The Bride Means Business

by Anne Marie Winston

  He came back downstairs when the math was finished and Christine was tucked into bed. Jillian passed him on the stairs, on her way up to say good night, and he said, “I’ll meet you in the study.”

  A few minutes later, she came through the door. “She’s almost asleep already.”

  “Big day for a little kid.” He smiled fondly, then indicated the table at one side of the room. “Over here are the spreadsheets for the past year’s accounts. Have a look.”

  She did. When she finally raised her head, her eyes were dark and concerned. “It almost looks as if prices on these products were kept low on purpose. I don’t believe in gouging customers but I can’t see how Piersall could make much profit with margins as slim as these.”

  He moved closer to her and pointed to a spot on one of the charts. As he did so, his chest pressed against her arm. She glanced up—

  And didn’t look away.

  His breath came faster. He slipped his arms around her and pulled her to face him fully, and the erotic slide of her soft curves over his hard male flesh made him close his eyes in what was very nearly a painful rush of lust. She was his wife. Why shouldn’t they share the pleasures of the marriage bed? “Honey-bunch,” he murmured. “I want you.”

  She swallowed. “I know.”

  “Come upstairs with me.”

  She gazed up at him. Slowly, he ran his hands up her back and brought every inch of her against every aching inch of him. She licked her lips and his gaze fell to her mouth. As he lowered his head, he kept looking at that lush, pink—

  “Stop.” Jillian put her hand over his mouth. “This isn’t what I want, Dax.”

  “You’re a liar.” He punctuated the words with kisses pressed into the palm that covered his lips. “You want me as badly as I want you.”

  “Maybe I do,” she conceded as she backed out of his embrace. “But I don’t do casual sex.” Her voice was soft and filled with pain, but irritation was rising inside him and he ignored it.

  “We’ve never had casual sex in our lives,” he said “Don’t you remember—”

  “I remember everything.” She whirled away from him and he could see her shoulders hunch as she hugged her arms around herself.

  It was such a vulnerable pose that he felt the irritation subside. “I can wait a little longer, honey-bunch. But don’t keep me waiting too long. You’re my wife now, and I want you in my bed.”

  She turned then, and the sadness in her eyes hit him like a physical slap across the face. “I’m not a possession,” she said. “I’m a person. And I have feelings, too, Dax.” Then she slipped out of the room.

  He stood there for a moment, his body begging him to go after her while his mind puzzled over her words. What could she possibly have to feel sad about? She’d been the one to cheat on him. She’d brought all their troubles on herself. But as he turned and began to gather the account information together with self-righteous annoyance, an insistent whisper from his conscience accused, She didn’t run right out and have somebody else’s baby. She never married another man.

  Was it possible she still had feelings for him? He’d thought she loved his brother. But could she still love him as well?

  The following Wednesday, the bell over Frannie’s shop door jingled when Jillian walked in. She used the front door when the shop was closed, but today, Frannie had yet to flip over the sign to let customers know she wasn’t in, so Jillian took the opportunity to wander through the shop.

  Wedding accoutrements were everywhere. Frannie’s little bridal shop did a booming business, largely because of its owner’s skill at designing dream dresses for a girl’s big day. But she also had expanded the theme to offer everything a bride could need. And there were quite a few things a bride didn’t need, but surely would enjoy, scattered around the shop as well.

  One new addition caught her eye and she detoured to the glass case on the way to the work room. Frannie had displayed several dolls wearing custom-made dresses and tuxes. A small brochure beside them advertised the beauty of having a replica of your own dress to remind you always of your special day.

  She’d bet a nickel that had been Deirdre’s idea, and she approved. What bride would be able to resist?

  Her own wedding dress was still specially preserved and packed away somewhere in the recesses of the Piersall home. Her home. She hadn’t wanted to see the gown again, after things fell apart. It had been being altered when Dax left. When the process was complete, the shop called her to pick it up and she’d told them to throw it away.

  But Dax’s mother, her almost mother-in-law, dear old softy, had rushed downtown and picked up the dress, putting it on the attic of Charles’s and her home when Jillian had refused to take it. “Life takes a lot of strange turns,” she’d said. “You might wish you’d kept this twenty years from now.”

  And Jillian’s thoughts had flown immediately to Dax, wondering, as always, why he had never come home.

  She snorted inelegantly, pushing away the dull pain that squeezed her heart. She knew the answer to that one now.

  “Something funny?”

  She turned, pinning a brilliant smile into place as she embraced Frannie. “Hello, darling. How’s the bridal business?”

  “Hello, yourself, newlywed.” Frannie’s eyebrows rose as she realized Jillian hadn’t answered her question, but she let it pass. “The bridal business is fine. The household, however, is a different story. Have you had chicken pox?”

  “When I was five. Marina brought them home from school.” She gave Frannie’s shoulders a sympathetic squeeze as they turned to go through the shop into Frannie’s kitchen. “But I thought kids got shots to prevent them now.”

  “They do,” said Frannie, looking totally disgusted. “But they aren’t a hundred percent effective. The doctor warned me they could still get them. They just won’t be very severe. And as luck would have it, Alexa was exposed at preschool. She broke out yesterday. Of course, Ian’s been exposed now, and so has the baby.”

  Frannie led the way into the kitchen. “I’m so glad you came, Jill. My sister-in-law came down to give me some breathing room from the kids—she’s upstairs now sponging down Alexa. Ian and Brittany, bless her hyperactive little heart, both are napping.”

  “You know I hate to miss our Wednesday lunches.” Jillian sank into a chair at the table where Frannie’s assistant had a pretty fruit salad and some cucumber sandwiches waiting. “I finally hired some help to replace Marina, but I’m still working like a horse. This is my treat to myself.”

  “What does Dax think of you working so much?”

  The question caught her off guard, and she hesitated for a moment. “I don’t really know,” she admitted. “We haven’t discussed it. He’s pretty busy, too. He barely has time for Christine, much less a wife.”

  “Christine seemed like a nice child.” Frannie had met Chrissy the previous weekend when she’d come by to drop off a couple of chairs she’d borrowed for one of her shows at the shop.

  “Oh, she is.” Good, a safe topic. “I’ve tried to be as low-key as possible. So far, we’re getting along pretty well.”

  “Her mother and Dax, uh, are divorced?”

  “Yes. But her mother remarried and the new hubby apparently doesn’t want Chrissy around.”

  Frannie’s eyes swirled with sympathy. “Does Christine know that?”

  “Oh, yes. The mother didn’t bother to hide it. According to Dax, she couldn’t wait to get rid of the child.” Jillian speared a hand through her blond mane, shoving it back from her face.

  “Jill...” Frannie, usually so forthright, seemed oddly ill at ease. “The day we helped you move, you said you were only staying for six months. Was it true?”

  This really wasn’t something she wanted to explain to her friend, but since they’d all helped her move her things, she supposed she owed her some explanation. “It’s true,” she said softly. “Dax has some business concerns in Butler County. I’m...working with him when he needs me and helping o
ut with Christine.”

  “You’re telling me this really is just a business arrangement?”

  Jillian nodded. “That’s about it.”

  “But...” Frannie was floundering. “The way he watches you... I thought for sure there were some feelings there. And if you’ll forgive me for sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong, I’ve never seen another man who makes you light up like Dax does.”

  “Light up?” If it didn’t hurt so much, the image would be funny. “If I light up around him, it’s only because he’s made me so mad I’m throwing off sparks.”

  “See? That’s just what I mean.” Frannie’s eyes were a piercing green, intense and direct. “No one else ever provokes strong emotions from you unless you think someone you care about is being hurt. You have a string of suitors a mile long, but they come and go and you never blink.” Her voice softened, and she added, “If Dax went, I think you’d do more than blink.”

  “He already left me seven years ago, a month before our wedding.” The bald words tumbled out before she could leash her tongue. From a reservoir that had been leaking over its walls for weeks, treacherous tears sprang to her eyes and she caught back a drop that tried to escape.

  There was an instant of shocked silence.

  Then Frannie left her chair and came around the table. Without hesitation, she put her arms around Jillian where she sat, pressing Jillian’s head against her stomach. “Oh, baby, go ahead and cry,” she invited, rubbing her palms up and down Jillian’s back.

  Jillian shook her head, mortified. “I don’t cry,” she said into the fabric of Frannie’s blouse, using it to blot the tear or two that called her a liar.

  The body beneath her cheek moved and she heard a low chuckle above her head. “No, you don’t, do you?” Frannie leaned back slightly, assessing her with a far too astute eye and Jillian looked away. Frannie had a habit of looking into her as if she could read exactly what was roiling around inside her head, and she didn’t want anyone reading her mind right now. “Tell me what happened.”

  Jillian sighed. “God, you’re persistent. Jack isn’t kidding when he says you’re worse than water dripping on stone.”

  Frannie smiled as she gave her friend’s shoulders a final squeeze and returned to her seat, but her eyes never wavered. “Why did he leave you?”

  Trust Frannie to reserve judgment until the facts were on the table. She, on the other hand, would have rushed in swinging her sword and asked questions later. “It was a stupid misunderstanding,” she said, sighing. “He thought he caught Charles and me in a compromising position. He didn’t, of course, but he didn’t wait around to find out.”

  “He just left?” Frannie’s voice showed the first hint of a strident tone. “How long ago?”

  “Seven years.”

  “And he never came back until now?”

  Jillian swallowed the lump that rose with the memory. “He wouldn’t have come back now if Charles hadn’t died.” She shrugged, striving for flippancy. “It was probably for the best. If he didn’t trust me any more than that, our marriage never would have lasted, anyway.”

  “But—but—Christine—she’s got to be close to seven.” Now there was the beginning of incredulous anger in her friend’s tone.

  “A memento of the lengths he went in trying to forget me.”

  Frannie was shaking her head, and Jillian could see tears forming in her eyes. Before Frannie could speak, she said, “Stop that. I’ve made a career out of suppressing tears, and if you start, you’re liable to make me ruin my dry streak.”

  “If you hadn’t told me this, I’d have harbored hope that there might be a reconciliation in the works,” her friend confessed. “You two might strike sparks, but you also seem to be...connected.”

  “We’ve known each other most of our lives. Familiarity now, not fondness.”

  But as she turned the conversation firmly in another direction, she knew what Frannie meant. They did share a connection, she and Dax. Reconciliation was a strong word for the fragile tendrils that had begun to stretch between them again, but beneath all the hurt, the anger and the sorrow, there was a little corner where hope was beginning to stir.

  And the gentle embrace they’d shared the night before had pushed a stick into its slumbering embers until hope lay exposed, waiting for tinder to help it grow strong and vital once more.

  They went to Marina’s the next Friday evening. The Bradford home was a pretty brick rancher on a large lot in an older neighborhood. Summer’s last flowers still edged the walk and an oak tree shaded one side, making it look calm and serene—much like Marina, Dax thought.

  Then they walked through the front door and the resemblance ended.

  Pandemonium reigned. Or at least it seemed like it. They were greeted by a pre-school-aged Mexican jumping bean that Ben identified as Jenny. A big brown-muzzled dog and a little white floor mop that vaguely resembled a dog danced around and through everyone’s legs. Christine, unused to animals, shrank back when the bigger dog made a beeline for her, and Jillian grabbed his collar and hauled him back.

  “Major, you big fool! Give her a chance to get used to you. Marina! Come call your dogs.”

  Marina appeared in the doorway, blue eyes sparkling as she laughed. She carried a tiny infant in one arm and the baby was screaming with every breath in its little lungs. Handing the baby to Ben, Marina gave them a hasty welcome and disappeared with the dogs.

  Christine’s dark eyes were huge. “Wow!” she said. “A real family.”

  Jillian said, “Amen,” in a wry tone and Dax glanced at her—and stopped for a long survey.

  Jenny danced along in front of her, chattering a mile a minute as Jillian moved toward the family room Ben was indicating. She had taken the baby from Ben and was soothing it with a gentle hand rubbing the small back while she listened attentively to Jenny, and to Dax’s amazement, the baby was quieting. When she finally sat down on the couch, she snuggled the child against her cheek and closed her eyes for a long moment, and he got the impression she was savoring the moment.

  She obviously loved children, he thought, watching as she introduced Jenny to Christine and the older girl let the smaller one drag her off to the playroom. As he had the night he’d seen the photo of her with an infant, he wondered why she had never married, never had children of her own. She couldn’t have lacked opportunity.

  The mere thought of her in some other man’s arms made him clench his teeth until he felt a muscle ticking along his jaw and forced himself to relax.

  The evening was surprisingly pleasant. He’d expected it to be awkward, since he’d hardly bothered to make a good impression at their first meeting but Marina went to great pains to make both Christine and Dax feel comfortable. Even Ben, who clearly saw himself as Jillian’s protective big brother, relaxed enough to offer him a beer and talk baseball and the Orioles’ chances of winning the pennant in the play-offs.

  After dinner, which was an informal affair during which Jillian took turns with Ben and Marina walking the fussy baby, the little girls went outside. Jenny assured Christine that the dogs were friendly, and Dax was surprised to see how easily his daughter had accepted these strangers. When Jillian’s sister encouraged Christine to call her, “Aunt Marina,” it gave him quite a jolt.

  “So,” said Ben as he poured coffee for all the adults, “Jillian tells us you came home to some trouble with your family’s business.”

  Dax nodded. “That’s a mild way to put it.”

  “What exactly does Piersall do?”

  “We manufacture steel. When my grandfather started the company, its largest clients were the Baltimore shipyards. But as the years passed, the shipyards were building less and less, and when my father took over, he made a conscious effort to diversify.”

  “How?” Ben appeared genuinely interested as he took his seat.

  “By getting into construction steel. We have several large distributors up and down the East Coast now as well as keeping our hand in what�
�s left of the shipyard market.” He sighed. “The market’s strong. The company should be doing well.”

  “Should be but isn’t.” Jillian handed the baby who was sleeping at last to Marina and sank into a chair opposite his. “We’ve both looked over the financial records. Nothing is obviously out of place but there’s been a steady dropoff in profit over the past five years.”

  “As a result, stock shares go down in value.” He hesitated, then decided he might as well voice the concern that had been niggling at the back of his mind for the past few days. “I’m starting to wonder if there’s a single person or corporation buying all the stock.”

  “For what purpose?” Ben’s brow furrowed.

  “It wouldn’t do anyone any good,” Jillian pointed out. “Together, we control more than fifty percent of the voting stock.”

  “I know.” Dax spread his hands on the table and regarded his knuckles absently. “That’s what bothers me. It makes no sense.”

  There was a short silence around the table. The baby, John Benjamin, smacked his lips in innocent slumber and as one, they laughed.

  Then Jillian rose. “Thanks for the meal. We’ll return the invitation one of these days. Right now, we’d better get Christine out of here so you can get Jenny to bed.”

  When they went to get the little girls, it was clear that Christine was in her element. He had never thought about how lonely her young life might be, but as he watched her mothering the smaller child, he realized that his daughter was having a ball. She’d be great with younger brothers or sisters.

  Younger brothers or sisters. He realized what he was thinking. He’d gotten all too used to having Jillian in the house and in his life again. Now he was starting to think of long-range things—like babies.

  What had happened to him since he came back?

  He was all too afraid he knew exactly what, and her name was Jillian Elizabeth Kerr. Piersall. Jillian Piersall. He would never trust her again, and he sure as hell would never let himself love her the way he’d loved her once, but as long as he didn’t let her lead him around like she did every other man who came near her, he’d have the upper hand.