by Joan Hohl
“How magnanimous of you,” Val drawled.
“Yeah, I know,” Jonas retorted. Bending swiftly, he gave her a quick, hard kiss, then swung away before she could raise her culinary weapon. At the kitchen archway, he paused again to shoot a glance at her, a blatantly sexy smile curving his lips now. “On second thought, I don’t believe I will beat you,” he said slowly in a low, enticing tone. “I have other, infinitely more effective methods to change your mind.” Whistling softly, he ambled from the room.
And those methods usually work too, darn it! Val acknowledged in silence as she returned her attention to her meal. While she stirred the contents of the wok, she absently skimmed the tip of her tongue over her lips, savoring the taste that was uniquely Jonas. Feeling desire uncurl deep inside her, Val sighed and shook herself free of the web of sensuality he had so effortlessly woven around her.
Not this time, she promised herself grimly. She was going to San Francisco, and nothing Jonas could say or do would dissuade her. Not because she was all that fervently dedicated to the cause of preserving artistic individuality. The individuality Val was dedicated to preserving was her own. Jonas’s personality was so very strong that Val actively feared she’d be swallowed up by it if she didn’t assert herself. San Francisco was Val’s statement on the subject.
Dashing into the powder room off the front foyer, Val checked her makeup while removing the large butterfly hair clips that anchored her black mane. A quick attack with a brush, a shrug of her shoulders, and she was dashing back into the kitchen, her sharp-eyed gaze sweeping the table as she passed the archway that led into the dining room.
The oval cherry wood table was set for two with delicate china, lead crystal and sterling silver cutlery on wide, lacy place mats. An arrangement of spring blossoms with two tall slim candles rising from their midst stood in the center of the table.
Val was removing two wooden bowls of salad from the crisper drawer in the refrigerator when she caught sight of Jonas’s tall figure entering the kitchen. He had removed his suit jacket and necktie, had opened the two top buttons of his pale blue shirt and had rolled up the sleeves, revealing his lightly haired forearms. The sight of him, so tall, muscularly slender and devastatingly handsome in his chiseled, rugged way, caused a tremor in Val’s arms. The bowls tilted precariously, nearly dumping the salad onto the floor. With a sigh of acceptance, Val concentrated on steadying both her hands and the contents of the bowls.
It was always the same, Val mused, backing away from the fridge. Even after three years of marriage and the difficulties they had been through, Jonas didn’t have to do anything but walk into a room to set her pulse racing.
“Is there something I can do to help?” he asked, offering assistance, as he never failed to do. Val had adamantly refused to hire a housekeeper.
“Yes.” Val shut the fridge door with a sideways nudge of her hip. “You can take these in to the table.” She handed him the bowls. “Oh, and light the candles, please,” she called after him.
“What about wine?” Jonas asked a moment later from the dining-room archway, where he stood watching her transfer the food from the wok to serving dishes.
“You choose.” Glancing up, Val frowned at the smile that was tugging at his sculpted mouth. She knew absolutely nothing about wine, which never failed to amuse Jonas. Sweeping by him with the large serving tray, Val promised herself that someday she’d enroll for a course on wine appreciation—if and when she ever found the time.
Jonas knew quite a lot about wine, and the one he chose had just the proper texture to complement their meal.
Sipping the pale gold liquid from the fragile flute, Val watched Jonas as he eagerly consumed three-quarters of the food she’d placed on the table. Meanwhile, she merely made a show of eating the small portion she’d taken.
After long months of hard work, Val had finally achieved her goal of getting into a size three dress again. She was almost frantic in her determination to maintain that size—and the weight of ninety-six pounds that she had not seen registered on the scales since before meeting Jonas.
On the other hand, Jonas seemed equally determined to see her eat her way back to the size six she’d attained after losing their baby. This evening, other than making the occasional pointed remark, he said nothing about her meager intake. But when she served a single dessert—his—he scowled in a familiar way that warned Val of an approaching argument.
“No dessert?” Jonas arched his brows into an exaggerated peak.
Val’s sigh spoke of long endurance of this boring topic. “Jonas, I have not been eating desserts for months now.” Her expression was a study in controlled patience. “One really does not require dessert to survive.” Smiling serenely, she sipped at her wine. Her smile was a goad to his temper, and she knew it. Pondering on the urge that drove her to continually challenge him, she calmly observed the storm brewing in his gray-blue eyes.
“No, one doesn’t need dessert to survive,” Jonas agreed, returning her smile in a way that shot a thrill composed of equal parts of apprehension and excitement through Valerie. “But one might have to be very careful when speaking to one’s husband. Do you get my drift?” he asked quietly—too quietly.
“Why, Mr. Thorne, sir!” Val fluttered her eyelashes flirtatiously. “Are you threatening little ol’ me?” Her attempt at a Southern accent was appallingly bad—deliberately.
Jonas was not amused. “Keep pushing, sweetheart,” he warned, an edge of annoyance in his tone now.
“And then what?” Val taunted, asking herself why she persisted when he was obviously becoming angry all over again. Of course, she knew full well why; she was damn tired of being treated like a second-class person—in other words like a wife!
“I’ll be left with two choices,” Jonas informed her smoothly. “I’ll either have to ignore you,” he said, “or make very rough love to you, which I’d enjoy immensely.” His shrug was eloquent.
“Promises, promises,” Val chanted, suddenly breathless and commending herself on the evenness of her tone. Sliding her chair away from the table, she rose with unstudied grace. Taking advantage of the opportunity to look down on the man who stood a good foot taller than she did, Val couldn’t resist one last shot. “You’re all talk and little action, Thorne.” Scooping up the tray of now empty dishes, she beat a hasty retreat into the kitchen.
Valerie expected Jonas to stalk after her—and he did. Her excitement churning to near fever pitch, she shot a glance at the wall clock. A sigh that was a mixture of relief and disappointment whispered through her lips when the door chimes pealed, just as Jonas was reaching for her.
“Now who in hell…?” he began in a low growl.
“Oh! Did I forget to tell you?” Val managed a helpless look of confusion. “I expect it’s your daughter and son-in-law.” Swinging away from him, she smiled sweetly. “Mary Beth called earlier to ask if we’d mind if she and Jean-Paul stopped by tonight. She said they have something to tell us.” She paused in the hallway to give him an arched glance. “Since I thought I might need their protection, I told them we wouldn’t mind at all.” Val grinned at the muttered curse that followed her to the front door.
Before Val set foot on the marble floor in the foyer, Jonas was by her side. “Having fun, are you?” he growled, striding past her to the door. “Make the most of it, my love,” he murmured. As his hand grasped the brass latch, his glittering gaze swept her figure. “Mary Beth and Jean-Paul will have to go home sometime.” Not giving her time to respond, he pulled open the door.
“Hi, Dad.” Mary Beth stepped into the foyer, grinning as if she’d just won the lottery. At twenty-three, Mary Beth was a lovely young woman. Tall and clear-featured like her father and golden-skinned like her mother, she had a look uniquely her own with her soft eyes and mouth and honey-blond hair…which was several shades darker than Jonas’s ash blond. “I hope you don’t mind us dropping in on the spur of the moment like this?” she asked, grinning impishly.
“Not at all,” Jo
nas assured her with what Val considered commendable aplomb for a man on the verge of going up in smoke. “We had no plans for this evening.” Reaching out, he accepted the hand his son-in-law offered—thinking it slightly comical, considering he’d left Jean-Paul in the conference room at J.T. Electronics less than two hours ago. “Jean-Paul,” he drawled, quietly shutting the door.
“Jonas.” The handsome Frenchman smiled in appreciation of the irony in the formality of the handshake.
“Jean-Paul, will you look at the figure on this woman!” Mary Beth exclaimed dramatically, motioning toward Valerie. “What are you living on, Val, cottage cheese and low cal air?”
“Just about,” Jonas muttered as he led the way into the spacious living room.
“Oh, Jonas, really!” Val protested, frowning at his expression of disapproval.
Coming up beside her, Jean-Paul slipped an arm around Val’s tiny waist. “You look magnifique, ma petite,” he said, brushing her soft cheek with his lips. “Quite like the young woman I met in France over four years ago.”
Val smiled gratefully and returned his kiss. “Merci, Jean-Paul.”
“And I feel like a cow in comparison!” Mary Beth wailed, running her palms over her own slender curves.
Jean-Paul sent her a smoldering look. “If you would care to return home, my sweet, I would be delighted to demonstrate how very much I adore little blond cows.”
Laughing softly, Val gave Jean-Paul a quick, fierce hug; she would always love Jean-Paul, who had come within two weeks of being her brother-in-law, love him in a very special way. And it was obvious to everyone who knew them that Jean-Paul returned her affection.
Hands on hips, Mary Beth glared at her husband before rolling her beautiful blue eyes at Valerie. “I swear, Val, do men ever think of anything other than bedroom games?”
“Your father does,” Val replied, sliding a glance at Jonas. “He thinks mainly about electrical components and computers and such.” Moving easily but purposefully, she headed for the hallway and escape. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must finish clearing the dinner table.”
The laughter that erupted from Mary Beth and Jean-Paul didn’t drown the ominous tone of Jonas’s voice.
“Valerie, come back here.”
“In a few minutes.” She called the response over her shoulder from her relatively safe position in the hall. “I’ll bring a tray of coffee with me.” Smiling to herself, Val returned to the dining room and the dishes cluttering the table.
Mary Beth joined her in the kitchen as she was stacking the dishes in the dishwasher. “Can I help with anything?”
Val smiled at her stepdaughter, who was only seven years her junior. “Yes. You can start the coffee if you like.” She raised her eyebrows. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. Your father and Jean-Paul are talking business?”
“What else?” Mary Beth shrugged. As she ran water into the glass coffeepot, she slanted a contemplative glance at Valerie. “Are you and Dad having problems, Val?”
“Problems?” Val repeated, frowning as she switched on the machine before turning to look at the younger woman. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on, Val!” Mary Beth grimaced. “Don’t pull that blank confusion act with me. I thought… believed…we were friends.”
“We are!” Val exclaimed. “But—”
“But nothing!” Mary Beth interrupted. “I’ve been married long enough to read the signals, and both you and Dad are sending them out. Good grief! You two have been taking verbal potshots at each other for months now. I don’t want to pry, really, but I’m concerned. Jean-Paul’s concerned, too.”
Val felt trapped. What could she say? She and Jonas were having problems, personality problems, but she certainly wasn’t about to confide in his daughter—regardless of how fond of the young woman she’d become.
“I suspect all married couples have their off moments,” Val replied vaguely. “Your father and I are no different than most.” Avoiding Mary Beth’s skeptical look, she turned to the kitchen cabinet to remove cups and saucers.
“There…ah…” Mary Beth hesitated. “There isn’t another woman involved…. Is there, Val?”
The fragile china rattled in Valerie’s hands as she spun to face a frowning Mary Beth. “Another woman?” Sheer amazement raised her natural soft tone several decibels. “No!” she exclaimed. “Of course there’s no other woman! Why would you even think—?”
“I don’t!” Mary Beth interjected forcefully. “Not really. It’s just…well…” Her shoulders lifted and fell in a helpless movement. “Suddenly you and Dad seem to be drifting apart, and I was afraid that…” Her voice trailed away on a sigh.
So it was beginning to show. Hiding her thoughts, Val busied her hands by arranging the china on a tray. How many others had noticed the strain between Jonas and herself? Val wondered tiredly. And how long would it be before she found herself in the position of fielding polite inquiries from other curious, well-meaning friends? She stifled a groan. The prospect was daunting. Giving up the pretense of busywork, she raised her eyes to meet Mary Beth’s concerned gaze.
“There is no other woman, Mary Beth.” Solid conviction underlined Val’s tone, conviction instilled by her absolute trust in Jonas. While it was true that they were having some marital trouble, Val was positive the problems weren’t of the other woman variety.
Mary Beth was visibly relieved. “I’m glad. You’ve been so very good for Dad, Val,” she said earnestly.
She had? A startled laugh burst from Val. “Do you really think so?” Privately she had doubts—many, many doubts.
“Yes, of course.” Mary Beth’s response was flatteringly prompt. “All I have to do is look at him. Dad looks five years younger than he did five years ago.”
Val’s violet eyes darkened with memory. “Your father was always a dynamic, attractive man.” Her voice had softened.
“And he is even more dynamic and attractive than before.” Mary Beth grinned. “He smiles more, and Dad always did have one fantastic smile.”
“I’ll say!” Val exclaimed. For an instant she felt again the heady, stunned reaction she’d experienced the very first time she saw Jonas smile; and he’d smiled at another woman on that occasion! “I couldn’t begin to explain the effect his first smile had on me.”
“Like being poleaxed?” Mary Beth teased.
Val pretended to consider. “That comes pretty close,” she agreed, grinning when the younger girl giggled. “It also comes pretty close to what he’ll do to us,” she went on brusquely, “if we don’t get this coffee in to him.” Reaching around the grinning Mary Beth, Val drew a white coffee thermos from the countertop. “I’ll pour the coffee into this. You can get the cream and sugar.”
“What, no cake or cookies?” Mary Beth’s brows arched. “Dad loves desserts.”
“And he’s had his.” A smile eased Val’s adamant tone. “I’m watching his weight for him.”
Mary Beth was still smiling when she carried the tray into the living room. As her husband leaped from his chair to take the tray from her, her father challenged her smile.
“I know that particular smirk, kid.” Jonas’s tone smacked of parental indulgence. “What have you and Val been up to?”
Mary Beth burst out laughing. “Not dessert, that’s for sure. Val assures me that she’s watching your weight.”
“Val would do better to provide the dessert,” Jonas retorted. “And then eat it herself.” He raked his wife’s ultraslim figure with a hard-eyed glance. “If she gets much thinner,” he added, “I’ll have to tether her to something, to prevent her from blowing away with the slightest breeze.”
“But, Jonas! I think Valerie looks wonderful.” Jean-Paul ran an appreciative look over her. “She looks exactly as she did when I first met her.”
Jonas shifted his narrowed gaze to his son-in-law. “So you said before,” he replied evenly. “Personally, I prefer her the way she looked when I first met her.”
Yes; overweight,
undernourished, scared and submissive. Val prudently kept the response to herself, but felt positive that this attitude of his lay behind their inability to communicate. Jonas insisted on casting her in the role of his wife, his hostess, his ornament, and altogether submissive—whereas she was determined to become her own person.
Raising her cup to her lips, Val sighed into the dark brew. It had been an uphill battle all the way and, as the remark Jonas had just made proved, she wasn’t even near the top of her particular goal-mountain.
Evidently not in the least put off by Jonas’s cool attitude, Jean-Paul shrugged in the way only a Frenchman can. “Then we shall have to agree to disagree, eh?” His teeth were a flash of white against his dark skin.
Jonas didn’t smile. “If we must.”
“Oh, for the sake of harmony, I think we must.” Jean-Paul’s eyes crinkled with inner amusement as he shot a sparkling glance at his wife.
Jonas was alert at once. Shifting his sharp gaze from Mary Beth to Jean-Paul, then to Val, he slowly replaced his cup on its matching saucer. “What’s going on?” he demanded of Val.
Since she was asking herself the same question, Val shrugged. “I haven’t the vaguest idea.” Her eyes moved in unison with his to the couple seated side by side on the long sofa.
“Well?” Jonas prompted, when it appeared that all the two were capable of was smiling smugly.
Their smiles widening still more, Mary Beth and Jean-Paul glanced at each other, then back to Val and Jonas—who by this time was showing distinct signs of thinning patience. Then they rushed into speech simultaneously.
“I’m pregnant!”
“We’re going to have a child.”
There was an instant of utter silence, then Val and Jonas responded in unison.
“How wonderful for you both!” Val exclaimed.
“Honey, I’m delighted for you.” Springing from his chair, Jonas crossed to the sofa, pulled up Mary Beth and gathered her into his arms, while extending his right hand to Jean-Paul. “I’m delighted for you, too,” he added with a grin.
Following at her husband’s heels, Val took her turn at bestowing excited hugs on the glowing pair. Then her eyes flashed at Jonas as Mary Beth stated what would soon be obvious to everyone.