His own mother had been at the reception, although he doubted she heard the speeches. She’d been silently daydreaming in the chair beside him. At one point, though, she had noticed his dress uniform with all its ribbons and medals—the uniform Colonel Atkinson insisted he wear—and whispered, “You look like your father. He had a uniform, too. Air force, I think.” Sadly, she added, “He was killed in the war, you know.”
Jesse had stared at her, astonished. She’d never spoken about his father before. Even more surprising was the fond, reminiscent look on her face. “You kept in touch with him?” he asked, disbelieving.
“He wrote me letters. Asked for pictures of you.”
A sneak attack by a stealth bomber wouldn’t have surprised him more. “But I thought... Hadn’t he... hadn’t he hurt you?” Another first—Jesse had never asked her about the rape his aunt had so often mentioned.
His mother’s forehead wrinkled and her eyes glazed with confusion, as if she weren’t quite sure what he meant.
Gently, he persisted, “Didn’t he force you to...to do something you hadn’t wanted to do?”
“Oh, no.” Her childlike blue eyes widened. “Robert would never make me do anything I didn’t want. He was always nice to me.”
Jesse frowned. “He didn’t rape you?”
She blinked, still looking confused. “Muriel said he did. She said Robert should have known better, even if I didn’t tell him no. She wouldn’t lie to me...would she?”
It had, indeed, been a surprising day. Looking back, Jesse reflected that his Aunt Muriel had been wise to stay away from the reception. She wouldn’t want to hear the things he had to say to her.
His cousin Dean had also been noticeably absent. Not that this surprised or bothered Jesse in the least. He hoped his boot was still imprinted on his pompous backside.
Jesse’s mother had shared one more bit of news: because she was going to marry and live with that nice preacher who spoke at his funeral—a lovely funeral; Jesse should have seen it—her sister Muriel planned to sell her town house in Savannah and move in with her son. To help get Dean’s life in order, Muriel had told her...
Jesse couldn’t help a satisfied grin as he turned off the shower. Muriel and Dean deserved each other.
As he pushed aside the vinyl shower curtain, he heard it—soft murmurs issuing from the bedroom. Disappointment drew his mouth down into a frown. Was someone here? Whoever it was, he’d throw them out. Shove ’em right out the door. This was his night with Elissa, the start of their honeymoon, and he meant to monopolize every second of it.
A year, two months, and too many weeks had gone by since this body of his had taken hers. He needed that now. Needed the passionate insanity that somehow made his spirit soar. Needed to know that after all he’d been through, he could still make her tremble in his arms and cry out his name....
It was Elissa’s voice he heard, he realized as he slung a towel around his hips. Soft, loving sounds. Who the hell was she talking to? Bewildered, he pushed open the bathroom door, his hair dripping in little rivulets down his neck and shoulders.
She lounged against a mound of pillows, her long, sable dark hair flowing loosely around her slender form, with some black, wispy little lace thing doing nothing at all to hide the feminine curves and valleys that so intrigued him. Where the black lace ended, her golden legs stretched for miles along the bedspread, from thighs to shapely calves, crossed with seductive allure....
A telephone receiver, he belatedly noticed, was pressed against her ear. “I love you, baby,” she murmured in a low, fervent voice into the mouthpiece. “I miss you. Do you miss me? Don’t worry, we’ll be together soon....”
Every muscle in Jesse’s body froze. For an instant—the briefest, blackest instant—the euphoria of the day evaporated, and he was once again the outsider, battle-scarred and deformed, pressing his nose against the window and peering in at a warmth he’d never know....
But before his heart had even missed a beat, a new, awesome certainty embraced him. He could believe in her. If he trusted his heart to pump his blood, if he trusted his lungs to draw in breath, he could trust this woman to love him; she’d been far more constant than either. When his body itself had failed him, she had not. She never would.
As though sensing his presence, Elissa lifted her gaze. She smiled a warm, dazzling smile that blazed a path of love straight through his heart. “Know who else is here?” she murmured into the phone. “Your old pa.”
And she handed the receiver to Jesse.
He took it by rote, overcome by awe that he, of all men, had been blessed with her. And though he had no idea why she’d be talking over the phone to Cody—he wouldn’t understand her; couldn’t even talk yet, let alone answer questions—Jesse dutifully lifted the receiver to his ear.
“Hey, there, boy,” he heard himself say, his voice too deep and rusty. Before he knew it, he found himself listening closely for the slightest gurgle. Clearly he imagined a phone being held against that little rounded cheek; saw his son’s bright gaze, maybe teary-eyed from wanting his mother. “Love you, Cody,” he muttered hoarsely. “We’ll be home soon, just wait and see.”
As he murmured the kind of nonsense he never imagined would come from his mouth. a torrent of goodness, warmth and light flooded him. He was whole. He was healed.
He was loved.
A slender hand swept up his leg and tugged at his towel. “Tell him good night” came the throaty feminine voice that set a thousand flames licking through his veins.
“‘Night, son,” he breathed. The receiver had barely hit its cradle before he’d tossed aside the towel and lowered himself to the bed.
“I love you, Jesse,” Elissa swore in a solemn whisper.
His hands delved beneath the black lace and swept along bare, silken flesh. His arms filled with fragrant, womanly warmth; his mouth connected hungrily with hers. He loved her so much it hurt. She was his, all his, and they’d spend the rest of their lives doing just this—proving, probing, exploring their love for each other.
Till death do us part, she had promised.
But for Jesse, that wasn’t good enough.
He wanted longer.
ISBN : 978-1-4592-7091-6
POSSESSING ELISSA
Copyright © 1997 by Donna Fejes.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording. or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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