by Raina Lynn
That night, Mason came home an hour earlier than he ever had before. Weird. Jill crossed her arms and cocked her head. “Either the Journal burned to the ground and there’s no work left,” she quipped, determined to let go of her insecurity, “or you’re my publisher husband’s long-lost, non-workaholic twin.”
Normally such a comment would have warranted a smothered smile or a shake of his dark head. Instead, his eyebrows lowered, and he impaled her with a look that took her breath away.
“Spill it, Bradshaw.” His flawless mimicry made her wince. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she lied. How had he figured her out?
He dropped his briefcase by the couch and crossed his own arms in perfect imitation of her stance. More unnerving, he said absolutely nothing else.
“Knock it off,” she snapped. “There’s nothing wrong.” Turning on her heel, she marched into the kitchen, hoping she projected the image of insulted innocence.
He followed her, stopping in the doorway, feet spread, relaxed. His penetrating gaze held steady. He had all the time in the world, and knew it.
“Well, nothing wrong, exactly.”
“Oh?”
She’d dreaded this moment most of the afternoon. “Your mother called today.”
His spine snapped so straight that she thought she should have heard vertebrae pop. “How nasty was she?”
What an odd thing to ask. “The conversation started out a little tense, but we worked our way through it.”
“And?”
Maybe her nerves hadn’t been for nothing. “She indicated she wanted to meet me and the baby.”
“And?” His single-word response had an edge.
“Your parents are coming up next week.”
“Absolutely not!”
Jill recoiled. “Why?”
“I know them, Jill. They want to pass judgment, not get acquainted.”
She thought about that. “In other words, you got your egalitarianism from someplace other than your genetic makeup?”
“I’m sorry, Jill.” The tension on his face told her that he was sincere. “If I could change them, I would.”
“So what do you want to do?”
“Like you said, there’s too much unsettled between us. My parents are problems we don’t need right now.”
The “we” in that sentence sounded like they were on the same side of the fence—a nice change. “Then we’ll cancel.”
He blinked. “That may not be as easy as it sounds. They both have had a lifetime of manipulating people to suit themselves.”
She felt a belligerent smile creep onto her face. Without a word, she went to the phone and dialed. “May I speak with Mr. or Mrs. Bradshaw, please?”
“Jill, you’re setting yourself up.” He reached to take the phone from her, but she turned away.
“This is Madeline Bradshaw,” came the austere feminine voice. The lady was definitely not a warm, fuzzy person.
“Hi, Madeline. This is Jill.”
There was a pause on the other line. “I’m sorry. I don’t recognize the name.”
“Bradshaw. Jill Bradshaw.” It sounded like a poor imitation of James Bond, and she almost giggled. “Your son’s wife?”
“Oh.” The older woman cleared her throat. “It’s... it’s good to hear from you.”
Sure it is, lady. “Mason and I talked it over, and next week isn’t good for us. We’ll call you back another time and reschedule.”
“What do you mean?” Madeline gasped.
“Just that.”
“But we’ve made our reservations.”
“I’m sorry.” She made a credible effort at sincerity. “As soon as we figure out a better time, we’ll let you know.” She kept an eye on her husband’s astonished expression as he listened to her half of the conversation.
“We’re coming up as planned.”
“Fine. I hope you enjoy Stafford. It’s a nice little town. As for us, we won’t be available. Talk to you soon. Bye.” Jill hung up.
Mason gave her an I-told-you-so look. “I didn’t think she’d back down.”
“Yes, she will, once she realizes she lost. The alternative is the equivalent of home-crashing, and I don’t think that would settle well with either of them.”
“You’re right.” Mason whistled low. “Maybe I misjudged your abilities. Maybe you can handle them.”
“You were protecting me?” The concept made her want to gape at him.
“And myself,” he added. “You’re not intimidated by them at all?” He stared in amazement.
“Why should I be? Your mother may be a retired judge, but she still puts her panty hose on one leg at a time just like I do.” A new thought came to her. “Mason, you’re not one of those dysfunctional adult children who knuckles under to control-freak parents, are you?”
He almost laughed. “Not hardly.” Cautious, he picked his next words. “The situation is just... unfortunate.”
Seconds spun out as they evaluated the new information about each other.
Jill broke the silence first. “You may not like them very much, Bradshaw, but they’re Claire’s grandparents. At some point, we need to establish some normal contact, but with boundaries that we can live with.”
“I agree.” His eyes glowed as he gazed at her, and Jill would have given a great deal to know his thoughts.
“Mason?” she asked shyly, “are you really going to be a millionaire one day?”
He looked mildly uncomfortable. “Unless they disinherit me.”
It would take time, and some serious discussion to absorb the full implications—but not today.
The phone rang once, then twice. The answering machine picked it up.
Vicki’s confident voice boomed out. “How about me watching Claire tonight so you two can have an evening out? Parenthood isn’t a business contract. What you need is a little romance.” She chuckled. “The North Forty Club has a live band tonight. I checked. See ya.”
He cocked his head. “Interested?”
“A date?”
“It’s been a while.”
A while? Try never. The only time they’d gone anywhere was while he was trying to manipulate her into marrying him. The confidence Jill had known moments ago fled. The extra fifteen pounds she hadn’t shed since the pregnancy felt as conspicuous as a hundred. “Thanks, but no. It has been a rough day, and I’m bushed.” Liar. You’re just not up to being vulnerable. “Besides, Claire is asleep for the night.”
“I understand.”
It bothered her that he probably did. It bothered her even more when he didn’t insist that they go anyway.
Chapter 12
From the other end of the apartment, Mason heard Jill turn on the shower. He knew his struggle to put the past behind him was costing her far more than she should have to pay. No wonder she’d turned him down tonight. His inability to commit himself to her completely was enough to make any woman feel insecure. He’d been trying, but she deserved much better.
Knowing that didn’t solve the problem, though. Her love for him still made him feel tremendously threatened, but at least he no longer believed that he’d never risk loving again. What more could he want in a woman than what he’d found in Jill? With a smile, he looked at his briefcase. Perhaps the impromptu purchases he’d made after work had been providential.
Jill rinsed the soap from her eyes just as she heard Mason’s footsteps on the bathroom tile floor.
“Look up, honey,” came his tender voice on the other side of the shower curtain. She froze; other than when she’d been in labor, he’d never used an endearment before. What was going on now?
Involuntarily, she lifted her gaze above the rod. Between his fingertips, he held a single red rose. She reached for it, then pulled back. More than ever, she wanted to fling herself into his arms. “Where did that come from?”
He either didn’t notice her ungracious tone or chose to ignore it. With Mason, it was hard to tell.
“I bough
t it for you on the way home.”
Jill’s throat locked up, and she couldn’t answer. He jiggled the rose slightly to get her attention. My attention is the last thing you need to worry about getting, she cried inwardly.
He jiggled the flower again. Feeling possessed, she reached up and took it, careful to avoid touching his fingers. She was certain if she brushed her skin against his, she’d self-destruct. Water pounded her back unheeded as she inhaled the pungent scent of the perfect rose.
“Would you come out so we can talk?” he asked gently.
The idea of him seeing her completely undressed and wet from the shower intimidated her beyond words. “Talking isn’t something we do very well, Bradshaw. Why don’t I meet you in the living room?”
“To give you time to put up more walls between us?”
“You’re a fine one to talk about walls.” Why, oh why, did you have to become so unnervingly perceptive? It just complicates our lives.
“Jill, are you coming out?”
“Cut me some slack. I’m buck naked in here.” After the wisecrack slipped out, she realized she’d meant to embarrass him into leaving. Then more normally, she added, “I don’t think it’s possible to build any more walls between us.”
“I’ll hand you a towel.”
“You’re a real pain when you’ve got something stuck in your head. I don’t think I like that very much.”
“Sorry.” The apology would have worked better if he hadn’t sounded a trifle smug.
Jill shut off the water. His presence focused so tightly on her that the tiny bathroom seemed hideously cramped. A towel appeared as if by magic between the curtain and wall. Never in her life had she felt so exposed and helpless. “May I please have some privacy?”
“Absolutely not,” he murmured. “Our marriage has had far too much already.”
What did he mean by that? she wondered. Jill clutched the rose, then covered herself as modestly as a bath towel allowed. With all the bravado she could muster, she whipped open the curtain, ready to do battle.
The tender disquiet on his face killed the snappy retort she’d intended to flay him with. Mason Bradshaw was so achingly beautiful that she couldn’t breathe. She wondered if she’d ever tire of just looking at him, his chiseled features, his lean, well-kept body. Just once, why can’t love be nice to me? she prayed. Is that really too much to ask?
“Would you like me to dry your back?”
Jill couldn’t begin to divine his thoughts, but she doubted he had much concern over her wet body. “I can handle it.”
“That’s not the point,” he said blandly. “Beginning our marriage is.”
Blinding, jealous-green fury swept through her in an unstoppable wave. “If you think I’m going to crawl in bed with you while you grieve over the bitch your ex-wife turned out to be, think again.”
Mason stared at her for long moments, his expression a blend of disappointment and irritation. When he spoke, his voice was only slightly tight. “I thought we had that worked out.”
“Not by a long shot.”
“You honestly believe I’d do that to you?”
“Not consciously,” she fired back, clinging to the top edge of the towel. She held the rose so close to her face that she couldn’t ignore the drugging fragrance or the knowledge that he’d bought it for her—only her. No, don’t read too much into it, she thought. This is just more of him trying to convince himself he cares.
He stepped toward her, and she froze. He’d been much closer on countless occasions. But not since he’d learned she carried his child had she experienced the full brunt of his will. Mason’s laid-back approach to most situations made it easy to forget his other side, the one that relentlessly pursued a goal. Despite herself, she shuddered.
“Jill, are you saying you want things to remain the way they have been between us?”
Her face crimsoned. “I love you. What do you think?”
To his credit he didn’t flinch, but neither did he answer.
“What is this, Bradshaw? Corner Jill Day?”
Without speaking, he pressed an aristocratic finger against her lips. The simple contact sent a shudder of need through her body with demonic force, and she nearly whimpered aloud from it. He took another step closer, standing so near that she could see the tiny lines around his mouth, the gold flecks in eyes that were trained on her like weapons.
“I have fewer monkeys riding me now. I want to see what we can build.”
“Yeah, right.” She brushed past him, but his hands closed over her shoulders. The heat from his fingers penetrated deep into muscle and bone. Fire danced up her spine, and her heart thundered in her chest. His breath caressed her ear and cheek, scorching her skin, and she kept her face turned away.
“I mean for us,” he whispered. “Not Claire. Us.”
“I’m not a charity case, Bradshaw.” Jill wanted it to come across defiant, quelling. It didn’t. Worse, an unmistakably plaintive note even she could hear emphasized the haunted loneliness.
“Charity case?” he repeated. “Is that what you think this is all about? Or are you shooting in the dark because you’re afraid?”
His probing question stripped her defenses bare. Defeat tasted bitter on her tongue, but she knew at that point that she’d do whatever he wanted. When it came to Mason, she had little fight left and no pride, not anymore. She was too tired.
“We live like strangers, Jill,” he murmured.
“What did you expect?”
His whisper-soft breath tickled her cheek the moment before he slid his arms around her and pressed her body against his. Jill closed her eyes against the onslaught, trembling as his breath feathered her hair.
“Honey, when we’re not busy with the paper, you’re keeping me at arm’s length.”
“I’m keeping you at arm’s length?” She tried to squirm from his grip.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” The warning in his quiet baritone surprised her almost as much as the sensual assault. He turned her around to face him, his gaze boring into hers with an undeniable intensity. “I want you to listen to me, because I’m not going to say this again.”
She wouldn’t look at him. It hurt too much. From the corner of her eye, she saw him press his lips together in a thin line of annoyance.
Cupping her chin in one hand, he tilted her face to meet his gaze. She thought of pulling back, but resistance had become a more ethereal concept with each passing moment.
“Jill, you’re not second string backup for my ex-wife. I don’t know whether Karen’s finally convinced of that yet, but what she does or doesn’t believe isn’t my problem.”
With her entire soul, Jill wanted it to be true. “She hasn’t acted very convinced.”
“If she bothers us again, she can deal with the law. That should end it.”
Jill moistened lips gone dry. “Maybe that particular problem. What about all the rest? We have quite a mixed bag.”
“We’ll take everything one day at a time.”
Numb and defenseless, she could only stare at him in the hope that she wasn’t about to get shredded.
“This marriage is about to get off the ground, Mrs. Bradshaw, and you have exactly one choice to make.”
“What’s that?” her voice rasped out.
“Which room we make love in.”
Her ears rang with the echo of his words. Surely she hadn’t heard right. Had she? “Oh, so we’re going to start off with loveless sex?”
“Stop it.” His undemanding hold turned possessive. His eyes glittered. “What we shared that night was good, Jill. Very good.”
The muscles in his arms bunched as he pulled her hard against him. “I want you, honey. If we hold back until everything is perfect, we may sabotage the very thing we’re fighting for.” He didn’t wait to hear whether her answer would be acceptance or protest, but lowered his head to meet her lips.
All worry over getting hurt vanished as the fire consumed conscious thought. Energized and drained at
the same time, Jill no longer possessed the strength to stand under her own power. Nor could she find the coordination to hang onto the bath towel, the rose and Mason at the same time. Clinging to his shirtfront, the towel came loose. Fear slapped her like a blast of cold water, and she scrambled to cover herself.
“No, you don’t,” he said. “You’ve made the rules long enough. It’s my turn.”
That raised the temperature of her blood a few degrees, something she hadn’t thought possible. Mason lowered them both to the floor, drawing her beneath him on the carpet in the narrow hallway.
“The last time hormones took over, we increased the world population by one,” she protested, still trying to wrap the towel around her overexposed skin.
He nuzzled the corner of her mouth, then sprinkled feathery kisses across her cheek and neck.
“Bradshaw, did you hear me?”
“I’ve got it handled, honey. That was the second stop I made on the way home.”
Birth control. “How long have you been planning this?”
He stopped kissing her long enough to glare into her eyes. “Making love again was inevitable. You and I both know that.”
Drugged with wanting him, she could hardly think. “I can’t do this. I don’t like being a target.”
His expression softened, and he stroked her hair back from her face. “What’s happening between us isn’t steps on an agenda. Just hopefulness on my part.”
Even if she’d had any fight left, she couldn’t have resisted being wanted. She had no answer, and he once again claimed her lips for a kiss that stunned her overloaded senses. With methodical precision, he kissed and caressed her into a mindless mass of heated nerve endings. Mason shifted as if to leave, and she grabbed at the sides of his shirt to keep him close.
“Trust me, honey,” he murmured in reassurance as he peeled off his clothing.
Breathless, Jill watched the play of muscles across his chest as he flung his shirt and pants out of the way. The full power of his masculinity cast an aura that blocked out the rest of the world. He wanted her. That much was obvious. Maybe later the reasons would matter, but not now. In the midst of the firestorm, she noticed she still held the rose.