by Daphne Clair
Well, this was what she’d got. She looked at the clock. She could hear sounds of stirring in the house. There was little hope of spiriting Jager out without being seen. Being caught trying would be more embarrassing than fronting up about his presence.
Maybe reading her thoughts, he said, “I could climb out the window, but the neighbors might notice.”
Paige said stiffly, “If you wait until I’m dressed, we’ll go downstairs and I’ll explain we were involved in an accident and you were slightly injured so…as my sister’s room was free, you stayed overnight.”
Momentarily his jaw tightened. “And I’m supposed to go along with that?”
Her gaze fell away as she said, “I hope you will.”
“I don’t suppose they’ll swallow it.” He paused. “Will they tell your husband? Will you?”
Her eyes swung back to him, wide with shock.
“What sort of man is he?” Jager queried harshly. “If he hurts you…” His hands clenched into fists, and his expression turned dangerous.
Paige took a moment to orient herself. “Do you think I’d have slept with you if…?” Stopping short, she swallowed and took a deep, sustaining breath. “You have no idea,” she said, gathering dignity to herself like a shield, “what you’re talking about. My husband died six months ago.”
For once she saw Jager rocked off balance. His expression went totally blank, his cheeks almost colorless. The firm, stubborn chin jerked up as if he’d been hit, and his body seemed to go rigid.
Before he could pull himself together, she’d marched across the carpet into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.
When she came out Jager had recovered his equilibrium, although he looked a trifle paler than usual. His eyes were shuttered, with the watchful, not-giving-anything-away look that he’d worn for much of the previous day. He had taken up a stance near the door to the passageway, his back to the frame, hands in his pockets.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” he asked her.
Paige was opening a drawer to pull out undies. “I was trying to when we crashed. When I realized you didn’t know.” She went to the built-in wardrobe and opened the double doors. They made an effective screen as she blindly reached for a pair of jeans and hauled them on.
“You didn’t say anything last night…here.”
Paige found a sweater and pulled it over her head. What was she supposed to have done? Paused in the middle of that mind-blowing lovemaking and said, By the way, did you know my husband died?
She adjusted the sweater over her hips. “The subject didn’t come up.”
Stepping out of the screening doors, she closed them with a snap. When she went to the dressing table she could see Jager behind her and to one side. She picked up a hairbrush and flicked it cursorily over her hair. Last night she’d omitted the customary fifty strokes, but with him watching she wasn’t inclined to make up for it now.
“We might as well go down,” she said, replacing the brush.
“And get it over with?”
Paige shrugged, on her way to the door.
His hand on the knob, Jager said, “I should say I’m sorry about your husband.”
That was an odd way of putting it, but he looked sober, even genuinely sympathetic. She nodded. “Thank you.”
For a long moment he stood just looking at her, his gaze probing and perhaps puzzled. Then he opened the door and waited for her to precede him.
Their appearing together in the breakfast room caused a distinct shock to her parents, but on the face of it they seemed to accept Paige’s explanation. At the mention of an accident her mother was more concerned with any likely injuries than where—or how— Jager had spent the night. She peered at Paige’s face anxiously. “You might have been scarred!”
“I’m not,” Paige pointed out. “We were lucky.”
She invited Jager to sit at the table, and offered him toast and coffee. Her mother, after a minute or two, switched to hostess mode and asked if he’d like bacon and eggs.
“No, thanks,” he answered. “Coffee and toast is fine.”
Her father turned to Jager. “You hurt your leg?” he asked gruffly.
Jager had come down behind Paige and she hadn’t noticed anything wrong. She looked at him. Was it an act to back up her story?
“Nothing’s broken,” Jager answered her father, just as he’d told her. “I’m a bit stiff after last night.” He glanced at Paige, and she looked hastily away. “I seem to have muscles I never knew about.”
“What about you, Paige?” Henry asked. “Perhaps we should take you to a doctor just in case.”
“I’m all right. The impact was mostly on the driver’s side.”
Jager had made sure of that, turning the wheel as far as he could before the other car hit. Startled by the thought, she looked at him. “Were you trying to save me?”
He looked back at her for a moment, then shrugged. “I was trying to save us both. Instinct took over.”
An instinct that put him directly into the path of an oncoming car? Paige curled her hand around the cup of coffee she’d poured for herself. He’d have done it for anyone, she guessed. Any woman, at least. A natural male reaction maybe, latent even in twenty-first century man.
“I’m grateful anyway.”
Her mother said, “I’m sure we all are.”
Jager’s mouth twitched at the corners as he turned to Margaret. “Thank you, but I don’t need gratitude, Mrs. Camden.” His tone, although perfectly courteous, implied he didn’t need anything—not from her nor her husband. “And Paige has already shown hers.” His eyes sought her apprehensive gaze and he continued smoothly, “She patched up my wounds, such as they were, and insisted I stay the night.”
Margaret’s eyes too went to her daughter. Paige avoided her gaze, reaching for marmalade that she didn’t need. “The cuts looked worse than they were,” she said. “I’ll wash the things from the bathroom later. And the sheets from Maddie’s room.” She didn’t want her mother or the cleaning woman who would come tomorrow noticing that Maddie’s bed hadn’t been slept in. And she’d certainly be washing the sheets from her own bed.
Paige had little appetite, and Jager ate quickly and sparingly before pushing back his chair. After thanking Margaret he said, “I’ll collect my things from…upstairs and be on my way.”
Paige rose too, noticing that he winced as he stood up, his grip on the chair back turning his knuckles momentarily white.
He was limping as they left the room, and he gripped the banister all the way up the stairs.
In the bathroom he picked up his jacket and tie, then came back to her room. “Thanks,” he said, “for everything.”
“I could borrow a car and run you home.”
He seemed to be trying to read her expression before shaking his head. “I’ll call a cab.”
“If you like.”
They were standing feet apart, and it seemed he was as tongue-tied as she.
Then he moved, came close and lifted her chin with his big, capable hand. “What was it about—last night—Paige? For you?”
Paige struggled for words. It had been unexpected, out of character and, in the light of day, inappropriate.
But fantastic, an inner voice reminded her.
Trying to ignore that, she said huskily, “I don’t know. I suppose…reaction to the accident.” She’d heard danger was an aphrodisiac, but had always found the theory difficult to believe. Maybe there was something in it after all. “And,” she added, determined not to flinch from the truth, “it’s some time since I…since I had sex.”
His eyes narrowed, so that she couldn’t read their expression. “Since you were widowed?”
The brutal question stiffened her spine, and she stepped back, away from his light grasp. “Yes,” she said harshly. “If you must know.” Surely he didn’t think she made a habit of one-night stands?
“And before that,” Jager’s voice was soft, “did your husband fulfill your needs?�
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“Yes!” she shot at him, and then firmly clamped her mouth. She wouldn’t discuss Aidan with him. And her sexual needs were her own business.
His mouth too had tightened, to an ominous line. What did he want, a confession that he was king in the bedroom? He wouldn’t get it from her.
“So,” he said, “where do we go from here?”
Be strong, she exhorted herself. We’ve been down that road once and it only leads to heartache. Heartache and emptiness. “We’re not going anywhere, Jager. Last night was…nice…”
“Nice!”
“…but it doesn’t mean we have any kind of…relationship.”
“We have a relationship,” he argued, “whether you like it or not. Whether your family likes it or not.”
“Had,” she insisted. “Past tense.”
“You know that’s not true!”
Rallying herself, she argued, “It’s true for me. I’ve moved on, and I don’t want to go back. Whatever we had in the beginning didn’t last long, did it?”
“It might have if—”
Paige said sharply, “Better not to go there, surely. We’ll only start fighting again, and I don’t want that.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then leave it, Jager…please? Last night…maybe it was a mistake, but let’s not spoil the memory by parting in anger.”
He looked belligerent and frustrated, but finally nodded curtly. “All right. You’ve made your point. You won’t object to one goodbye kiss?”
Without giving her a chance to do so, he crossed the space between them and took her shoulders in his hands, bending his head to part her lips with his mouth.
Paige tried to remain unmoved, but the persuasion of his mouth moving across hers softened her resistance, and although she somehow kept her hands clenched at her sides her mouth gave him back kiss for kiss.
Then she was free. Jager gave her a hard look, nodded briefly as if satisfied, and turned to limp to the door.
Trailing after him, she felt uneasy despite his apparent capitulation, and there was a hollow feeling in her midriff that threatened to turn into panic.
She had done the right thing, she assured herself when his cab had collected him. There was no future for her with Jager. Once bitten was enough.
Turning her mind to practicalities, she hurried upstairs and stripped the beds in both bedrooms, bundled up the sheets with the used towels and cloths from the bathroom and took them down to the laundry.
Her mother found her sprinkling washing powder into the machine. “Paige? What on earth were you thinking of? I’d have thought you’d have more sense than to let that young man drive you home. And as for inviting him to stay…! I suppose he’d been drinking.”
An emotion familiar from long ago made Paige clench her teeth. Busying herself with the control panel she said, “He offered me a ride and it seemed silly to refuse. The accident wasn’t his fault, Mother. I suppose he’d have had a glass or two of wine at the reception, but he was under the limit when the police tested him. And he probably saved my life—or at least saved me from being injured.”
“You’re defending him again,” Margaret accused shrilly. “Just as you always did.”
“I’m trying to be fair.” Jager didn’t need her to defend him—he never had. She’d expended a lot of energy doing it nevertheless, and alienated herself from her family. She didn’t want that to happen again. “Don’t worry, I won’t be seeing him anymore.”
Relief flooded Margaret’s face. “I’m so glad to hear that, darling!” She stepped forward to put her arms around her daughter. “He was never suitable for you, you know that.”
“Yes,” Paige said dully. “I know.”
She did know. Her parents had been right all along, so why did the words make her feel like a traitor?
The following day while she was helping her mother pack some wedding presents that had been sent to the house, ready for the honeymooners’ return, the phone rang and the cleaning woman called her.
Picking up in the spacious foyer, she wished she’d chosen a less public extension when Jager’s voice answered her brief hello with a simple, spine-tingling, “Paige.”
Her breath momentarily stopped. She found herself looking about furtively for anyone within earshot, but the cleaning woman had disappeared and her mother was still busy with wrappers and boxes in another room. “What do you want?”
For a second he didn’t reply. When he did there was a subtle change in his tone. “That’s a leading question.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.” Remembering his limp yesterday, she said, “Are you all right?”
“Yes. What about you?”
“Perfectly. Is that why you rang?”
“Not the only reason. What are you doing tonight?”
“Nothing—I mean, nothing that involves you.”
He gave a short laugh. “That’s blunt.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you? Then why cut off your nose to spite your face—or is it to keep the peace with your family?”
“I don’t think there’s any point in raking over old…embers.”
“They were more than embers the other night.”
Paige bit her lip as a warm tide of remembrance washed over her. “It didn’t mean anything—if we hadn’t both been reacting to the shock of nearly being killed it would never have happened.”
“Not then, maybe…”
“Not ever. And it will never happen again.”
“If I were a betting man…”
She knew she’d made a mistake. Jager could never resist a challenge. “Jager,” she said, closing her eyes tightly. “Don’t. It’s only six months since I lost my husband. Maddie’s wedding was a bit of a strain, then with the accident coming on top of it…I guess I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“And now you’re regretting it.” His voice had hardened.
Obviously he didn’t share her regret. “It didn’t mean anything! So please, leave it at that.”
“What if I can’t?”
“It takes two,” she argued. “And I hope you’ll respect my feelings.”
“I respect your feelings,” he said. “Why don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it,” he advised dryly, “and let me know when you’ve sorted them out.”
She heard the gentle click in her ear with a mixture of anger and relief. Let him know when she’d sorted out her feelings? Hell would freeze while he waited.
When she had allowed Jager to believe she would be returning to America, Paige had been less than frank. She had come home prepared to review her future and start a new chapter in her life. And grateful for the support of her family.
By the time Maddie and Glen returned from their honeymoon, Paige had a job doing graphic design in a large printing firm, and she’d bought a cottage perched on the edge of the inner harbor. The back of the house gave a view of the water through native trees growing on a steep slope.
“Mother thinks you’re nuts,” Maddie told her candidly the first time she and Glen visited, finding Paige scraping flaky paint from a window frame. “She expected you to get a place in the city. Something low maintenance and—well, not like this.”
“So did I, really.”
She had only looked at this place because of its location. When the estate agent told her he had an old cottage on a neglected section with native bush and a sea boundary, she’d envisaged demolishing it and putting up a new home to her own design, but something about the shabby, sleepy-looking cottage appealed to her, and impulsively she’d decided instead to rescue it.
Glen surveyed the tired paint and sagging porch. “It’ll take more than a lick of paint to fix this up.”
Reluctantly Paige put down the scraper. “Can I make you two a cuppa?”
Inside, Glen looked around the small, dark living room and scuffed his toe on its worn carpet. “I bet there’s kauri under that. Or rimu, maybe.”
Ther
e probably was. Most old houses had native timber on the floors.
“They come up beautifully with modern finishes,” he added.
“Glen’s a frustrated handyman,” Maddie told her. “He wanted us to buy an old villa and fix it up, but living in the middle of renovations would drive me crazy. We have friends who’ve been ‘doing up’ for years!”
“This will be a big job for one woman,” Glen commented. “You’re not planning to do everything yourself are you, Paige?”
“It’s already been rewired and reroofed. I’ll hire professionals to fix cupboards in the kitchen and renovate the bathroom. But I hope to do a lot.”
“I’m a dab hand with a paintbrush,” Glen said.
Maddie rolled her eyes. “For heaven’s sake, Paige, take pity on the poor guy and let him help you.”
Laughing, Paige said, “I’ll take all the help I can get.” Glen’s attitude was refreshing after her father’s frowning comment that she should have asked his advice before being talked into a lemon by a slick real estate agent, and her mother’s scarcely concealed horror.
“There!” Maddie kissed Glen lightly. “You’re hired.”
He grinned down at her, hooking an arm around her waist to kiss her back. Paige looked on with a pang of envy. She was glad Maddie had found someone who obviously adored her and was committed to sharing their future. But in comparison her own future looked bleak and lonely.
“By the way,” Maddie said, breaking reluctantly away, “we’re having a dinner party Saturday night for the families, mine and Glen’s. You’re invited, of course.”
Of course she was, and of course she had to go. It wasn’t until the day before the party that Maddie told her Jager would be there too. “Glen took it for granted that his family includes Jager now. His mother is being awfully good since she found out. She told Jager he’s welcome in their home anytime. You will still come, won’t you? Only I thought I should warn you, when I realized what Glen had done.”
“Are you going to warn Mother and Dad too?”