Ultimatum: Marriage

by Ann Major

  After two whole weeks of living such separate lives, Alicia felt like she was going mad. She longed to eat with him, to talk to him—to know him better, to know why he looked so increasingly tense.

  “He sounds nicer than I pictured him,” Carol said during one of their morning chats as Alicia prepared a beef stew for her dinner. “And his photographs on the Web are absolutely hunky.”

  Tell me about it.

  “Coming home like that…at just the right moment when that man was in your backyard, it’s no wonder…”

  “No wonder what?”

  “No wonder that you’re having these fantasies and starting to like him.”

  Grrrrr. “I am not having fantasies or starting to like him,” she grumbled, hating that she was so easy to read even over an overseas phone call.

  “If you say so, love.”

  For some reason Alicia didn’t snap back with a sassy retort.

  Carol had started calling her a couple of times a week after she’d heard Alicia’s message when Alicia had phoned her when she’d been so depressed.

  “You should never have stayed in Louisiana,” Carol said. “You should have come to London and taken that job I found you.”

  “I know. Part of me agrees. But I felt I had to give him a chance…for the baby’s sake… Being here, at least, means the baby is part of his life.”

  “Well, that was very generous of you, under the circumstances.”

  “I know what it feels like to be without a parent. Really without any parents. What if I died, and the baby ended up with strangers?”

  “Still, I can’t help thinking you would have been better off to have gotten clean away from that whole mess, started over here in the U.K., you know what I mean. Nobody’s ever heard of Dear Old Daddy being accused of anything over here.”

  “Sounds lovely. Jake thinks Daddy’s a criminal, and since he sees me solely as Daddy’s daughter, well…he probably thinks I’m guilty, too.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Well, he’s said it often enough.”

  He hadn’t said it lately. But that was only because they barely spoke.

  “Well, after you have the baby and the baby’s old enough, I’ll whisk you and the baby over here and take care of you. I have so many friends, many of them men, and they’ll all adore you. You’ll forget Jake in no time. You’ll meet a handsome Brit, fall madly in love and live happily ever after.”

  Carol’s supportive attitude warmed her. But the thought of leaving Jake and then their child growing up far from its father did not.

  That evening when Jake came home early, she was still out in the backyard digging. Victor, her bodyguard/chauffeur, had helped her buy a crib for the nursery, more azaleas and a birdcage to house an injured mourning dove she’d rescued on the back veranda as well as several bird feeders. Victor had set up the birdcage, the crib and the feeders, but she hadn’t yet finished preparing the soil to plant the azaleas. She hadn’t come inside and eaten the beef stew she’d cooked. She was tired but eager to finish what she’d started.

  Suddenly Jake was just there, towering behind her as he watched her attack his flowerbed like a dog burying a treasured bone. Since she didn’t know he was there, she slung a shovel load of dirt onto his expensive Italian loafer.

  “Hey,” he said, chuckling as he shook his foot. “Aren’t you getting a little carried away? If you don’t stop that we’ll have to shower together.”

  She whirled. His eyes were shadowed despite his amusement. He looked exhausted, both physically and mentally.

  But when their glances touched, he smiled, that quick, sexy flash of straight white teeth that always made her stomach feel hollow…but in that good way. She felt a zing.

  Before she thought, she smiled right back at him. The thought of showering with him held way too much appeal.

  He knelt and cupped her elbow lightly. “I’ll bet that’ll wait until tomorrow. You don’t want to overtire yourself.”

  Her breath caught. “What are you doing home this early?”

  “I brought some work home.”

  “Oh.” She turned back to the flowerbed and continued to dig, but not quite so vigorously as before. She was too aware of the electric heat of his touch, of his nearness, of the desire to be held closely in his arms.

  “You know, I think there are fewer trucks outside. Maybe the media’s interest in us is lessening just a bit.”

  “Hope so.”

  He let her go and stood up. “I met Victor out front. Told him he could go home for the day, that I’d see about you this afternoon.”

  She was too conscious of his long shadow falling across her. She wished he’d kneel again and touch her. Just her elbow would be enough.

  Instead he took a step backward. He’d been being polite, that was all.

  “Well, I guess I’ll go inside and get to work,” he said after watching her for a while longer.

  No doubt he’d quickly vanish upstairs and lock her out of his office. Gus would probably follow him as he usually did, and she would be as lonely as she was every night. Only lonelier because she’d feel left out after Jake had been so nice.

  That cat of hers was incorrigible. He would never stay in her room once Jake came home. If she tried to force him, he would go to the door and yowl and paw until she let him out. If she ever felt lonely enough to crack her door to see what was going on in the rest of the house, she would sometimes hear violent blasts of sound from Jake’s television set upstairs and imagine her cat napping serenely at Jake’s feet while macho actors gunned each other down.

  If she went into the kitchen to find a snack, she would discover Jake’s fast-food wrappers in the garbage and guilt about his bad diet would gnaw even as she reminded herself what he wanted was no wife at all.

  When the screen door banged behind him, she raced after him, slowing her pace when she neared the kitchen because she did not want him to think her in a mad hurry to catch up to him, although she was.

  “Smells good,” he said, sounding almost wistful when she walked into the kitchen.

  “Beef stew. Nothing fancy.”

  “Reminds me that I was so tired and ready to get home I forgot to stop and get anything to eat tonight. Pizza every night gets old.”

  Was that a hint? “Would you like some stew? There’s enough for two.”

  “I think I would…if you don’t mind. Why don’t you wash up while I set the table?”

  Did that mean he was calling a truce?

  “Okay. I’ll just be a second,” she whispered in a voice that was much too breathy and eager.

  He grinned broadly. “I think it may take you longer than that.”

  “Do I look that horrible?”

  “Loaded question, cher. But no, you don’t look horrible. You look cute that way.”

  What way? She ran to her bedroom, only to let out a little shriek and stomp her feet when she saw her filthy reflection in the mirror. Did she only imagine his chuckle? Flecks of black dirt spotted her face, shirt and shorts and greased her arms.

  She kicked off her muddy shoes and shed her grimy clothes. Showering quickly, she tied her hair in a red ribbon and put on a pair of red capris and a white shirt. Then she slipped on gold bangles and a pair of gold sandals. The last thing she did was dab her wrists with perfume.

  When she returned to the kitchen the flash of heat in Jake’s blue eyes and his crooked grin told her that she looked presentable.

  He’d poured himself a glass of wine and her a glass of sparkling water garnished with a slice of lime. He’d put on music and had set the table for two in the dining room. A contented Gus lay in the middle of the kitchen, his tail lazily thumping the tile as he waited for the stew to come out of the oven. She knew that behind her back, Jake fed Gus table scraps. The scene felt too domestic and comfortable and was much too close to her dream of a fantasy marriage with a man she loved.

  “So, how was your day?” he asked, his interested gaze sweeping her and makin
g her feel hot and strange.

  “Same as always,” she replied, her tone clipped as she sipped her icy water and fought to shore up her defenses.

  “The yard’s looking good.”

  “At least it’s given me something to do. And I feel happy outside. And your day?”

  “Still putting out fires that have to do with my association with your father and now my marriage to you,” he said coolly. “Today was particularly bad. The entire Houses for Hurricane Victims board dropped by and demanded my resignation. After that meeting, I decided to come home.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It was a cause close to my heart…so, bad subject. What do you say we change it?”

  “What would you prefer to talk about?”

  “You,” he said.

  “We already did that. The first night we met when I stupidly confided my entire life story to you…before I knew who you really were and what you were about to do to my father. Remember?”

  Fire flashed in his eyes and she regretted goading him.

  “All right, then. You choose what we talk about,” he said.

  “You.”

  “Boring subject.”

  “Maybe to you.”

  “All right. What do you want to know?”

  “Why were you estranged from your family for nine years?”

  He flinched involuntarily, and just for an instant she thought she saw pain shadow his eyes. Then his features hardened into that neutral mask that was all too familiar. It was his habit to shut people out, to keep them at a distance.

  “My brother took the woman I’d loved all my life away from me, so I left,” he said, so bitterly she felt as if a fist had grabbed her heart and squeezed hard.

  Ask a tough question, you get a tough answer.

  “You mean Cici?” she whispered.

  “Do we have to talk about this?” He yanked at the knot of his silk tie as if his collar had suddenly tightened to the point it was choking him. Then he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt.

  At the strip of dark hair now visible at the base of his throat, she sucked in her breath.

  “Was it Cici?” she said.

  “Yes,” he said. “Cici. He took her and discarded her to save me, he said. He broke her heart and married a wealthy, suitable girl.”

  Savagely he slung his tie across a kitchen chair. “I found that hard to forgive.”

  Because his heart, the heart he guarded so closely, had been shattered.

  “What happened to Logan’s first wife?”

  “She died.”

  “And you… Are you still in love with Cici?” She hated the way her husky voice was suddenly quivering.

  “No. But that doesn’t mean I trust my brother.”

  Maybe he wasn’t being entirely honest about no longer loving Cici. Alicia knew she shouldn’t care. Then why did she feel as if that awful fist around her heart had tightened?

  “But you came back,” she whispered, her tone barely audible.

  “This is my home. When Katrina struck, and so many people needed houses and help of the most basic kind, I had the right skills to make a difference. I felt compelled to return. Though I wasn’t ready to connect with a family I believed to be ruthlessly materialistic and cruel. Do you understand why I had at least some sympathy for your problems with your father that night? But then, Hayes Daniels hadn’t filled me in on the whole story yet.”

  Jake’s eyes were blazing suddenly.

  “I’ll get the stew,” she said quietly, not wanting to push him—or herself—any closer to such dangerous subjects. Not that she could forget that he’d made a play for her that first night only after Cici had gone after Logan.

  “Why don’t we eat out on the back veranda? I need some fresh air,” he said.

  “Okay,” she agreed.

  In silence he moved the place settings to the table outside while she got their dinner ready to serve. He did not look at her or speak to her again as they spooned food onto their plates and carried them along with their drinks outside.

  Despite the humidity it was a lovely evening with voluminous, pink thunderheads looming in the west. Oblivious to the distant storms, birds sang in the trees as they settled down for the night. She could hear a child playing with a barking dog in a nearby yard. But most of all she was conscious of Jake sitting across the table from her. He looked tall and dark, smoldering even, as the delicious scent of his aftershave wafted toward her disturbingly.

  For a while he ate in brooding silence, his spoon clinking against his bowl. And all the while as she started at every clink, she felt like she was holding her breath.

  One question thrummed in her primitive, female brain—was he still in love with Cici? He’d said he wasn’t. Why couldn’t she just take him at his word?

  “So, where did you go?” Alicia finally said, persisting despite the agony in her heart.

  He looked up, his gaze so intense she had to inhale a steadying breath.

  “What?”

  “When you left Louisiana all those years ago. Where did you go? What did you do?”

  “You don’t give up easily, do you?”

  “I was an editor. It goes with the territory.”

  Much to her surprise he unleashed a wary grin. “Like you said, you told me everything that first night….”

  “Except the embarrassing location of my heart-shaped birthmark.”

  When his grin grew wicked and his gaze drifted to her left breast and lingered, heat suffused her throat and spread upward to her cheeks. She could have kicked herself for that slip.

  “I found that out for myself, didn’t I? A most delightful discovery, by the way. But I’m sure I told you that when I made love to you.”

  His last sentence seemed to hang in the air. The quick, volcanic burst of fire that washed through her had nothing to do with the summer evening and everything to do with the memory of his sensual mouth nibbling her breasts and sucking her nipples, of his large male body pressing close.

  Wishing with all her heart that she could erase the vision of his virile mating, she sat up taller. “You were about to tell me where you went,” she reminded him.

  “Where all young American men with something to prove have always gone traditionally. Out West. To Utah, Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico…California. And then to Alaska. I traveled with a friend…Paul…for a while.” His voice darkened. “We hiked, kayaked, camped out, rock climbed, did manual labor to pay our way.”

  “Where’s Paul now?”

  “He died. Because of a damn fool idea of mine to go rock climbing. He fell.”

  He paused, and she was stunned at the sudden pain that welled up in his eyes, which were now dark blue pools.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “It was a long time ago. I’m over it.” His expression was blank and cold.

  Was he? Was he over Cici as well? Guilt and love could have very long tails. “Still, it’s too bad that he…” Her voice was soft, gentle, consoling.

  “His death taught me life is too short to waste. So I got a grip on my anger and pulled myself together. I went back to school. I found that I liked building things. I think I became an architect because I envisioned myself building houses that would be homes for happy couples. Not that I know anything about being part of a happy family. When I graduated I went to work, and I got lucky. Or maybe luck comes to the driven. All I know is that as long as I was working, I was fairly happy for a while, at least professionally. Then one day my luck ran out.”

  “When was that?”

  “The day I nominated your father to the board of Houses for Hurricane Victims. The only reason he was unanimously elected was because of my recommendation.”

  The sudden harshness in his voice and eyes brought her up short. Maybe because she hadn’t seen the blow coming, she felt more vulnerable than usual. It hurt more. It was as if he’d reached across the table and struck her.

  “He’ll always be between us, won’t he? You’ll a
lways hate me for what you think he did.” Maybe Cici would be between them, too, for that matter. But she didn’t dare throw Cici at him. What if he told her flat out he loved Cici?

  “He did it. That’s not even in question,” Jake said.

  She shut her eyes, hating herself for doubting her father. “So, you’ll never in a thousand years be able to forgive me for being the daughter of the man you believe cost you so much.”

  With a sharp intake of breath, he clenched his hands.

  “Am I right?” she demanded.

  He glanced angrily away from her toward the yard.

  “You won’t,” she said. “I accept that. Look, I…I think I made a mistake to eat with you,” she said. “I don’t know why I ever thought you and I could have a civil conversation…even for one meal. I’ll eat later. By myself.” She stood up to go.

  He rushed to his feet, too. “The hell you will.”

  His eyes were so fierce her chest tightened, and suddenly she could barely breathe.

  How could this happen? One minute they’d been eating dinner, talking. Then their conversation had veered into forbidden territory. Now suddenly she felt herself caught in a swirling conflagration of conflicting, hot-blooded emotions.

  “I don’t understand what you want with me,” she whispered. “You’ve ignored me ever since we married and now…”

  “I made it clear from the first I want you in my bed.”

  “And I told you why that’s not possible. Good night, Jake.”

  “Like hell,” he muttered.

  She intended to whip past him and head inside to safety, but he was faster. He caught up to her in a single stride. Clamping his strong hand around her upper arm, he yanked her against his hard body.

  When she was too stunned to fight him, he swung her even tighter against his body and then walked her backward until they stood, his body flattening her breasts and pressing her spine against the wall of his house.

  The mask was gone. His blue eyes blazed. “For days I’ve wanted to touch you and hold you. God, you feel good.”

  Oh, so did he. She felt like she was melting into him, every cell in her body dissolving and flowing into his.

  “I don’t want to want you, but I do. More and more. Every day,” he said.