The Tycoon's Virgin Bride (10 page)

It had to stop. Now.

His phone rang. Scowling, he reached over to the bedside table and picked it up. “Bryce Laribee,” he said curtly.

“Bryce, this is Jenessa.”

His heart plunged in his chest. He dropped the socks he was holding onto the bed and said tritely, “What a nice surprise.”

“Bryce, I—do you have a minute?”

He sat down on top of the socks. For you, all day and all night, he thought, and said briskly, “I'm packing to go to Japan. But I've got a few minutes.”

“Oh. I wanted to thank you for sending me the video.”

“Have you watched it?”

“I may have worn it out,” she said wryly. “I—the reason I'm calling you is because the video made me get in touch with Leonora. I saw her yesterday. In Boston. She was there for a workshop. We talked for two hours, Bryce, it was wonderful. So I'm phoning to say how grateful I am.”

She wasn't phoning to say she wanted to jump into bed with him. “Are you still in Boston?” he said sharply.

“No. I'm home.”

So she hadn't gotten in touch while she was in the city. He subdued a disappointment as strong as it was illogical—after all, he'd been out with Isabel, what good would it have done if Jenessa had phoned him? “Will you see Leonora again?” he asked, realizing to his inner fury that he sounded as polite as an elderly uncle.

“Yes. I'm going to New York next week to stay for a couple of days…so thank you again for your part in bringing us together. And now I mustn't keep you, you're busy.”

Now she was the one who sounded crushingly polite. Exasperated with himself, Bryce said, “Jenessa, I've blown this whole conversation. I really want to see you. Why don't you come into the city next Saturday? We
could go to the shore, go for a swim. Have dinner by the ocean.”

In a hostile voice she said, “I'm still a virgin. That hasn't changed. And I'm not in love with you. That hasn't changed, either.”

“If I booked a chalet on Cape Anne,” he said hoarsely, “would you stay there with me? A one-bedroom chalet?” Had he gone too far?

“Oh, Bryce,” she said helplessly, “I don't know.”

Her reply wasn't the one he wanted. He said evenly, “I'm really glad you got in touch with Leonora, and that you phoned me to thank me. Given that we seem to do nothing but argue.”

“We don't argue, we interface—isn't that the buzzword?”

“I don't think any of the current buzzwords can cover what happens to me every time I see you. Dammit, Jenessa, I can't get you out of my mind. As for the rest of me, we'd better not go there.”

She said uncertainly, “So we'd spend the weekend together?”

“Another risk.”

“For me, yes,” she said with some of her normal spirit. “But what about you?”

Tell her the truth, Bryce. “I've never felt this torn, this obsessed. So out of control when it comes to a woman. I don't know what the hell it means. For me or for you.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “It's a risk for me too, Jenessa.”

“All right,” she said in a small voice.

“You'll do it?”

“Yes.”

He found he was grinning, a wide grin that seemed to split his face in two. He said exuberantly, “You just made me feel like a million dollars.”

“I hope you feel that way at the end of the weekend.”

“No second thoughts. I'll pick you up in Wellspring on Saturday morning at nine.”

“That early?”

“If we've only got the weekend, I don't want to waste any of it.”

“You've got my phone number if you change your mind,” she said darkly.

“I won't. Neither will you. 'Bye for now.”

Bryce didn't feel quite as confident as he'd sounded. He reached for the phone book. Pulling strings without any compunction, he booked the most luxurious chalet in the resort. Then he threw his socks into his case.

He'd much rather be going to Cape Anne with Jenessa than to Tokyo on his own. But he'd be back on Friday. He had a meeting late that afternoon with an architect who'd roughed up plans for the school Bryce wanted to build. But then he'd have the whole weekend with Jenessa. Beautiful, argumentative, virginal Jenessa.

He should add another adjective, he thought, snapping the lock on his laptop. Courageous. She'd phoned a mother she'd never known, forging, however tentatively, a new relationship. That had taken guts. It sure wasn't the action of a woman who was interested in staying stuck.

So where did that leave him? He'd never, not once, made any attempt to trace his mother or his father.

He knew why. He couldn't bear as an adult to arouse memories of the violence that had terrorized him as a little boy. The shouting, the blows, the drunken rages…they were all there, deeply buried in his brain.

Waiting for him.

Worse than the violence, though, had been a lasting sense of betrayal. He'd loved his mother, and had taken for granted, as a child does, that she loved him back. But then she'd left him as cold-bloodedly as if he'd been an old shirt she'd tossed to the floor.

He'd buried the pain of that betrayal, too. But wasn't
it one more reason why commitment was, for him, a dirty word?

If he'd never told Travis any of this, how could he tell Jenessa?

O
N
S
ATURDAY
morning, when Bryce pulled up outside Jenessa's little Quaker house, it was raining. Not a downpour, but a gentle, steady rain that showed no signs of lifting. He didn't really care. If they spent the whole weekend in bed, that would be fine with him.

How would she feel about this agenda?

He got out of the car and ran for the front door, which was open. Knocking on the screen, he called, “Jenessa?”

“Come on in.”

An overnight bag was sitting on the floor by the door. Then she came out of her bedroom, giving him a distracted smile. “Lousy weather for heading to the beach.”

“It should clear tomorrow,” he said, drinking in her appearance. Slim white pants, a formfitting blue sweater with a scooped neck, and an unbuttoned silk shirt.

She wasn't meeting his eyes. He walked up to her, put his arms around her and kissed her firmly on the mouth. Holding herself rigidly in his embrace, she muttered against his lips, “One minute I want to tear the clothes off your body, the next minute I want to run straight for the Berkshire Hills.”

Tilting her chin so she had no choice but to look at him, Bryce said with all the willpower he possessed, “Running away and being stuck are two sides of the same coin.”

She blinked. “I suppose you're right.”

“Some day soon we'll go to the Berkshires together. I know a wonderful inn beside a river—their chocolate rum pie is to die for. And no, I haven't stayed there with a woman.”

She said in a strangled voice, “When you decide you want to end this affair, I want lots of warning.”

“Jenessa, we haven't even begun! I swear I won't dump you like a bag of garbage, what kind of a guy do you think I am?”

Picking at one of the buttons on his shirt, she said, “I don't know you at all. Not really.”

“That's why we're going away together, to find out about each other,” he said more gently. “Is this bag all you're taking?”

“And my paint box. I don't go anywhere without that.”

“Let's go, then. I've got a thermos of coffee and a couple of Danish in the car.”

“When all else fails, eat carbohydrates?”

He laughed. “Are raspberry Danish the way to your heart? You see, I'm learning already.”

“If they're Wilma Lawson's, they are.” With sudden intensity Jenessa added, “Do you want to learn about me?”

“Yes,” he said slowly, “I do,” and knew the words for the truth. A truth whose implications were beyond him.

She reached up, kissed him swiftly on the cheek, and backed away before he could respond. “That's a good start. Let's go, I want to smell the ocean.”

Wondering if he'd ever understand her, Bryce picked up her bag. Four hours later, he was parking the Jaguar beside a cedar chalet hedged in with evergreens to which the rain clung in bright droplets; the place reminded him of the cottage he owned in Maine. The surf was low, its lazy, murmurous rhythm falling softly on his ears. A gull wailed overhead.

Nothing could be further from the tenement he'd lived in with his parents. But why was he thinking of that now?

He got out of the car, stretched his legs and unlocked the trunk to get their bags. He knew exactly what he was
going to do. And how he was going to do it. He said casually, “Want to bring your painting gear?”

Jenessa had been rather quiet ever since they'd stopped for lunch. Bryce walked inside the chalet, glancing appreciatively at the stone fireplace, the polished wood floors and comfortable couch beside tall windows that overlooked the ocean. Quickly he closed the vertical blinds. Then he walked over to Jenessa, picked her up, dropped her unceremoniously on the wide bed and fell on top of her. “Gotcha,” he said, laughing.

“I—”

“There's a time for talk, Jenessa, and this ain't it,” he said. “Kiss me.”

“You're being very dictatorial.”

“Twelve years is too long to wait.”

“So we're going to make love?” she said, her eyes huge in her face. “Finally?”

“That's the plan. Why don't you close your eyes and kiss me as though right here in bed is just where you want to be?”

She gave a breathless laugh. “But it is. Oh, Bryce, it is.”

The softness of her breasts against his chest was driving him out of his mind. Her perfume was subtle, her lips utterly enticing. He felt his groin harden and shifted position, wanting her to take the first step. Willingly and unafraid.

She looped her arms around his neck. “This time you'll let it all happen?”

“All the way.”

“Oh, yes…” She drew his head down very slowly, flicking at his lips with her tongue until he thought anticipation would burst his chest open. Only then did she bring him closer, nibbling at his mouth with a sensuality that set his heart pounding. By the time she did kiss him, a deep, passionate kiss, Bryce's head was swimming. He let his tongue dance with hers, lifting some of his weight
from her as she moved her hips beneath him in slow circles. He said roughly, “You're driving me crazy.”

“We've got too many clothes on,” she whispered.

Raising himself on one elbow, he eased her shirt free of her shoulders, then pulled her sweater over her tumbled hair. Her bra followed. His gaze lingering on the sweet curves of her breasts, he reached for her trousers, pulling them down her thighs. Last of all, he removed her silky underwear. She lay still, her cheeks flushed, as he let his eyes wander over her from head to foot. Then she said faintly, “You're the only man in my whole life who's seen me like this.”

“I feel as though you're the first and only woman I've ever been with,” he said, shucking off his shirt and reaching for the zipper on his trousers. As he kicked off his briefs, she was already stroking his chest, playing with his nipples in their tangle of hair, her own hair falling tangled and sweetly scented to his shoulder. Briefly he closed his eyes, wanting to savor every sensation.

She brought her mouth to his chest, slid it downward to his navel, then lower still until she found the hardness that was all his passionate need of her. His stifled gasp of pleasure sounded very loud. Arching over her, Bryce buried his fingers in her hair, allowing her the freedom of his body. The ivory slopes of her shoulders and the long curve of her spine entranced him; how would he ever get enough of her?

When he knew he couldn't bear her caresses any longer, he lifted her bodily, kissing her until he couldn't breathe. Her breasts, the gentle concavity of her belly, the warm, wet folds between her thighs, he found them all, one by one; wishing only to give her what she'd given him, he explored with fingers and mouth and tongue, reining in his own passion to feed hers. His reward was to watch the flames ignite in her irises, and hear her quick, panting breaths, her frantic pleas for more.

Only when he was sure she was ready did he reach for
the foil envelope he'd had the presence of mind to place by the bed. Then he moved to enter her, again forcing himself to hold back, to be as gentle as he knew how. But he had to hurt her. There was no other way.

He saw pain tighten her features, and pulled away. But Jenessa thrust toward him. In a broken voice she cried, “Now, Bryce…now.”

Her cry pierced him to the heart; but then she enveloped him in the wet darkness of her body. For a few precious seconds it was as though everything stopped. Her eyes were fastened to his, and in them he saw wonderment and pride briefly eclipse hunger. She said his name very softly, once, then again.

It was a strange moment for him to feel humble. He said huskily, “Such a gift you've given me, Jenessa.”

“Oh, no, it's you—you're giving me myself.”

Tenderness washed over him, as vast as the ocean and as mysterious. He made no attempt to hide it; wasn't sure he could. Tenderness was new to Bryce; as new as what Jenessa was experiencing in bed with him.

Again she thrust her body into his; his face convulsed, desire asserting its primitive claims. Touching her where she was most sensitive, watching the storm gather in her face, he waited until she was falling into its heart before he allowed himself to fall with her.

His cry mingled with hers, his inner convulsions mirroring her own. He collapsed on top of her, his harsh breathing stirring her hair. Against his rib cage he could feel the racing of her heart, an astonishing intimacy even after all they had shared. Putting his arms around her, he held her close; and knew in his heart he never wanted to let her go.

Bryce pushed that thought aside, as the tumult of release gradually quietened. Only then did he raise his head. “Next time,” he said with a crooked grin, “I'll show a little more finesse.”

“You were perfect,” Jenessa said, her own smile so
radiant that his throat closed with emotion. “I can't tell you how happy I am that I waited for you.”

And what was he to say to that? “I'm honored that you did,” he said clumsily.

Tenderness, humility, honor…what was going on? Not that he was going to analyze it when Jenessa was lying so trustingly in his arms. So obviously happy.

“Your body is beautiful,” she said, running her fingers along his shoulder to the pulse at the base of his throat.

His blood thickened. He said with an edge of laughter, “Unfortunately, making sure we don't start a baby means I have to head for the bathroom.”

“But you'll come back.”

“You've already persuaded me.”

“I didn't do anything,” she teased.

“You don't have to,” he said, and eased free of her.

In the bathroom, Bryce looked at himself in the mirror for a long moment. He looked the same as he always did: eyes, mouth, nose and hair all in their accustomed places. But he didn't feel the same. He felt as though he'd been hit over the head with a baseball bat.

One woman had done that to him.

All I did was take Jenessa to bed, he told himself. How about I go back now, and do it again…and this time it'll be ordinary. Pleasurable, of course. But not earth-shattering.

She'd pulled the covers down in his absence, and was lying on the dark sheets, her body a flow of long, lissome curves. His groin stirred, his hunger unslaked. Then she opened her arms to him, a small gesture that tore through his defences. In a blur of movement he fell on the bed and pulled her hard against him. “God, how I want you,” he muttered into her throat. Then he was kissing her as though they'd never kissed before.

This time Jenessa was more sure of herself, more sensual and more playful. Laughter mingled with their quickened breathing and their bodies' mounting passion; until,
once again, they plummeted into the throb of release, that place of darkness and light, of a pleasure so sharp as to be almost painful.

Bryce lay very still. Ordinary? Nothing about Jenessa was ordinary. Nor was anything in his response. Earlier, he'd talked to her about his own risk in this affair he was embarking on. But had he meant it? Had he seriously considered that affairs by their very definition end? That the two people involved move on to other lovers, other beds?

He couldn't stand the thought of Jenessa in another man's arms.

She said softly, “You've gone away from me. What are you thinking about, Bryce?”

He'd always known she was astute. He looked up, smoothing her hair back from her face; her cheeks were delicately flushed. “I told you I'd be faithful to you,” he said bluntly. “But I never thought to ask the same of you.”

“It's not even an issue. Of course I will be.” She bit her lip. “Until we go our separate ways.”

“Don't let's talk about that. Not now.”

“Sooner or later we'll have to.”

“But not today.” He smoothed the voluptuous curve of her lip with his finger. “I hate to sound so prosaic, and I know we ate lunch on the way, but I'm starving.”

“Sex burns a lot of calories,” she said, just as though she'd been doing it all her adult life.

They showered together, which took quite a while. Then they wandered hand in hand up to the main lodge in search of a snack. While they ate, Jenessa told him about the time she'd spent in New York with Leonora: how they'd gone to art galleries and to the studio where her mother taught modern dance; how they'd talked and talked, starting to bridge their long absence from each other; how they'd hugged each other at the station when Jenessa had left to come home. “I have you to thank,
Bryce,” she concluded. “If you hadn't sent me that video, I'd still be estranged from my mother.”

“You'd have done something about it yourself sooner or later,” he said evenly.

“Later, maybe. Not sooner. Why do you have such a hard time accepting gratitude?”

Because it's another step toward an intimacy I can't handle.
Bryce forced himself to smile. “You're welcome,” he said. Stroking her fingertips with lingering pleasure, he added, “Finished? Shall we go back?”

Predictably, they made love before dinner. They also had a wild coupling in the middle of the night, and as a result were the last to arrive for breakfast. After breakfast, Jenessa fell asleep on the couch. Bryce sat in the chair across from her, ostensibly reading, in actuality gazing at her sleeping face as though it might give him some answers. Some clues as to what was going on. If this weekend had been intended to teach him more about her, it had succeeded, he thought. Her courage he'd never doubted. But her readiness to trust him, to expose her body's needs and vulnerabilities to him, were new.

He'd sworn off marriage long ago, partly because he'd seen the terrible damage it could inflict. And along with that had gradually hardened a resolve never to bring a child of his own into the world. He wasn't so naive as to think that all unions were like his parents' or that there were no happy children. In the last year, Travis, Julie and now Samantha had given the lie to that. But commitment of any kind made him feel trapped. Caged. Caught.