The Tycoon's Virgin Bride (5 page)

“Are you okay, Bryce?” Julie asked, resting her arm on his sleeve. “You look as though someone's just hit you on the head.”

Julie was far too acute; Bryce made a manful effort to get himself under control. Smiling into her emerald-green eyes, he said lamely, “Yeah…sorry. You'd think I'd be
used to jet lag by now. But these short trips are always murder on the system.”

“We're going to stay overnight. I think you should, too.”

“I'll see how I feel later on. That's a gorgeous hat, by the way.”

Julie's hat, wide-brimmed and the exact shade of her eyes, was perched on the gleaming dark cap of her hair. “Travis found it for me,” she said, giving her husband the smile that always hurt something deep inside Bryce. He was never going to love anyone that much. Because the reverse side of love was the terrifying vulnerability it brought; he couldn't imagine how Travis or Julie would survive if anything happened to the other.

Not for him. No, sir.

As Travis put his arm around his wife's shoulders, pulling her to his body, something else was all too obvious to Bryce: their sexual accord. They made no secret of the fact that they adored each other, in bed and out.

Yet a year ago, Travis had been as much a confirmed bachelor as he, Bryce, was now. Take it as a warning, Bryce told himself. Stay away from Jenessa Strathern. Because if ever anyone spelled trouble, she did.

Maybe it was time he found himself another woman. Pronto.

Then, to his great relief, Travis said, “Oh, there's the clergyman. I think we should head down that way.”

“Let me wheel the carriage,” Jenessa offered. She, too, had noticed how tightly strung Bryce was; and she'd been watching surreptitiously while he'd been talking to Leonora and then to Charles and Corinne. Surely he hadn't guessed who she was? She'd made such an effort today to dress in a way that was the antithesis of that funky art student with the purple eyes.

She released the brake on the English pram that had been one of the several gifts her father had showered on his granddaughter, and wheeled it down the slope, aware
through every nerve in her body of Bryce walking behind her. The font had been set up on a concrete pedestal; the clergyman in his long robes was waiting for them. She took her position beside her brother, and drew in a slow, calming breath, doing her best to banish thoughts of Bryce. This wasn't about Bryce. It was about her little niece, Samantha; inwardly she vowed to do her best for a child she loved dearly despite her inexperience with babies.

Bryce stationed himself beside Julie, who had picked up her daughter and was holding her in her arms. The baby's long dress was dazzlingly white in the sunshine.

His mother had abandoned him when he was four. Walked out the door and never come back. His father had vanished the same day.

Bryce slammed these thoughts back where they belonged. Buried deep in his psyche. Ignored. Something that had happened so long ago it had no relevance to him as an adult. His financial success had insured he'd never be poor again, or have to go begging for a home. And that was that.

The old, poetic words of the baptismal service fell one by one against his ears. Samantha's parents would always love her, he'd swear to that; the thought of Travis or Julie abandoning Samantha was more than he could conceive. As for him, he'd do his bit to the best of his ability.

When the cool water touched Samantha's forehead, she woke up, gazing around with her big blue eyes. Then she was passed to Jenessa, who repeated her vows in a steady voice that Bryce found almost unbearably touching.

He was the least sentimental of men. What was wrong with him? Was he losing it?

He stole a sideways glance at her and as quickly looked away, feeling as though he'd intruded on a moment that was intensely private. Nothing to do with him.

All too soon, Jenessa was crossing in front of Travis and Julie, walking as gingerly as if Samantha was made
of the most fragile crystal. As she held the baby out to him, her face looked soft, gentled in a way he'd never seen it before. He wanted to kiss her so badly he could taste it. Or, at the very least, stroke the smooth curve of her face from her brow to her lips.

Then she smiled at him, a sweet smile that penetrated every one of the barriers he'd lived behind for as long as he could remember: as though the barriers had ceased to exist. “Your turn,” she said quietly. “Have you got her?”

On his visits to Travis and Julie since Samantha was born, Bryce had admired the baby, patted her on the head and lavished her with presents; but he'd avoided having to pick her up. Rather cleverly, he'd thought. Certainly neither Travis nor Julie had ever insisted he do so.

But now he was caught.

Jenessa's hand slid from under his, her breast brushing his sleeve as with exquisite care she transferred Samantha from her arms to his; then he was holding Travis's daughter. She felt more substantial than Bryce had expected, wriggling in a way that made him tighten his grip in sudden fear that she'd fall from his hold. Instantly her little face crumpled. To his horror she started to whimper.

He did his best to pay attention to the clergyman, repeating the words he'd carefully rehearsed that morning on the plane. Samantha was bawling now, straining against him, her little face bright red and streaked with tears, her tiny mouth quivering pitiably. He could subdue an entire boardroom and make them listen to him; he could solve complicated problems with a creativity that had helped build his fortune and his reputation. But a ten-pound baby was more than he could handle.

Crossing in front of Julie, Travis came to his rescue. “Here, I'll take her. Shush, Samantha, we're almost done.”

As though a switch had been flipped, Samantha stopped crying and smiled angelically at her father. A ripple of
laughter ran through the guests. The benediction was pronounced and Bryce heaved a sigh of relief, running his fingers around his collar. Charles, Corinne and Leonora gathered around, cooing at the baby. Momentarily forgetting that he was furious with her, Bryce said to Jenessa, “Thank goodness that's over.”

“It's only just begun,” she said innocently. “You've promised to comfort and support her all her life.”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “The thought makes me tremble. Do you think Charles is going to serve anything stronger than tea at this shindig?”

“If not, I'm sure someone will be able to rustle up some rum to add to your cup.”

Her teeth were very white; she looked so carefree and happy when she laughed. When had he ever felt so strongly pulled toward a woman?

Grimly Bryce answered his own question. Twelve years ago, that was when. He'd buried that memory along with so much else. But at the time it had shaken him to the roots to realize that the panting, writhing creature in his arms in that hotel room was a virgin; and it had taken every ounce of his resolve to pull himself off her.

That, of course, was before he'd found out she was seventeen.

Had every woman since then simply been a substitute? Had he ever again experienced such a tumult of desire as had overwhelmed him that night? Maybe it wasn't coincidence that a few months after he'd met Jenessa, he'd made some major changes in his lifestyle.

Hating the direction his thoughts were taking him, Bryce watched her face subtly change. “What's the matter?” she said uneasily.

Before he could answer, Charles had come up to the two of them. “A lovely ceremony,” he said gruffly, patting his daughter on the arm. “I'm so glad you were able to attend, Jenessa.”

Any vestige of laughter vanished from Jenessa's face. She said stiffly, “I'd do a great deal for Samantha.”

“Corinne and I hope you'll be able to stay overnight. It's your first visit to Manatuck in years, you mustn't leave too soon.”

“Unfortunately I have to go back this evening,” she said with a noticeable lack of regret in her voice. “Artists don't sit around and wait for inspiration to strike—they work for their living.”

“Indeed they do,” Charles said. “We hope you'll send us an invitation to your opening, I'm anxious to see what you've accomplished.”

“I'll speak to the gallery owner,” Jenessa said crisply.

“Fine, fine. Now I'll let you talk to your mother.”

Charles removed himself in a way that enabled him to smile vaguely in Leonora's direction without actually having to speak to her. Bryce smothered his amusement. This gathering of Stratherns was land-mined with potential disasters. A wife who'd supposedly died, a second wife who hadn't known she existed, a husband who'd lied his way out of the whole mess and estranged himself from two of his three children…maybe his own situation wasn't so bad, Bryce thought cynically, and stayed exactly where he was so he could observe Jenessa and her mother.

While Leonora looked elegant and assured in her silk pantsuit, Bryce could tell that she was very much on edge. “Hello, Jenessa,” she said. “I'm pleased to see you, and I'm delighted you're Samantha's godmother. She's a sweetheart, isn't she?”

Little lines of strain were bracketing Jenessa's mouth. But she replied politely, “I'm not sure Bryce would agree.”

“I was afraid I'd drop her,” he said. “Especially when she started to howl.”

Leonora laughed. “She's got excellent lungs. Are you staying for long?”

“Not sure,” Bryce said.

“No,” said Jenessa.

Leonora looked straight at her daughter. “If I may, I'd like to attend your opening in July.”

“It's a long way for you to come,” Jenessa said.

“Not really. There's a shuttle between New York and Boston.”

“Then I'll see you get an invitation.”

“Thank you. Now will you both excuse me? I want to congratulate Corinne on her roses.”

Gracefully Leonora walked away, her head held high. Bryce said tightly, “Well done, Jenessa. The fine art of insulting someone without actually being rude—you've got it down pat.”

Jenessa looked around. Momentarily she and Bryce were isolated from the other guests, who were drifting down the slope toward the gaily decorated tent where luncheon was waiting. “Perhaps you could learn something from me,” she said sweetly, “since your insults go hand in hand with rudeness.”

“I haven't known Leonora for long, but I'll tell you one thing—she's a fine woman.”

“I never said she wasn't!”

“She's your mother, for Pete's sake. You'd talk to your cleaning lady with more warmth.”

“I don't have a cleaning lady—I can't afford one.”

“Come off it. Charles is one of the richest men in the state.”

“My financial status is nothing to do with you.” Jenessa turned on her heel, throwing her words back over her shoulder as she headed for the tent. “This christening is hard enough without you setting yourself up as judge and jury. Leave me alone, Bryce. I'll do my part for Samantha and you can do yours. Just because we're her godparents doesn't mean we have to like each other.”

A couple of the guests were glancing her way, curious about her raised voice. Bryce stayed where he was. He could afford to wait. After the luncheon was over, most
of the guests would be going back to the mainland. He'd make sure Jenessa wasn't among them, and then he'd have the confrontation with her that was surging through his body like an ocean storm.

It wasn't a fight about money. Or about Leonora, angry though it had made him to hear Jenessa treat her mother so off-handedly. Nor was it about her emotional distance from her father. That, knowing what Travis had told him, he could forgive.

No. It was about a young art student who'd lied to him twelve years ago. About her age and about her identity.

Lies that he, for all his experience with women, had fallen for.

L
UNCHEON
was served in the dappled sunlight of the garden. A chamber orchestra played Mozart and Strauss; white-jacketed waiters looked after the guests with smiling efficiency, plying them with food and the best of wines. The seafood hors d'oeuvres, the salads, chicken in phyllo and raspberry pavlova were all delicious.

On the surface Jenessa carried her share of the conversation with wit and charm, chatting with people she'd never met before and probably never would again. But inwardly she was much too uptight to enjoy herself, restricting her wine to one glass and nibbling at her food. Bryce, so she'd noticed as soon as she'd taken her seat, had positioned himself as far from her as possible. He was giving every appearance of having a wonderful time.

She'd leave right after lunch. She was horribly afraid that if he hadn't already guessed her double identity, he soon would.

She should never have come.

She should never, with all the ineptitude of a teenager, gone to bed with a successful, ruthless entrepreneur who was her brother's best friend. What had she been thinking of?

His body. That's what.

Which was just about all she'd been thinking of today, too. Smothering an inner moan of despair, she did her best to comment intelligently on the Impressionistic paintings at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. Coffee and tea were now being served in transparent bone china cups decorated with gold. Another hour and she'd be back on the launch.

It couldn't be too soon.

But as luncheon wound to a close, Julie came over to her, and in a stage whisper said, “Once the crowd's dispersed, we're all heading for the pool and the hot tub.”

“I've got to go home,” Jenessa said.

“Oh, no, you can't!” Julie said, looking so disappointed that Jenessa felt instantly guilty. “Not yet. What time's your flight?”

“Well, not until eight-thirty. But—”

“You've got loads of time, then. Do stay for a while, Jenessa. You haven't had the chance to talk to my parents, have you? And you and I get so little time together. As you know, Travis and I are going to Mexico in a couple of months.”

Travis acted as a consultant in various tropical countries, while Julie was a physiotherapist who'd worked overseas for years. Jenessa said bluntly, “Bryce Laribee may be my brother's best friend. But I find him rude and abrasive, and I'm not anxious to spend any more time than I have to in his vicinity.”

Julie frowned. “He was kind of rude to you, wasn't he? I don't know what that was all about…he's normally charming with women. And most of them are all too ready to be charmed.”

“Not this woman.”

“You've got to admit he's a hunk.”

“Hunkdom can go only so far,” Jenessa said loftily.

“You're too pure-minded,” Julie teased. “You will stay though, Jenessa?”

The alternative was to sit in the Portland airport reading a paperback about post-structuralism. “Okay,” Jenessa said reluctantly.

Julie linked her arm with Jenessa's. “I'll stand guard and make sure Bryce keeps his distance.”

The pool was protected from the Atlantic winds by vine-clad, columned lattices and a luxuriously appointed lounging area complete with bar service. Dipping her toe
in, Jenessa discovered the water was deliciously warm. Corinne had produced a brand-new bikini for her, and so far Bryce was nowhere in sight. Quickly Jenessa dived in.

She had the pool to herself, as Travis and Julie had disappeared to feed and change Samantha; and she loved to swim. Masefield, the township nearest to Wellspring, boasted a pool, and she swam there at least once a week. She began doing laps in a smooth overarm crawl, feeling her muscles loosen and the tension seep from her spirit. By the time she'd done ten lengths, she decided she'd been exaggerating both her reaction to Bryce and the fear that he might recognize her.

Breathing easily, Jenessa turned at the far end of the pool. She'd leave on the launch at around five-thirty; in the meantime, she could count on Julie to help deflect Bryce's attention. Then, as though she'd called him up, another swimmer surged alongside her, a man whose blond hair was slicked to his skull. She'd have known his body anywhere, she thought in sudden panic. Had she forgotten anything about him?

Bryce began swimming parallel to her, leaving trails of bubbles in the turquoise water. He was keeping pace with her exactly, his muscular legs finning smoothly, his arms stroking with easy strength.

Jenessa speeded up. So did he. She did an economical tumble turn against the wall of the pool, and with true fury realized he'd done the identical maneuver. Again she increased her speed, her one desire to leave him behind. But gradually in the next two lengths of the pool he out-paced her, so that all she could see was the froth of his wake ahead of her.

Jenessa wasn't one to give up easily. She kicked off hard on her next turn, pushing herself to her limit, and to her satisfaction saw the gap between them narrow. However, as she came level with him, he grinned at her through the turbulent water and pulled further ahead.

She was breathing hard, her legs and shoulders aching;
all her hard-won peace had evaporated in an anger that frightened her with its intensity. Snaking sideways, she stroked to the side of the pool and pulled herself up the ladder, her mood not improved when she saw that she and Bryce had had an audience: Charles, Corinne, Leonora and an older couple she assumed were Julie's parents. “Good try!” Charles called out.

Jenessa would have preferred no one to have witnessed that very childish display of one-upmanship. However, she produced a smile and padded toward the diving board, where she neatly executed a jackknife. When she surfaced, she came face-to-face with Bryce. He said, grinning, “Start your tumble turns six inches closer to the wall—that way you can get more propulsion.”

She said coldly, “When I want your advice, I'll ask for it.”

“Poor loser, Jenessa?”

“Do you always have to win, Bryce?”

He shook his wet hair out of his eyes. “You're a better diver than I am.”

“You're too generous.”

He said softly, “Don't push your luck—Jan.”

Her wet lashes flickered. “You mean Jen. That's what Travis calls me.”

“Jan is what I said.”

“Then I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Don't tell me there have been so many men in the interim that you've forgotten about a certain hotel room in Manhattan twelve years ago?”

In a great splash, Julie landed in the water beside them. “Last one in's a rotten egg,” she yelled at Travis and Brent, who were poised on the edge.

Travis heaved a large red ball into the pool and dived in after it. “Water polo,” he gasped as he surfaced. “Bryce and I were on the school team.”

Water polo was fine with Jenessa; she'd have walked the length of the pool on her hands and knees to get away
from Bryce. The rowdy game that followed had elastic rules and, on Jenessa's part at least, involved swallowing rather a lot of water: her mind was anywhere but on what she was doing.

Bryce knew who she was. He'd made the link between Travis's sister and the funky art student who'd ended up in his bed. A corrosive anxiety slowed all her movements, making her clumsy and inept. But tense as she was, she still couldn't ignore the sleek pelt of wet hair on Bryce's chest, the arc of his rib cage or the deep hollows above his collarbones.

He looked as though he hadn't got a care in the world.

Then Charles joined them, gamely doing his best to keep up. He and Travis began tousling for the ball at the deep end of the pool, both of them laughing; like a knife in her chest, Jenessa saw for herself the new rapport between father and son, a rapport Travis had described to her but that clearly she hadn't trusted.

She would like the same, she thought with painful truth, treading water. But she had no idea how to go about getting it. Whenever she contemplated making approaches to her father, the past stepped in between them, large and dark and immovable, like a huge boulder or a heavy piece of Victorian furniture.

Maybe it was all her fault. Maybe the reason she'd never fallen in love had nothing to do with Bryce's repudiation of her, but with a lack in herself. The inability to love. An inner failure that made her unable to connect either with her father or with a potential mate.

Bryce said sharply, “You okay, Jenessa?”

She gaped at him as if she'd never seen him before, her blue eyes pools of pain. He took her by the shoulder. “What's the matter? Have you got a cramp?”

“Yes,” she gasped, seizing on the excuse he'd given her, “I'll get out for a few minutes. It's your turn at the far end, you'd better go.”

She hauled herself up the ladder, grabbed a mono-
grammed towel and swiped it over her face and hair. Then she hurried off toward the change rooms. But on the way Corinne beckoned her over, introducing her to Julie's parents, who were positioned on one side of her; Leonora was on the other. Jenessa did her best to hold up her end of the conversation, keeping one eye on the pool; as soon as she decently could, she made her escape.

Quickly she changed into slim-fitting khaki pants, a silk shirt and an embroidered vest, wringing out her wet hair and braiding it to get it out of the way. It was only four o'clock. But there was no reason she couldn't take the launch in the next fifteen minutes, and every reason to do so.

Bryce had guessed who she was. And if she knew anything about him, he was spoiling for a fight.

She didn't have to oblige.

Slipping her feet into her loafers, she left the wet bikini on the plastic stool and opened the door. Bryce, wearing denim shorts and a T-shirt, was standing not ten feet away.

“I've been waiting for you,” he said.

“I have to say my goodbyes. Then I'm getting the launch.”

“Not before we have a talk,” he said, putting an arm around her waist and almost lifting her across the ceramic-floored atrium.

He was fast removing her from the vicinity of the pool. “Put me down,” Jenessa hissed. “Who do you think you are, Attila the Hun?”

“I'm a man who wants a few answers,” he said curtly, “and plans on getting them. In the next five minutes.”

“You know what your problem is? You're too used to getting your own way.”

He gave her a wolfish grin. “I like getting my own way. Why wouldn't I?”

He was now propelling her up the gradual slope of the lawn toward the great gray bulk of the castle. “Are you
going to lock me in the keep?” she seethed. “How very melodramatic.”

“I'd like to keep you locked up,” he snarled.

“Cute pun—”

“Then I'd make love to you day and night for a whole week and see if that'd fix whatever the hell's wrong with me.”

“Oh, you would, would you? If you think—”

“It's all right, Jenessa, I'm not going to do it. Because, frankly, I don't think it would work.” Then he bent his head, wrapped one arm hard around her shoulders and kissed her with an impressive combination of rage and passion.

In a distant part of her brain Jenessa knew she should resist. But how could she, when she more than matched both the rage and the passion? With reckless ardor she kissed him back, twisting in his hold so that her body was pressed to his. As his tongue flicked against her teeth, she opened to him, feeling his other arm grasp her hips and pull her even closer. He was fully aroused; faint with longing, a golden haze of desire behind her closed lids, she moved her own hips against his with a sensuality that had lain dormant for a long time.

As suddenly as he'd seized her, Bryce let go. She swayed against his arm, her blue eyes dazed, her lips swollen from his kiss. “You're right,” she croaked, “a week wouldn't be long enough.”

He made an indecipherable sound compounded of frustration and fury, and half dragged her into the shadows of the tall lilac bushes that hugged the stone walls. The lilacs were in full bloom, spires of purple and white sweetly scenting the air. “Now,” he said grimly, pulling her around to face him, “you're going to come clean.”

Twelve years since Jenessa had felt the pangs of desire; yet Bryce, it seemed, could turn them off at will. Fine, she thought. Two can play that game. “No, I'm not!” she blazed. “You're going to listen to me for a change. And
we're not going to talk about you and me, we're going to talk about Leonora. I know she's my mother, and I know I'm keeping her at a distance. But there's a reason for that, Bryce Laribee, a very good reason, and before you condemn me out of hand, you're going to hear my side of the story.”

“I'm not—”

“Travis once told me about his earliest memory of Leonora…how she was filling a copper bowl with purple lilacs, ones just like these. He thought her hair was like the black waves on a winter sea, he told me that, too. Don't you see? Travis
had
a mother, he remembers her, he was held by her and she read him stories…but I never knew her. She left when I was a baby, I might just as well never have had a mother. But now everyone seems to expect me to open my arms and call her
mom
and act like a proper daughter. I can't do it! She's a stranger to me, a complete and utter stranger.”

“Everyone we meet starts out as a stranger,” Bryce said in a voice as unyielding as the rough-carved stone wall behind him.

“For my entire life I was told she was dead!”

“Yes, your father lied to you, and that was a terrible thing to do. But he's doing his best to make amends, and Leonora desperately wants some kind of relationship with you.” The anger died from his face. “Be very careful, Jenessa—don't substitute your art for real life. That's a dead-end street.”

His words struck Jenessa to the core. Dumbfounded, she gazed up at him. Hadn't she been artistically stuck for the better part of a year? Reworking old themes, unable to substitute new ones, yet still driven to cover canvas with paint day after day…she pressed her hands to her ears in an unconsciously theatrical gesture. “I don't know what you're talking about.”