* * * *
Brendan Tipton didn’t try to engage Catherine in conversation on the trip home. He knew she was uncomfortable being cooped up in the relatively spacious Buick. His plan involved earning her trust and then knocking her off kilter.
He’d noticed it before, and it was more evident today, that Catherine had no experience in the world. Tipton wondered if she’d even been outside the convent walls since entering as a student at age six. The thought of teaching her about her body and its many pleasures entranced him. Her mother had been a temptress who had held him in thrall for many years. But Catherine was a treasure. A complete neophyte, who needed only an awakening. And he was just the man to do it.
“You’ll like Jordan,” he said at last, just before they arrived at the cottage. “He’s only been home from Korea a couple of months.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “And you don’t have to worry about him. As a man, I mean. He knows you’re meant for someone else.”
She shot him a worried look. “I belong to God and no one else.”
“Of course,” he agreed. After I’m through with you, God can have you back for all eternity. “Here we are,” he said, turning onto the lane. “It looks like Jordan’s waiting.”
She said nothing until he stopped. “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Tipton.”
“Call me Brendan, please. Your mother and I were good friends, after all.”
Her look sharpened. Did she have an idea about her mother and him after all? He hoped so, in a way. Fucking her while she knew he’d fucked her mother would add a new edge to the experience.
He exited the car and went around to help her out, but she beat him to it. Fine. He didn’t mind if she took charge in a few things. Let her continue thinking the Earth hadn’t shifted on its axis when they met the previous day. Let her keep up her silence, demurely hiding her hands and dropping to her knees in prayer. Soon enough she’d be on her knees in front of him, and her prayers would be of a different sort.
“Jordan,” he said amiably as the young man approached. “This is Sister Margaret Mary. Sister, meet Jordan Parnell, your current attorney.”
“Hello, Sister. It’s good to see you again.”
They already met? “You didn’t tell me yesterday that you had met.”
Jordan regarded him with those damn cool blue eyes. “No, I didn’t.”
But she hadn’t mentioned it either, on the way here. As expected, she looked down demurely instead of meeting Jordan’s eyes. But was she really demure? Or did she have some deception in her? Why hadn’t she simply said that Jordan had already been here?
“I appreciate your offer of help, Mr. Parnell. I have given this some thought, and I believe I should just ask a charity to come and take whatever they want. Then perhaps you could handle selling the house and distributing the funds?”
“Sister, I understand your desire to be through with all this work and get back home, but I don’t advise that you follow that plan. Your charity will realize much more if we examine what’s here and make decisions about value as we go.”
Good man! Brendan couldn’t have said it better himself. Guilt her into staying until every last trinket has been looked at. Two weeks at least. Deceptive bitch or not—and he did enjoy a bit of a challenge—within two weeks he’d have her cherry and—maybe—his fill of her.
Or perhaps, she’ll enjoy being a real woman so much she’ll decide to stay in the cottage her mother occupied. The second-generation whore might prove to be better than the original.
Chapter Six
Jordan waited for Sister Margaret Mary to say something. It would be a shame to give away everything in the house sight unseen. If Brendan Tipton said there were some valuable items in the house, there no doubt were. He might be a bastard, but he was no fool. He had an eye for expensive, valuable things, like the Buick Roadmaster he’d driven up in, and women. Like Emma Jacobsen. Jordan hoped the Sister didn’t know about Tipton and her mother. Their liaison was a not-so-well-kept secret in town.
“I suppose you’re right,” she said at last. “But I would prefer a woman to help me.”
So she knew now what a big task faced her. And it must be emotionally taxing as well. When she said day before yesterday that she didn’t want help, he had wondered if she realized how hard clearing out her mother’s cottage would be, the memories that would haunt the place.
“That might be a problem,” Jordan said. “I’m in the process of selling the law firm and closing out my business with it. I only have a secretary, and I’m afraid I can’t spare her. I could hire someone from town, but they won’t know how to deal with things as well as I. It will go faster if you will allow me to help.”
Silence fell over the threesome again.
“I understand you’ve been in Korea?” Her voice was so low Jordan had to lean in to hear. For a fleeting moment he hadn’t been sure she was talking to him, for her eyes never met his.
“Yes. I was stationed on the East Coast for several years before that.”
“He was gone far too long,” Brendan said with a touch of sternness.
Jordan shrugged. “I enjoyed the Marine Corps.”
Brendan seemed to stretch before Jordan’s eyes. He was a big man anyway, but when he drew to his full height, most had to look up at him. At five foot eleven—the same height as the nun, he noticed—Jordan was no exception. But he did it with a certain arrogance that came from being younger, fit, and fresh out of the military.
That didn’t deter Brendan. “Well, your father needed you at home. And so did your mother.”
“I’m here now. Before I leave again, Mother will be financially set.” Since his arrival home after his father’s death and his decision to sell the firm, he only wanted to tie up loose ends and get out from under. From under the firm and his guilt over not fulfilling his father’s wishes, from under his mother’s constant demands that he marry and settle there in the family home, from under his restlessness to strike out on his own and live life as he wanted. He had to see to his mother’s welfare, but then he was finished with Ballymeade. He’d be gone the day the papers for the firm were signed. But first he had this task, this job with the nun.
Brendan wouldn’t leave it alone. “You should have—”
“This isn’t the time,” Jordan said, using the voice that had brooked no argument from the men under his command. “We’re disturbing the lady.” In fact, though she hid her hands beneath a part of her habit and her face remained impassive as she watched the ocean, he noticed she’d tensed. “I’m here to help, Sister Margaret Mary, so why don’t you show me where to begin?”
Brendan stared at Jordan, looking as though he wanted to say something more. He had been a touch off kilter ever since finding that Jordan had already met the nun. He enjoyed seeing Brendan thrown off his game, which was probably why Jordan hadn’t just told him outright yesterday that he’d been to the cottage and offered to find help for Sister Margaret Mary.
Finally Brendan walked to the driver’s side of the car and dropped in. “Perhaps I’ll see you at Mass again tomorrow, Sister,” he said.
She faced him. Or rather, her body faced him. Her gaze turned down. “Please do not trouble yourself. I can walk.”
“Nonsense.” Brendan closed the door. The engine started with a smooth purr. He backed up and pulled away. Only when the vehicle made its way up the lane did the nun follow its progress. Jordan couldn’t determine what he saw in her eyes. Fear? He’d seen plenty of it in the eyes of men in battle, but this was different.
When she walked toward the cottage, he followed, putting all questions about Brendan, his future, and the mysterious nun from his mind.
“I’ve always liked this cottage,” Brendan said, standing in the living room. “I came here once or twice as a teenager.”
“Did you meet my mother?”
He hated the way she avoided looking at him when she talked. The submissive woman was never his choice. “I did. She was very beautiful and quite nic
e. You look a lot like her, only taller.”
“Did you know her…well?” She raised her head.
Beguiling eyes, so light brown they were almost a dark honey color, studied him with an intensity that bored right through him. “Not well, no. I brought Christmas bread that our cook baked for the neighbors, that’s all. But she was always gracious and gave me gifts in return. I saw her around town now and then and visited her here maybe three times.”
“You saw her more than I did in twenty-five years, then.”
Good God. She was about his age. He knew she’d been sent away as a child, but he didn’t realize she’d never been home or that her mother hadn’t visited her.
“That must have been hard for you.”
She said nothing, but her mouth tightened. He had a feeling that if he could have seen her shoulders they’d be full of tension.
She took a breath. “I appreciate your helping me, though really, it’s not necessary.”
“I don’t mind.” He scanned the room again. There weren’t so many items that the space felt cramped. However, after years in the service, where everything had its place, he knew that what one saw on the surface normally wasn’t all there was. “Where do you want to start?”
They stared at each other. When she dropped her gaze again, her sigh told him she would accept his being there.
“The kitchen?” she asked quietly.
“Won’t you need to use what’s there?”
“I require very little.”
The way she said it, the vulnerability that virtually rolled off her, touched something in him. “Perhaps you should expect a bit more for yourself.”
With a quick shake of her head, she walked across the room and into the kitchen. “Do you need to list all that’s here?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head and sighed. “All right.”
With his own sigh he returned to the porch to retrieve his briefcase. He set it on the kitchen counter and removed a pad and fountain pen. “I’ll record everything in the house and your disposition of each item. Then I’ll help you pack it for shipping to the appropriate destination.”
Her eyes wide, she asked, “We’ll have to work together?”
“That would be easiest.” He smiled. “I won’t bite.”
Her mouth tightened again. After just the few minutes they’d been together, he recognized the signs of her discomfort. But then, had he seen her totally relaxed yet? He wasn’t used to the company of nuns, but he hadn’t thought they were in a constant state of tension. Didn’t they smile now and then?
“All right,” she finally said. “I’ll be only a moment.” Making no noise, she left the kitchen.
Jordan opened a cabinet and glanced at the contents then strolled into the laundry room, where he removed his jacket and loosened his tie. The door to another room was tucked up under the stairwell. He pushed it open and looked into a charming area, though he didn’t enter. The room contained the only feminine furnishings he’d seen so far. It had the looks of a study or sitting room, packed as it was with books and bric-a-brac. They would need a load of boxes for this room alone.
A large rolltop desk sat along one wall. Bookshelves lined another. Miss Jacobsen must have been the greatest reader he’d ever encountered. He would want to go through the desk. If she had left any legal documents, they would be important to find early.
“What are you doing?”
He turned at the sharpness of the nun’s tone. Before, he had to concentrate to hear what she said and her eyes were cast downward. Now she not only met his gaze, her eyes blazed.
“I didn’t mean to intrude. I wanted to gain a feel for what we were up against and thought I’d make sure there were no legal documents left behind that needed to be filed.”
“Oh.” She blinked and turned her face aside. “I thought…”
Again he saw beyond the beads hanging at her waist, the black veil and gown topped now with a white apron. This woman was hurting, vulnerable and sheltered more than he’d known any woman in this day could be.
“Sister, I would never steal from you.”
Eyes wide, she turned to look at him. “I never thought you were trying to steal.”
“No? What then?” He waited, but she didn’t speak. He felt a rush of protectiveness. “Tell me.”
“I thought you might be trying to…” She twisted her hands, out from the cover of her habit. Taking a shuddered breath she continued, “To read personal letters.”
He wanted to reach out and take her hands, to stop their trembling within the warmth of his own, to impart the strength she seemed so badly to need.
“I promise not to take another step in this enterprise without your knowledge and approval. Will that be okay?”
She nodded, her eyes still wide.
“So, shall we start in the kitchen?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She spun and nearly ran ahead of him.
Before, though, Jordan saw a smoothing of her forehead, a brightness in her eyes, and the tiniest curve of her lips. For the first time, Sister Margaret Mary looked calm, collected. Almost pleased. And damned if he didn’t like the look.
Chapter Seven
As was becoming her custom, Margaret Mary took her evening tea outdoors, to the part of the yard where she could watch waves crash upon the rocks. She liked the view perhaps because she could identify with the rocks right now. Like them, she felt pounded by relentless forces over which she had no control.
When God accepted her as his bride, He infused her with strength built of His teachings and the Church’s unassailable truths learned in convent life. Then she’d been thrust into the world, with no bearings or understanding of what she would face. The day had gone smoothly with Jordan Parnell working at her side, but only because she took great pains not to make contact. But how long could that go on? Sooner or later, she would touch him, would become familiar with him. Perhaps would like him. And then what? Is that how things started with her mother? I am not my mother.
Her mother hadn’t needed peace and quiet, she’d only needed solitude, without the burden of a daughter. Margaret Mary looked down to see a particularly violent wave strike the rocks below her. She felt the blow in her heart. Her life had been a lie. She was grown but not whole. She’d had a mother…but she had not been loved.
Dropping the porcelain teacup, she fell to her knees in pain as spasms clenched her stomach. Holding her veil back with one hand, she leaned over and wretched. When she’d emptied her stomach and then some, she sat back on her heels, staring sightlessly at the infinite sea.
Margaret Mary bowed her head, her hands clasped before her to keep them from trembling. “Heavenly Father, help me understand. Why did you bring me here?” Tears streamed down her face. “What should I do? Please send me a sign.”
The sound of a vehicle on the lane caused her to rise. Swiftly she swiped her hands across her eyes to dispel the tears and picked up shattered pieces of ceramic. The cheerful yellow roses that had adorned the cup were hardly discernible on what was left. Only then did she turn to see who was coming.
“Oh, no,” she whispered, recognizing the driver. A shard of porcelain dug into her finger while she silently watched Brendan Tipton step out from his car.
He didn’t drive the sports car but a long black vehicle. A bishop would drive such a thing. A pope would step from it with the same confidence and control Brendan Tipton did. For a moment she had the urge to kneel and kiss his ring. Mentally recoiling at the blasphemy, she hurriedly said a prayer in penance.
“I hope you don’t mind my stopping by unannounced.” He leaned against the car door, hands in his pockets.
“Not at all,” she lied, another cause for prayer. He grinned as though he knew her thoughts. She understood the mouse, under the cat’s watchful gaze.
“I wanted to see how things went today with Jordan.”
“Quite well.” She cleared her throat, wishing that would also lessen the unexplained fear causing the pr
imal beat of her pulse. “I’m cleaning things as we go. Two of the kitchen cabinets are finished.”
“Jordan is keeping a good tally?”
“I’m sure he is fulfilling his duty well.” They stood in silence, the the ocean meeting shore and the circling gulls the only sound. Margaret Mary wished Tipton would leave. Summer’s long days meant light would linger for hours more, but she wanted to prepare for bed. Or read more of Mother’s letter. No! That was the last thing she wanted to do. Prayers, she had prayers to say. So many prayers.
He straightened away from the car. “Maybe I’ll come in for a cup of coffee.”
“I…I have things to do.”
“Of course you do.”
His voice had become silk, flowing over her. She’d never felt silk except in the threads used to embroider altar cloths or priests’ vestments, but listening to Brendan Tipton speak she knew how it felt—warm, embracing, enticing, with a whisper of the forbidden. She inhaled, and the embrace of his voice filled her with something dark and heated. Something irresistible.
Without waiting for a further reply, he strode toward the house. “Are you coming?” he called from the porch.
She needed to say no, to tell him to leave, to put distance between them, but she couldn’t.
Mutely, she trailed after him. He entered the house as though it belonged to him. She found him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. She froze under the force of his stare.
Maybe she could have moved if he looked her directly in the eyes, but he never took his gaze from her mouth. In her nervousness, she licked her lips, and a fire blazed in his eyes.
“Do you like strawberries?” She nodded, and he smiled as though he knew she did. “I’ll bring you some tomorrow.”
“I thought the season was over,” she offered stiffly. Why did she answer him? It only encouraged him to stay longer, and she’d have no peace until he left.
Seducing Their Nun [Unlikely Bedfellows 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 4