The Tycoon's Virgin Bride (14 page)

“So you even found out where she was buried.”

“Least I could do.”

“If my dad—my real dad—was a good man, you're a saint, Maybelline Parker.”

“Get away with you,” she said and poured him more tea.

A couple of hours later, Bryce was striding down the street through the heat of early evening. He walked for a long time, his shoulders hunched, his eyes trained on the
sidewalk; and something in his face kept anyone from accosting him. It was only when he realized that his feet had carried him back to his car that he knew what he had to do. Climbing in, he headed out of the city. West, toward Wellspring.

It was already dark. He had no real idea where the time had gone, only that each and every footstep he'd taken had pounded a single word into his ears. Murder.

Murder or accident, his mother had fully intended to stay with her four-year-old son, and build a better life for him. But because of bureaucratic bungling, that information had been denied him all these years.

It started to rain before he hit the highway, hard drops that splattered against the windshield. He slowed down, in no hurry to get to Jenessa's because he didn't really know why he was going. Only that he had no choice.

When he drove down the little lane, his tires splashing through the puddles, the Quaker cottage was in total darkness. It was just past eleven. Jenessa had gone to bed.

Bryce leaned back against the leather seat. His shoulders felt like he'd been lifting weights for two hours straight, while his head was pounding from a combination of caffeine and emotion. He was, he knew, too tired to turn right around and drive back to Boston.

He'd catnap for a few minutes. Then he'd go back.

There was no point in disturbing her. What was he going to say? If he'd only stopped to think before driving all this way, he could have saved himself the journey.

The metallic snap of raindrops on the roof was oddly soothing. Within moments Bryce was fast asleep.

 

Jenessa woke to the rumble and snarl of thunder.

She liked storms. She lay still, waiting until lightning's brief brilliance lit up the room before getting out of bed and padding into the kitchen to get a drink of water. The thunder was getting closer all the time. The garden needed
the rain, she thought, and went to check that the front windows were closed.

A car was parked in the lane. A Jaguar just like Bryce's.

As the next bolt of electricity lit up the sky, she saw a figure slumped in the front seat.

With a gasp of fear she grabbed a flashlight from the shelf in the mudroom, thrust her feet into her rubber boots and threw on her rain slicker. Why was Bryce here in the middle of the night? Was he ill? Had something happened to Travis?

As she left the shelter of the back porch, the rain dashed against her face, almost blinding her. Her slicker blew in the wind like a witch's cape. Slithering in the mud, Jenessa turned onto the lane and reached his car. Raising her fist, she banged on the window and yelled his name.

In the yellow shaft of light she saw Bryce start, his eyes flying open. For a moment she was certain he had no idea where he was, and again she shouted his name.

This time he stared full into the beam of her flashlight. He looked terrible, she thought, and braced herself for bad news. Then he took the keys out of the ignition, reached for the door handle and hauled himself out of the car.

“Come into the house,” she begged, “hurry.”

Leading the way as another lightning bolt bathed the garden in an eerie shade of blue, Jenessa ran for the back door. She held it open for him, and as quickly closed it behind him. Switching off her flashlight, she said shakily, “You're soaked.”

“Yeah…I meant to drive back, and I must have fallen asleep.”

There were bruised shadows under his eyes. “What's wrong, Bryce?” she asked, holding her voice steady with an effort. “Why did you drive out here so late?”

“I found out about my parents,” he said.

“Your parents?” Jenessa faltered. “Then nothing's wrong with Travis? Or Julie and the baby?”

He frowned, raking his fingers through his wet hair.
“What do you mean? I haven't talked to them in over a week.”

“It doesn't matter,” she said rapidly. “Here, sit down and I'll get you an old shirt of Travis's—he gave it to me for gardening and it'll fit you just fine.”

In a moment she was back. Bryce was still sitting where she'd left him, his gray eyes opaque. She knelt to undo the buttons of his shirt, and pulled on the dry one; then, because he was shivering, she wrapped a throw over his shoulders and put the kettle on.

It was this that roused him. “Don't make tea,” he muttered. “I drank some today that was strong enough to walk on. Maybe that's why I kept having nightmares.”

“Have you eaten?”

He said vaguely, “I guess not. Not since noon.”

Five minutes later, Jenessa put a steaming bowl of homemade soup in front of him, with some of Wilma Lawson's crusty bread. “Eat,” she said. “Then we'll talk.”

He devoured the food like a man who was starving. Then he pushed back the bowl. “My real father died before I was born, leaving my mother a widow,” he said tonelessly. “Fletcher was my stepfather, not my biological father.”

As Jenessa gave a startled gasp, Bryce went on, “The reason my mother didn't come back to the shelter to get me was because she was dead. Found with her neck broken at the bottom of a flight of stairs. Fletcher might or might not have pushed her. I'll never know. Not unless I track him down and beat the truth out of him.”

“So she didn't abandon you,” Jenessa whispered.

“No. She was planning on the two of us taking off, and starting over.” His voice cracked. “But she never got the chance. And all these years nobody thought to tell me she was dead.”

He dropped his head into his hands; a long shudder ran through his body. Swiftly Jenessa wrapped her arms
around him, holding him close. Then she whispered, “Did you find anything out about your real father?”

“His name was Neil Jackson. His middle name was Bryce. He was a good man, according to my mother. Had he lived, I suppose he'd have given me a decent, normal childhood. Like any kid deserves.”

“So much waste,” Jenessa said, appalled.

“Yeah…I came here to tell you about it, but you'd gone to bed. I was planning to drive back but I must have gone out like a light.”

“I'm glad you're here,” she said simply. “If you've had enough to eat, let's go to bed, Bryce.”

It was a measure of the shock he'd sustained that Bryce got into bed beside her without any argument. As she held him close, he fell asleep with the suddenness of the little boy he'd been; with his eyes closed, his face had the vulnerability of that little boy.

Lightning flickered through the curtains. Thunder growled like a caged wolf. Against her cheek Jenessa could feel the warmth of Bryce's breathing, infinitely precious to her.
I'm in love with you,
she thought.
I've fallen head over heels in love with you and I never realized it until now.

Her palm was curved around his rib cage, her thighs tucked into his. Of course she was in love with him. As a gust of rain hammered the windowpane, her eyes widened in the dark. She'd probably been in love with him ever since she was seventeen. One more reason why she'd never ventured into another man's bed.

Complex, passionate Bryce, the man who brought her body to fulfillment and enlivened her soul. As happiness flooded her in an irresistible tide, she hugged it to her much as she was holding his sleeping body.

She'd been mistaken to worry that she was unable to love anyone. Her mother, her father…and now Bryce: her heart had expanded to include them all.

How lucky she was.

Jenessa was drifting off to sleep herself when a very obvious thought jerked her eyes open. Bryce no longer had to fear that he carried in his blood Fletcher Laribee's violence. Fletcher was only his stepfather, not his true father. Furthermore, Rose, his mother, hadn't abandoned and betrayed him; she'd died instead. Did that mean that maybe, just maybe, Bryce would rethink the whole question of commitment? Would he understand that he could allow himself more than a temporary liaison?

Would he fall in love with her?

I
T WAS
midmorning before Jenessa woke. Bathed in a warm sensuality, she realized a man's body was pressed to hers, a body all too ready to make love to her. She smiled at Bryce. “Yes, please,” she said.

Laughter banished the shadows from his face. “You're easy.”

“Where you're concerned.”

She might lack the courage to tell him she loved him in so many words; but she could show him with her body, she thought, and nibbled at his lips with exquisite sensuality. “What a lovely surprise to find you in my bed—it's a great way to wake up.”

“I'm not inclined to argue,” he said with a lazy grin. But his eyes were sparked with fire and his arm pulled her strongly into his body, so warm, so well known, so infinitely desirable.

Catching fire from him, she kissed him with all the eroticism he aroused in her. With a suddenness that inflamed her, he pushed her thighs open and thrust between them. More than ready for him, Jenessa matched her rhythms to his, achingly aware of his hands on her breasts, her waist and hips. She writhed beneath him until the world exploded into light and color and there was nothing left but the rapid pounding of his heart and her own blood racing through her veins.

Bryce buried his face in her hair. “Sorry,” he gasped, “that was way too fast.”

“You don't hear me complaining.”

“I—I just had to know that you were there. Real. Not a dream. I know I'm not making any sense.”

She said, allowing her newly discovered love to soften her voice, “Bryce, I'm here for you. For as long as you want.”

“You're more than I deserve,” he said roughly.

She had no idea how to reply to this. “Anyway,” she said pertly, “we've got all morning. Or at least, I have.”

He nuzzled her shoulder with his lips. “You figure I'm leaving for Boston right now?”

“Maybe not right now…oh, do that again.”

Obligingly he did so; as he did, the telephone shrilled from the kitchen. Jenessa said faintly, “Whoever wants me to pick that up is out of luck. Bryce, you're driving me crazy, I can't get enough of you…” Then, for quite some time, she stopped talking altogether.

The phone rang again, early in the afternoon. But Jenessa had informed Bryce half an hour earlier that it was her turn to seduce him: with enthusiasm and a charming assertiveness she brought to play all her newly discovered skills, along with the sure knowledge of what drove him to the brink. Afterward, they both fell sound asleep.

It was past three when Jenessa woke to find Bryce leaning on one elbow, watching her. She smiled at him drowsily. “Where's my lunch? Caviar and champagne'll do.”

“How about bread and cheese?”

“That'll do, too…I'm starving.”

“Beat you to the shower.”

Predictably this further delayed lunch. Jenessa was slicing bread, an idiotic grin on her face, and Bryce was rummaging in the refrigerator when a knock came at the front door. Puzzled, Jenessa said, “Who could that be?”

Trying to comb a little order into her hair with her fingers, she headed for the door and pulled it open. “Hi, sis,” Travis said.

“Oh,” said Jenessa. “Hi. Julie…and Samantha. Come in.” She blushed. “Bryce is here, we were just making lunch.”

Travis eyed her scarlet cheeks. “Lunch? Kind of late in the day for that.”

Bryce came out from the kitchen, a bunch of lettuce in one hand and a hunk of cheese in the other. “Want a sandwich?” he said. “What are you doing down this way?”

“We're on our way to a medical conference in New York. Decided to take our time and drive. Didn't you get our message?”

“Message?” Jenessa repeated, wishing her intelligence would catch up with her blush reflex.

“We phoned,” Travis explained patiently. “A couple of times.”

Bryce grinned, making no attempt to sound convincing. “We must have been out in the garden.”

“Anyway, do come in,” Jenessa said, flustered. “Do you want to put Samantha in the bedroom, Julie?” She had, thank heavens, made the bed. “And I've just made iced tea.”

“She should sleep for another hour or two,” Julie said; she was wearing a tailored sundress, her sleek hair gleaming. “You look great, Jenessa.”

“Thanks,” said Jenessa and blushed again.

Travis said blandly, “Glad to see you're taking some time off, Bryce. You work too hard.”

Jenessa fled to the bedroom. Bryce's socks were on the chair. As she picked them up, wondering which drawer she should hide them in, Julie said kindly, “We didn't mean to take you by surprise. But Travis always likes taking the back roads, and we figured if you were home, it would be nice to drop in. And I do know about the birds and the bees, Jenessa.”

Jenessa turned around, the socks clutched in her hand. “I'm still learning,” she muttered.

“I'm sure you've got the best of teachers.”

“Julie, I—this is only temporary. Bryce and me.”

Julie rested her hand on Jenessa's bare arm. “How do
you know, so soon?” she said. “Bryce had a tough life when he was a boy, that's bound to mark him.”

Sudden tears flooded Jenessa's eyes. “I wish you weren't going to Mexico…just when you and I are starting to get to know each other.”

“We'll be back. And you must come for a visit. You could bring Bryce if you want to.”

Carefully she tilted Samantha's car seat backward against the pillows. Jenessa turned away from the baby's sleeping face, so trusting and vulnerable. Bryce must have been like that, once. But by the age of four he'd been exposed to more than any child should know.

She blinked hard and walked back into the kitchen, her back very straight. Bryce and Travis were making sandwiches together: the two men she loved most in the world.

Smarten up, Jenessa. You want the whole world to know you're head over heels in love with your brother's best friend?

She said brightly, “I'll get a couple of tomatoes from the garden.”

When she came back in, the red globes in her hand still warm from the afternoon sun, Travis said easily, “Any new paintings, Jen?”

“One,” she said. “It's for Dad.” And quickly she filled in the details of her visit with Charles the week before.

Travis said quietly, “Good for you.”

Those three small words felt like an accolade. Shyly Jenessa led the way into the studio, where her latest painting stood on the easel. With meticulous realism she'd depicted a hedge of purple lilacs against a stone wall; to one side, wraithlike in the dusk, a little girl was dancing on the grass. Bryce said abruptly, “That's you.”

She nodded. Travis added, “I can almost smell the lilacs.”

“I hope Dad will like it,” Jenessa said.

“It's lovely,” Julie said, “I'm sure he will.”

Jenessa knew the painting wasn't the breakthrough she
was waiting for; she also knew that working on it had given her great pleasure. And with that, she was content.

As they sat around the kitchen table, Travis said, “We're hoping you two will do us a favor. I'd like to take Julie to dinner at the inn in Masefield. Would you baby-sit for us?”

“Look after Samantha? On my own?” Jenessa squeaked. “What if she cried?”

“Pick her up. Besides, Bryce'll keep you company,” Travis said. “We'll come and get her after we eat—we're booked into the local B and B overnight. Come on, sis…Julie and I need a candlelit dinner for two.”

“Red wine and death-by-chocolate,” Julie said dreamily.

“Holding hands under the table,” her husband grinned. “Diapers and romance don't always go together. And the two of you are Samantha's godparents, it's time you lived up to some of those vows you made.”

Bryce laughed. “Laying on a guilt trip, Travis? Cheer up, Jenessa, it can't be that difficult to look after a baby. You put food in one end, and you clean up the other.”

“Will you hang around?” she said suspiciously. “Since you're such an expert.”

“Yes, ma'am…you afraid of twelve pounds of baby?”

“Of course not,” she said, not altogether truthfully. What was she afraid of? Looking after her niece in the company of her lover?

She found out shortly after Travis and Julie had left, when Samantha did wake up crying. “I was hoping she'd sleep all evening,” Jenessa said. “Why don't you get her, Bryce?”

“You're a woman—you're supposed to know about babies.”

“I stayed with a friend's baby once when I was young, and he screamed for four hours straight. I changed him, fed him, rocked him, sang to him—you name it, I did it. I've never looked after a baby since.”

“The one and only time I've ever held a baby was at the christening. You may have noticed she screamed blue murder the whole time.”

“You're a man—you're supposed to stand fast in the face of danger.”

Bryce grinned at her. “Why don't we both get Samantha? Strength in numbers and all that.”

“It's a plan.”

In the bedroom Jenessa awkwardly gathered the baby into her arms; Samantha's little face was screwed up like a monkey's and she was bellowing at the top of her lungs. Bryce warmed a bottle on the stove while Jenessa fumbled with diaper tabs and soapy water; as though sensing Jenessa's inexperience, Samantha cried all the harder. Bryce passed Jenessa the bottle. The baby latched onto it as though she hadn't eaten in days; a few minutes later, when Jenessa patted her on the back, she was rewarded by a juicy belch and a wet-cheeked smile. “Hey,” said Bryce, “you've got the hang of it.”

Jenessa gaped at him as one by one the words tumbled through her mind.
So that's what I want,
she thought in utter clarity.
Marriage, children, love and commitment…all with Bryce. No one else will do. And nothing less.

She thrust the child at him. “You feed her the rest. I'll clean up the table.”

But Bryce was staring at her, and made no move to take Samantha. “What's going on, Jenessa?”

“Nothing! What do you mean?” she gabbled. “We're both godparents—it's your turn to do some of the work.”

Bryce said harshly, “I never fed a baby in my life.”

“She won't care.”

Samantha gave a fretful whimper. And Bryce, feeling as though he was crossing his own personal Rubicon, lifted the baby from Jenessa's arms.

When he'd held Samantha at the christening, all he'd been aware of was how hard she was crying. But now,
through her cotton nightgown, he allowed himself to feel the warmth of her little body; she was gazing at him unblinkingly with her big blue eyes. He gazed back, a lump in his throat, as she produced a charming, toothless grin. Hastily he jammed the teat in her mouth. She started to suck lustily.

Feeling inordinately proud of himself, as though he'd achieved something quite remarkable, Bryce said, “This isn't so difficult.” When Samantha had drained the bottle, he dandled her in his lap. She was so small, so helpless.

How could anyone hurt a child?

The question had come into his head without conscious volition; but once there, he couldn't dislodge it. He'd done his best to keep his mother's fate at bay ever since he'd left Maybelline's yesterday evening. But it was there nevertheless, dark and heavy, ultimately unknowable. Had his mother felt this same flood of tenderness when she'd held him in her arms?

He'd never know the answer to that question.

“Bryce,” Jenessa whispered, “what's wrong?”

He looked at the woman standing by the stove, the overhead light glinting in the wild mass of her hair. What if this was his baby, his and Jenessa's? How would he feel then? Would he protect his child from harm, as a father should? Or would he hurt it, as Fletcher had?

More questions he couldn't answer, he thought grimly. The kind of questions that made him want to run for his life.

“We should put her back to bed,” he said, distantly pleased with how normal he sounded.

“Yes,” she said steadily, “and then you can tell me what's going on.”

Maybe I will, he thought, going back into the bedroom. And maybe I won't. How could he, even to himself, have admitted the possibility of having a child with Jenessa? In his books, children meant commitment. Meant love.

He didn't love Jenessa.

But did she love him? After tucking Samantha into her little bed, he stood still, frowning at the wall. All along, Jenessa had denied having such feelings for him. But was she telling the truth?

He remembered the radiance in her face when they'd made love this morning, the tenderness that had imbued all her movements. What were they, if not love?

What had she said to him?
I'm here for you. For as long as you want.
Weren't they the words of a woman in love?

He didn't want Jenessa falling in love with him, he couldn't handle it. It was that simple.

Samantha, slurping at her fist, had settled down immediately. So Bryce had no excuse to linger in the bedroom. And he couldn't very well leave for Boston now, Travis wouldn't be impressed. So he walked back into the kitchen, where Jenessa was making tea, and said easily, “We're a couple of pros when it comes to babies.”

“Bryce,” she said, clutching the teapot to her chest, “you told me the bare bones of your parents' story last night. But not how you felt about any of it.”

“It's too soon to know.”

“You must have some feelings!”

“Don't push me, Jenessa,” he said tautly.

“How else am I to find out what's going on inside you?”

“Why do you need to?”

She flinched. “We slept together last night. Then we made love most of the day. Doesn't that mean anything to you?”

“Of course it does! But it's got nothing to do with my parents.”

“What does it mean to you, Bryce?”