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by Janet Nissenson


  She was close, so close, had in fact been teetering on the edge of orgasm since they’d entered this room, but Ian had seemed intent on prolonging the anticipation, keeping her on the brink for as long as possible. But when he turned his head to press a kiss to her cheek, he noticed the wetness of the tears that tracked down her face and tenderly licked them up.

  “Shh. Everything’s all right, love. I’m going to make everything all right for you right now,” he whispered softly.

  He worked a hand between their tightly fused bodies to find her clit, and at the first touch of his thumb against the tiny, painfully hard nub, she climaxed instantly, and with such force that the breath caught in her throat for long seconds. She clutched handfuls of the bedcovers as Ian continued to pound his cock inside of her, struggling for breath, until she heard him utter a bellow loud enough to echo around the room, signaling the apex of his own orgasm. Still he kept thrusting, emptying himself inside her willing body, until she felt his semen running down her thighs in thick, sticky rivulets, her body unable to hold all of it inside.

  Eventually, he rolled off her body onto his side, taking her with him as he did. They were both drenched with sweat, their bodies sticking together, and her hair hung in wet, tangled strands down her back. They lay entwined together for long minutes, neither of them able to summon up the strength to move for some time.

  Ian was the first to speak, his voice raspy but with a faint trace of amusement. “Well, it’s finally happened, darling. You have finally succeeded in thoroughly corrupting me. If someone had told me a little over a year ago that during the next thirteen months I’d have sex in a dressing room, in not one but three of my parents’ houses, and finally in the backseat of a limo driving through the streets of Paris, I would have told them quite firmly that they were thinking of the wrong Gregson brother. But I suppose I’ve done Colin proud over the past year, haven’t I? Not,” he added hastily, “that he’ll ever know about any of those incidences, of course.”

  Tessa grinned at him, tracing a finger over the firm outline of his mouth. “Well, it’s your own fault, you know,” she teased. “You did tell me one very memorable time in front of a mirror that you wanted to do very wicked things to me. That you wanted to be sinful with me. All I’ve been doing is following instructions.”

  He arched a brow at her. “I don’t recall giving you instructions to seduce me in the back of one of the hotel’s limousines.”

  She shook her head, her eyes twinkling impishly. “You didn’t. I thought that one up all by myself.”

  Chapter Twelve

  March – near Minneapolis, Minnesota

  “Where are we exactly? And when are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

  Ian gave her a sideways glance, a mysterious smile on his handsome face. “All in due time, darling. And we’re about an hour outside of Minneapolis right now. We’ll reach our destination in another fifteen minutes or so. Settle back and relax until then, hmm?”

  “Okay.”

  She complied with his bidding, but couldn’t help feeling more than a little unnerved as this unexpected road trip continued. It had been a long time since she’d had this sort of unsettled feeling, the type that she had once sworn only occurred on Wednesdays. The very last time she’d felt this way, in fact, had been right before she’d wound up having emergency surgery last summer.

  Ian had teased that he’d finally “broken the curse” of Wednesdays by very intentionally choosing that day of the week to propose to her last September. And she’d been convinced that he was right, assured that he would make very, very sure that only good things happened to her from now on, not only on Wednesdays but every day of the week.

  He had proven himself to be that elusive knight in shining armor she had stopped believing in so many years ago, the Prince Charming that she’d loved to read and dream about as a little girl, but had come to realize by the age of nine was really just a fairytale. Ian had swept her off her feet, taken care of her, given her everything her heart desired. But at the same time he’d made her believe in herself, had given her the confidence and strength she’d never imagined existed deep inside of her, and, most of all, had loved her with a passion and devotion that every woman dreamed of knowing but that precious few were ever lucky enough to find.

  During their trip to London last month for the annual board meetings, Ian had insisted that Tessa sit in each day, not just for the purpose of taking his notes and passing him papers, but so that she could learn more about the company - and thus the family - that she was marrying into. It had thrilled her to no end to realize how highly he regarded her opinions, how he valued her intelligence and abilities, and that he was more than living up to all the promises he’d made that theirs would be an equal partnership. She’d been especially flattered by Ian’s confidence in her, in his inclusion of her, because neither Victoria nor Selina had ever attended any of these meetings, and had little to no involvement with the company. Of course, much of that was because Victoria had her hands full raising four rambunctious boys, while Selina had her own successful career as a corporate attorney. But that hadn’t changed the fact that Ian trusted her enough and had more faith in her abilities than she did herself to involve her in such important company meetings. It was just one more reason that she was crazy in love with this man, adored him with every breath in her body, and would do anything in her power to make him happy.

  And Tessa rarely let a day go by when she didn’t quietly count all the blessings that had come her way when Ian Gregson had entered her life, and made sure that he knew every single day how much she loved him.

  She turned to him now, as he drove along the rural highway with care and competence, and squeezed his thigh.

  He looked over at her quizzically. “Everything all right, love?”

  Tessa nodded. “Everything is perfect. I just couldn’t remember if I’d told you yet today how much I love you.”

  Ian brought her hand to his lips. “You’ve been telling me all day, darling,” he replied gently. “Just as you do every day. You don’t always have to say those three particular words to get your message across, you know. Not when it’s in every look and touch you give me, and all the things - big and small - that you do to please me. And it goes without saying that the feeling is very, very mutual.”

  He released her hand in order to downshift the BMW sedan that the staff at the Minneapolis hotel had arranged for him. It was rare for him to rent a car during any of their business trips, since they typically remained on site at the hotel for the duration of their stay. On those occasions when they did leave the premises to do some sightseeing or shopping, they were either driven around town in one of the hotel’s limos or caught a taxi.

  This very unusual and unexpected road trip continued to baffle Tessa, especially as they drove further away from the city. Ian had taken her by surprise yesterday morning, informing her that they would be staying an extra night in Minneapolis and flying home this evening. This was the last stop on a visit to other hotels in the Great Lakes area - Detroit, Milwaukee, and Toronto - and normally they would have flown home to San Francisco last night. Instead, they were embarking on a mysterious drive to some increasingly rural destination. The highway had changed ten miles ago to a two lane country road, the cities had turned to towns, and landmarks were further and further apart. And with each mile, the unsettled feeling in Tessa’s tummy grew a bit stronger, the old fears that she had naively believed to be long gone returning full force.

  And when they reached the outskirts of a town named Oak Grove, with a population of fewer than three thousand, Tessa knew exactly where they were. She clasped her hands in her lap to stop them from trembling, and winced a bit to realize how cold they were. As Ian took the exit from the road, she realized what his intent had been in taking this little excursion, what his purpose was in bringing her here.

  “Do you know what this place is, Tessa?” he asked her quietly.

  She nodded, staring out t
he window as they drove down the small main street of the town, past schools, churches, and a gas station, and then through neighborhoods of old but neatly kept houses.

  “This - this is where my mother was born,” she replied in a flat, emotionless voice. “Where she grew up.”

  “Yes.” Ian was following the directions the car’s sophisticated navigation system was giving him, and made a right turn. “Did she ever mention this place to you? Talk about growing up here?”

  “No.” Tessa noticed that the houses here were smaller, older, and more rundown, the yards less tidy and maintained. “She never talked about her childhood or this place or her family. Whenever I asked she would just close up and change the subject. But, sometimes, when she was especially manic, talking a mile a minute, she’d mention Oak Grove, call it the most awful place on earth, and swear she’d never go back. I figured that was probably where she grew up, but I didn’t know for sure. And, well, this place. Especially this neighborhood we’re in right now. It - it’s exactly like the one she described in her books. She used a different name for the town, but I know now she based it on this place.”

  Tessa shuddered, recalling some of the horrific scenes Gillian had detailed in her books about living in her hometown, and hoped that most of them had only been the product of her mother’s very vivid imagination. She’d always suspected that the books were at least partially autobiographical in nature, even though Gillian had used different names and locations. But the books had been all too accurate in detailing her mother’s sad, abusive childhood. and then her gradual descent into madness, details that no writer - no matter how talented or imaginative - could have made up.

  Ian stopped the car in front of a small, boarded up old house. No one appeared to have lived there for quite some time, judging by the poor condition of the property, the waist high weeds in the front yard, and the total lack of any signs of human occupation. But Tessa knew this was the place her mother had grown up, and where, if her stories had been even half based on reality, she had known abuse, neglect, and poverty until she’d run away at the age of seventeen. Despite the house’s ramshackle appearance, it fit Gillian’s written descriptions of it to a tee - from the front door that was painted a faded shade of green, to the bay window that was covered with a thick layer of grime, and the porch where Gillian had once been left to huddle from the bitter cold of a Minnesota winter because her crazy mother had locked her out of the house.

  Tessa had hoped that that particularly disturbing scene in the first book had been pure fantasy, something her mother had made up for dramatic effect. But the more details she recognized about the house, coupled with the growing churning in her belly, the more she began to suspect that nothing her mother had written had been made up - that the horrors and abuse and struggles so painfully detailed in those books had in fact been Gillian’s life.

  “This - this is it, isn’t it?” she asked in a trembling voice. “The house where she was born.”

  “Yes,” replied Ian gently. “I thought - well, that you’d like to see it. That you’d want to know where she grew up, perhaps find out a little more about her life. But I have to admit I didn’t expect it to be quite this bad.”

  Tessa kept her hands clasped tightly in her lap, reluctant to get out of the car. “How did you locate it?” she murmured in disbelief. “And what made you decide to even start looking?”

  Ian picked up her hands and rubbed them between his much larger ones to try and warm her up. “Call it an impulse, I suppose,” he sighed. “I’ve always felt badly that not only didn’t you have any real mementoes of your mother - no keepsakes or photos or possessions - but you didn’t even know anything about her family - your family. And that feeling only became stronger when I brought you home to England for Christmas. I suppose I felt guilty seeing how big and happy and loving my own family was, while you didn’t even know if you might have a grandmother or cousins of your own somewhere. So I hired an agency that specializes in researching family trees and often locating long lost relatives in the process. They sent me a report just a few weeks ago. I knew we would be in the area around this time, so I thought I would surprise you. I didn’t expect this, however. The report didn’t include any photos or details about the house or this town, simply an address.”

  He waved his hand to encompass the rundown neighborhood they had parked in, and in particular the abandoned house that Gillian had once lived in.

  Tessa squeezed his hand, needing both his warmth and reassurance at this point. “Thank you for doing that,” she told him somberly. “I know that your heart was in the right place, Ian. Just like it always is. Did - was there any information about my mother’s family?”

  Ian nodded. “Not a great deal, though. I’ll show you the entire report, though it’s not very long. Your grandmother was widowed at a very young age, leaving her to raise your mother alone. No other family to speak of, except for a couple of distant cousins that she didn’t keep in contact with.”

  “My grandmother - is she still alive?”

  He hesitated before shaking his head. “No, love. She died about ten years ago. It - the report indicated that she took her own life.”

  Tessa buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God. Was she ill like my mother was? Is that what caused her to commit suicide?”

  Ian reached across the gear shift and wrapped his arms around her trembling body. “I don’t know for certain,” he admitted. “The agency wasn’t able to uncover any medical records, just her death certificate.”

  She nodded. “I understand.” She looked outside the window, reluctant to get out of the car, but realized this might be the only opportunity she would ever have to see the place where her mother had once lived. “I guess as long as we’re here we should get out for a few minutes.”

  “Of course. We’ll give it a lookover, then go back into town. I thought perhaps we might stop by the school and see if there were any records of your mother, maybe a teacher who remembered her that we could talk to for a few minutes.”

  Tessa smiled at him gratefully. “That would be wonderful, Ian. Thank you.”

  He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “You’re very welcome, love. Hang on, I’ll come get the door.”

  Ian always insisted on opening the car door for her wherever they went, just one of the many little ways he spoiled her, and yet another example of his perfect, gentlemanly manners. He took her hand and helped her out of the rented BMW, and Tessa shivered the moment her feet touched the ground - a reaction due only in part to the frigid late winter climate. Being this close to the house where she knew her mother had experienced such unhappiness and abuse made her entire body feel ice cold, both inside and out.

  She was grateful that she’d heeded Ian’s advice this morning and dressed warmly for this outing, wearing dark skinny jeans, a chunky cream turtleneck sweater, knee high brown leather boots, and a quilted brown nylon jacket. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket, wishing she’d thought to bring along her gloves and a wool cap, but she was warm enough for the moment and had no intention of lingering in this place for more than a few minutes.

  “Come. Let’s have a closer look, shall we?”

  Ian placed his hand on the small of her back and urged her up the cracked, uneven pathway that led to the front of the house. Tessa snuggled against him, seeking out both his warmth and reassurance, as she took a tentative step onto the rickety porch.

  “Do you think anyone has lived here since my grandmother died?” she asked, trying to peer inside the grimy window.

  Ian shook his head. “From the way it’s been neglected, I would say not. There’s been a considerable amount of damage to the roof, so the place is virtually uninhabitable. And though it’s difficult to see inside through these filthy windows, it doesn’t appear that there’s any furniture or other belongings still inside. Most likely after your grandmother died the bank who held the mortgage simply repossessed it, and has never been able to sell the place. Small wonder,
considering the shape it’s in, not to mention I noticed several other abandoned houses as we were driving up the road.”

  Tessa nodded, noticing the padlock on the front door that was undoubtedly meant to keep out squatters or wild animals from taking up residence. Though why any creature would want to live in such a place was beyond her imagination. Even during those months when she’d been homeless, living in her car the way she’d done would have been preferable to staying in this rundown, neglected little house.

  She placed a hand on the front door as she tried to peer inside the window, but it was too dark inside to make out any details. The whole place, however, inside and out, had long ago been abandoned and forgotten, a house where no one had lived for more than a decade, and where Tessa knew that very bad things had happened.

  She jerked her hand away from the door suddenly, as though she’d been burned, even though the air temperature was in the mid-thirties and snow flurries were beginning to form.

  “This place is evil,” she whispered. “I can sense it, Ian. All of those horrible things my mother described in her books - she didn’t make them up. They really happened. To her.”

  “You don’t know that,” he told her soothingly, his hands gripping her shoulders. “Yes, they were very descriptive, very realistic, but your mother was also an excellent writer, Tessa. She had an extremely vivid imagination, a way with words. For all you know, she could have based her books from newspaper stories about someone else. Or perhaps a school friend that these things happened to.”

  “No.” Tessa shook her head. “I just have this feeling, Ian, that every word in those books was true. That it was her life she was describing, her feelings. And if it’s true - my God, what my poor mother suffered. No wonder she couldn’t function during those last few years of her life. How could anyone recover from that sort of mental and physical abuse?”

 

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