by Janet Dailey
"We're going to Janson's for dinner."
"You said others." That sounds like more than two."
He lit a cigarette and blew a stream of smoke into the air. "I imagine there'll be a dozen in all—Janson, his attorney, mine, my accountant, Janson's son."
"It sounds like a board meeting," Jessica commented.
"In a sense, it is." His mouth quirked. "Janson has been hounding me to come to his house for dinner, meet his wife, his family. There were a few details to iron out regarding the company. I combined business with a social obligation so I can have both of them out of the way at the same time."
"Actually you're ridding yourself of three obligations. You forgot me." Jessica smiled, but there was disappointment in knowing they would not be alone tonight.
"You're not an obligation, Jessica." He eyed her steadily, a faint grimness in his look. "When all this came up, I refused to deprive myself of the pleasure of seeing you again. I wanted to be with you…in the company of others if it couldn't be alone."
A searing pleasure coursed through her, sweetening the taste of disappointment. "I…" The admission Jessica had been about to make suddenly made her tongue-tied, so she changed her response. "I'll only be a few minutes."
With her makeup freshened, her hair brushed into its style, and a silk shawl around her shoulders, she left the apartment with Brodie. On the way to the Janson home she remembered to relay her uncle's message, which drew a muttered exclamation of impatience from Brodie followed by silence.
The Janson home was a massive two-story structure with a porticoed entrance. Their host was at the door to welcome them and inform them that they were the last to arrive. As they were led into a formal living room, Jessica discovered she was nervous over the prospect of meeting Brodie's close associates.
Brodie made the introductions. Jessica shook hands with Drew Mitchell, a lean good-looking man who was Brodie's legal adviser, and his wife, Marian. Next was a balding man with black-rimmed glasses and a perpetually serious expression—Cliff Hadley, Brodie's financial consultant. After that was Janson's attorney, a smooth Southern gentleman named Lee Cantrel. His wife, Rachel, was an acquaintance of Jessica's, and several years older than she was. Finally there were young Cal Janson and his wife, Sue, and their hostess, Emily Janson.
When the introductions were completed, Cal Janson slapped Brodie on the shoulder. "It's time for a drink. I know you're a bourbon man, Brodie. How about the little lady here?"
"Sherry, please," Jessica ordered, knowing the older gentleman would be shocked if she asked for anything stronger.
Almost immediately the gathering became segregated into two groups: male and female. Brodie was off in the corner of the room with the men and Jessica was drawn into the circle of women.
"How are your parents?" Emily Janson inquired. "The community was so sorry to lose them when they sold their home and retired to Florida."
"They wanted to be near their grandchildren," Jessica explained politely.
"Of course, the climate there is marvelous. Cal and I usually spend a month or two there in the winter, but I could never persuade him to leave these Tennessee hills permanently."
The inconsequential chatter began, with Emily Janson portraying the perfect hostess, drawing each of the women into the conversation and leaving no one out. A short time later the dinner was served. Jessica found herself seated on the opposite side and at the opposite end of the table from Brodie.
She remembered, with irony, his comment that he hadn't wanted to deprive himself of the pleasure of seeing her. That was about all he was doing. Her gaze slid down the table to him. He was listening intently to something his attorney was saying in low tones. Jessica watched him rub his forehead, concentrating on the spot between his dark brows. But he didn't glance her way. She hadn't noticed him looking at her, so he hadn't been "seeing" much of her, either.
"How is Jordanna?" Rachel Cantrel inquired, sitting opposite Jessica at the long, formal dining table. "Are she and Tom still getting along together, or has the honeymoon finally ended?"
"Jordanna and Tom are very happy," Jessica answered calmly, but she was fiercely aware that the mention of her sister's name had drawn Brodie's attention when her presence hadn't.
The meal became an ordeal, the excellently prepared food tasting like chalk to Jessica. If her hostess noticed her lack of appetite, Emily Janson was too polite to comment on it.
After dinner, it was back into the living room for coffee and liqueurs. Again the men secluded themselves on one side of the room, embroiled in a business discussion, while the women sat on the opposite side.
Jessica sat on the plush sofa, a china cup and saucer, balanced in her hand. From the sofa she could watch the men. Brodie rarely did any of the talking, his bland expression revealing none of his thoughts. Two or three times she noticed him briefly rub that one spot on his forehead. The gesture seemed to indicate that something serious was troubling him.
"Have you known Brodie long?" A voice inquired beside her.
Aware that she had been caught staring at him, Jessica turned to the woman seated on the sofa beside her. It was Marian Mitchell, the wife of Brodie's attorney.
"No, not very long," she admitted, and shifted the subject to the other woman. "Are you from here?"
"Gracious, no," the woman laughed. "We live in Richmond—or we do when we're there, which is seldom. Since Drew started working with Brodie our home has become some place we used to live,"
"How long has your husband worked for Brodie?"
"He's started his sixth year. I stopped counting how many airports we'd been in a long time ago or which hotels we'd stayed at." But Marian Mitchell didn't seem to be complaining.
"Don't you mind?" Jessica was curious.
"Drew loves working for Brodie. He enjoys the excitement, the feeling of never knowing what's going to happen next. The first three months I stayed home and saw Drew for a total of forty-eight hours. Our phone bill rivaled the National War Debt! I decided that I had a choice of living the life of a widow or packing my clothes and going with him. I've never regretted my decision to travel with him."
"Excuse me," Sue Janson interrupted their conversation. "It was very nice meeting both of you."
"Are you leaving?" Marian glanced up in surprise.
"Yes, we promised the sitter we would have her home by eleven, and it's after ten now," the young woman explained.
She said her goodbyes and entered the circle of men. It was several minutes before she was able to persuade her husband that they had to leave.
His departure made little impression on the other men, except as an unwanted interruption to their discussion. Emily Janson brought more fresh coffee.
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Chapter Eight
IT WAS AFTER ELEVEN. The four women had run out of small talk, but the men showed no signs of letting up. Jessica was quite certain they had forgotten they were in the room.
Marian Mitchell smothered a yawn with her hand and glanced at Jessica, Rachel Cantrel and their hostess. "This meeting will last until the wee hours of the morning—I've been through this before. Excuse me."
She walked to her husband, whispered something in his ear, and waited. Drew cast her an apologetic smile, then engaged in a hurried discussion with the others. Some sort of decision must have been reached, because Brodie separated himself from the group and walked over to where Jessica was seated.
He held out his hand for her to join him and nodded politely to the other two women. "Would you excuse us for a moment?"
"Of course," Emily Janson said with a smile.
Jessica's hand felt cold in the warm clasp of his as he led her into the large foyer. There was an absent look about him that said, even though he was with her, his thoughts were elsewhere. In the entry hall, he stopped.
"Drew is phoning for scab to take Marian back to the hotel. I know you're tired and have to be at work in the morning. I don't know what time this meeting will
break up, so I've asked Drew to arrange for the cab to take you home after it's dropped Marian at their hotel," Brodie informed her in crisply businesslike tones.
"That's very thoughtful of you," said Jessica, trying not to be offended that he was arranging to dispose of her like an inconvenience.
The touch of dryness in her voice narrowed his gaze. "I had no idea this was going to come up when I asked you to come with me this evening."
"I know that," she admitted. "And I know it must be very important to you."
"I'd take you home myself, but—"
"I quite understand, Brodie," Jessica interrupted.
His gaze flickered impatiently toward the living room. They still were in full view of the others, although their conversation couldn't be overheard.
"Do you understand?" he growled.
His hand closed roughly on her arm as he pushed her away from the living-room doorway. Seconds later she was backed up against a bare wall. Brodie leaned against her, an arm resting against the wall above her head, a hand cupping the side of her face. The crushing imprint of his body left her in no doubt of his true desire at the moment.
"Do you understand that all I want to do is make love to you?" Brodie demanded before his mouth bruised her lips against her teeth.
Jessica was only allowed to answer by deed, returning the frustrated ardor of his kiss. Her hands explored his jaw and the column of his throat, nails digging into his shoulders. He rained angry kisses on her nose, cheek and ears.
"The problems aren't just mine," he explained, his voice muffled by her hair. "If they were, I'd say to hell with them. But it's those men in there. They have invested their time and talent in this project. I can't tell them to wait until I feel like handling the situation."
"I understands" she repeated, and she did, more fully this time.
"Hey, Brodie? Where are you?" Drew Mitchell called from the living room.
Brodie levered-himself away from the wall and Jessica. A mask of control slipped over his features, changing his image from one of a passionate lover to a cool, poker-faced gambler. His indifferent blue gaze flicked to Jessica as if to be certain she was regaining control of herself. She had straightened from the wall. Brodie turned to the doorway.
"Out here, Drew."
The lean, brown-haired man rounded the corner. "Jessica's with you—good." He nodded. "The cab will be here in five minutes."
"Thanks, Drew." Brodie glanced at Jessica, his look still impersonal. "Will you be all right?"
She wondered what he would do if she said no. "Of course." She smiled, a tremulous action by a mouth that was still afire from his kiss.
There was barely time to say her goodbyes and thank her hosts for the evening before the taxi arrived. She waited while Drew kissed Marian. Brodie was already in the living room so they exchanged no tender farewell.
As the taxi pulled out of the driveway, Jessica leaned back in her seat and sighed, staring out the window into the blackness of the night.
"You'll get used to it," Marian said.
"Beg your pardon?" Jessica glanced at her companion.
"You'll get used to evenings ending like this if you continue seeing Brodie," the other girl explained her comment.
"Oh." Jessica couldn't think of anything else to reply.
"Like prices, all of Brodie's plans are subject to change without notice. Which means our plans, too. It's their way of life…Brodie's and now Drew's."
"Doesn't it bother you?" she repeated the question she had asked Marian earlier.
"If you love a man, you learn to accept the way he is and don't try to change him."
Jessica sensed the comment was meant as advice. "Yes, that's true," she agreed.
"Brodie is quite a man; all man. Who knows? Maybe if I'd met him before Drew, I might have fallen for him."
The woman was joking. Jessica sensed that Marian was very much in love with her husband. She had only made the comment to invite Jessica to confide in her. But Jessica wasn't sure enough of her own feelings to do that yet.
"Have you met Brodie's other girl friends?" she asked instead.
"Girl friends—that's the operative word. Marian seemed to consider the question. "I've seen him with other women, but he's never made a point of bringing them along for a social evening. I think I would have to say no, I haven't met his other girl friends. You're the first. Brodie generally keeps his private life private."
"I see." Jessica hadn't doubted for an instant that there were other women in his life, but it was a bit bolstering to hear Marian say that she was the first she'd met socially.
The cab whisked into the hotel entrance. Marian stepped out of the rear seat with a friendly goodbye, and Jessica continued the journey alone to her apartment complex.
At the office the next morning, a dozen red roses were delivered to her. The message written on the attached card had been simple. "I'm sorry. B."
All day long she had expected him to call. That night she sat by the telephone, but it didn't make a sound. Saturday morning, the operator called to read her a telegram, "Had to fly out of town. Be back next week," signed Brodie.
Jessica was beginning to discover what Marian had gone through when Drew was away so much. Not that she knew precisely. After all, Marian had been married to him at the time, whereas her own relationship with Brodie was tenuous at best.
On Wednesday night, the telephone was ringing impatiently when Jessica arrived at her apartment from work. She fumbled for the key and, in her haste, couldn't get it to turn the lock. An agonizing number of seconds went by before she could open the door and race to answer the phone.
"Hello?" Her greeting to the unknown party was eager and rushed.
"I missed you at the office. I called, but the girl said you'd just left." Brodie didn't bother with a greeting.
It didn't matter. Just the sound of his voice sent a thrill of happiness through, her veins. "I just got home," Jessica admitted.
"After the last time, I thought I'd better call first to see if you'd made any plans for tonight." Brodie was dryly mocking.
"None," she told him shamelessly.
"I'll be over."
"When?" But the line was dead.
Jessica hung up the phone and glanced around the apartment. She hurriedly picked up the magazines scattered about, plumped the pillows and emptied the ashtrays. Then it was into her bedroom, out of her clothes and under the shower.
Once out of the shower, she slipped into her short, Japanese-style robe. A shower cap had kept her hair dry. She brushed it until it glistened like gold, then began applying new makeup.
As she pressed a tissue to her mouth, blotting her lipstick, the doorbell rang. Jessica stared at her reflection in the mirror. It couldn't be Brodie, not yet. She wasn't dressed. There was nothing to do but answer the door. Wrapping the velour robe more tightly around her, she secured it closed with the sash, tying it in a double knot. Then she hurried to answer the second ring of the doorbell.
"I would have been here sooner, but I stopped to buy dinner." Brodie indicated the bag of groceries in his arm. His disconcerting blue gaze swept her from head to foot, noting the bare skin of her legs from her knees down and the V front of her robe fastened only by the tie around her waist. "I should have been here sooner," he corrected himself with a suggestive look that sent Jessica's pulse rocketing into space.
"I didn't expect you so soon." She moved out of his way when Brodie walked in. His lack of inhibition never ceased to remind Jessica of the abundance of hers. She closed the door behind him. "You can put the bag in the kitchen. It will only take me a few minutes to get dressed."
"Why bother?" In the short time it had taken her to shut the door, Brodie had set the grocery bag on the nearest flat surface and was blocking her path.
"Brodie, please!" Jessica held up a hand to stave off his advance.
He used the obstacle to pull her into his arms. She strained against his hold, twisting her head to elude his mouth. But Brodie se
emed to take pleasure in intimately investigating every inch of her exposed shoulder. The action sent delicious shivers of gooseflesh over her skin, all the way down until her toes curled. Weak with desire, Jessica let him capture her mouth, only to find his kiss more potent. She shuddered as his hands slid inside her robe and caressed the round globes that swelled to his touch, rosy nubs turning to hard pebbles under his teasing fingers.
When it seemed there was no turning back from the flames she sensed Brodie's withdrawal. The front of her robe was drawn closed and a last, hard kiss was planted on her lips. Then he was holding her away from him.
"There's a bottle of bourbon in the bag. Would you fix me a drink?" he asked huskily. "I'm going to need it."
Jessica opened her eyes slowly, hardly daring to believe that he meant it to end this soon. She wasn't even sure if she wanted him to stop now.
"I promised not to rush you, Green Eyes, so don't look at me like that unless you mean it." The smoldering light in his eye told her it wasn't an idle warning.
"I…" Jessica wavered, "I'll fix you a drink."
Brodie walked to the bag, handed her the bottle from it, then picked it up and followed her into the kitchen. "I thought we'd have dinner here tonight—it's the one place I can be sure there'll be no interruptions. Drew might guess I'm here, but since your number isn't listed he can't get hold of me." He set the bag on the counter while Jessica took a glass from the cupboard, "I hope you like steak."
His talking had given her time to settle her senses. She wondered if it had been deliberate on Brodie's part. There was so much about him that she was only just beginning to understand. He wanted her, but he was waiting until she could come to him with no regrets. His control of his emotions was frightening, as frightening as her lack of it.
"Yes, I like steak," she answered him.
"Show me where everything is." Brodie began unpacking the bag. "I'll do the cooking while you get some clothes on." He arched her a mocking look. "Imagine what your parents would think if they knew you were entertaining a man in your robe!"