After lunch, working on impulse, he picked up the phone in his office again and dialed the number of her store. After two rings, her brisk, business-like voice said, “The Reilly Gallery. May I help you?”
“I’m beyond help,” he said. Something within him seemed to calm and settle at the sound of her voice. He was, indeed, beyond help.
She laughed, and her voice softened. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself. Having a busy afternoon?”
“Not especially.”
“Good. I wanted to ask you where you want to live.”
She was silent for a long time. “Live?”
“Yeah. House, furniture, place to hang your hat. Home, dwelling, abode. Cottage, castle, condo—”
“Enough! I know what you meant. I guess I just figured…”
“Figured what?”
“Well, why don’t we wait until we find out if there’s going to be any need to get married before we start making plans?”
He wanted to tell her he had a need to marry her regardless of whether or not she got pregnant. But he could tell from the skittish tone of her voice that that probably wasn’t the smartest thing he could say right now. So instead, he said, “Would you like to come to dinner on Saturday evening?”
“Come to dinner?” she echoed.
“At my home,” he clarified. “I know you’ve been there a time or two, but this way you can look around the whole place and take your time thinking about what we should do about housing when and if we marry.”
“I guess that’s a good idea.” Although she didn’t sound sure.
“Great. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Oh, no. I can—”
“I’ll pick you up,” he repeated. “Seven on Saturday. See you then.”
After he hung up, he swiveled his leather executive chair toward the window. His suite of offices was on the top floor of the towering building he’d purchased from one of the Russell heirs nine years ago. Looking out the window, he had a perfect view of the harbor and the bay beyond it, with boats of all shapes and sizes looking like toys around the wharves. To the north, Christopher Columbus Park along the waterfront was conspicuously pristine beneath its mantle of white snow as the Atlantic Avenue traffic flowed past it.
He was a wealthy man. The view before him proved it—his office was in the heart of Boston’s financial district—and yet he still felt like the tongue-tied kid from the Irish enclave whenever he talked to Jessie. The next few months were going to be difficult, he sensed. It was his nature to push forward, to maneuver and outflank until he’d gotten what he was after. But if he continued to try to press Jessie, he was sure to fail.
Spinning his chair around again, he looked over his calendar. Before this…arrangement had come about with Jess, he’d been considering some travel to make his presence known at several of his other enterprises around the country. But now he thought he’d better reschedule. At least push his plans back until after they found out whether or not the artificial insemination worked.
She was ready when he arrived on Saturday evening and he drove her out to Brookline where his home was located. It was a straight drive out through the prestigious lower blocks of Commonwealth Avenue to the five-bedroom Georgian Revival mansion he and Wendy had purchased back when they still had dreams of filling it with a large family.
Although they parked in the garage behind the house, he had to drive around the block to get to it, and Jessie craned her neck as they passed the stately entrance on Commonwealth with its gracious bow front. It was easily the largest town home in the area.
“Did I ever tell you how much I admired your taste in a home?” she asked.
“No, but thank you.” He hoped she liked it. He’d gotten sort of attached to the place. If she didn’t, he’d buy something else that she liked better, though. He’d rather have Jessie than the house any day. And a family, he added silently, hastily. A family was the reason he wanted her so badly.
“Exactly how old is this house?”
“It was built in 1866.” And he’d better stop thinking so much or he was going to be insane.
“Amazing.”
She slanted him a smile as he helped her from the Mercedes and they walked through the winter gardens to the back entrance.
“This garden is nice in the spring and summer,” he said. “I found a landscaper who does an outstanding job. He also takes care of the terrace on the roof.”
“The terrace on the roof.” She smiled. “Did you ever imagine, when you were a kid, that one day you’d own a Victorian mansion in the Back Bay?”
He shook his head. “My dreams ran more along the lines of getting the girl and finding a job. It’s funny how this just…happened.”
“It did not just happen. You made it happen.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. But there was a certain amount of luck involved. I had the right idea at the right time and was lucky enough to get backing from a financier who had a weak moment.” He showed her into the less formal family room, then held up a finger as he moved away. “Just let me find out what time Finn plans to serve the meal.”
After a quick conference with the man who’d been with them since before Wendy’s death, he reentered the family room.
Jessie was standing with her back to him at the bay windows that overlooked the back gardens. She turned and smiled when he came in, and the force of her smile smote him heavily in his vulnerable heart. “I know what you’re doing,” she said as he opened a bottle of Chenin Blanc and poured two glasses.
He raised an eyebrow as he crossed to her, handing her her drink. “You do?”
“You’re trying to make me fall for your house so I’ll agree to live here.”
He swirled his wine and inhaled, enjoying the rich bouquet. “Is it working?”
“Probably. I had thought I’d like to stay close to the shop, but this really isn’t that far and it’s so lovely.” She took an experimental sip of her own drink, then regarded him with concern in her eyes. “But…” She hesitated.
He waited.
“If it bothers you to stay here—I mean, you lived here with Wendy—”
“It’s all right.” He spoke quietly.
There was a short silence, then he spoke again. “Have you thought about whether or not you want to continue working after the baby’s born?”
Her gaze flew to his, then bounced away. “I feel superstitious talking about this. You, of all people, know that it’s not always easy to get pregnant.”
“But I have a good feeling about it.” And he did. Strangely, his experiences with Wendy didn’t feature in his thoughts these days.
She looked at him, worrying her lower lip.
That small motion drove him crazy, for more reasons than one. “Stop that.” He reached out and touched her bottom lip with his finger, gently tracing over the line of her lip just below where she had caught it between her teeth. “Your lips are too pretty to be damaged.”
Instantly she released the lip. “Uh, thank you.” Her voice was strangely husky.
“Here. I have something to show you.” He turned away as if the intimate moment were nothing out of the ordinary. Jessie took a seat at his side as he settled himself on the couch.
“What is it?” she asked as he removed the lid of a large, square box.
“Photos.” He reached into the tissue and extracted a worn black photo album. “I had a lot of Mom’s and Dad’s things put in storage, and recently I’ve been going through them. I found this last week. There are a few of you in here.”
“Of me?” Her eyes grew big. “I can count on one hand the number of photos I have of myself other than school photos. Could I have copies made?”
He nodded. “Sure. Want to take a peek?”
She plopped herself down beside him, her arm brushing his. “Does a fish like water?”
Together they opened the old book. He hadn’t gone through it all before. He hadn’t had a surfeit of time, and if he were honest with himself, it was d
ifficult. He’d had a good childhood, but his parents were gone now. His father had keeled over from a massive heart attack his last year in college, and his mother had died four years ago. His brother, Vinson, lived several hours away now, and those happy days when they’d run up and down the old streets of Charlestown with Jessie hot on their heels, shouting in her high treble voice, “Wait fo’ me, guys!” were but a memory.
“Oh, look!” She pointed at a picture in the far corner. “There’s the Big Brown Bomb.”
The Bomb. He chuckled. He’d forgotten about the wood-paneled station wagon they’d once had. His father would pile a whole bunch of the neighborhood kids into it and take them for bouncing jaunts out into the Massachusetts countryside for the sheer pleasure of hearing the kids yell every time he gassed it over a bump in the road. “Remember the time Willy Evert threw up down the back of Dad’s neck?”
She was holding her sides, laughing hard now. “I’ll never forget it. Your dad nearly ran off the road trying to get out of his shirt.”
Grinning fondly, they paged through the rest of the album, reminiscing over many of their shared antics. On the last page was a picture of the two of them on the day he started seventh grade. He was holding Jessie’s hand, grinning at the camera. At his side, Jessie wasn’t grinning, though. Instead, she wore a distinct pout.
He pointed to the photo. “What a face! What were you thinking that day?”
Her eyes narrowed as she thought back over the past. “I was upset,” she said finally. “You were going to junior high school, and I still had two years of elementary school left. You had walked me to school every day of my life until then. It was the first time I’d ever had to be away from you, and I remember thinking I wasn’t going to be able to stand it.” She traced a light finger over his grin. “You, on the other hand, look thrilled to be moving on.”
“I couldn’t have been too thrilled,” he said honestly. “I hated it when we were separated.”
There was a small, gentle silence. It should have been awkward, he thought, but it wasn’t.
“Oh, Ryan.” She sighed. “We used to be so close. What happened to us?”
“You abandoned me for a jock.” He’d meant the words to come out lightly, but as he saw her face change, he realized he hadn’t been entirely successful. He forced himself to smile. “And I made millions and found a woman who would have me.”
“Dinner’s ready.” Finn, his household assistant, breezed into the room. “When do I get an introduction to this ravishing beauty, Ryan?”
Jessie smiled and put out a hand. She didn’t seem at all fazed by the neon-pink streak that marched through Finn’s blond hair, or the leather pants that looked as if they’d been painted on his skinny butt. As Finn shook her hand firmly, she asked, “Why? Are you going to take me away from him?”
“Oh, no, darling.” Finn batted his eyelashes outrageously. “I just want to borrow some of your clothing if it’s all as exquisite as this outfit.” He ran a long, elegant finger down the sleeve of her silk blouse.
As she laughed, Finn tapped the face of his watch and made an expressive face at Ryan. “Five minutes or less. You know how peeved I get when you wait until the lettuce is soggy.”
As he turned and marched back out of the room, Jessie caught Ryan’s eye. “Where on earth did you find him?”
He shrugged, grinning. “Finn’s unique, isn’t he? His aunt was our housekeeper until four years ago, when she had to retire because of knee problems. Finn filled the housekeeping position temporarily and gradually I found out he’s an excellent chef, as well as a slick hand on a computer. He does laundry and oversees the yard work—the all-purpose manservant, you could say. I don’t know what I’d do without him.” He sobered. “He was a rock when Wendy was killed. His partner died of AIDS complications just before I hired him, so he knew what I was going through.”
“I like him,” she said.
He nodded. “So do I. However, he’ll become highly unlikable in a hurry if we don’t get started on his dinner.”
“We wouldn’t want that.”
She preceded him into the dining room, where Finn had set their places at right angles at one end of the dining table. There was a gas fire merrily blazing in the fireplace. Fresh cymbidium orchids in a clear glass bowl with cracked crystal marbles graced the center of the table and silver candlesticks held white tapers that matched the flowers.
“This is lovely,” she said. “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”
He couldn’t help it, he had to laugh. “I didn’t,” he confessed. “All I did was give a few directions. Finn’s the one with the vision.”
“You know what I mean,” she said.
He shrugged. “I wanted to make it special.”
Her eyes were very dark and green. “Why?”
“We’re about to begin a new chapter in both of our lives.”
Her gaze was on the table now. “Yes. We are.” She was silent until after their meals had been served.
After Finn left the room, he cleared his throat. “How long after the procedure will it be before you know whether it worked?”
“They’ll be monitoring me with bloodwork every three days to see if something the nurse called my Beta count is rising. I gather it’s a hormone. It should rise steadily, and when it’s over two thousand they begin to relax. After six or seven weeks, the fertility center will send me back to my regular obstetrician for the rest of the pregnancy, barring any complications. Which I don’t expect, of course.”
“Okay.” He made a production out of cutting the excellent marinated sirloin that Finn had set before him. “Let’s do it.”
And do it they did. He rose early the next Thursday morning and went to the fertility center, where a very efficient nurse handed him a specimen collection cup and ushered him into a room where apparently, legions of men just like him produced “specimens.” The room contained what the nurse primly referred to as “visual aids,” men’s magazines and a video machine with a couple of porn flicks to choose from.
As he unzipped his pants, he knew a moment’s nervous concern, probably shared by every other guy who’d ever stood in there alone, expected to perform on command. What if he couldn’t…he’d never had any problem remotely resembling it before, but this was a lot of pressure…it didn’t bear thinking about.
In the end, though, all he had to do was think of Jessie, and his body responded as it always did to thoughts of her. Did she truly understand how things would be between them when they married? Though he’d happily give her a room of her own, he intended that they would share a bed every night. He thought of the sound of her husky voice whispering into his ear, the way her green eyes sparkled when she teased him, the clean, fresh scent of her hair and the way it felt like cool silk beneath his fingers, the feel of her soft flesh as he pulled her against him and drew her under him the way he’d dreamed of doing for years. Soon it would be her hands on him, exploring, stroking, guiding him to the hidden, humid center of her body….
As he repeated the same thing the following day, he mentally crossed his fingers as he washed his hands and his breathing slowed and calmed. If this clinical, somewhat humiliating process worked, he thought, tucking his shirt back into his pants and shrugging into his jacket, soon he’d be marrying Jessie.
She hadn’t wanted him to stick around during her procedure, but he called her that evening. “Everything go okay today?”
“It went fine. Now all we have to do is wait.”
“Do you have any restrictions?”
“No,” she said. “They had me lie still for about ten minutes afterward, and that was it.”
“That was it? Ten minutes? Hardly seems like enough time for my little swimmers to start fighting their way upstream.”
She laughed, as he’d intended, and the constraint in her tone eased. “They have a powerful incentive, though.”
The days dragged as she waited until she could ascertain whether she’d achieved her goal. Sev
eral evenings later she picked up a folder she’d brought home from the gallery and made herself go through the invoices, recording information on her laptop computer as she prepared the accounts payable. Working in the evenings kept her from pacing around the condo wondering if she was pregnant.
But halfway through the pile, she found a misfiled sheet of paper. It was short and to the point, and she could have recited it with her eyes closed. It was from the bank to which she’d applied for a loan. “We regret to inform you that your application for the following loan has been declined.”
Suppressing the very unladylike words that clamored to be said, she set the sheet aside. She’d been sure she would qualify for that loan, and to learn that she’d been denied had been a setback she hadn’t anticipated. When she’d called, Mr. Brockhiser had told her that their loan committee wasn’t comfortable with her debt-to-income ratio. End of discussion. Still, there were other banks in Boston. She’d already applied to another one; perhaps they’d look more favorably on her.
Just then someone knocked on the door. She leaped for it, knowing it was Ryan. He’d offered to drop by with dinner.
“Hi.” He carried a bag from the deli down the street.
“Here.” She handed him a small envelope, at which he stared.
“What’s this?”
“A key.” She avoided his questioning gaze. “I thought you might like to have a key to my place…since we’re…you know.”
He laughed. “Yeah. Whatever we are.” He pocketed the key. “Thanks.” Then he walked to the table and set out the sandwiches and cookies he’d bought. “Dinner arrives.”
Billionaire Bachelors: Ryan Page 5