by Jess Bentley
As she lets out her grief, Harper looks at me, I’m sure seeing the tears on my cheeks too. She cries harder, and I hold her tighter.
15
Harper
During the next few days, Jayson seems to throw himself into the task of distracting me from the loss. When I’m physically recovered, he takes me to all my favorite places. The Museum of Modern Art fills one entire day, a visit to the New York Botanical Garden another.
The distractions do help take my mind off the miscarriage, but do nothing to help me with the dilemma of loving my husband. Loving Jayson without being able to trust him is almost as painful as losing the baby that bound us together. Jayson is so sweet and protective, hiding his own hurt to help me cope, that it’s proving impossible not to fall even more deeply in love with him.
Over lunch at Nobu, I can’t stop staring at him. He carries on the conversation easily, but the dark rings under his eyes speak of sleep deprivation, and the lines around his mouth hint at the sadness still clinging to him.
Impulsively, I put my hand over his. “Thank you.”
He quirks a brow. “For what?”
“You’ve made it your personal mission to distract me from thinking about… the loss. I know it must have been hell to rearrange your schedule so you could take more time off so soon after the vacation.”
Jayson frowns. “I have no idea. I told my assistant to cancel everything. It might have been difficult for him, but I don’t care. You’re my first priority.”
A surge of warmth melts my heart. The tears I managed to suppress that day threaten to fall. I blink them back, determined to comfort Jayson now. “I can imagine it’s been difficult for you to suppress your emotions in order to see to my needs.” My voice softens. “I know you wanted the baby very much.”
He pales slightly. “Yes.” Jayson clears his throat, but his voice still sounds thick. “I wanted a little girl who looked just like you.”
My lips tremble with the effort to hold the tears in check. “That’s funny.”
Jayson frowns. “Why?”
“I wanted a little boy with your features.” I squeeze my eyes shut to keep from crying, unable to tell him the idea had lurked in the back of my mind that if our son looked like Jayson, I would always have something to remember him by after the marriage dissolved.
“Have you given any thought to what you’ll do now?” His words express curiosity, but the tone reveals the question goes much deeper.
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“You could stay with me.” His grip on my hand tightens almost imperceptibly. “Just for a while, even, until you figure out what you want to do.”
I hesitate, because the truth is, I have no plan. The miscarriage has consumed my thoughts to the point that I never even thought about what I’ll do now that I don’t have to stay with Jayson.
“Stay as long as you want.”
“Thank you.” It probably isn’t a wise decision. The longer I stay with him, the deeper I’ll love him, making it that much harder to leave. It’ll also hurt more. I should leave soon, unless I want to stay permanently in this crippled marriage. Jayson as he is now is too easy to love, but I still have to reconcile his previous actions with the man he appeared to be before I can decide to remain his wife.
Jayson has to return to work a couple of days later, and I immerse myself in setting up the garden and greenhouse. Choosing plants that will thrive in cooler weather by the time they mature, goes along with planting more delicate items in the greenhouse.
The simple acts of gardening prove more therapeutic than any counselor, so I ignore the referral Dr. Anderson provided. The repetitive motions and the feel of the silky soil in my hands ease the loss, and I gradually spend less time thinking about the baby and what could have been.
That leaves more time for thinking about our relationship, and I continuously rehash all my thoughts. I try to plan for the future. I make lists and consider my options, but Jayson somehow is a fixture in each scenario.
Several days later, over the spinach salads and plates of clam linguine left by the cook, I tell him, “I went to City College today.”
Jayson pauses in the act of reaching for a glass of wine. “Oh?”
I try to sound casual. “I looked at their botany department and spoke with an advisor. She gave me a packet of information. I think I’ll register for classes next week.”
Jayson nods. “That sounds like a good idea.”
I analyze his expression, but he reveals nothing. “You think so?”
“Yes.” He takes a sip of wine. “It gives you something to do during the day.”
“I’m not sure I have the time.”
His brow furrows. “Why not?”
“I have a mountain of things to tend to from the various charities I inherited from Ione. With the vacation, and then subsequent events, I haven’t done anything in ages.”
Jayson swallows a bite of pasta before replying. “None of that matters. I can hire someone to deal with it.”
I frown. “What? You nixed that idea when we first got married.”
His dark eyes reflect warmth as he looks at me solemnly. “That isn’t your passion, but I didn’t take time to find out what was. I denied you the things you needed and wanted for too long. I want you to enjoy what you do. With Sophie away at college, you have more free time, and you should devote it to pursuits that pique your interest.”
I draw a deep breath, mustering all my courage. I know what I want is a bad idea, but I can’t talk myself out of the desire. “I have some free time at night too.” My voice is soft and scratchy.
He pauses in the act of swallowing for a second. “Indeed?”
The gleaming cutlery becomes an object of intense focus when I find it too difficult to meet his gaze. “I have some ideas to pass the time.”
He makes a rough sound, low in his throat, and drops the fork he was holding. “Such as?”
It takes a moment to find the courage to look up at him and I squirm under the intensity of his gaze. This had seemed a better idea when I rehearsed it earlier this afternoon. I clear my throat with a gulp of wine. “I want you.” Removing the napkin from my lap, I devote meticulous care to folding it into a perfect square. The sound of his chair moving doesn’t make me look up, but I do when he comes to my side and takes the napkin from me, throwing it carelessly onto the center of the table.
Without protest, I let him take my hand to assist me from the chair. It’s ridiculous to feel shy, but I do. I try to look down, but his hands frame my face. I lick my lips, and he groans softly.
Jayson lowers his head, his tongue tracing the path mine left. His mouth devours mine, but I’m just as hungry. Almost mindlessly, I tug at his shirt, anxious to feel his skin against mine.
A harsh breath leaves him when he tears his mouth from mine, gulping for air. “Are you certain this is safe?”
I nod. “I read the literature the hospital sent home. I can have sex whenever I feel up to it.” I smile. “I feel up to it, and I’m not the only one,” I add, brushing my hand against his trousers.
With a sound between a growl and a grunt, Jayson lifts me into his arms. I cling to him, laying my head on his shoulder. “A girl could get used to this,” I whisper in his ear before planting a soft kiss against his jaw.
“I’d love to get used to holding you in my arms.”
“That wouldn’t be too practical for a captain of industry. You’d never get any work done.”
“To hell with work, and the Satyros Corporation.” Jayson angles his body to push open the bedroom door and strides across the room to drop me on the bed before returning to close it.
My eyes widen at his words, but I don’t let myself read much into it. It’s probably just a spontaneous response to our conversation, just his arousal. There’s no way he considers me more important than the family business now that I’m no longer pregnant with his child.
Jayson returns to me, and soon our clothes are off. He’s car
eful and gentle, moving slowly, as though I’ll break. It’s sweet, but also maddening.
As the minutes pass, and I grow increasingly frustrated, I finally seize control. “Enough.”
Jayson lifts his head from my breast. “Are you in pain?”
I nod, and an expression of alarm contorts his beautiful Greek features. “I’m in pain from how much I need you. Please stop torturing me.”
Jayson frowns. “I want to be gentle, agape mou.”
“I don’t want that. I just want you.” His resistance is obvious by the set of his shoulders and the firm line of his mouth, and I wiggle out from his embrace. He rolls onto his side, reaching for me as I get up.
Seizing the moment, I lean across the bed to push on his shoulders, turning him to his back. His eyes widen with surprise, but he doesn’t fight as I pin him to the bed to straddle him. I might not be stronger than him, but both of us are enjoying the illusion of my being in control.
I bend my head to trace my tongue across one of his nipples, torturing him just like he did me. Jayson grips my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh almost to the point of pain, while I suck the hard nub into my mouth.
“Harper, you’re playing with fire.”
I look up at him from the veil of my lashes as I slide farther down his body. Jayson gasps when I circle my tongue around the head of his hard shaft. Ignoring his head shaking, I say, “How hot can you burn, syzygos?” I can’t help but grin at his look of surprise when I say the Greek word for husband. “I’ve had some free time, so I started that language program on your computer.”
“Your husband is pleased.”
“Not yet.” I give him a wicked grin. “But soon.”
Jayson’s body stiffens when I take him inside my mouth, straining my jaw open to take in his size. Jayson shudders and trembles underneath me as I swirl my tongue around the corona and up and down the veiny shaft.
Soon he pushes me away from him. “God, Harper, you’re making me crazy. I’m going to explode! I’ve got to be inside you.”
I nod, getting how he feels. The things he does with his mouth are heaven, but sometimes I like to come with him inside me, his cock earning my orgasm. I straddle him, taking Jayson inside me, already slick, and swiveling my hips. He grips me by the hipbones, and I weave my fingers into the light dusting of hair on his chest. We move together, enjoying the ride, the togetherness, the deep coming together, until we both cry out and collapse. Time fades away.
Afterward, we shower together and finally return to the bed in order to sleep. I curl against him, letting my eyes drift closed as sleep creeps over me.
“Harper?”
I murmur a sleepy, “Hmm?”
“Does this mean you’re staying with me?”
The childish urge to squeeze my eyes shut seizes me. I hope he’ll interpret the lack of an answer as my being asleep. How can I answer the question when I haven’t figured that out yet?
16
Jayson
I listen to Harper snore softly, pleased she’s resting, but a little envious. I’ve been lying beside her for at least an hour, but sleep refuses to take. Finally, although I’m reluctant to release her, I move away from her and out of the bed. If I can’t sleep, I might as well get some work done.
In a robe, I pad barefoot to the study, turning on the computer. As it boots up, I open the bottom drawer of the desk to replenish the printer paper and freeze. The stack of books I’d bought about pregnancy are in the drawer, where I shoved them the first day we came home.
My heart tugs painfully as I lift them from the drawer, one by one, and stack them on the printer table. It pains me that there won’t be a little Harper running through the house. With our future so unsettled, I can’t be certain we will ever have a child together. That’s nearly as heartbreaking as losing the baby.
It crosses my mind that we didn’t use protection tonight, but I rub my eyes without comfort. It’s unlikely she’s gotten pregnant again, but if she did, I wouldn’t use that as a way to keep her with me. As much as I want Harper to stay my wife, I no longer want it to be against her will.
I want her to love me completely.
Why it’s so important isn’t something I want to contemplate.
Rising from the chair, I take the books and hide them in a cabinet filled with business tomes Harper would be unlikely to investigate. I don’t want her stumbling across the books like I did, experiencing the painful reminder of what might have been.
After stowing the books, I go back to the desk and open my email. I spend the next hour working steadily through the messages, many of them frantic ones from my assistant regarding a business deal that’s apparently on the verge of collapsing.
Leaning back in my chair, I consider the options. The sensible thing to do is to fly to London and secure the deal myself. The thought of leaving Harper, especially as vulnerable as she still is, has me rejecting the notion out of hand. In an unaccustomed move, I type a terse message instructing my assistant to go to London and close the deal. If he’s not able to, it won’t be the end of the world. The Satyros Corporation is stable and secure for Sophie if and when she’s ready to take it over.
Thinking of my niece brings me back to thoughts of Harper. The passionate time in bed lightened my heart, but I can’t be completely optimistic that she’s decided to stay with me. The sex between us may be amazing, but it might not be a good enough foundation on which to build a true marriage.
I continue sorting email as I consider ways to convince her to stay. Nothing comes to mind. But I freeze and lean forward when I see an email from Maia Papadas. My stomach drops as I reluctantly click on it.
I snort with disgust at the obscene picture she’s sent. The attached message is almost as unsettling. Enjoy the view. I will soon be in New York, and you can look AND touch. I look forward to when we are together again, now that you have no reason to stay married.
My eyes narrow as I reread the message. It’s clear she knows about the baby, and that Harper’s lost it. How could she know such intimate details? The only plausible explanation is someone’s been giving her information. But who?
I hit “Reply” and stare at the blinking cursor, finding I can’t muster a response. The things I want to write shouldn’t be said to anyone, even her. With a sigh, I close the message but don’t delete the email. I know I will have to deal with it soon, but can’t tonight. The need for sleep finally catches up to me, and all I want to do is crawl into bed, hold my wife, and slumber.
The next morning over breakfast, Harper seems to enjoy a friendly conversation with me. But I don’t feel comfortable to repeat the question that she can’t, or won’t, answer. Despite how much it burns me up to not know the answer. I set the tone, keeping the conversation light and centered on neutral topics.
As we near the end of the meal, my phone rings for the fourth time. I start to silence it like I did before, but Harper shakes her head. “You don’t have to avoid answering for my sake. Whoever it is obviously needs to talk to you.”
I nod and click the button. After a few minutes on the phone, I’m growing progressively more annoyed. When I hang up, I curse. “I have to go to London. My assistant is incapable of the simplest tasks, it seems.”
She clunks down her coffee cup, but otherwise shows no negative reaction to the news. “How long will you be?”
I shrug. “Honestly? I have no idea.” I eye her, thinking. “Come with me,” I venture.
She frowns. “What would I do in London?”
“London’s a fantastic city. You’ll have no shortage of things to do. I can’t be with you during the day, but I should be at your disposal most evenings.” I lift her hand, bringing it to my mouth to kiss her fingertips. “I could use a companion for the business dinners I’ll have to endure.”
Harper shakes her head. “You won’t need me for that.”
“Perhaps not, but I do need you, and I want you to come with me.” I lean closer. “Have you been to Kew Gardens?”
<
br /> With a shake of her head, she says, “I’ve never been to London.”
“Now is the perfect time.”
She hesitates, clearly torn between the desire to go and the more prudent course of staying behind. As each moment passes I worry she’s going to say no. Then, with a sigh, she opens her mouth and I fully expect her to refuse, but says, “When do we leave?”
17
Harper
Five days in London with Jayson have been wonderful, just what I needed to shake off most of my lingering grief. I’ll always think of our child with sadness and longing, but it now seems possible to move forward and be happy again. While wandering the sites of London, including Kew Gardens, I come to the tentative decision that I want to move forward with Jayson.
We celebrate our homecoming with glasses of wine by the fireplace, though it’s too warm for a fire, followed by a night in bed. When I wake the next morning, Jayson’s already left, but he did warn me the night before that he had an early meeting.
I stretch, working out all the kinks from the previous night. A hot shower leaves me refreshed, and I pad downstairs in my bare feet after dressing casually in a dress of soft material. The maid brings breakfast in the dining room, and I finish every bite. My appetite has returned in London, burning through curries during the day and finer restaurant fare at night. I could go for another round of greasy fish and chips, wrapped in the stereotypical newspaper, after having it several times at the stand just blocks from the hotel.
I go to the study, turning on the computer to check my email, which I’ve been neglecting. Most is spam, but happily there’s a long email from Sophie. She seems to be settling in happily and is about to pledge to a sorority.
With a smile, I prop my feet on the desk and continue sorting through the correspondence. I respond to an email from the advisor at City College, inviting me to register online. I’ve already decided to enroll there, due to the proximity to our apartment. It’s silly to go halfway across the city for another college, with an equally good program, when I can walk to City College. I know registering there is another little step to committing myself to remaining with Jayson, but I’ve been feeling fewer doubts than ever.
