Slow Burn: Seducing Mr. RightTake Me

by Cherry Adair

  Her eyes went blank before she closed them. “If you ever change your mind—” When she opened them again, they were filled with regrets.

  “Don’t hold your breath.”

  She picked up her purse and straightened, looking from the hole in the wall to his hand, then back to his face. Pale, but resolved, she walked to the door and paused.

  “Do I have to call security?” he asked coldly.

  She didn’t turn, but her fingers whitened on the edge of the thick oak door. Her shoulders stiffened and her chin came up. “Goodbye, Joshua.”

  * * *

  “AND I SOBBED,” Jessie said disgustedly, dry-eyed and furious. She paced Archie and Conrad’s family room. “I cried!” She threw up her hands in disgust and kicked off her shoes.

  “You’re pregnant with his child and the son of a bitch broke your heart,” Archie commiserated. “Of course, you cried.”

  “He lost his temper.” Jessie wrapped her arms around her waist and glared at the far wall. “He was so angry.” Tears welled. “So hurt.” Jessie pressed her fingertips into her eye sockets. “Damn it, my hormones have gone haywire. Why did I have to cry?”

  “Because the closed-minded jerk hurt you!” Conrad perched on the arm of the sofa.

  Jessie spun around. “He is not a jerk.” She grabbed the box of tissues Archie held out as she walked by him. “Well, okay, he can be a jerk.” She wiped her nose. “My crying only made him feel worse.”

  “Him feel worse?” both men asked in unison.

  Jessie blew her nose. “All the poor man wanted was a nice uncomplicated affair. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with the man.”

  “Excuse me for a moment as I try to instill a touch of reality into the conversation here. Didn’t he contribute to your pregnancy?” Conrad asked, eyebrows raised.

  “He claims to have had a vasectomy.” The tears dried like a puddle in the desert sun. “I could just strangle him for not telling me that.” She was furious all over again.

  “Shit, Jess. You are Pollyanna.” Conrad snatched a handful of tissues from the box in her hand. Dabbing the trail of mascara running down her cheeks, he said firmly, “Call my father. Get every dime that bastard has. Arch and I will be surrogate fathers.”

  Jessie gave him a distracted smile. “You two will make excellent daddies, but don’t blame Joshua for being angry. I shattered his last few remaining illusions. If this had happened in January as planned, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. It’s not his fault we wanted different things. He never once in all these months pretended to be anything he was not. Or promised me anything he didn’t deliver. I was the one telling all the whoppers. He was starting to trust me.” She chewed on a fingernail. “He was so hurt, he claimed he had wanted to marry me!”

  “You’re already married,” Archie reminded her.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake! He doesn’t know that!” Those darn tears spilled again. Jessie scrubbed at her face. “I’m the one who betrayed that trust. I’m the one who’s been living a lie. If the pregnancy made him angry what’s he going to do when he finds out the rest of it?”

  “You better skip the country,” Archie said, half joking.

  Jessie tried to smile. It was an impossible task. “How come when you get your heart ripped out you can still feel it breaking inside?”

  She wondered at her own naiveté to think that she could spend twelve minutes with Joshua, let alone twelve months, without having her foolish heart broken into little pieces. She should have divorced him years ago. She shouldn’t have carried the divorce papers around with her for years. She should have signed and filed them.

  Instead, she had only memories and a handful of papers to prove she had ever known and loved him at all. And a tiny baby who would never know her father. Jessie felt the sting of tears again.

  Her throat tightened. She had come to know him so well. How could she hope to salvage his pride after what she had done to him?

  She should have come right out and told him who she was. She should have done a lot of things, Jessie thought morosely. What she should not have done was fall in love with him.

  She had listened to him in his office. And although the words had been cruel, she had seen beneath his anger to the hurt tearing him apart.

  Or she thought she had. She couldn’t forget that she’d misdiagnosed his feelings before.

  She’d looked at the strong lines of his face, so dear and so heartbreakingly familiar. Her eyes blurred as she struggled to store up memories like photographs. It took no effort to remember every line beside his pale eyes, nor the way those eyes had cut through her like an icy laser beam.

  Now it was over. Irretrievable. Somewhere, in a small rational part of her heart, Jessie had known it would come to this. Movies and romances had happy endings. This was real life. A woman like her could never in a trillion years bring a man like Joshua Falcon to his knees.

  She settled her hand over the small roundness of her tummy. He had inadvertently given her something more precious than Tiffany diamonds or real estate, something she’d wanted more than anything else.

  “Be careful what you wish for,” her mother used to say wistfully, watching the door close behind another man. Jessie’s breath wedged in her throat as it tightened.

  “What are you going to do, love?” Archie asked.

  For a moment she couldn’t speak. She was chilled soul deep. The weight of tears pressing down on her chest was almost unbearable.

  “As Scarlett said, ‘Tomorrow is another day.’” Jessie managed a wobbly smile before grabbing another handful of tissues out of the box. “But first, I need to cry for a while.”

  It wasn’t only what they had that she’d miss. It was what they could have had.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IT WAS MID-DECEMBER. A time of year Joshua already loathed. He felt as though he’d spent the past weeks living in a vacuum. Everywhere he looked, Christmas glowed and shimmered. Every store window blazed with red and green.

  He closed his eyes and could see her. Those big brown eyes sparkling, that sweet, succulent mouth just waiting... In his mind, he could hear Jessie’s throaty laughter. He could smell fresh peaches. Aw, hell.

  All he could think of was Jessie. Jessie mischievously wearing a crown of holly. Jessie laughing up at him before welcoming him home. Jessie, Jessie, Jessie.

  Jessie loved holidays. Christmas was her favorite. The story about her dream book had almost broken his damn heart when she’d told it. All those carefully cutout pictures from newspapers and magazines. All those unfulfilled dreams and wishes.

  If any of that had been true. He’d convinced himself that even that had been part and parcel of her lies. She’d wanted that damn baby. She hadn’t had a change of heart. She’d planned and executed her attack with the finesse of a general. Her weapons were state-of-the-art, old as Eve, and had almost worked. God, she had been furious when he’d told her he’d had the vasectomy. Furious!

  He didn’t want to think about Jessie. The fact that this time of year would forever remind him of her pissed him off even more.

  He depressed the button to open the gates to the estate, dreading the dark and empty house. He was glad he’d invited Simon over for drinks before they went out to dinner tonight.

  He’d hardly seen Simon since he’d met Jessie. He liked his uncle’s company, even when he knew the older man was doing something to manipulate him. Well, tonight he’d tell Simon in no uncertain terms that Jessie was definitely a conversation topic that was off-limits. They’d have a few drinks, get a meal and life would get back to normal.

  He’d given most of the servants the month off. He was sick of the dark, accusing looks from his staff. They had adored her. To them, he was the villain of the piece. He should tell them about the miracle conception.

  Since J
essie had left him, he was getting used to coming home to a dark house. He’d become accustomed to Jessie waiting inside for him. She’d have had every light in the place on in welcome. He didn’t even want to think about her warm smile or her comforting arms. The house she had briefly made into a home was now a house again, a place he dreaded entering.

  Well, he’d been fine without her before, and he’d be fine again. He didn’t need her.

  His fingers tightened convulsively around the leather steering wheel. Traitorous little witch. He’d narrowly missed making a complete fool of himself. The tabloid press had already made mincemeat of her. A calendar girl who couldn’t even cut the full twelve months. Speculation ran rampant. Joshua ignored it as he always did. It was the job of his public relations team to control what was in the press, only bringing to his attention anything needing his immediate input.

  In this instance Joshua turned a blind eye, instructing the PR people to do nothing to stop the innuendo and speculation. He didn’t give a damn what happened to her. Jessie had made her bed. Now she would have to lie in it. He didn’t even care who she lay in it with.

  He wanted to believe she had been nothing but a brief interlude. Quickly forgotten. But the reality was she’d sure as hell changed his life. Never again would he have a mistress for a set period. God, he already felt like a hermit. Sex was the last thing on his mind.

  She’d even ruined that for him.

  He planned to spend the holidays in London this year, and had no intention of telling his friends and business associates there that he was even in the country. Part of him regretted giving her the house in Tahoe. She wouldn’t even let him dislike the holidays in his usual location.

  It started to rain. A fine depressing mist coated the bare branches of the trees, bowing down the shrubs in the long beds as Joshua pulled the Jag up to the front door. He should change his plans and go somewhere sunny instead, he decided, sprinting up the curved front steps and unlocking the door. Somewhere hot and clean.

  Somewhere he’d never been with Jessie.

  The first thing that struck him as the front door closed behind him was the smell. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

  Obviously he’d gone over the edge. The house was completely empty, yet he smelled a strong scent of pine and cinnamon and the pleasant aroma of apple wood burning.

  Joshua tossed his overcoat over the table in the entry hall and strode down the hallway to his den. And came to a dead stop, his eyes narrowing.

  The Christmas tree took up the entire corner by the windows. Brilliant with small white lights, glittering with gold and green and shiny red, the smell permeated the room. In the enormous fireplace, a fire blazed, sending up sparks of blue and orange, which reflected off the packages piled haphazardly beneath the tree. A plate of home-made cookies sat beside the crystal decanters on the drinks trolley.

  Jessie.

  Joshua’s heart took up a frantic rhythm. He drew in a breath as if he were dying.

  Jessie was home.

  He flexed his still sore right hand. Fool. If she were here he’d kick her out in about two seconds. He didn’t need her, and he sure as hell didn’t want Christmas, this year more than any other. Damn her.

  “Jessie!” He spun away from the room, storming like a demented fool through the empty, quiet house, shouting her name. Everywhere he looked were signs that Jessie had come.

  And gone.

  Crazed, he threw open doors to unused rooms, banging through closets. His bedroom carried a trace of her scent, but no Jessie. Her side of the closet still held her clothes. Every damn dress he had given her. He slammed the door shut to block out the scent of peaches and Joy and loneliness.

  He was enraged at her intrusion. Just when he’d gotten over her. Damn her. How dare she just walk into his house and destroy what little peace of mind he’d found?

  The image of his Jessie, big with another man’s child, pressed against his synapses. Would that picture ever go away? Or would it be replayed with one of Jessie holding the other man’s child to her breast?

  Joshua went back downstairs. His jaw ached and he realized how hard he was gritting his teeth. She had done this to torment him. He wouldn’t allow it. Slipping back into his controlled and more manageable persona, Joshua poured a stiff brandy. Trying to show his appreciation for the 1884 Bas Armee, he ignored the tantalizing scent of fresh-baked cookies.

  He took the drink with him, staring down at the presents beneath the tree. A green felt cloth, sprinkled with what looked like gold dust, lay like a blanket over something long and curved. Pinned to it was a note.

  Joshua crouched down; his fingers trembled slightly as he slipped the note off the fabric.

  “Suspend disbelief,” she’d written. “Pretend you are seven years old and you’ve just come downstairs Christmas morning.” Joshua closed his burning eyes for a moment. “I can’t be part of your future. I’ve only been a small part of your present. I wanted to give you back something of your past.” She hadn’t signed the note.

  “Damn it, Jessie.” He took a deep gulp of Armagnac.

  He carefully removed the cloth then sucked in a breath. It was a train. Perfect in every detail. The Lionel engine, black and shiny, was followed by the coal tender. Behind it, freight cars and flatcars carried smaller presents.

  The train disappeared behind the sudden mist in his eyes. Joshua sank to his knees, blinking rapidly. Joshua flicked up the on switch. The train started with a whistle and a moment later a puff of smoke rose from the stack. A reluctant smile tugged at his mouth. It hurt, deep inside him.

  She had arranged the track around the room, under the desk, around the chairs and tables. Joshua watched it for almost half an hour, clearing his mind. He had no idea why she’d done it. He didn’t want to be charmed.

  He stood to refill his glass, absently taking the plate of cookies back to his vantage spot on the floor. Biting into a cookie, he closed his eyes, listening to the clack-clack of tiny wheels on small tracks. He would have given his soul to own this train at seven.

  Jessie had remembered.

  Jessie who had never received a present until she turned twenty-one. Jessie who’d never owned a toy until she was an adult. Jessie who had never asked him for a damned thing.

  A small package slipped from a car as it passed his knee. With trepidation Joshua opened it. Inside was a red Duncan yo-yo. The next package was marbles. The next a Swiss Army knife. Blue.

  Each gift represented something he’d wanted as a child. He opened a gaily wrapped package from under the tree and found the flannel shirt she had promised him in Tahoe. The next box contained a brown bomber jacket.

  He tugged off his suit jacket and slipped his arms into the sleeves, smelling leather and a faint, faint trace of Jessie. He slipped his hand into the pocket to pull out the long white silk scarf. She’d heard every secret his heart had revealed and made them come true. She hadn’t forgotten anything.

  He sat back as the brandy warmed his insides and the fire caressed his skin. He picked up a throw pillow off the couch. It still carried her scent. “Damn you,” he seethed, crushing the pillow to his chest. As always the scent of her aroused him. He groaned deep in his chest. “Damn you to hell,” he said. After all, she had sent him there.

  He viewed the dozens of precious gifts and mounds of wrapping paper that lay around him, as his train made another circuit of the room. He’d wanted all these things as a child. And Jessie had given them to him. Twenty-seven years later.

  As the train continued its route about the room Joshua reached for the last gift beneath the tree. It was a narrow, flat box wrapped in gold paper with an iridescent red ribbon. This gift had been buried beneath all the others, almost behind the tree trunk.

  Joshua sipped at his drink. He wanted to believe everything that had happened in his office had been a bad dre
am. That Jessie had never betrayed him. That Jessie was going to walk in any moment, her liquid eyes loving him, laughing that throaty laugh of hers.

  The presents were so typical of her, so unexpectedly right. She knew him so damned well—which was why she had been able to sneak under his defenses and render him senseless.

  No. Make that stupid.

  He turned the last package over in his hand. His fingers twitched against the bow. He frowned as he looked down to see his thumb caressing the silky gold paper. He felt ridiculously reluctant to open this last gift of Jessie’s. As if by not knowing what it was, he could keep her here in the room with him for just a few more minutes.

  Why the hell did almost everything that woman did have to charm him so? His gaze lingered on the piles of shiny paper tossed about the room. Had she meant for him to do more than “suspend disbelief” for the minutes it had taken to open her presents? Had Jessie imagined he was fool enough to believe that bullshit about both the birth control and his vasectomy not working?

  The bitterness of gall filled him. He, a man who never vacillated, never had a moment of indecision or ambivalence, was suddenly filled with the most serious of doubts.

  More than anything he wanted to believe Jessie’s ridiculous story. He shifted from anger to agony in the blink of an eye. It hurt to breathe. He felt as though he were slowly dying without her. Joshua dashed another three fingers of brandy into his glass and tossed it down his throat.

  Gasping for air, he waited a moment for the moisture from the alcohol-induced tears to leave his eyes before he glanced at the Rolex on his wrist. The last thing he needed right now was company. Did he have time to call off the evening he’d planned with Simon? Not unless he caught his uncle on the car phone, and what the hell would he use as an excuse?

  I came home and Jessie had been here. If I close my eyes I can smell her. She left me every present I’d ever wanted in my life. The box in his right hand cut into his palm. And she took away something I never knew I wanted...until I met her.