by Goodman, Jo
Christian drew in a deep breath. What he needed, he decided, was a drink. He didn't remember that Mrs. Brandywine had removed all his liquor until he opened each drawer in the bedside table and found them all empty. He considered whether he wanted a drink badly enough to go out for it. The answer was no. He decided to put on a pair of trousers and go to the kitchen for a cup of warm milk. Just the thought of drinking warm milk was mind numbing. He'd probably fall asleep at the table.
Jenny understood exactly what Christian was looking for when he went through the drawers and assumed when he padded into his dressing room that he was preparing to go out for a drink. She believed she owed him too much to allow that to happen, but she could conceive of only one way to stop him.
Christian had gotten one leg into his pants when he heard Jenny's whimper. He cursed softly. He wasn't up to another battle with her. He hobbled into the bedroom, trying to finish dressing as he went. He tucked in his nightshirt and snapped his suspenders in place just as he reached the bed.
"What is it you want from me?" he asked plaintively. "I'm damn—darn—certain I am not crawling into your bed."
Jenny moaned softly and clutched her pillow. She ground her teeth together, clenching the muscles in her cheeks. Her fingers opened and closed spasmodically.
Resigned, Christian responded by sitting on the edge of the bed. "Oh, hell." He lifted her head and placed it on his lap. "Mrs. B. would be better suited to this." He stroked her hair, gently sifting through it with his fingers. "She likes cats and children. I can't abide either. And there's a bit of both in you, Jenny Holland." Christian grimaced as she snuggled against him. While she made it more difficult for him to ease out from under her, at least he didn't have to wrestle her again.
Christian leaned back against the headboard and tried to find a comfortable position for himself. His bare feet were cold. He adjusted the blankets that covered Jenny so they covered his feet, too. He pushed a pillow behind his back for extra support. Every time he moved, he did so with caution so as not to wake Jenny or frighten her.
It took some ten minutes of adjusting this way and that before Christian was satisfied that he could nap without disturbing her. He would get out of the bed before she woke in the morning, and she'd never know they had shared the same blankets. Christian gave in to a yawn and felt his eyelids growing heavier. He realized he'd forgotten to turn back the lamp. Too late now. It would have to burn itself out because he was not moving. Jenny Holland was a better soporific than a cup of warm milk.
Jenny waited until she was certain Christian was sleeping before she gingerly moved away from him. There was plenty of room in his wide bed for both of them. She scooted to the far side and hoped that Christian, given time, would stretch out more comfortably. She slipped one arm under her pillow, elevating her head slightly, and was deeply asleep in minutes.
It was the unfamiliar heat and hardness against her buttocks that woke her. She knew she had slept a few hours at least. The lamp had burned itself out and the misty gray light of dawn filtered through the drawn curtains. Outside, the storm had stopped and there was a heavy silence beyond the windows that Jenny associated with falling snow.
There was a brief, panicked moment when she thought she was not awake at all but trapped in another nightmare with Billy MacCauley. The truth of her situation, when she understood it, was more difficult to know how to manage. This was Christian Marshall who held her now, and if Billy's grip about her waist had been strong, this man's grasp was unbreakable. His arm curled completely around her middle so that she was actually lying on the hand he had slipped under the curve of her waist.
Jenny held herself very still, afraid to make any movement that might encourage him. Was he sleeping? She hoped so. She could feel the even cadence of his breathing against the sensitive skin of her nape. It was soft and warm and it tickled. She resisted the urge to touch the back of her neck or lower her head out of his way.
When one of Christian's legs nudged Jenny's, she thought she might come out of her skin. His knee was seeking to part her thighs, and it was the first time she realized how far her nightshirt had ridden up her legs. She heard him moan softly, something between a sigh and a yawn, and then he adjusted his position so that his body conformed to the contours of hers. Jenny held her breath until she felt him relax. She exhaled slowly, soundlessly, and began to ease away. She had barely begun when she stopped and bit her lower lip as she realized his fingers were tangled in her hair. What was she supposed to do now? This was not so very different than the times Billy McCauley had come to her in the treatment room. She had suffered his touch and survived. If it came to that, she could bear it again.
But it did not come to that. Christian bent his head so that his cheek rested against the silkiness of Jenny's sable brown hair and whispered a name. "Maggie."
Jenny felt a surge of outraged feminine sensibility and was confounded by it. She elbowed Christian sharply in the ribs.
"Oww!" He grunted, pressed the heel of his hand to the source of his pain, and blinked. His vision remained bleary. "What the hell did you do that for? You used to like it when—"
"I never liked it," she said, pushing at his arm. Unable to budge him, she beat his shins with her heels instead. "Let me go."
Christian tried to trap her feet. "Damn it! Stop—"
"I will take it as a kindness if you would stop swearing."
That admonishment brought Christian to his senses as nothing else could have done. He released her immediately and rolled away. "You're not Maggie," he said, sitting up in bed.
Jenny sat up as well, wrapping herself in a blanket. "I certainly am not."
Christian closed his eyes a moment, pressing his thumb and forefinger to his lids. "I don't believe this," he said under his breath. "What are you doing in my bed? God, this is my bed, isn't it?" Then he remembered the events of last night and swore again. He glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was after seven. So much for his intention to return to the divan before she woke. "Never mind," he said wearily. "Stay where you are. I'm getting up."
Jenny immediately felt a stab of remorse. This was, after all, his bed, and she was the intruder. And hadn't she been trying to think of a way to extricate herself from his arms when he called her Maggie? There was something she was not prepared to dwell on. She gathered the blanket about her shoulders like a shawl. "No, you stay. I hardly know what I'm doing here myself."
"You don't remember?"
Jenny turned away from him and put her legs over the side of the bed, modestly covering her bare legs with the hem of the nightshirt. "Bits. Only bits. That's the way it usually is." She could have told him she recalled some things more clearly than others, such as the moment when she woke and found him sobbing in the cradle of his hands.
"This has happened to you before?"
"Sleepwalking? Many times." Jenny lifted her chin and regarded him curiously over her shoulder. "Do you think that makes me a demented soul, Mr. Marshall?"
"Demented? No, I don't think so, but if you set one foot on the floor right now, I will question your common sense."
Whatever that was supposed to mean. Frowning, Jenny slid off the edge of the bed. Her toes touched down and she stood. Sharp pinpricks of pain brought immediate alarm to her eyes, and she fell back on the bed. "How could you know?" she asked, raising one foot so she could see the sole. "What have you done to me?"
"Done to you?" he asked. "Nothing. There are dozens of glass crystals embedded in your feet. And no, I didn't put them there. Apparently you walked all over the glass that shattered in your room before we found you."
Jenny knew she was looking at him as if he were the one who had lost his mind. "Glass? What glass? What are you talking about?"
Christian frowned. "You really don't remember, do you?"
"I told you. Bits." She pressed her lips together as she tried to put the events right in her own mind. "I remember being very cold and wet and... frightened. A dream?"
"An understa
tement. You were frozen, dripping, and terrorized. It was one hell of a nightmare. What was it about?"
Jenny shook her head. It had been, as he said, one hell of a nightmare, but she was not going to share it with him. "I'd like to go back to my own room now," she said quietly.
"Haven't you heard anything I've said? There are splinters of glass in your feet. That's why it hurts to walk. The storm shattered a window in your room."
"I remember the storm. I couldn't sleep."
"Yes, well, you had a restless evening even after Mrs. B. and I brought you in here." Christian refused to say any more. She could make what she liked of the fact that he had been in bed with her—was still in bed with her. "Lie back down and get a little more sleep. You can't do anything until Dr. Turner takes care of your feet." Christian swung his legs out of bed. "I'll ring for Mrs. B. and have her send someone for Scott."
"No! My feet don't require Dr. Turner's skills. I'll take care of them myself. Do you have a pair of tweezers?"
"You're not serious."
"I am. Please, Mr. Marshall. I'm sick to death of troubling people." When he merely rolled his eyes, Jenny sniffed. "Very well. I'll find them myself. I seem to remember a pair in the dressing room." Jenny slid to the opposite side of the bed, not even aware that Christian made a grab for her. Gripping the footboard of the bed, she tiptoed around the edge of the bed. Confident of her own cleverness and self-reliance, she smiled smugly. His answering smile was scornful and it brought Jenny up short. She wavered on the balls of her feet between the bed and the rocking chair. She flung her arms wide, seeking purchase on the furniture and balance for herself.
"I despise martyrs," he said, watching her weave. "Now put yourself back in that bed or I swear I'll throw you there."
Jenny was too startled to move in any direction. Her fingers gripped the back of the rocker, and she steadied herself. She winced slightly as the soles of her feet touched the floor. "I will not be bullied by you, Mr. Marshall," she said with what she thought was great dignity. "You might be my employer, but—"
"That does it," he said, cutting her off. "You have just reminded me that I don't need your permission. You work for me."
Jenny had time enough to turn but no opportunity to run. "Let me go!" she said as Christian's arm snaked about her waist. His grip was so powerfully hard that she was winded for a moment. Her next protest died in her throat.
Christian picked Jenny up easily. Although she flailed at him, he managed to dodge her blows. "I've had it with your martyrdom, Jenny Holland." He pitched her on the bed. "Now stay there. I'll get the tweezers and take the splinters out myself. You cannot imagine how pleasurable I'll find that task." He stalked off to the dressing room, the rigid set of his shoulders daring her to move while his back was turned.
Jenny was sitting at the head of the bed when Christian came back. Her arms were crossed in front of her and her mouth was a thin line. She glared at him.
"Your show of defiance is duly noted," he said, sitting down. He brusquely motioned her to lift her feet and place them on his lap again. He lifted her left ankle and pressed his thumb into the ball of her foot. Shards of glass glittered. He took aim at one with the point of his tweezers.
"You probably torture small animals as well."
Christian frowned. "How is that again?"
"What you said last night... about disliking cats and children. I see that it's true. A great bully like you would..."
Jenny bit back her words and knew even as she did so that it was too late. She could practically hear Christian's thoughts as his scowl deepened.
"You were awake," he said. "You heard me say that because you were awake." He tossed the tweezers on the table and grabbed Jenny by the back of her knees. He pulled her toward him before she recognized his intent. Her calves lay across his lap and the back of her thighs pressed against his. Jenny's nightshirt had ridden up almost even with her hips and neither of them noticed. Christian took her wrists and held them in a grip that made no allowance for fragile bones. "What else did you hear?"
Jenny shivered. Here was righteous anger held in check by a short, taut leash. She was more frightened for him than of him, but it was a narrow thing. She closed her eyes, blocking out the sight of his unyielding jaw and the tiny white lines of fierce, hot fury that had begun to take shape around his mouth and between his brows.
"Look at me!"
His command had the opposite effect. Shaking her head, Jenny squeezed her eyes tighter. She arched back and tried to dig into the mattress with her heels. The placement of Christian's thighs prevented her from finding purchase, and she pinched and twisted the tender skin of her wrists when his hold on them proved to be unbending. His hands were more powerful and far less giving than the leather restraints she was used to. Only when she acknowledged the futility of escaping did Jenny open her eyes. Her gaze fastened on a point beyond his shoulder.
"At me. Not at the wall. Look at me."
Jenny took a shallow breath before she settled her gaze on the muscle working rhythmically in Christian's lean cheek.
"How long were you awake?" he asked. When she didn't answer, he gave her a little shake to punctuate his question. "How long?"
"Please let me up," she said, unaware of the tears that glistened in her eyes.
But Christian was very aware of them. "Don't you dare start crying," he said. "I will not be moved. How long were you awake?"
Jenny could not push a single word past her thickening throat. She swallowed hard and shrugged. Her eyes slid to his, and she quickly looked away. The betrayal she saw there was a terrible thing to look upon.
"I swear to God I'm going to beat you unless you tell me what I want to know."
His threat effectively dissolved the lump in her throat. She caught a sob when he gave her another small shake. "I-I woke up when you s-sat down on the bed. You p-put my head on your l-lap and j-just held m-me."
"Stop it. Credit me to know a lie when I hear one, especially when it's told as pitifully as you tell it."
"I c-can't help it." Jenny did not know if she was apologizing for crying or lying. She couldn't seem to control either.
Christian lowered his head just enough to he catch her gaze again. Once he had it, he held it, daring her to look away. "You were awake when I came over to the bed, weren't you? You played the innocent this morning, but last night you let me crawl under the covers with you. You laid your head in my lap and let me stroke your hair." His voice quieted. "Why, Jenny? Why did you do it? What game are you playing with me... with all of us?"
"No game," she said quickly. "I swear there is no game."
"Tell me more."
"I-I woke up and s-saw you..."
"Yes? Saw me what? What was I doing?"
"Y-you were cr-crying. Bereft, I thought, grieving, and my heart ached. I w-wanted to..." As soon as the words left her mouth, she understood they were the wrong ones to say. Even with him watching her so closely, predisposed to believing she would lie, she still thought she should have been able to offer something more palatable than the harsh truth.
"I don't want your pity," he said. His pale, icy eyes drilled into hers. "More than that, I don't need your pity." His grip on her wrists tightened fractionally. "What else did you see?"
Jenny extended and splayed her fingers to restore circulation. He seemed oblivious to her distress. The pressure on her wrists did not ease. She bucked and twisted and tried to escape his hold again. Her neck arched, exposing the vulnerable white curve of her throat as she dug the crown of her head into the mattress. Her head jerked in small, agitated movements and her eyes dropped away from his.
Rather than releasing her, Christian rearranged himself so that he lay alongside Jenny. He threw one of his legs over both of hers. His hands maintained the hold on her wrists but more loosely now, and he pressed more of his weight against her, pinning her with his chest and hips. Apparently she needed to revisit the lesson that her strength was insufficient to move him.
&nb
sp; Jenny's fingers itched to get hold of Christian's suspenders. Nothing would have given her greater pleasure than to draw them back as far as New Jersey and let go. She'd sling shot him to Albany... to Canada... to—
Christian interrupted Jenny's musings as he repeated his question. His eyes slid from the pulse beating at the base of her throat and fastened on the tremulous pink curve of her mouth. "What else did you see?"
She frowned. "I don't know what you mean. What else do you imagine I saw?"
He didn't know if he could trust her bewildered expression. Had she really not witnessed his attempt to sketch her? "Look at me and tell me that."
Raising her eyes, Jenny found herself trapped by his gaze once more. "I can't tell you what I don't know, and I don't know what you think I saw." She felt tears congealing in her throat and grew impatient with herself. Christian Marshall was not the only person who wanted privacy for his tears. "I-I s-said I saw you cr-crying and that's all I s-saw."
"All right," he said after a long moment, "I'll accept that—for now." If she had not seen him drawing, then she had no explanation for what moved him to tears. That suited Christian. As far as he was concerned, Jenny Holland knew too much about him already. "So, you witnessed something you did not understand and assumed I would be grateful for a distraction. You faked that little scene that got me into bed. You will forgive me for wondering about the other scenes you've played. That earlier nightmare, for instance. Staged or real?"
"I will not forgive you," she said. "It wasn't like that. You are being deliberately provoking. You're making it sound... I don't know, as if I wanted something from you."
"Didn't you?"
"No!"
"Didn't you want me in bed with you?" He bent his head so that his mouth hovered just above hers. "Isn't that why you laid your head in my lap? Isn't it? You have the most perfect mouth. I couldn't help thinking... Did you want me then? Hmm? Jenny Holland? Did you want me?"