by Day Leclaire
She gave him an impatient look. "You know what difference. I don't want them to count on your being there when we both know it won't last. In case you didn't notice, they're a sweet couple whose affections are easily engaged."
"Mmm. I did notice," he admitted, remembering Selma's instant acceptance of him.
"Exactly. They're very trusting." She scowled at him. "Too much so."
"And I'm someone they shouldn't trust?"
To his amusement, she didn't give him a straightforward answer. "Let's just say the jury's still out," she muttered. "But that doesn't change the fact that you're returning to London soon. By the time you do, they'll have become overly fond of you. They'll also assume you've deserted me and be hurt and upset on my behalf."
"And what about you?" he questioned curiously. "Will you be hurt and upset, too?"
"Not a bit," she stated with an interesting lack of conviction. "It'll be a relief to have you gone so I can get my life back to normal."
"Does that mean you'll move in with Krista and Keli again?"
"Absolutely not. I still have hopes of salvaging that situation, despite your interference. Which is another reason I neglected to introduce you to my relatives. You stuck your nose in where it didn't belong with Krista. I wasn't about to have you do the same with Uncle Ernie and Aunt Selma."
"I told you why I interfered in your business with Krista."
"You didn't have all the facts then, just as you didn't tonight. You had no right to tell Ernie and Selma I'd allow them to invest that money until you had all the information at your disposal."
"I agree."
"I—" She blinked in surprise. "What did you say?"
"You heard me. I spoke without thinking."
"Since you're being so agreeable, would you mind explaining why you jumped in?"
"Because I thought you were being unreasonable."
"Unreasonable? A fat lot you know!"
"Nikki..." He yanked irritably at his tie as he searched for an approach that wouldn't rouse her anger again. He shook his head at the irony. For such a cool, logical female, she sure had a hot temper. "They're your relatives, not your clients. Maybe if you stopped treating them as if it was a business transaction and started treating them like family—"
"I'm responsible for their financial stability."
"Maybe you shouldn't be."
"You don't understand."
"You know, I'm getting really tired of hearing that phrase." He shot her a penetrating look. "How can I understand when you won't explain? And don't tell me it isn't any of my business, because as of now I'm making it my business."
She lifted her chin. "And if I refuse to tell you anything?"
"I suspect your relatives will be more forthcoming. Of course, it might be somewhat embarrassing for you when I get my answers from them—answers my wife should have provided."
Agitation brought renewed color to her cheeks. "That's blackmail."
He tilted his head to one side in mock contemplation. "I believe you're right. It is."
"Why are you doing this?" she demanded in frustration. "What do you care? They're not your relatives."
He shrugged. "Damned if I know. I guess because I take my family obligations seriously."
"Then—"
"Enough, Nikki. Are you going to answer my questions or do I have a man-to-man conversation with Ernie?"
Stubborn to the end, she stewed about it for a full two minutes. Since he considered the outcome inevitable, he gave her all the time she needed. He crossed to the liquor cabinet and removed a bottle of cabernet sauvignon. By the time he'd poured them each a glass, she'd reached her decision. He waited while she gathered her composure, understanding her dilemma better than she realized. To discuss family, she had to give up a certain amount of control and trust him. And for some reason—perhaps that incident seven years ago—control was everything to her; trust something to be avoided at all costs.
"Well?" he asked, handing her the wine.
She took a disrespectful gulp and fixed him with a defiant glare. "What do you want to know?"
"How old was Krista when she married?"
Nikki dropped onto the couch. "Seventeen," she said bleakly.
He had suspected as much, but it still came as a shock. "She was pregnant with Keli?"
"Yes, though it wasn't a shotgun marriage, if that's what you're asking. She and Benjie were very much in love. Krista gave birth two days before her eighteenth birthday."
"That makes Keli, what? Six?" At Nikki's nod of confirmation, he asked, "And what happened to Benjie?"
"He died in a car accident four months after the wedding."
Jonah sucked in his breath. "Jeez, Nikki. I'm sorry."
"We all were," she said with marked understatement. "It wasn't a good time."
"I'll bet. What did Krista do?"
Nikki shrugged, staring into the ruby depths of her wine. "Benjie's family wasn't in a financial position to help, whereas our parents had left us some insurance money. So, Krista moved in with me."
"And has lived with you ever since," he concluded. "You've supported them?"
"Krista has a part-time job. But I've encouraged her to stay at home with Keli. I earn enough to take care of them."
"What happened to change all that? Have you gotten tired of living in such tight quarters? Or is having a six-year-old around cramping your life-style?"
She set the glass on the coffee table with great care before turning on him with all the ferocity of a tigress defending her young. "Don't you ever say that again," she said harshly. "Ever. I love Krista and have adored Keli from the moment of her birth. If I had my preference, they'd never leave."
"Then why the hell are you throwing them out?"
Emotions chased across her expressive face—pain, sorrow, resignation. "I finally realized that Krista was using me to hide from life. She never dates, rarely goes out with friends. Her entire life revolves around Keli, and to a lesser extent, me. I overheard a phone conversation shortly before the Cinderella Ball. She was explaining to a friend how much she owed me, how she could never leave me because I needed her. And I realized that all these years..." Nikki snatched up her glass and drained the contents.
Without a word, Jonah refilled it. "All these years you've protected her from life instead of forcing her to face up to it."
"Yes."
"So you've decided to set her free. In fact, you're tossing her out of the nest whether she wants to go or not."
She nodded, tears glittering on the ends of her lashes. "I've come home every day for the past six years to a hug from Keli, and now... And now—" Her voice broke and she buried her face in her hands.
He was beside her in an instant, gathering her in his arms. "Don't," he murmured. "I'm sorry. You're right. I did misunderstand."
"Keli should have a father. And Krista should have a husband." She visibly fought for control, but a stray tear escaped unchecked. "But as long as I'm in the picture, that won't happen."
"What about you?" he asked quietly, rubbing her back in slow, gentle circles. "You say that Krista's subconsciously used you as a shield, protecting herself from further pain. But haven't you been doing the same?"
She stilled. "What are you talking about?"
"I don't think Krista was the only one hurt seven years ago. Selma implied—"
"My aunt talks too much."
"There was a man, though. Wasn't there?"
"You don't under—"
He stopped the words with his mouth, tired of hearing them. She tasted of wine, the flavor far sweeter than anything he'd ever poured from a bottle. It would be all too easy to lose himself in the pleasure of the moment. But that had to wait. Right now he needed answers. "Don't lie to me again. Not now," he muttered against her lips. "Was there a man? Yes or no."
"Yes."
He cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her mouth was pink and damp from his kiss and distracting as hell. "What happened? Did he desert you because
of Krista?"
Her breath escaped in a harsh laugh. "You're way off."
"But you loved him and he left you."
"Oh, yes. He left."
"And for the past six or seven years you've remained as cloistered as Krista."
"I've been pursuing my career," she retorted, stung. "Not living in a convent."
He slid his hand down the length of her neck to the fragile bones beneath the neckline of her sweater. "Really? And how many men have there been since the one who deserted you?" She attempted to pull free, but he tightened his hold, refusing to release her. "How many, Nikki? One? Two? Or none?"
"None," she whispered, the fight draining from her.
"Because they all threatened to take something from you," he persisted. "They wanted pieces of you that you weren't willing to give."
"Isn't that what love is all about?" she asked cynically. "Giving up control to another person?"
"Is that how it is with Krista and Keli?"
"That's different," she denied instantly. "They're family."
"How is it different? You give pieces of yourself to them," he pointed out.
The tears had returned and she stared at him, her eyes glimmering with jewel-like brilliance. "But they don't use up those pieces," she whispered. "They cherish them, make them more complete rather than less."
He'd never heard a more poignant description, a description that mated the ultimate joy love could bring with the devastating possibility of betrayal. Unable to resist any longer, he drew her close. Employing infinite tenderness, he captured her tremulous mouth with his, probing the moist warmth within.
The man who'd betrayed her had been a fool, Jonah decided in that instant. To have all this and use it so cavalierly was a crime. He might not have loved her, but he didn't have to destroy her in the process.
Jonah removed the clip confining her hair and lowered her to the couch cushions. It had been weeks since he'd had the opportunity to run his hands through the silken strands. He'd found that he wanted to do it at the oddest times—when they'd sat across each other at the dinner table, when he'd come into her office unexpectedly and caught her twirling a lock of hair around her finger. Even in the midst of one of their arguments, the temptation had struck. But not once had he given in. Until now.
Her deep russet hair spilled through his hands and across the white couch cushions, fire on ice. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. And as he held her in his arms, she responded so passionately to his kisses that her beauty took on a sensual wildness he found fiercely arousing.
"Jonah," she whispered, tugging at the buttons of his shirt. "Let me touch you."
He helped, yanking off his tie and ripping his shirt free of his trousers. Then he turned his attention to her, sliding his hands beneath the bottom of her sweater and along an endless expanse of baby-soft skin. Nothing hindered his progress, not even the expected scrap of lace and silk. With a husky moan, he cupped her breasts, his thumbs scraping across the sensitive crowns. The breath burst from her in frantic gasps and he drank in every minute sound.
But it wasn't enough. He wanted more of her.
Reluctantly releasing her mouth, he swept the bulky sweater over her head and tossed it aside. She froze beneath him, the chilly air momentarily bringing her to full awareness. He hesitated, reluctant to push her any further, ready to back off if she took fright. But far from panicking, she shivered at his touch, her spine arching reflexively.
"They're even softer than I remember," he commented, filling his hands with the abundance of wealth.
To his amusement, his twenty-eight-year-old wife blushed. "I thought your memories of that night were hazy."
"Not all of them. Of course, I was too tired to take advantage of my position then." He met her eyes with a determination she couldn't mistake. "But I'm not tonight."
Her eyes took on the most intense violet glow he'd ever seen and his gut clenched in reaction. He wanted her. Desperately. With a fierceness he hadn't felt with any other woman. The knowledge came as a distinct shock. He'd been aware of a nagging desire for weeks now. But he'd assumed it was a simple physical urge that would be satisfied with the inevitable bedding. After all, she was beautiful enough to attract any man worthy of the name. But this went deeper.
Curiosity ate at him, a need to see if she was as soft as he remembered, if her skin was as white, her legs as long and shapely. Like having a craving that demanded satisfaction, he found he had to explore the womanly secrets hidden beneath her clothing or go quietly insane.
He didn't just want to possess her body.
He wanted to lose himself in all of her—mind, body and spirit.
As a result, he'd pressed her hard tonight, forcing the issues she'd been using as a shield. Well, he'd stripped her of most of that armor and been pleasantly surprised by what she'd been hiding. Far from the cold, calculating creature he'd anticipated, he'd found a warm, generous woman, willing to sacrifice her own happiness for a member of her family.
She felt incredibly delicate beneath him, fragile and breakable. He took his time, warming her cool skin with his hands and mouth, lighting a fire that would burn bright enough to engulf them both. When she rewarded his patience with the sweetest of responses, he peeled away her slacks, uncovering legs that seemed to go on forever. He palmed the spot where delicate ankles met trim calves, and her eyes drifted closed, a soft sigh melting off her lips. His fingers danced higher, over her knee to the enticing curve of her thigh, pausing at the wisp of white that concealed russet-masked secrets. His breath grew harsh with need.
His control wouldn't last much longer, he realized, sparing her a brief glance. What he saw stopped him cold. Her violet-blue gaze met his with such a mix of need and anxiety, it threatened to unman him. And suddenly he knew he'd be making a terrible mistake if he didn't stop. Reluctantly, his hand slid away. "I won't take advantage of you like this. I'm not that other man."
"I know you're not," she whispered.
"I don't want any regrets come morning and if I'm not mistaken you already look like a woman with regrets."
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "No, really. It's all right."
But the anxiety remained and he saw it. "Well, it's not all right with me." He couldn't reach her sweater, so snagged his shirt instead, wrapping it around her. It didn't cover her completely, but it helped cool the fire to a manageable level. He pulled the collar tight beneath her chin and leveled her with a direct look. "In case you weren't aware of it, my sweet wife, making love—not having sex, but making love—means giving up a certain amount of control. But it's control freely given by both parties."
"I know that," she began.
"No. I don't think you do. I suspect you were forced to give everything while your partner took everything. I gather some men prefer it that way. I'm not one of them. I want the woman I'm with to be a full participant. And I won't take anything I'm not also willing to give. Until you realize that and trust me, I'll pass, thanks."
"Trust you," she repeated. Her bleak laugh was heartbreaking. "You don't ask for much, do you?"
He didn't answer, just kept looking at her with those calm, hazel eyes. She struggled upright, curling her legs beneath her. It was so tempting to tell him everything— about the Miracle Box, about her parents' deaths and the aftermath. It was especially tempting to tell him about that other humiliating incident.
But he was a temporary addition to her life and she an "accidental" wife, a choice he'd reluctantly made and within hours regretted. She couldn't depend on him. She couldn't depend on anyone but herself. She'd learned that lesson the hard way and spent the past seven years making certain she didn't repeat it. She'd also spent those years compensating for that one single blunder.
Still, for the first time, she wanted someone. Needed someone. The urge to trust trembled within, like a bird desperately seeking to escape confinement. "Jonah—"
"Don't force it, sweetheart," he said gently. "I'm not going anywh
ere."
"Not yet," she responded bitterly.
"Not yet," he confirmed. "Go to bed. We'll talk more in the morning."
"Maybe by then I'll have come to my senses," she muttered.
He merely grinned. "I couldn't be that lucky."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nikki awoke the next morning to discover Jonah waiting for her at the breakfast table. Over the past few weeks they'd been careful to time their comings and goings to avoid each other. Apparently, last night had changed all that.
He filled two earthenware mugs with coffee, added sugar to each and set them side by side in front of her. To her relief, he didn't say a word until she'd consumed the first cup. Then he poured some for himself, replaced her empty mug with a platter of toasted English muffins and joined her at the table.
"Don't think me ungrateful, but what brought on this sudden burst of domesticity?" she questioned cautiously, helping herself to a muffin. "Or don't I want to know?"
"You probably don't want to know."
"But you're going to tell me anyway, right?"
"Yes." He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms across his chest. The movement pulled his crisp white shirt taut across the generous spread of his shoulders. She had vivid memories of those shoulders in all their naked glory. Too vivid. "We neglected to discuss Ernie and Selma's dilemma last night," he reminded her.
"Mmm. We did get distracted, didn't we?" she murmured, burying her nose in her coffee mug so she wouldn't get distracted again this morning.
"Pleasantly so, I hope."
She didn't dare answer that one, not when she caught a glimpse of green flame smoldering deep within his gaze. "What did you want to know?" she asked, hoping to move the conversation into safer channels. It would seem that talking about family now qualified as a safe topic. The irony of that fact didn't escape her.
A brief smile of awareness touched his mouth. "I want to know everything, of course. We can start, however, with your role as financial advisor. How did that come about?"
"I inherited it," she explained with a shrug. "My father was the family accountant. When he died, everyone turned to me because I was majoring in finance at the time."