“Good night.” Jessica shut the door behind him and leaned against it, thinking. Then she hurried back to the bedroom and bathed quickly, donning a sheer gown and draping her robe carefully across the foot of the bed. That done, she climbed between the sheets and waited for Jack, every fiber of her being listening for his approach.
When he entered the bedroom she actually caught her breath. He was wearing nothing but a bath sheet draped around his waist, and his naked torso was beautiful. It tapered from broad shoulders that were lightly speckled with freckles, to a trim middle, his flat stomach ribbed and corded with muscle. Dark hair fanned outward from a thin line disappearing below the towel to a thatch between his nipples, and it appeared finer than that on his head. His upper arms were well developed, with heavy biceps, and the veins on his forearms were thick and pronounced with long years of physical activity. He had toweled and combed his hair, but it was still damp, slicked back from his forehead, darkened with water. His skin shone in the subdued lighting, and his amber eyes searched hers as he walked toward the bed, his lips parted, his cheeks flushed from the heat of the shower, and perhaps from something else.
Why, he’s nervous too, Jessica thought. Then her hands clenched on the top sheet, her heart pounding as he reached for the wall switch with one hand and dropped his towel with the other.
Chapter 7
When he lifted the covers to get in beside her, Jessica could feel the heat radiating from him, almost scorching her. He smelled clean and soapy from his shower, and even in the semidarkness she could see a fresh dusting of powder muting the fading summer tan on his throat. He loomed above her, supporting himself on one arm, big and formidable and thoroughly male. For just a second his expression was open, vulnerable, and she could see in him the boy he had once been. Then he blinked and it was gone. He became once more the adult Jack; professional athlete, business entrepreneur, the semi-stranger she had married.
Jessica stared up at him, as rigid as wood. When he slipped one arm under her to draw her to him she tried not to resist, but he felt her hesitation. He didn’t say anything but began to stroke her back lightly, using long soothing motions that relaxed her until she was clinging to him, her head on his shoulder. It was the first tenderness of any kind that he had shown her, but she knew it had a purpose. He was gentling her so that he could take his pleasure, much as a rider soothes a horse to coax it to carry him. His skin was as smooth as a flat, sea-washed stone, and every time he moved his arms she felt their muscular motion against her sides. Apprehension began to transmute into desire; this was Jack, after all, and she loved him. It was easy to forget their true circumstances as he held her so closely, so protectively, and she desperately wanted to forget them. When he set her easily on her back and began to kiss her with light, feathery touches, she was soon turning her head to seek his mouth with hers.
Jack knew what he was doing. He was an accomplished lover, and he used every ounce of his expertise to bind Jessica to him in the only way he could. There might not be love between them, but she would want him. He would make damn sure of that.
She was growing impatient, trying to kiss him more deeply than he would allow, and he finally held her still, his hands on her shoulders, and opened her lips with his tongue, exploring, tasting. Jessica sighed with satisfaction. Her fingers crept up the strong column of his throat and sank into the shining hair at his nape. He moved closer, his upper body pressing hers, and she slid her arms around his neck.
The gown Jessica wore had a snap at the apex of the deep V neckline, and Jack drew back to open it. The silken material separated almost to her navel. He slipped one hand inside the gap and cupped her breast, his sturdy brown fingers showing dark against her milky skin. She gasped as he found the nipple, teasing it, rasping it with his thumb. She turned her head away from him on the pillow, awash with the exquisite sensation.
Jack pulled her gown aside, bending his head to put his mouth where his hand had been. Jessica moaned, closing her eyes as he sucked lightly, then with increasing pressure, finally using his teeth as she writhed beneath him, pinned by his weight. Overcome, Jack dragged the gown from her shoulders and shoved it down to her waist. He laved one rigid peak with his tongue, then the other, rubbing his cheek over the surface of her flesh as if he could never get enough of its creamy texture. His hands encircled her waist, lifting her off the bed as she held his head against her. His hair was drying into finger-width strands, and Jessica pressed her lips to its sable softness, on fire at his touch.
Talk to me, Jack, she begged silently. Tell me that you remember the first time, the way I do. But he remained mute, letting his actions speak for him, conveying a deep, profound need he would never express in words. He cradled her in the curve of one arm and peeled the gown from her quickly as she hid against his chest, suddenly shy. He caressed her belly, her thighs, until her reserve left her and she shuddered with the sheer pleasure of his large, capable hands upon her body. When he slipped his hand between her legs, she sighed and shifted to accommodate him, pressing into his palm. He gave her what she wanted, and she opened her mouth luxuriously, dragging her lips across the surface of his breast. He gasped, letting her slide back to the bed. He rolled onto her, embracing her fully, and Jessica made a sound deep in her throat as she felt him, aroused and ready, his legs tensed and heavy as they imprisoned hers.
He began to kiss her again, but more wildly now, walking the narrow edge of control. Jessica’s response was thoughtless, elemental, as basic as breathing. She clutched him to her, running her hands down the spare column of his spine, slick with perspiration. He sank his fingers deep into her hair and crushed her mouth with his as she wrapped her legs around his hips in unmistakable invitation.
But he was not ready to take her yet, though every nerve in his body cried out for him to do so. He knew the allure of the wait, the powerful eroticism of delayed satisfaction. He wanted her needy, begging. She had left him, forgotten him once. She would not do so again. Jack lifted himself off her and she rose with him, reaching out to caress him intimately. He trapped her hands with his and uttered a single, guttural word. “No.”
Jessica stopped, startled, the rhythm of their lovemaking altered, broken.
“Don’t touch me,” he said huskily.
Jessica’s hands fell away. She knew why he was holding her at this distance; she might urge him into losing command of the situation, and he would never tolerate that.
He pushed her down flat, almost roughly, and slid his arms around her waist, pressing his flushed face to her abdomen. His skin seared her, and then he drew his tongue from the valley of her navel to the juncture of each thigh, avoiding contact where she most desired it. She thrust upward, whimpering, and he moved lower, slowly, his mouth moist and hot. She was so primed for his first caress that when it came she groaned aloud, arching off the bed. He teased her relentlessly until she was frantic, digging her nails into his shoulders and surging restlessly against him. When he knew that she was on the brink he moved back from her deliberately, and she threw her forearm across her eyes, her whole body quivering with thwarted anticipation.
Jack couldn’t wait any longer; his ache was as painful as the one he had created in her, and they could only be assuaged in each other. When he moved over Jessica, she wound herself around him sinuously, desperate for union. This time she would not be disappointed. He lifted her hips and entered her, and Jessica’s head fell back, her eyes closing. Her skin was misted with a fine dew, and the scent of her, the feel of her, inflamed him as he thrust and thrust again, claiming what had always been his. She moved her head blindly to kiss him, and when their lips met he tasted the salt of their desire on her mouth. She was beautiful; he would bury himself in her forever. Jessica thought for one fleeting instant that the wait had been worth it to get to this moment, and then she couldn’t think anymore, powerless in the grip of the tide that carried them both to completion.
When it was over, she curled against him, snuggling into his arms.
But he pulled away, disentangling himself from her grasp, and she felt him get up and leave the bed. Lost in her dreamy lassitude, Jessica fell back on the pillows and waited for his return, his sweat drying on her skin.
It was a long while before she would admit to herself that he was not coming back. At first she thought he had gone to the bathroom or to get a drink, and well past the time when she should have realized that she was kidding herself, she clung to the idea. But when the room grew chill and the faint depression in the sheet where he had lain was no longer visible, she accepted the truth.
Of course. His was the perfect reprisal. He was treating her the way he thought she had treated him, like a prostitute. Hadn’t she said the same to Maddy? And you didn’t cuddle with a prostitute. You didn’t sleep the night with a whore. You satisfied your appetite and you left.
Jessica almost got up and went after him. But she had some measure of pride remaining, and it finally won as she turned over in the vast, empty bed and pulled the crisp linen sheet up to her chin. If he could leave her after what they had just shared, he was colder than even she had suspected. She closed her eyes and, for the first night of many to follow, cried herself to sleep.
* * * *
In the morning Jessica was awakened by the sound of the bedroom door closing. She had slept fitfully and was alert at once, realizing that Jack had shut the door from the outside.
She got up and slipped on her robe, brushing her hair back from her face with her hands. She emerged to find Jack standing in the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee, fully dressed.
“Where are you going?” she asked quietly.
“To the office,” he replied shortly, avoiding her gaze. He looked as though he hadn’t slept much either; there were deep shadows under his eyes, and the skin there looked bruised and tender.
“On Saturday?” she asked.
“I have contract negotiations with my drivers and we have to make the deadline.”
“I see. Let me fix breakfast for you,” she said, moving to join him.
“No, thanks,” he said, and she stopped. “I’ll have something sent in at work. That’s what I usually do.” He turned to put his cup in the sink and spotted the silver bucket on the dining table. He walked over to inspect it and said to her, “When did this arrive?”
“Last night while you were in the shower. Maddy sent it.”
He nodded slowly and then shrugged slightly, as if to say,“What does it matter?” Such gestures were for other people, for happy brides.
She saw that he was picking up a stack of bills from the kitchen counter.
“There’s about five hundred here,” he said, showing her the money and putting it down again. “I thought you might need groceries or something.”
“Five hundred dollars for groceries?” she said, staring at him.
“Well, I figured you would want some other...stuff,” he replied, gesturing vaguely. Then, curtly, “I don’t want you bothering me at work.”
“I have no intention of bothering you,” she replied, stung.
“You can keep that rental car for now,” he went on, not meeting her eyes. “We’ll get something for you as soon as I have the chance. And if the housekeeper calls—her name is Mrs. Jenkins—you can tell her when you want her to come and what you want her to do. I’ve been leaving her pretty much on her own but you might have different ideas.”
“All right,” Jessica murmured. She didn’t even know he had a housekeeper. But then he must; the place was well cared for, and he obviously didn’t have the time or the inclination to do it himself.
“I’ll send a truck over to the house to get the rest of your things whenever you want,” he added.
“I have enough to last until Monday.”
“What are you doing about your job?” he asked suddenly, and she saw that for the first time that morning he was looking directly at her.
“I told them that I would be resigning my position in Italy. The U.S. manager said that there was always something for me in the Boston office if I wanted it.”
“Letting me know you’re keeping your hand in?” he asked softly, watching her intently.
“Just answering your question,” Jessica replied, turning away.
She heard him move toward the door, and when she realized that he was leaving she spun around to face him, calling out,“When will you be home?”
“I don’t know. These things can be settled quickly or drag on forever.”
“Can you call me?”
He studied her, his dark eyes looking lighter in the morning sun. “I doubt it,” he said flatly, and left.
Jessica stood in the middle of the living room, wondering what to do. It had been an unconventional wedding night, and the morning after had left a lot to be desired. But if she thought about it, what it could have been, should have been, with Jack, she would start to cry again, and she was heartily sick of her own misery. She decided to do something constructive, and the first order of business was to bring some life and cheerfulness to the sterile surroundings.
She went to the windows on the far wall and pulled open the drapes to flood the room with light. As she turned away she caught sight of the guest bedroom, which she hadn’t really examined. She paused in the doorway, taking in the hastily resettled spread on the bed, Jack’s cuff links and dress shirt on the brassbound trunk at its foot. He had left her to spend the night alone in this room, surrounded by the perfectly coordinated pictures and lamps. He knew her so well, with the instinctive knowledge that time doesn’t alter and circumstance doesn’t change. That single act would signal to her the whole tenor of their coming relationship, and she now knew, as Jean would say, what the story was.
Jessica sighed. She had to make the best of it, and she would. She turned her back on the guest room and looked around, examining the possibilities. They were extensive. Jack hadn’t done anything to enhance the basic plan, but Jessica had a few ideas. The kitchen had a bay window that she could fill with plants. There was a small enclosed terrace off the dining room, heated and glassed in, like a greenhouse. It was concealed by floor-length drapes when they were drawn across the sliding doors. She opened them and resolved to rearrange the white wicker furnishings and use the little room, as Jack obviously didn’t. It could be charming, and she would make it so. They could also use some bookshelves…
Her brain spinning with plans, Jessica took a shower and dressed to go out, concentrating on the things she could change. She couldn’t change Jack, but she could adapt to him, and she was about to try.
She spent the day shopping and returned to the apartment around five o’clock. There was no message on Jack’s machine, so he hadn’t called, and she set about displaying her purchases: fresh flowers for the dining room and terrace, hanging pots of ferns, coleus, and impatiens for the kitchen window, candles for the table. She straightened the rooms and looked around for dishes. There was a set of standard stoneware in the cabinets above the stove, but on impulse she opened the hinged doors at the bottom of the bleached oak hutch. She found several sealed boxes, which proved to contain a set of china with matching long-stemmed glasses, candlesticks and napery. Delighted, Jessica put the items to use, arranging a vase of hothouse carnations in the center of the dining table and setting two places with Jack’s stored finery. As she was walking toward the bedroom to change her clothes, she had an idea and went to the telephone. She dialed Jack’s office and waited an eternity for someone to answer it at the other end. She was just about to hang up when a man lifted the receiver and barked into it, “Yeah?”
“Uh, this is...Mrs. Chabrol. I’d like to know when my husband will be finished for the evening.”
“Jessica, is that you?” the man said.
Jessica recognized the voice of Jack’s office manager and said gratefully, “Yes, it is. I was just wondering when to plan dinner. I haven’t heard from Jack all day.”
“You mean he didn’t call you? I don’t know what’s wrong with that guy. I’ll have to remind
him that he’s married now. We’re due to break up around five-thirty, so you can expect him home by six, I guess.”
“Thank you very much,” Jessica said, and broke the connection. Any information the office manager had would have come from Jack. He could have called her if he’d wanted to, but he had purposely avoided extending her that courtesy.
For just a moment her resolve faltered. Why was she doing all of this, when he was clearly determined to be unaffected by it? But then she continued her progress across the room, squaring her shoulders. Having pleasant surroundings would make her feel better, and that was reason enough to complete her plans.
By five minutes to six everything was ready. The salad was made, ready to be tossed and dressed, the steaks were in the broiler, and the bottle of red wine Jessica has bought was standing in the champagne bucket, on ice. She was glancing in the hall mirror, checking her hair, when Jack walked through the door. He stopped short, taking in the set table, tapers burning in the china holders, the flowers and the plants. He glanced at Jessica, who was wearing a pair of peach lounge pajamas Maddy had given her as a wedding present, her hair on top of her head, tendrils trailing onto her cheeks and neck. He slipped out of his jacket and loosened his tie, coming farther into the apartment, looking around him.
“Dinner will be ready in five minutes,” Jessica said, walking past him into the kitchen.
He said nothing, seemingly taken aback, as if unable to assimilate what she had done.
“Do you like it?” she asked.
He went to the table and picked up a dinner plate. “Did you buy the dishes today?” he asked, breaking his silence.
Jessica turned to stare at him. “Jack, they were in a box in the dining room hutch. All that stuff was. The willow pattern matches the wallpaper in here, see?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said vaguely. “I remember the decorator saying something about dishes.”
“It’s more than dishes. It’s imported Danish porcelain. Did you forget it was there?”
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