by Janet Dailey
Jessica was so full of happiness she couldn't speak. But it didn't seem necessary. Somehow she found herself in his arms, her hands around his neck to bring his head down to hers. Their lips met in a fiery kiss that fused them together, golden flames shooting through her veins.
Higher and higher she was lifted on the cloud of eternal joy. She clung to him, her life, her love. The dizzying climb was too much and she had to stop to catch her breath. She buried her face against his chest, feeling the roughness of his kisses on her hair. She was afraid she was going to do something silly like cry.
"Would it be very selfish of me," she murmured against his shirt, "to ask you to take a week off so we car have a honeymoon?"
Brodie became very still, his muscles tensing. "What honeymoon? What are you talking about, Jessica?" His hands gripped her shoulders to hold her away from him.
The smile faded from her lips as she stared at the puzzled frown above his hooded eyes. "Didn't you…Didn't you just propose to me?" Her voice died to a whisper as she saw the answer in his face.
"No." The denial was flat and decisive. "I can't marry you, Jessica."
Letting her go, he walked several feet into the master bedroom and stopped to light a cigarette. His features seemed harsh and cruel in the wafting blue smoke. She felt drained and lifeless. The descent to earth had been too rapid.
"Why?" Her voice cracked and she tried to control it. "Do you already have a wife? Won't she give you a divorce? Is she sick or an invalid?" Now her voice sounded brittle, devoid of feeling.
"I have no wife," Brodie answered curtly. "Marriage is out of the question."
"I see." Jessica thought she did see. Jordanna was the woman he wanted. If he couldn't marry her, he wasn't marrying anyone. "You want me to be your mistress."
"If you want to put it that way, yes." He blew out a stream of smoke with the words.
"Why bother with the house, then?" Her air of poise was thin, but it was holding. "Why not just ask me to quit my job and fly around the country with you?"
"I won't have you become a camp follower."
"But isn't that what a mistress is? Your own private—"
"I'm not going to get into a debate with you over definitions, Jessica," Brodie warned.
Her gaze fell beneath the icy blast of his. Her eyes ran sightlessly over the intricate pattern of the Oriental rug, as if searching for something but not knowing what.
"Have you made these convenient arrangements in other cities?" she questioned stiffly. "Memphis? Nashville?"
"No," he denied that, coming to stand in front of her. "I admit that I've had other women. But you're the only woman I want on more than a casual basis."
"Will I…have to share you with others?" Jessica faltered on the question although her voice remained cool.
His gaze bored into her. "You haven't shared me with others almost since the day we met. Which is why I can't wait any longer. We either begin now or we stop." A silence ensued that Jessica couldn't break. Finally Brodie turned away. "I'm going to the basement to see if they've installed the new furnace. Look around some more. If you don't like the place, we'll find another." He walked out of the room.
Jessica stared at the empty doorway. It had been an ultimatum he had issued. And he had assumed she would stay. But was he wrong? If he hadn't put it in such black and white terms, if he had made love to her instead, she wouldn't be going through all this soul-searching now. It would be an accomplished fact.
The question wasn't—did she love him, but—could she leave him? A surge of despair sent her into the room. She paused at the bed, her fingertips touching the white quilted coverlet. This would be the bed they would share, the room where they would wake up together.
She wandered to the long closet. Their clothes would hang inside. She slid open the louvered doors and found the closet wasn't completely empty. A single hanger held a lacy peignoir. The store tags were still on it to show it was brand new.
There was something premeditated about it hanging there, as if Brodie never expected them to leave the house tonight. Perhaps if she had opened the refrigerator or cupboards in the kitchen, she would have found them stocked with food.
The house was all furnished, waiting to be occupied. Jessica knew she could fill it with love, maybe only with her love. She closed her eyes and pictured Brodie. Opening them, she took the lacy green peignoir from the closet and laid it on the bed. Mechanically She stripped off her cloths and hung them in the closet. When the frothy material of the peignoir was against her skin, she walked to the mirror and used the hair brush from the vanity set to fluff her hair.
At the sound of Brodie's footsteps in the hallway, she turned. A tremor ran through her limbs, but she was motionless when he appeared in the doorway. Brodie stopped, his muscled chest expanding in a breath he held, and stared. His eyes darkened to a disturbing hue as they made a slow, raking sweep of her.
Just as slowly, he walked to stand in front of her, looking down, not touching her, not making a move toward her. Jessica felt her breathing become shallow, her heartbeat become rapid and erratic. His control was supreme. She realized he was waiting for her to speak and make the first move.
Hesitantly she rested her hands on his waist and felt his muscles constrict. Swaying toward him, she wondered if she had the voice to speak.
"I want to live with you, Brodie." It came out trembling and low, but it was said.
His arms moved, but not to hold her. His hands found the bow that fastened the silly nothing robe covering the frothy gown. Brodie untied and pushed it off her shoulders, down her arms where it slid off to fall to the floor.
Jessica was a quaking mass of nerves, her bare feet as cold as ice, when Brodie swung her into his arms. He held her easily, as if she weighed no more than a feather. The bulging muscles of his arms formed an iron-hard cradle. His gaze never left her face as he carried her to the bed and laid her down as gently as a baby. He followed her down, stretching beside her, his hand cupping the side of her neck to feel the pulse that throbbed wildly there.
"I'll make you happy, Jessica." He smoothed the blond hair from her throat and kissed her leaping pulse.
Yes, she thought, temporarily he would make her ecstatically happy. Her hands slid inside the collar of his shirt. He tugged it free of the waistband of his pants and dispensed with the last few buttons, giving her free access to his warm, hard flesh.
His caressing hands explored her shoulders and arms and the hollows of her throat, ignoring the intimate areas covered by her flimsy gown as his mouth ignored the taste of her lips. Jessica begged him with her hands and lips and her body to make love to her.
"There's no need to rush, Green Eyes," he told her. "We've got all the time in the world now. And I'm going to use every damned minute of it."
Finally he ended the torment of her lips, covering them with a possessive kiss that gave her back a measure of reassurance. Jessica strained closer to his length, trying to absorb some of the strength he had in such abundance.
"Maybe I will take a few days off," Brodie nuzzled her ear. "I'm going to enjoy teaching, you how to please me as much as I'm going to enjoy pleasing you."
A tiny sob came from her throat, born not out of desire but of pain, a pain of the heart. She tried to respond to his kisses, to unleash the love that consumed her. His hands now sought out her hips and waist and breasts, their irritation for the filmy gown growing in direct proportion to the increase of his carnal longing.
How many times he had wakened the same feelings in her! But this time something was wrong. The purity of her emotion had become tainted. What once she had given freely, she now held back, protecting and shielding,
"Green Eyes," he had called her. Was it really his pet name for her? Or did it belong to Jordanna? How many times would he hold her in his arms while she wondered if he was making love to her or pretending she was Jordanna? In the end, these doubts would destroy her love for him, and they would destroy her.
"No." It wa
s the first word she had muttered since the agreement. It came out choked and broken. Brodie paid no attention to the negative sound until Jessica repeated it more forcefully, "No!" and began to struggle.
"What's the matter?" he frowned. "Have I hurt you? How?"
He had levered himself on his elbows above her. His shirt hung open, revealing tanned skin and a mass of curling dark hairs that veed to his stomach. Jessica closed her eyes, because she couldn't look at him without loving him.
"I—can't," she cried softly. "I can't go through with it!"
She attempted to roll away. "No!" Brodie's anger exploded, The iron hook of his arm caught her waist and tossed her back onto the mattress beside him. His legs covered hers to hold her there, pinning her with his weight. "You can't go this far and stop! My God, do you think I'm made of ice!" Imprisoning her arms, he spread-eagled them above her head.
Jessica stopped struggling. She kept her head averted, burying a cheek in the coverlet. Her breasts were rising and falling in deep, panicked breaths. Her eyes were tightly closed, one tear squeezing through her lashes.
"I can't, Brodie," she whispered. "I tried, but I can't."
And she waited for the final violence, to erupt, knowing she had brought it on with her actions and prepared to pay for the mistake. She could hear Brodie's heavy breathing, disturbed by passion and anger. She waited for the punishment of his mouth, aware of the pressing heat of his body holding her down.
Instead she felt his weight ease from her. The creak of the bed springs was followed by the sound of his feet on the floor. Swallowing convulsively, she opened her eyes and slowly drew her arms to wrap them across her breasts, barely covered by the revealing garment. Brodie stood beside the bed watching her movements and noting the fearlike pain in her eyes.
His mouth had thinned into a cruel line, his features harshly condemning. Shards of blue steel filtered little of the chilling temperature of his gaze. Lust had gone from his expression, to be replaced by contempt.
Jessica dragged herself up, sliding to the opposite side of the bed. "I'm sorry, Brodie." He would never know how sorry she was.
"That's it, then." His voice was clipped and final. "It's over."
With heavy steps, she walked to the closet and took out her clothes. She hugged them to the thinness of her gown. The pain inside her was so intense, she wanted to die.
"Will you take me home, please?" she whispered.
There was a long silence. She thought for a minute he wasn't going to answer, then it came. "Five minutes." It was a harsh, savage answer. "Be dressed and in the car," He issued the last as he was striding from the room.
Jessica was dressed in less than that. She paused at the door to wipe the single tear from her cheek, then hurried outside to the waiting car. The engine was running as she slid into the passenger seat.
Brodie never looked at her as he reversed out of the driveway. The envelope that had contained the key was still lying on the seat near her. Jessica slipped the key inside and returned the envelope to the glove compartment. She would never have a need for it.
She glanced at Brodie. His profile was almost savagely expressionless. Not once during the drive to her apartment did his gaze stray to her. It was as if he was the only one in the car. When he stopped in front of her building, Jessica hesitated, wanting to say something, but his hands remained on the steering wheel, the car idling. He stared straight ahead.
Finally Jessica opened the car door and climbed out. She had barely closed the door before Brodie was driving away. He had meant it. It was over and he had just cut her out of his life, ignoring her as if she didn't exist.
| Go to Table of Contents |
Chapter Twelve
WITH HER ARMS hugging her knees, Jessica rocked gently on the sofa. It had been three weeks since Brodie had let her out in front of her apartment; three painful, heartrending weeks. She had lost weight and the dark shadows beneath her eyes revealed her incapacity for sleep.
Over and over again she went over the events. What had she hoped to gain? Had She thought if she denied Brodie the act of love that he would want her so badly he would offer marriage? if that had been her subconscious plan, it had backfired with agonizing consequences.
The telephone rang, and Jessica covered her ears with her hands. There wasn't anyone she wanted to talk to. She'd had more than enough advice to last her a lifetime. Between the receptionist, Ann, issuing platitudes and her uncle using anger to try to snap her out of her depression, she had been beseiged with pearls of wisdom. They weren't any more comforting than the impersonal strand of pearls Brodie had given her. Everyone she knew had made some comment until she longed to lock herself in the apartment and never come out.
The telephone was insistent, ringing shrilly on the table beside the sofa. Jessica ignored it for as long as she could, then on the seventh ring, she reached for the receiver.
"Hello." Her voice was dull and lifeless. No one answered her, but she sensed there was someone on the other end of the line. "Hello?" she demanded with irritation.
"Who is that?" a voice snapped.
"it's Jessica Thor—" Then the quick, harsh voice heard so briefly, gripped her heart. "Brodie?" she whispered, clutching the receiver with both hands as if to hold onto him and never let him go.
"Sorry. I dialed this number by mistake." The voice never acknowledged his identity, but Jessica knew him just as she would know her own name.
"Brodie, please!" But the buzz of the dial tone was the only thing to hear her plea.
For long minutes she held onto the receiver. Hanging it up seemed to mean breaking some vital link. One tear rolled from her eyes, followed by a second and a third. When she put the phone down, an ocean of salty tears was drowning her cheeks. It was the first time she had truly cried. A stray tear here and there didn't really count. It took her all night to make up for the omission.
PERSPIRATION STUNG HER EYES. The cotton blouse she wore clung to her sticky skin. Summer had arrived in earnest, complete with heat and humidity. She used a folder as a fan, trying to stir the dead air of her closed-in office, but its relief was only temporary.
Impatiently she rose from her desk and walked into the reception area. "Ann, I can't stand much more of this. When is that man going to come and fix the air conditioner? That office is like a furnace!"
"He promised to be here by noon," the receptionist answered.
Jessica glanced at her watch. "He isn't late, is he?" she retorted sarcastically. "It's twenty to twelve."
"Do you suppose I should call him again?" Ann cast an uncertain glance at Jessica.
"Yes, you call him and you tell him that if he isn't over here by noon, he—" Her voice had grown steadily louder as her impatience had given way to anger.
A male voice interrupted, "He'd better be here this afternoon." Her threat was finished by her uncle. "You're getting a little hot under the collar, aren't you, Jessie?" Her uncle laughed at the pun he made.
"Very funny!" Jessica snapped, not at all amused.
"Where's your sense of humor, Jessie?" he admonished with a clicking tongue.
"It melted—in my office. I'm going to have one of the boys paint me a sign to hang on the door, identifying it for what it really is—a sweatbox," she insisted, and Ralph Dane laughed, which didn't improve her temper. "It's all very well for you to laugh. You have an enormous electric fan in your office."
"Naturally. It's my company," he smiled.
Suddenly Jessica was very close to tears. "Well, you can take your company and your fan and your sweatbox and you can—"
"Careful, careful, my dear." He was instantly at her side, his voice soothing her, a comforting arm curving around her shoulders. "I diagnose a severe case of heat exhaustion. My recommendation is that you have lunch in a cool, air-conditioned restaurant, preferably in the company of some handsome, distinguished man—namely me."
Jessica had succeeded in blinking back the tears and swallowing the anger. Now she laughed, somewhat tre
mulously. "If you think I'm going to refuse, you're wrong, I have a witness to that luncheon invitation, so you can't back out."
"I wouldn't dream of it." Her uncle turned to the receptionist. "If anyone wants to know where I am, tell them I'm lunching with a beautiful blonde. Unless my wife calls. Tell her I'm lunching with Jessie."
"Let me get my bag." Jessica dashed into her of-rice and was out just as quickly.
Linking arms with her uncle, she walked out of the door with him. On the street, he guided her to his car and helped her into the passenger seat.
"Where would you like to go?" he asked, sliding behind the wheel.
"I don't care, just as long as it's air-conditioned." Jessica rolled down the window to let the wind that was generated by the moving car blow over her face.
"I'm really proud of you, Jessica."
Both his statement and his use of her full name drew her attention from the passing scenery. "You are? I don't recall doing anything spectacular in the past week to earn such praise."
"I wasn't referring to the office. I meant that I'm proud of the way you managed to pull yourself together. A couple of months ago I would have sworn you were headed for a breakdown," her uncle said.
Intense pain flashed across her face. She looked quickly out of the window, pressing a hand to her mouth to hide her trembling chin. Any unexpected reference to Brodie could crack her thin, protective shell.
"Time has a way of healing things," she lied. The wound was still bleeding.
"I know that's what people say, but we both know it isn't entirely true. I was rough on you a few times, but I was really only doing it for your own good. I apologize if you thought I was being heartless."
"I know you were, and I appreciated all your attempts," Jessica assured him, although she remembered one that had been particularly painful.
