by Carol Caiton
He kept waiting for the light to go out so he could shut his eyes and know she finally slept. But the light remained on. Then it shifted unexpectedly, casting a shadow over his bedroom, and he looked over to find her standing silently in the doorway.
She was still dressed in her jeans. His sweatshirt covered her from shoulder to mid-thigh, the sleeves puffed out and drooping. She looked small and vulnerable—a word he didn't think he'd ever applied to her. Jill was the self-confident twin. Fun-loving. Vivacious. It was Rachel who brought out his protective instincts and prompted him to shield her from life's cruelties. Lately, though, the temperament he attributed to Jill had been blurring and it was definitely she who was small and vulnerable tonight, needing someone to lean on.
But he made no move to offer support. He hardly dared breathe. Because the next fifty years of his life rested solidly in her hands. If he said or did the wrong thing now, he could lose her along with any chance he had at being a full-time father to the baby she carried.
So he watched and waited. Their eyes met and held and every passing second strained his need to know why she was there, what she was thinking. He wanted to call her over, bring her around to his way of thinking, then peel off all those clothes and make love to her. To Jill.
It continued to take him by surprise when he looked at her through these new eyes, observing her as a woman he wanted. From childhood to womanhood, he'd watched over her, and not once had he seen her as he did now. He'd decided early on to marry Rachel one day and take care of her for the rest of their lives. But looking at Jill right now, tonight, the light from the living room silhouetting her curls from behind, he knew she was the fragile one, the one who needed to be cared for.
Finally she moved, crossing the threshold to enter his bedroom. She walked around to the other side of the bed and looked into his eyes for long seconds. Then she reached out to pull back the covers . . . and that was his cue.
He held out an arm and she climbed into bed, sliding toward him until he could gather her in close. Holding her like this and offering comfort was another new experience to add to his growing list of experiences with her. New Year's Eve aside, he didn't think she'd needed comforting since she was a little girl.
Tonight, however, she curled up to him. One hand at his waist, her cheek pressed against his chest, he knew she found some peace being in his arms like this, knew she trusted him, could depend on him. And instead of the responsibility he usually felt toward her, a surge of tenderness constricted his throat. So he held her. Just held her.
"Okay?" he asked when he felt her begin to relax. He pressed a kiss near her temple.
She nodded against his shoulder. Then her warm breath fanned across his chest. "Ask me now, Nathan."
His heart skipped a beat. She'd made a decision and whatever it was, they'd both learn to live with it. His pulse began to beat a strong, steady rhythm. She'd climbed into bed with him, so chances were good she was going to say yes.
Turning onto his side, he said, "Look at me." He wanted to see her eyes. And he wanted her to see his.
In the shadowy light, with a history between them that spanned years of their lives, a confusing mix of emotions swelled in his chest. She was going to be the mother of his child. In one phenomenal, passion-filled night, she'd redefined his future and turned his world around. When he thought about coming home to her for the rest of his life, he knew the years wouldn't be dull. But they wouldn't be easy either. Jill needed a keeper. The incident at Seven tonight, then arriving home in the company of a sex instructor from RUSH . . . . It was just one more —or rather, two more—in a succession of incidents that resulted from her fun-loving disposition.
Pay attention. Use your common sense.
How many times had he drilled those words into her? She was too casual and free-spirited. He, on the other hand, saw the world in black and white. He knew what awaited a woman who wasn't on guard. He'd have to keep a close watch on her.
But the tenderness he felt now as he looked at her was far from the exasperation she usually ignited. An odd feeling of possessiveness came over him. Then again, maybe it wasn't so odd, just . . . unexpected.
"Will you marry me, Jill?"
Her eyes didn't waver. They weren't the joyful eyes of a bride-to-be, but these weren't ordinary circumstances.
"Yes," she said.
And that was enough for now.
Relief flooded through him. He lowered his forehead to hers. "We'll make it work. I swear I'll be a good husband."
She nodded. "I know you will."
He took a slow, deep breath and settled her back into his arms. "You left the light on in the living room."
"I know," she admitted. "I'm afraid of the dark."
His eyes snapped open.
"I always have been," she added sleepily. Then she sighed, relaxed, and went limp in his arms.
He stared at the ceiling.
Jill was afraid of the dark? Always, she'd said. —Always as in always? Or always as in since her sister was attacked?
He woke up before the alarm clock went off. Her long curls flowed out across the bed like a rippling gold wave. The faint smell of cigarette smoke still clung to her, covering the flowery fragrance he wished he could smell instead.
The crook of his elbow had become her pillow and he moved his head to better study her face. Even in sleep he knew which twin he held. From the back he wouldn't have been able to tell them apart, but from the front . . . . Their features might be identical, but they were different too, as though their individual experiences had formed nuances that distinguished one from the other. Even their eyes held subtle differences. Rachel's were calm, like a quiet pond, while Jill's were lively and eager for life. Something about Luke Ingersol had grounded her for a while. Had it been the man himself? Or was it the fact that she'd spent her free time with him instead of getting into trouble? Whatever it was, he'd had a stabilizing effect on her. Unfortunately, she'd reverted to form with a vengeance after his death.
Well, Nathan planned to make sure her frivolous nature didn't get her into any more trouble. If she wanted to go dancing, fine, he'd take her dancing, but some place other than Seven. And if she wanted to think she helped people by looking at electronic auras and making flowery concoctions, he'd grit his teeth and keep his mouth shut. It kept her out of trouble.
But he wanted to look into what had gone down at Seven. And he intended to run a background check on Dalton Whoever from RUSH, Inc. The guy had had his hands all over Rachel until she married Michael Vassek. Then he shows up when Jill's in trouble and saves the day? Yeah, right. It could have happened just the way she said, but that was a hell of a lot of coincidence. And now the guy knew where she lived.
Morning light began to filter into the room. Jill stirred in his arms and rolled onto her side, facing him. She nestled against his chest, slid her hand over his waist, and sighed—Jill, who was afraid of the dark. It bothered him to find out she'd had that fear, maybe all her life, and he hadn't known about it. So it was time he began paying closer attention.
She started to stretch, bumped her elbow against his ribs, and went suddenly still.
"Nathan?" she said softly, as though he might still be asleep.
"Mmm?"
"You're awake?"
"Mmm."
She didn't say anything for a minute. Then, "Are you going to want to have sex with me after we're married?"
What kind of question was that? "Yes." Absolutely, he thought to himself. And frequently.
She grew quiet again. If he didn't already know she responded to him as passionately as he responded to her, that would have concerned him. But remembering the way she'd practically climbed up his body pulled a smile at his mouth.
"Nathan?"
"Mmm?"
"Will you want me to pretend I'm Rachel?"
His smile vanished. "No."
"But—"
"I don't want you to be your sister, Jill."
She tilted her head back and
looked into his eyes. "But New Year's Eve—"
"I knew exactly who I was with New Year's Eve, and you know that."
She blushed and he frowned.
Party-girl Jill blushing? And now she wouldn't look at him.
He thought back. How long had she known Luke? Six weeks? Two months? They'd only lived together for a couple of weeks before he was killed. And if Luke had been her first . . . .
"Jill?"
She hesitated. Then she mimicked his response to her. "Mmm?"
He smiled at her sassy humor. But he knew her too well. She was trying to distract him. Only he wasn't going to be distracted.
He lifted himself onto one elbow and looked at her. "How new are you at this?" he asked.
Again, she stalled. And again, color stole into her cheeks.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
He narrowed his eyes. If she didn't know what he meant, then why the blush?
Reaching over, he lifted one of her hands and held her palm to his morning erection. "This," he said, pressing himself against her fingers.
She inhaled on a gasp and her eyes flew to his. Her blush deepened, validating his suspicions, and another mixture of new emotions stirred inside him.
"How new?"
She blinked. "It's peculiar to touch you like this."
Her voice was breathy and shallow. Did she know what a give-away that was? He wanted to tell her it wouldn't be peculiar for long, but he wasn't ready to change the subject.
"How new?" he asked again.
Silence. So he squeezed her fingers.
"Three times."
He stared. Three? He lifted his hand off hers and cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Counting New Year's Eve?" he asked.
She pulled her hand away. "I . . . . Nathan, I never meant to trap you." Her eyes asked him to believe her. "I wanted so badly to be held. I thought . . . ."
He waited but she didn't continue.
"Jill, I don't feel trapped. Understand that right now." He knew she hadn't tried to get pregnant. "But now it's my turn to ask," he told her, tucking her hair behind her ear. He already knew the answer to his question. He'd made sure of it before he reached up under that little black skirt and slid her panties down her legs. But he wanted to hear her say it. He wanted to hear her admit it. "Did you know who was doing the holding that night? Was it me you were with, or was I standing in for someone else?"
There came that blush again. Christ.
"I knew it was you, Nathan. I didn't have to pretend. Probably because I had a crush on you for so long."
She what? "When did you have a crush on me?"
"Up until I was a sophomore in college."
He was stunned. "I didn't know," he said, not sure what else to say.
"You weren't supposed to know."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
She gave a small shrug. "From the time we were children you always preferred Rachel. And that's okay," she assured him. "I probably would have been nervous and scared if you'd started paying attention to me."
He was dumbstruck. How the hell could he have missed this?
She was waiting for him to respond, but that little shrug had been quick and jerky. She wasn't as unaffected as she pretended. And that meant he'd hurt her. For how long? Years?
Clearing his throat, he searched for the right words. "Rachel is shy, Jill. She doesn't have your strength and confidence, so I've always made a conscious effort to involve her."
She turned her head and stared at him as though he'd lost his mind. Then she sat up, moved her hair out of the way, and the expression on her face said she was utterly baffled.
"Nathan," she finally said, "Rachel isn't shy. She's never been shy."
It was his turn to stare.
"Heavens, Nathan, Rachel's quiet because she's one of those people who's lucky enough to be comfortable in her own skin. She knows exactly what her strengths are, and she knows how to use them to balance her weaknesses. She doesn't need acceptance or the company of other people the way the rest of us do. Rachel's perfectly content to go quietly through life so she can pursue whatever goal she's set for herself. In fact, she's probably the strongest person I've ever known."
Jill waited for him to say something but all he could do was stare back at her. His mind raced furiously through the years and images flashed across his brain. From bicycles to trying out makeup, from board games to roller skates and Barbie dolls, he tried to assimilate her words with what he remembered . . . Rachel sitting by herself, arranging doll clothes for a fashion show while Ali and Jill planned parties and dates for their dolls. Rachel sitting at the curb with a book and a stopwatch, reading while she timed the other two, racing their bicycles around the block. Looking back, he saw now that she'd been quietly happy to occupy herself. While he stood looking out the window, feeling sympathetic, Rachel had been focused and yes, comfortable with herself, just as Jill described.
He opened his mouth, wanting to refute her assessment, but not a single memory came to mind that opposed what she said. Not one. Even after Rachel had been raped, once she started talking again, she firmly told her parents she'd make faster progress working one-on-one than she would in group therapy. But not because she was shy. She'd stood in the middle of the living room and said her life was no one's business but hers and her family's. And as she grew older she'd worked alone, slowly and methodically doing what she needed to do to put her life back together. Even the things she enjoyed as an adult were solitary activities, from endless hours of concentrated research, to pushing the speed limit in that aerodynamic rocket she drove.
He stared at Jill and the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Jill, who left a light on at night because she was afraid of the dark. Jill, who wrapped herself around him in her sleep as though she needed the security of knowing she wasn't alone. Jill, who had hidden her crush on him for God knew how many years because she would have been nervous and afraid if he'd paid more attention to her. Jill, who had been turning his world on a different axis from the moment he opened his eyes and started paying attention.
He felt the blood drain from his face. He, who prided himself on knowing the twins and their subtle differences, had been so far off the mark, it was impossible to reconcile the past fifteen years during the present thirty seconds. His mind raced, piecing together disjointed events, the clues, alert to any evidence that would prove Jill wrong and set things back on track. But the more he searched, the clearer it became. All these years . . . . He was a cop, for God's sake. He'd mistaken Rachel's quiet nature for shyness and fragility while Jill's happy, outgoing nature had blinded him to her uncertainty and vulnerability.
He watched Jill push the covers aside and head toward the bathroom, but he was still focused on the past. Memory after memory filtered through his mind. Year after year. And still he couldn't find fault with her assessment of her sister.
Scrubbing a hand along the back of his neck, he stared at the rumpled blankets.
"Nathan!"
High and thin, Jill's voice ripped him back to the present. She stood in the doorway, white as the walls on either side of her, and he jumped out of bed.
"What's wrong?"
She reached for the doorjamb and held on. "I'm not pregnant," she whispered. "There's no baby," she gasped. "I've got my period."
His mind went blank. Then her words slammed into him. Not pregnant? No baby? He looked down at her stomach, then back to her pale face.
"Did you take a pregnancy test?" he asked, trying to remain calm. "Did you even buy one?" If she said no, he swore to himself he'd shake her.
"I bought one," she said. "Day before yesterday." A tear slid down her cheek. "But it's still in the box. I haven't opened it."
That fast—that fast—it was all gone. Everything. The future he'd envisioned, the plans he'd started to make, the baby . . . . No—the hope of a baby. The maybe-it-never-existed baby.
Anger whipped up inside him. He stared at her through a haze of bitte
r loss. "Did Rachel get all the common sense when the two of you were born?"
As soon as the words were out he froze.
How could he have said that? Especially now, after the things he'd discovered? How could he have thrown that at her with this new closeness growing between them? He'd asked her to marry him not five hours ago and he'd just compared her to her twin and told her she was lacking.
Deafening silence filled the air between them. Jesus. Damn it, he needed to take those words back. He needed those words to disappear as though they'd never crossed his mind. Ten seconds ago he thought he'd lost everything, and now there was no doubt he had.
Jill grabbed a breath of air as though the room had been sucked dry. The hand holding onto the doorframe fell away and she jerked back as if he'd raised one of his own and struck her.
"Jill." He took a step forward.
But her eyes widened with something resembling horror so he stopped dead.
"Jill," he tried again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."
Her shoulders tightened. He watched as she took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and gathered her pride around herself like a shield.
"Actually, Nathan, I don't believe you."
"Jill—"
"No. I know what you think of me. I've always known."
"What—"
"When I was arrested for being a passenger in a stolen car, you told Ali I was an airhead."
"You were sixteen then."
"I didn't know the car was stolen, but that didn't matter to you."
"Jill—"
"It didn't matter that I'd missed the bus and that Dad was in surgery and Mom was out of town, or that you were out on a case when I tried to call you."
"Jill, that was a long time ago."
"It didn't matter that I was careful. It didn't matter that I didn't accept a ride from a stranger. He was in my biology class and he offered me a ride home."
Interrupting her again would do no good, so he stood and listened.
"And the week after that, when I broke my arm in cheerleading practice, you rolled your eyes like it was typical—as though it was my fault my spotter wasn't paying attention. And when I went to my Junior prom . . . well, we both know what happened there. But when I went to my Senior prom and phoned you to come get me because my date was drunk, you told me I sure knew how to pick them."
