she retorted tearfully.
"No," he agreed tersely. "It shouldn’t."
She leaned her head back in the crook of his shoulder so that she could see him better through her tear-washed eyes. Being held against his broad chest, within the circle of his strong arms, was altogether too nice an experience. She couldn’t let herself get used to depending on it. "So then why?"
He gave a laugh devoid of any humor. "I guess because they weren’t you."
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
"How the hell should I know? Oh, dammit. Look, Jennifer, you can stay here." He ran an unusually gentle hand over her hair. "As a matter of fact, I would have insisted even if you hadn’t asked. You’re right. You need to rest, and you’ll be safe here."
"Thank you," she murmured, and wiped a few stray tears away. Forcing herself to push away from him, she promised, "I’ll do my best to keep out of your way and I won’t stay past tomorrow. Do you have a guest bedroom?"
"No." His eyes flickered. "I never have guests who require sleeping quarters separate from mine."
She flushed at the feelings such a statement aroused in her and said the first thing that popped into her mind. "What about when your mother comes to stay?"
"No mother."
She looked at him oddly. She hadn’t heard that particular tone from him before. It was almost defensive. "I’ll sleep on the couch, then."
"Now, that you won’t do," he stated definitely, and got up. "I have one bedroom, and it’s where you’ll be sleeping—for the next few nights. I’ll take the couch."
Stubbornly Jennifer shook her head and rose to stand beside him. "I refuse to put you out any more than I already have. I said I’ll be no trouble, and I meant it. I insist. I’ll take the couch."
Jerome stared at the woman in front of him somewhat surprised. One minute she was a crying bit of feminine fragileness. The next she was issuing orders with the authority of a drill sergeant. He had a feeling that trying to figure out Jennifer White could take a long time. "Okay, have it your way," he muttered. "I’ll be back in a minute with the bedding."
She called his name before she could stop herself. "Jerome?"
"Yes?"
She knew that what she was about to ask was totally inappropriate, but something was pushing her. "Your home. . . well, it’s very nice, and it’s beautifully decorated." She hesitated. "I especially like the rocking horse, although it does seem a little out of place. Did you choose it or did your decorator?"
He gave her a strange look. "I did my own decorating, and the rocking horse was a gift from a friend."
A friend? Jennifer couldn’t help but speculate about the person who had given it to him. It would have had to be a very close friend for Jerome to have accepted it and keep it in a place of such prominence in his living room. And it must have been a woman, for surely that wasn’t the type of gift a man would give to a man. And why did it matter to her anyway?
But it drew her.
She walked over to the horse and, just as if it were a real animal, ran her hand over its smooth wooden finish. Its head was slightly taller than she was, and she could tell that it was sturdily made. Its body was painted cream, its swirling mane and flying tail were brown, and both were carved in such a way that it appeared as if the horse were in full gallop. A muted-red saddle covered its back, and a braided golden rope formed its halter. Its two rockers were a soft blue.
Jerome joined her, standing at the horse’s head. His arm curved naturally around its neck.
"It’s wonderful!" Jennifer said sincerely. "Why did your friend give it to you?"
He looked at her. "Considering your abysmal record of answering personal questions, that’s a very personal question, isn’t it?"
She flushed. "I know. I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to."
He unbent a little. "My friend decided I needed a bit of whimsy in my life."
His lips turned upward into a smile, and although Jennifer knew his smile had nothing to do with her, she found herself wishing that it did. She watched his face closely, enjoying the softer lights in his blue eyes.
"I guess everyone needs a little."
"She’d love to hear you say that." Jerome said dryly. "She’s a great promoter of whimsy."
So she had been right, Jennifer mused. A woman had given it to him. It wasn’t your average gift; therefore, the woman must be quite special. Her deductions didn’t leave her feeling very happy.
She turned back to the horse. "I’ve never seen such a big rocking horse. How could a child possibly get on it?"
Almost instantly his smile vanished. "It wasn’t made for a child."
"I don’t understand. Who was it made for, then?"
There was silence for a moment, then he said quite without inflection, "It was made for a man who, as a boy, had no toys." Then he looked at her and she could see that all the soft lights had vanished from his eyes. "I’ll get the bedding for you."
Jennifer watched him leave, wishing he would come back and tell her more. For she found that she very much wanted to learn about the little boy who had had no toys and the type of man he had grown into.
#
Over an hour later Jerome tossed restlessly in his wide bed. Tired as he was, he should be able to sleep. But it was proving impossible. He couldn’t get Jennifer White out of his mind. Her image haunted him.
He could remember how soft and warm she had felt in his arms and how her lips had opened so invitingly under his. He could remember how good she had smelled before he had even seen her and then how beautiful she had looked when he had gotten his first clear look at her. He could remember the nervous habit she had of lighting a cigarette and then putting it out without smoking it. And he could remember how sad she had been when she had cried.
Staring at his closed bedroom door through the dim light of his room, he wondered if she was asleep yet. Disregarding the voice calling him a fool because he wanted to see her one more time before he slept, he decided that it wouldn’t hurt to check on her.
He shrugged into a robe and soundlessly slipped open the door. The living room was in dark shadows, with the exception of one lamp beside the couch. In profile to him, Jennifer stood on one leg, with the other raised and her foot supported on the edge of the couch. Wearing only a chemise, she was bending over and unbuckling one high-heeled shoe from around a shapely ankle. The silky material of the brief garment shimmered with every move she made. Jerome felt himself begin to struggle for breath.
She dropped that shoe to the floor, switched legs, and bent to undo the second shoe. Her hair tumbled forward in soft waves from an indefinite part at the top of her head, and the lamplight cast out a glow, highlighting it. The scalloped lace border of the chemise stopped at mid-thigh. As she bent over he could see the edge of the matching panties that covered her sweetly curved bottom.
Realizing that his fists were clenched, Jerome attempted to relax his hands and shoved them into the pockets of his robe just as Jennifer dropped the second shoe. She switched legs again, this time to reach up under the hem of the chemise to unfasten the top of her hose. Jerome swallowed hard. She must be wearing a garter belt.
A garter belt! He had never known a woman who wore a garter belt. A surge of heat knifed through him so hot, he wasn’t sure he would be able to continue standing. How he wanted to make love to her! He could almost feel himself swollen and inside her now. But she was married. Married!
Still unaware of him standing in the darkness, Jennifer began rolling down the first stocking, then she rolled down the other. He remembered now the dark hose he had first noticed in the bar as she had walked away from him toward that corner booth. There had been an even darker seam running down the center of each of her calves.
A movement, a sound, something, made her turn, and Jennifer’s heart began to pound
as she watched Jerome move out of the shadows. He was wearing a knee-length terry robe. Coarse sandy hair curled in the opening of the neck and down his bare legs. The stocking she held slipped out of her hand and drifted to the floor to join its mate.
Jerome stopped a short distance away from her, unable to stop the dark hunger from flashing into his eyes. "Do you have everything you need?"
"Yes, thank you," she murmured, then added needlessly, "I was just getting ready for bed."
"So I see." He bent to pick up the pair of hose, and in an absentminded manner began to rub the gossamer substance of it between his fingers. "Tell me about your husband."
"Husband?" It was terribly unnerving for her to watch him handle her hose in that intimate manner. Unnerving and exciting. She had the greatest urge to snatch them away from him for her own peace of mind.
"Richard," he reminded in a strange voice.
Involuntarily her eyes softened at the mention of Richard’s name, and seeing it, something snapped inside Jerome. The torment of wanting her and not being able to have her welled up and poured out of him. In a swift violent movement he threw the hose across the room. Then grabbing her arms, he jerked her roughly to him. "Yes, Jennifer, Richard. Specifically, I want you to tell me you hate him."
A soft little cry escaped Jennifer’s parted lips, and at the sound of it Jerome’s fingers bit even harder into the soft flesh of her upper arms. "Tell me he drank too much." She could only shake her head helplessly. "Damn you!" he yelled. "Tell me he beat you. Tell me he was unfaithful to you. Give me a reason!"
"I can’t," she cried. "I can’t!"
"Well, then whatever the hell you do"—the growl came from deep in his throat—"don’t tell me that you still love him." His mouth swooped to hers and he ground his lips into hers in an electrifying combination of hard cruelty and wild sensuality.
Fire, pure and blue-hot, raced through her veins. There was no question of fighting him. He was too strong, too overpowering. And she wanted this kiss too much. As he pulled her tighter into him, her body molded itself to his, as if her body had been waiting only for him before it took final shape.
He had asked her to give him a reason, a rationalization for these hot feelings between them. She couldn’t. But she found that she wanted to make love with him more than anything else in the world.
Recklessly she ran her hands into the open collar of the robe and up around the warm skin of his neck. The action loosened his robe somewhat, and now she could feel the hair on his chest chafing erotically against her and the heat of his body burning through the thin chemise.
But in the next minute, with teeth harshly clenched, he pushed her away from him, although still retaining his grip on her arms. "I watched you undressing, Jennifer, from the doorway of my bedroom. I’m surprised you didn’t feel the scorch of my stare, but you didn’t even know I was there. Or maybe you did. Who knows? Who cares? Still, I watched, and it was all I could do not to come to you and take you in my arms and make love to you—in every possible position, in every possible way, and on every possible surface of this room. The chair, the table, the couch, the floor. There’s not a place on your body that I don’t want to touch with my fingers or taste with my tongue. I know a lot about making love, and it would have taken us hours, days. Who knows, maybe even weeks. I crave you, Jennifer White."
Suddenly he released his hold on her, and it was the lack of his support more than anything else that made her fall onto the couch. His breath was coming in hard gasps and he laughed bitterly. "How’s that for a night’s work, Jennifer? You must be congratulating yourself. In just a few hours you’ve managed to turn a comparatively intelligent, rational man into an aching madman on the verge of taking you without conscience."
His eyes narrowed. "But you’re married, so this is where it ends. I’ll do what I can to help you in the next few days, but that’s it. For whatever reason, you’re a married woman; and as far as I’m concerned, that means you’re off limits. So don’t tempt me, don’t go flaunting that tight little behind of yours around me, or you’ll find yourself on your back so fast you won’t know what hit you, and I’ll be deeply and completely inside of you."
Jennifer sat shaken and stunned as she heard the bedroom door slam shut. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms tightly around her legs and lowered her head onto them. Dear Lord in heaven, what had she gotten herself into? It didn’t matter that she hadn’t known he was watching as she undressed. It didn’t exonerate her in any way. Because as soon as she had seen him, she had known that she wanted him, just as much or more than he wanted her.
Bad timing. Bad judgment. She was in the worst mess of her life, and what did she do? Walk up to the one man in the world who she could fall heart over head in love with.
Despite her training, the lies hadn’t come easily. Besides that fact that her natural inclination was to be open and honest, nothing or no one could have prepared her for the devastation she experienced as she had looked into Jerome’s blue eyes and told one lie after another. She almost felt as if she had been rubbed raw. But although she regretted every single lie, each one of them had been totally necessary.
And for all the precautions she had tried to take, he easily could have been killed tonight. Along with herself.
All at once her head jerked up. The door! They had found her at the hotel when she didn’t think they would. They could find her again. She got up and hurried over to the door to check it. Good. There was a bolt lock and a chain guard, and both were in place.
She walked tiredly back to the sofa and lay down. But as exhausted as she was, she didn’t want to shut her eyes for fear of the terrifying images she knew she would see. The same images she had seen the last two nights in her sleep. The images. The blood. Flowing so freely. So red. So much of it.
She sighed and turned over. She had jumped from the fiying pan into the fire, but she didn’t want to take Jerome Mailer with her. First thing in the morning she had to leave. And it was with that final disturbing thought that she fell asleep.
Chapter Four
The lone figure stood in the doorway of the newsstand, holding a cup of steaming coffee and watching the sky lighten from black to gray. Despite the cold, it felt good to be out in the open. The arthritis was bothersome, but still, there had been too many years when it hadn’t been possible to be outside and see the first light of dawn.
The cab came slowly down the street and pulled to a stop at the curb. The young man climbed from the taxi, holding the usual greasy bag of doughnuts. "Mornin’, Leo."
"Phil." The newsstand owner placed a cup of coffee on the counter along with a spoon and two packs of sugar. "Through for the night?"
"Yup." He emptied both packs of sugar into his cup and began to stir with painstaking absorption.
"Have a good night?"
"Yup."
"Talkative this morning, aren’t you?"
The young man’s green eyes rose from his coffee and they were solemn. "I think you should know, Leo. There are two men asking around about Jerome Mailer."
There was no sound for a minute, then, "Who are they?"
"They didn’t say, but they definitely were to be taken seriously."
Faded blue eyes shone with momentary amusement. "Give you trouble, did they?"
"Not me." Phil shrugged. "And I didn’t tell them anything either, but that doesn’t mean they won’t find out somethin’ from somebody else."
Leo took a sip of coffee. "Do you know what’s up?"
"All I know is that I was cruising by Charlie’s and Jerome Mailer hailed me. I took him and a lady to the Randolph. An hour or so later a friend of mine drove them to his apartment." Phil gazed off into the distance. "Strange behavior for the man."
"What do you mean?"
"Mailer doesn’t ordinarily bother with hotels or cabs. But then, the lady was strictly out of the ordinary." Phil tossed his empty coffee cup over the counter and into the garbage can he knew was behind it. "See you tomo
rrow. I’ll let you know if I hear anything."
"Sleep well, Phil," Leo returned, and watched the cab take off down the street. When it was out of sight, Leo pushed back the jersey hood covering the gray braids that encircled her head and raised her eyes to the top floor of the apartment building across the street. . . Jerome Mailer’s apartment.
#
Dawn found Jerome already awake, showered, and dressed, and sitting in a chair across from the couch, contemplating his deeply slumbering guest. Was she really what she appeared to be? So beautiful, so innocent. Lying there in the unguarded position of sleep, she appeared as fragile as a piece of fine Venetian glass. Yet when they had been in danger, she had had instincts almost as quick as his. Who the hell was she? And perhaps a better question would be, why did she affect him so?
He would start with the first question, he decided grimly.
Her purse lay on the end table. He reached for it and opened it. Cigarettes, matches, lipstick, a comb, a bottle of nail polish, a gold wedding band, a charm bracelet with a broken clasp, a billfold with a few dollars in it. He flipped to the ID section and found a driver’s license.
It held her picture all right, but the name on it was different from the one she had given him. The license named her Jennifer Blake. He looked further and found a credit card which also had the name Jennifer Blake stamped across the front of it. An odd sense of betrayal and a fine obsession mixed, then firmed inside him.
She stirred, turning her head slightly, and the early morning light settled a ribbon of the palest gold across her brow. She reminded him of an angel, with her dark untamed hair curling about her face and the ridiculously thick lashes forming fringed shadows over her ivory cheeks. Attempting to analyze it, he supposed it was her lips that really got to him. How could they look so innocent and, at the same time, look as if they had just been thoroughly kissed only moments before?
Incredible. He had never wanted a woman as he had wanted her last night.
Mysterious Page 4
