The Princess and the Pauper

by Nancy Bush

  “Jesse,” she whispered, afraid, reaching out.

  The bedspread gave and he wrapped himself around her, warm and comforting. He stared deeply into her eyes. She recognized the driven tautness of his mouth. Longing flamed in his eyes.

  “I want you,” she said.

  He actually smiled, then buried his face in the coolness of her neck. His tongue drew soft circles on her skin, moving downward, teasing the hardened peaks of her nipples. April ached. She cried out. Quickly, so quickly that it took her by storm, she arched upward, anxious for what would follow.

  Jesse’s fingers found all her feminine secrets, but there was no need to ready her. She was silken desire. She wrapped her long legs around him in an unconscious frenzy as he slipped into her as if there had been no break, no loss of time, no years of torment. Then he thrust against her with a desperate urgency that wrung a cry from her throat, spinning her into a dark heat.

  It had been too long, April thought with a wrench. Much too long. She pulled on his hips, and he groaned deep in his chest.

  “I can’t wait—” he muttered.

  “Don’t,” she begged.

  Pure pleasure shot through her at the moment of his release. Her senses spun with love. She melted around him. I want you, she thought through hazy, expanding circles of sensation.

  I love you, she thought more clearly. I always have.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Have there been other women in your life?”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could snatch them back. Of course there had been other women. She sounded like a junior high girl after her first sexual encounter!

  Jesse had been staring up at the ceiling, his arm curved around her shoulder, his fingers drifting lazily up and down her bare arm. He glanced at her. “Not as many as you might think,” he said. “No one in a long time.”

  She buried her face in his chest, thankful that he’d saved her from shame in this small way. But it didn’t really change anything. After all, she’d just slept with him, and there was no way to deny how thoroughly she’d enjoyed the experience.

  In one way, at least, history wasn’t repeating itself: it wasn’t the time of month she could get pregnant.

  They were wrapped in April’s cream satin comforter. Through the window she could see the clouds had drifted lower, darkening the sky. Soon it would rain. Soon Eden would be home.

  She drew a breath. “What are you thinking?”

  When he didn’t answer, she lifted her head and met his gaze directly.

  “I’m thinking this shouldn’t have happened.”

  April chest constricted. She flung herself away from him in despair. She’d known he was going to say that! Why had she bothered to ask?

  “You don’t feel that way?”

  He sounded merely curious. April tossed him a dark look and tried to scramble off the bed. She couldn’t wait to be dressed again. She needed some armor.

  His hand caught her wrists and she tumbled back against his chest.

  “You and I aren’t good for each other, April. We never have been. Every time we meet its spontaneous combustion. But it’s destructive.”

  April was infuriated. “You have the gall to tell me that what we just did was destructive?”

  “Not the act. What comes afterward.”

  She struggled against his hard grip, angry and hurt. There was more than a grain of truth to his words and that made her angrier still. “Let go of me.”

  Lying atop him she was helpless, unable to do more than glare down at him. Sensual humor gleamed in his eyes and he leaned forward, meshing his mouth with hers. She turned her head and he sought her ear. Traitorous, gnawing desire filled her belly. She felt him growing hard beneath her.

  “Jesse…” she warned.

  “Let’s put off afterward for a while.” His thickened tone sent a chill down her spine. “Just for a while.”

  April moaned, half in frustration, half in need. He released her hands and she propped herself above him. His fingers slid down the curve of her back and he buried his face between her breasts.

  For a long time April forgot everything but Jesse.

  “Is this your daughter?”

  Jesse picked up the trio framed pictures on April nightstand, gazing into Eden’s smiling face.

  April’s breath caught as she tucked her blouse into her skirt and slipped her feet into her shoes. Jesse was dressed except for his jacket. He was not, she realized belatedly – and thankfully – wearing a gun today.

  “Yes.”

  “She doesn’t look much like you, does she?”

  Now is the time to tell him, April thought, her heart thudding painfully. She stood near the door, all strength gone.

  “No, she doesn’t,” she answered woodenly.

  Jesse glanced at her, clearly puzzled. He set down the pictures and crossed the thick carpet to where she stood. “You’re white as a sheet,” he said, surprised. “Sit down.”

  “Eden’s going to be home in a little while.” She glanced longingly toward the stairs. Escape. She wanted to escape. Her throat ached. Her mouth was a desert.

  Jesse swept up his jacket, his expression thoughtful. He followed April downstairs. “How old she?” he asked.

  April nearly stumbled. She had to clasp the rail for the last few steps. “She, uh, just turned nine on St. Patrick’s Day.”

  “She was born on St. Patrick’s Day?”

  April tensed. How hard was it to calculate, after all? Jesse was no fool.

  “That’s the day we met again,” he remarked.

  She was standing in the center of the foyer. How come he doesn’t ask? her mind screamed.

  Then she remembered that Jesse believed she’d been married. He hadn’t let his mind work out the logistics of gestation. It was a private part of her life that he probably hadn’t allowed to concern him.

  “You know, maybe you should talk to Rob,” he said kindly. “It might help you understand.”

  “That’s not why I’m upset.” Her lips trembled. “I mean, not right now.”

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  The question of Eden’s parentage had slipped away. April realized it but could hardly believe it. She suddenly needed to tell him. “I don’t know what I want,” she admitted, almost hysterically. “I didn’t think I wanted to get involved with you again.”

  “I knew I didn’t want to get involved with you,” he admitted sardonically.

  “Then why did you?” April asked. “And don’t tell me we’re not involved, because after what happened upstairs, we definitely are.”

  “Why are you so sure I’m going to deny it?”

  “Because you did before!”

  The words were thrown at him like an angry challenge. April hadn’t realized how hostile she felt until this moment.

  Jesse grimaced. “That was a long time ago. And anyway, you were relieved when it was over.”

  “I was sick at heart,” she responded, her voice throbbing. “I loved you and you left me, and I had nothing. No one.”

  Jesse flushed angrily. “Oh, come on, April. You couldn’t wait to see the back of me. You really suffered, all right.”

  “You don’t know what I had to do!”

  “Don’t tell me how miserable you were, April. I was there, remember? Your father made it clear I wasn’t the right kind of boy, and you went for it.”

  “The hell I did.” She felt her cheeks redden. She had been swayed for a little while.

  Jesse’s tone was scornful. “Be honest with yourself, at least. My lack of ambition embarrassed you. I know just what you wanted me for. You were restless and rebellious, and I was right there – everything your parents hated.”

  April temper snapped. “And what about now, huh? What about now?”

  Jesse’s jaw tightened. The room felt electrified. At that precise moment running footsteps sounded outside. April half turned. The front door burst open and Eden raced into the foyer.

 
“I hate Kendra Oatfield!” she cried through a flood of tears. “I hate her! I hate her! I hate her!” She threw down her bag and kicked it across the hardwood floor. It skidded to a stop against Jesse’s boots. “She made fun of me at school, and all the kids laughed!” Eden wailed, turning her face into her mother’s chest. Sobbing as if her heart were irreparably broken.

  Jesse stood in absolute silence. Until this moment April’s daughter hadn’t really existed for him. She’d been a smiling photograph. An abstract child. She hadn’t been real.

  He listened to the crooning noises April uttered as she stroked Eden’s golden-streaked hair.

  “It’s not fair,” Eden sobbed, her chest heaving. “It’s just not fair.”

  “I know, honey. I know.” April kissed the girl’s blond crown.

  Nine years old, Jesse thought. St. Patrick’s Day. Something shifted inside him, some cold premonition. His heart jerked spasmodically. Nine years old?

  His gaze drilled into April. She flinched as if she felt it, and glanced uneasily his way. A moment of dreadful understanding passed between them. Jesse felt numb.

  “Nine years old?” he asked in a strangled voice.

  With Eden safe in her arms, April found courage. It was almost a relief. She nodded, her face pale.

  The truth hit Jesse with the power of a freight train. His lungs were squeezed. His ears rang. My child, he thought blankly. My child. Eden is my child!

  “Come on in the kitchen,” April was saying soothingly to Eden. “Tell me all about it.” A hesitation. “Jesse?”

  He could scarcely hear. He felt nothing but overwhelming shock.

  Eden’s tears had stopped as if turned off by spigot. “Who’s he?” she asked tremulously, sniffing.

  “A friend.” April’s voice also quavered.

  He felt her hand on his arm, questioning. Dully he shook her off. He was suffocating.

  “Please don’t go,” April said. “I just need a minute with Eden, and I’ll be right back.”

  “No.”

  “Please, Jesse. There’s a bar in the den.” She gestured vaguely toward the closed door on the opposite wall, her expression anxious. “Right through there. Help yourself. I’ll be right back.”

  She had sapped his will. For the first time in his entire life Jesse found he couldn’t fight. He walked into the den on legs that felt strange. A daughter. His daughter. Astounded, he sank onto the couch.

  Moments crawled by. He could hear April and Eden in the kitchen. Eden’s child’s voice was relating injury upon injury sustained at the hands of the despicable Kendra Oatfield. April’s voice was low, distracted.

  He shook himself. Ahead of him a painting stood under a spotlight. It looked like a kindergartner’s drawing. Jesse got to his feet, found the switch for the light, snapped it on. Printed in the corner was the artist’s name: Eden Hollis.

  Hollis.

  White-hot anger flicked through him. His child, and she’d never even told him! She’d never intended to. She’d kept the secret for nearly ten years. Husband be damned! She’d probably never even been married.

  His hands were shaking. He clenched them into fists. To his left was a glass and chrome cart that served as April’s bar. Snatching up a tumbler, he poured straight Scotch. He swallowed half of it. Tears prickled in his eyes as it burned his throat.

  “Jesse?” April’s voice was tentative, scared.

  “How long, April?” he asked hoarsely. “How long would you have waited?”

  She glanced anxiously over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “I don’t know.”

  “Forever?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Damn you.” His eyes were dark with suppressed emotion.

  April was near panic. She held up her palms in a conciliatory gesture. “Jesse, if you would just listen to me—”

  “Mom?”

  Eden opened the door a crack between the kitchen and the den, poking her head through. Her gaze was sober – and suspicious when it landed on Jesse.

  “It’s all right,” April said hurriedly. “We’re just having a discussion. Go on upstairs. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “But I don’t want to go upstairs,” Eden declared mutinously. She opened the door wider, silhouetted by the kitchen light.

  “Please, Eden,” April said, fast losing control.

  “Never mind.” Jesse dropped the tumbler onto the cart with a clatter. April jumped and Eden glanced from one to the other, her forehead furrowed.

  Jesse made for the foyer. Lies and more lies. He felt physically sick. He thought he heard April call after him as he strode blindly into the gathering dusk, but it might have been the wind. Leaves whirled and rustled and tumbled over the hood of his car.

  He slammed the door behind him, drew one tortured breath, viciously twisted the ignition until the car’s engine screamed to a high-pitched whine, then shoved it into reverse and spurted backward out of the driveway.

  For one incredible moment he felt like crying.

  Nothing was simple anymore. April stared at her daughter, who was seated cross-legged on the end of her bed, and knew some explanation was necessary. Eden was too astute, too sensitive to her mother’s feelings to let Jesse’s visit go by unremarked.

  “Why did he leave like that?” she demanded. “What was wrong with him? Mommy, you’re not going to cry, are you?”

  The touching concern in her voice nearly undid April. She managed to smile through gritted teeth. “No. I’m not going to cry.”

  “Tell me what’s wrong.” Eden was nothing if not persistent. “Don’t you like him? Did he make you upset?”

  “Oh, Eden.” April drew in a breath and exhaled it slowly. She smiled wanly. “Mom’s just had a bad day.”

  “What happened?”

  Seeing there was no way to get around it altogether, April told Eden half the truth. “Someone stole from the store. He’s been caught, and now he’s being punished.” Her thoughts flew to Rob, and she was suddenly so miserable that the tears she’d denied gathered in her throat.

  “That man?” Eden was grave and scared.

  “No, not him. No, he’s… a policeman.” April got to her feet, smoothed her skirt. “I’m sorry,” she said in a voice too unsteady to trust. “I really just can’t talk now. Understand?”

  Eden’s eyes widened in surprise. It wasn’t like April to tiptoe around an issue and Eden was clearly worried. She nodded, however, and April hugged her. Too tightly, because Eden started to squirm at her mother’s demand for love and compassion. “Do I have to go to school tomorrow?” she inquired. “I don’t want to see Kendra Oatfield ever again.”

  “Yes, you have to go to school. Just ignore Kendra. She can’t hurt you if you ignore her.”

  That was a lie, April thought as she returned to the lower floor. Ignoring Jesse had hurt her more than she’d believed possible. Now she was going to pay. He would never forgive her for hiding the existence of his daughter. He would never leave her unscathed. She felt it in her bones.

  It was amazing how normal everything looked at Hollis’s while April’s world had shattered. The green and silver and gold had been replaced by spring shades of pale peach, lavender and eggshell white. The scents at the perfume counter smelled lighter, softer, sweeter. Fashion jewelry had changed from metallics to glittering pastels. April picked up a pair of lovely ivory-colored earrings carved to resemble a shell. The black foil tag read Bettina.

  “Did you want those, Ms. Hollis?” the girl at the counter asked somewhat anxiously as April clenched her fingers around the delicate pieces.

  “No.” She set the card back on the counter. “Does Bettina come into the store herself to show you her latest designs?”

  “Most of the time. She lives right here in Portland. Why? Don’t you like her stuff?”

  “Yes, I do. Very much.” April painted on a smile. “Next time she’s in, would you tell her I’d like to meet her?”

  “Sure.”

  April walked away before sh
e revealed anything more. It was probably pointless to contact Bettina. What could she do to help April? Would she even want to?

  “You look like you’re about to fall over,” Jane remarked as April waved to her on her way to her office.

  “Thanks,” April remarked irritably as Jane disappeared. She was growing tired of everyone telling her how awful she looked. She felt awful. Didn’t she have a right to look awful, too?

  “No, no, no.” Jane’s voice floated after her. The secretary marched into April office right on her heels. “You’re not getting away that fast. These are for you.”

  She slapped down a pile of messages on top of the pile of paperwork already crowning April’s desk. Groaning, April flipped through them. One from her father, two from Nicole – she could guess what those were about, since her father had returned to Seattle – and one from Rob Harding.

  Her hands felt like ice. Dropping the messages, she pressed shaking fingers to her temples. She didn’t want to talk to Rob any more than she wanted to talk to Jesse. No, she amended hastily, she did want to talk to Jesse. She was just afraid to.

  “Here.” Jane smiled soothingly, placing a cup of tea in front of April. “You look like you could use it.”

  “Thank you,” April said with such sincerity that Jane’s brows lifted.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “How is everything at the store?” she asked quickly as Jane retreated.

  “Depressing.” Jane never minced words. “Were all shocked to our socks about Roger. How are you holding up?”

  “I’ll live.” She sipped the tea, choked and grimaced, staring at the cup. “As long as I’m not poisoned first.”

  “Oh, sorry. I forgot. My new sugar substitute. No good, huh?”

  April laughed for the first time in days. “I think I’d go back to what you were using before,” April advised.

  Jane lifted a hand in acknowledgement and disappeared down the hallway. April glanced at the notes, her good humor evaporating. Should she call Rob?