by Diana Palmer
The pain of the letter was still festering inside him all these years later. Now it joined the agony his desire for Gracie had carved in him. It was a vicious, unrequited desire that threatened to destroy him as a man. For two long years, it had burned like an endless flame inside him, raging for release. All he’d been able to feed it was one long, anguished kiss. It would be the only one. Gracie would never let him touch her again. Her expression had told him that when she ran from him. It had been repellent to her, apparently, being kissed passionately by a man she’d thought of as a brother. But there was no blood between them. They weren’t related, even in the tiniest degree. That hadn’t mattered. Gracie would never forgive him for what he’d done. Now, alongside the endless hunger for her would be the revulsion in her eyes, when they met again. He groaned under his breath as he tossed down another swallow of his drink.
A beautiful, vivacious redhead moved to join him at the drinks table where he was adding more whiskey and another cube of ice to his glass.
“Hi,” she greeted him. “Are you the reclusive millionaire from Texas that everybody’s talking about?” she asked, grinning. She had very pale blue eyes in an exquisitely beautiful face. Long red hair billowed down her back almost to her waist, waves undulating like the sea in its silky length.
“I must be,” he drawled. “I’m wearing his clothes.”
Her eyes brightened. “They say you have a ranch.”
He shrugged. “Honey, every man in Texas has a ranch, and a horse and a gun.”
“And a worldwide corporation that manufactures computers and cutting-edge software?” she teased.
“Maybe not that,” he agreed. He sipped his drink, looking around at the bright, pretty people in this New York City penthouse. He moved to the window, looking out across the multijeweled expanse of Manhattan, all the way to the Hudson River. “It really is something to see,” he mused.
“I’ll bet Texas is, too,” she said. “I’ve never been to Texas.”
“Now that’s a shame,” he murmured, smiling down at her. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a model,” she said with a faintly insulted look. “Surely you read the sports magazine’s swimsuit issue.”
He did, and he recalled seeing her in it—a long-legged sexy woman with come-hither eyes. She was using them on him now, and he was weakening. His ego was even with his shoes. He needed to be reminded that some women thought of him as an attractive man.
“Who are you here with?” he asked.
She laughed. “Nobody. I broke up with my latest boyfriend a month ago.”
“What a shame,” he remarked drily.
“Are you married?” she asked in a soft, purring tone.
“God forbid!”
The smile grew bigger.
HE DIDN’T REMEMBER MUCH of the rest of the party. He remembered starting on his third whiskey highball and muttering that Gracie was a cold fish, and then he stumbled a little. The redhead guided him to the door and down into a cab. The last thing he remembered was sinking down onto a huge, soft bed.
But when he woke up, things suddenly became clear. He was lying under the sheets in his black silk boxer shorts. Next to him was a very nude redheaded woman, sound asleep on his arm.
It didn’t take a program to know what had happened. Anguish washed over him in waves. He’d had too much to drink. His throbbing head told him that. In his desperation to forget what had happened with Gracie, he’d gone headlong into bed with this strange woman. If he couldn’t remember anything, he was at least certain that he’d neglected to use protection, because he didn’t carry any with him. This beautiful creature curled up in his arms had obviously found him irresistible and now he faced the prospect of having fathered a child with her because of his lack of control.
He rolled onto his back with a groan. It had been a long time since he’d had a woman. Not since his passion for Gracie had become an obsession. The abstinence had worked like an aphrodisiac, he imagined bitterly. He was rich and this woman obviously coveted his wealth. He’d been an easy mark. Now what did he do?
Nothing would ever be the same at home again. Gracie would blame him for that furious kiss and hate him for it. He would never have her for his own. He was thirty-four years old, facing a lonely future that yawned ahead like an abyss.
He didn’t want to go home alone. He didn’t want to face Gracie as he was, with his pride in ashes and his ego lacerated from her rejection.
On the other hand, he wasn’t anxious to let this woman out of his sight. If they’d had unprotected sex, she might become pregnant from his lack of foresight. He cringed, thinking how suddenly and permanently he’d just excised Gracie from his life with this act of lust. And what if there was a child…
A child. His child. He smiled at the thought. He could have a child, someone of his own, someone to love and be loved by. His head turned and he looked at the sleeping woman. She was pretty, young, pliable. Whether or not he’d slipped up, did it matter? Why not marry her and have a family? She couldn’t be any worse than the other dozen gold diggers who’d stalked him over the years. At least this one was beautiful and desirable. She was even famous, after a fashion.
He imagined walking into the mansion in San Antonio with this woman on his arm, and seeing Gracie’s shocked face. She didn’t want him. This woman obviously did. He wouldn’t think ahead. He wouldn’t let himself consider the consequences of the impulsive decision. He’d already gone over the line, in a lot of ways. He might as well let fate take him where it liked. He had nothing left of his dreams. He would settle for what he could get. He laid back down and closed his eyes.
IT HAD TAKEN GRACIE several days to recover. She was sorry that she’d messed things up with Jason again. When she’d gone to the ranch, she had hoped that they could at least get back on a friendly footing. Instead she’d only managed to push them further apart.
It was Mrs. Harcourt’s birthday. Gracie had organized a caterer as a treat, sparing Mrs. Harcourt the fuss of having to prepare her own dinner. At least, she thought, even if Jason didn’t come over for the celebration like he usually did, Glory and her husband, Rodrigo, would. But at the last minute, Glory called and canceled. Rodrigo had to go to Washington, D.C., on an urgent matter, and she was going with him. She couldn’t let him go alone, she’d explained to Gracie. They’d been married almost a year, but she couldn’t bear to be apart from him. He was working out of the San Antonio DEA office now, and Glory was an assistant prosecutor in the office of Jacobsville’s District Attorney, Blake Kemp. They lived in Jacobsville, but they often visited the Pendleton mansion. Glory had sent Mrs. Harcourt a lovely and expensive handbag and a card, apologizing for having to bow out of the celebration. As the dinner hour approached, Gracie winced at the expression on Mrs. Harcourt’s face. The elderly woman was very fond of Jason; and no wonder, she’d been with him all his life. It would hurt her if Jason opted out because of what had happened.
Mrs. Harcourt was worried. “Jason hasn’t left a message on the answering machine while we were out of the room?” she asked.
Gracie shook her head. She felt guilty and hoped it didn’t show. “Grange said he was in New York at some business conference. He’s been there for over a week. He didn’t say when he’d be back.”
The older woman looked at the beautifully set table. “Everything’s ready in the kitchen,” she said miserably. “All that food…”
“We’ll give what’s left to one of the soup kitchens,” she said gently.
Mrs. Harcourt smiled. “That’s nice.”
“Yes, it is. I…” She paused. A car was driving up out front. Maybe, she hoped, it was Jason!
“You think he came after all?” Mrs. Harcourt asked hopefully.
“I’ll go see.”
Gracie almost ran to the front door. He’d forgiven her! They were going to make up after all. Everything would be okay.
She opened the door with a beaming smile on her face and suddenly became as still as a
stone statue. Because Jason wasn’t alone.
He was smiling. He had a beautiful redheaded woman with him. She was hanging on to his hand and looking up at him as if she’d won the lottery. When he glanced toward the front door and saw Gracie, the smile left his face.
“Hello, Gracie,” he said coolly. “We came for Mrs. Harcourt’s birthday party.”
Gracie looked as shocked and hurt as he’d hoped she might. Was that disappointment, too? But too late. Far too late.
She worked at regaining her lost composure. She put on her party smile. “Hello,” she said to the redhead. “I’m Gracie Marsh…”
“Yes, the stepsister,” the woman said in an amused, condescending tone. “I couldn’t believe it when Jason told me. Imagine, a woman your age still living at home!”
Gracie stepped back as they entered. The balmy breeze kissed her face before she closed the door behind her. It was the biggest shock she’d had in her adult life, and the pain was ricocheting inside her.
“Mrs. Harcourt, come out here, please,” Jason called to the woman standing beside the dining-room table, wearing a nice dress, hose and flat shoes.
She came into the room, exchanging glances with Gracie, who was feeling decimated.
“I’d like you both to meet Kittie Sartain,” he said softly. “My fiancée.”
Gracie didn’t pass out. She felt as if she might for one horrible moment, but Mrs. Harcourt stepped in quickly to divert the two newcomers.
“I’m Mrs. Harcourt, the housekeeper,” she said.
“What a pretty dining room,” Kittie said, ignoring the older woman. She walked around her. “Lovely china,” she said. “I’m starved!”
“We’ll be eating momentarily,” Mrs. Harcourt stammered. She didn’t look at Jason.
“Sounds great,” Jason said pleasantly. “We’ve had a rough trip. The planes were grounded for a false alert. We sat on the runway for an hour.”
“I hate commercial flights,” Kittie said dismissively. “My last boyfriend owned a Learjet. You should get one, Jason, it cuts down on aggravation.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said with a cool smile. “Where’s Glory and her husband?” he added.
“Rodrigo had to fly to D.C. on business. Glory went with him,” Gracie said in a subdued tone.
“I see.”
“What in the world is with all these Christmas decorations?” Kittie burst out, gaping as she surveyed two boxes of wreaths that were sitting outside in the hall—they’d just arrived and Gracie hadn’t had time to get them upstairs. She hadn’t really expected Jason to show up.
“Gracie likes to decorate for the holidays,” Mrs. Harcourt began.
“Red and green, how trite,” the newcomer muttered as she glanced in the boxes. She was wearing a silky white pantsuit that was obviously very expensive. It showed off her pretty figure to its best advantage. “Nobody in my circle even celebrates Christmas anymore—it’s so retro!”
Gracie didn’t know what to say. She’d never had anyone speak to her in such a way. She glanced at Jason, but he was looking at the redhead with pure delight.
“I made a chocolate cake,” Mrs. Harcourt began.
“None for me, thanks, I’m dieting. I hope you don’t cook with butter and grease,” Kittie continued. “I never eat saturated fats!”
“We’ll make changes,” Jason said comfortably. He sat down at the head of the table. “Happy birthday,” he added in a gentler tone. He pushed a jewelry box toward the older woman.
Mrs. Harcourt was obviously fuddled, but she managed to get the box open. She touched the pretty decorative pin with adoring fingers. “Pearls and rubies. My favorites! Thank you, Jason. I’ll wear it on my suit for church Sunday.”
“Church.” Kittie rolled her eyes.
Mrs. Harcourt looked hunted. Jason glanced at Kittie and frowned.
She saw his expression and immediately sat up straighter. “I helped Jason pick out the pin,” she said brightly. “I’m glad you like it.”
“It’s very nice,” the older woman stammered.
“Can you bring out the food now?” Jason asked. “We didn’t get anything on the plane.”
“Sure thing. The caterers fixed the meal, and it’s all ready for us,” Mrs. Harcourt said.
As she spoke, John and Dilly came into the room. John was tall and silver-haired. He’d been the family chauffeur for years and years. He was wearing casual clothes, as Gracie had told him to. So was Dilly, who did the heavy lifting and scrubbing; she was a large girl a few years older than Gracie, with big bones and a plain face. She was wearing slacks and a sweater.
“This is John, our chauffeur,” Gracie introduced. “And Dilly, who helps Mrs. Harcourt with the housework.”
Kittie stared at them. “Are they going to help serve dinner?”
Gracie’s gray eyes widened. “They’re family. They always eat with us on special occasions.”
Kittie gave Jason a speaking look. He ignored it.
“I don’t mind helping to serve,” Dilly said, embarrassed.
“I just came in to tell you that I couldn’t stay. My brother’s in town and wants to see me,” John lied, thinking quickly. “I have my cell phone, if you need me. Happy birthday, Mrs. Harcourt.”
“Thank you, John,” the elderly woman said, wincing at his expression.
Dilly looked at him piteously, as if she wanted to run for the hills, too, but was stuck.
“John, Dilly, this is Kittie, my fiancée,” Jason introduced the redhead. “She’s one of the top models in the country. You’ve probably seen her face on magazine covers.”
If not at the post office, Gracie thought wickedly, but didn’t say anything.
“Yes, I stay very busy,” Kittie said in a haughty tone. “In fact, I’m booked up for the next three months. I’ll be doing shoots all over the world. You’ll have to manage to live without me, darling,” she teased Jason.
He smiled back at her, but only with his mouth. His eyes were empty.
“Congratulations,” John told him. “I hope you’ll be happy.”
“Thanks.”
John paused for a moment and then turned and left the room. Gracie’s heart was breaking. Their family, their loyal friends and workers were being made to feel like somebody’s unwanted houseguests. That horrible redhead didn’t even care, and Jason was so cold that Gracie didn’t even recognize him. He’d only been gone a couple of weeks, for heaven’s sake, how could he have managed to get engaged so quickly and not even tell anybody!
“Are we ever going to eat?” the redhead asked Jason, smoothing her hand seductively over his on the table. “I’m so hungry, Jason.”
Gracie pushed back her chair and got to her feet. “I’ll help,” she told Mrs. Harcourt and Dilly, and went ahead of them into the kitchen.
“Imagine asking the hired help to eat at the table with you,” Kittie complained. “And letting your stepsister live with you, at her age?” she exclaimed. “What in the world must people think?”
Gracie dragged the other two women into the kitchen and closed the door, leaning back against it with her eyes closed. She’d walked into a nightmare.
“Who is she?” Dilly exclaimed, horrified.
Gracie took a steadying breath. “You heard. She’s Jason’s fiancée,” she said in a voice so choked with pain that it was barely audible. “He’s going to marry her.”
Dilly looked sick. So did Mrs. Harcourt, who seemed to be taking it harder than anyone.
There was a tap on the door and Jason pushed it open, accidentally propelling Gracie farther into the room. The three women looked at him with expressions that ranged from shock to despair. What had seemed like a good idea in New York was rebounding with a fury down here in Texas. He felt guilty, and he hid it in bad temper.
“You’ll get used to her,” he said tersely. “She’s not as bad as she seems. She just doesn’t know you.”
Nobody said a word.
Jason’s black eyes narrowed. “Regard
less of how you feel, I expect all of you to treat her with respect and make her feel welcome.”
“Of course, Jason,” Gracie said without looking directly at him. “It’s your house, after all.”
“Yes,” he replied flatly. “It is my house.” He went back out.
“If I were us,” Dilly told Mrs. Harcourt sadly, “I’d be looking around for another job, just in case.”
Gracie was in agreement. Except that she’d never had a job and wasn’t sure of her ability, due to her mental glitches, to even hold one down. But one thing was for certain. She could not live under the same roof with that woman, once she and Jason were married.
“This is going to be some birthday, Mrs. Harcourt,” Dilly said heavily as she went to look for an apron.
Gracie agreed silently. She looked at poor Mrs. Harcourt, whose eyes were already full of tears. She wanted to hug the older woman and reassure her, but nothing was going to help now. Nothing at all.
IT WAS ONE OF THE worst days of Gracie’s life. Kittie complained about everything, nibbled at salad, sipped black coffee and muttered at the quality of the food. After the meal she and Jason retired to the living room, where she curled up on his lap and spent the evening kissing him.
Mrs. Harcourt got a room ready for her, although the women had speculated bitterly that she’d probably move in with Jason. He’d nipped that suggestion in the bud with more force than a surprised Kittie had anticipated.
“Aren’t you the old-fashioned one,” she taunted. “Especially after how things were in New York,” she added insinuatingly.
Gracie was sick all the way to her soul. Jason had removed any doubts that he was interested in Gracie romantically. If he had been, this engagement wouldn’t be happening. She’d read too much into a kiss. She was a woman, he was a man, and she’d started it, as he accused. He was only taking advantage of an offer, as any man would. But she’d hoped they could make up, that things would go back to the way they were. Now she realized how impossible that hope was.