by Anne Stuart
"So you and Peter aren't going to get married?"
Another decision, easily made. "No."
"But what if it's his child?" Morgan persisted.
"I'll deal with that when the time comes. I'm not really sure if I owe him anything."
"You may owe him a child."
"Perhaps," she said distantly. "Vitamins, Morgan?"
"I'll call in a prescription to your pharmacy. No drugs, no alcohol, all right? If you're going to keep the pregnancy you may as well do it right."
"I may as well," she agreed tranquilly. "I'll talk to you tomorrow when I've made my plans."
"Do that."
Softly, silently, Jessica replaced the phone. She stared at the pristine confines of her corner office, the broken pencil on the immaculate teak desk. She looked at her hands, thin and strong and well-shaped, and she dropped them lightly on her still-flat stomach. The sudden bubbling of joy, like champagne flowing in her veins, threatened to spill over. And all she could think was, at last she had done something right.
Springer slid down in the chair, careful to keep his long legs out of the path. He'd already tripped one nurse—he had no desire to repeat the experience. With the way his life was going right now, it would only be fitting if the next one he tripped was carrying a loaded bedpan.
Sliding around, he tried to cram his six-foot-four frame into the metal-and-plastic chair made for a much smaller, much more padded human being. Did hospital administrators take a certain pleasure in seeking out the most uncomfortable chairs for the waiting rooms? Maybe they figured the physical discomfort would take people's minds off their medical worries.
With a sigh he pushed himself out of the chair, wandering down the hallway for the twentieth time in the past hour. For that matter, why did surgery always seem to take twice as long as it was supposed to? Damn, he wished he'd have let Elyssa accompany him back to the Coast. He'd been so caught up in worry and guilt and panic that he hadn't anticipated what hell it would be, sitting in the waiting room, waiting, waiting, waiting. With no one for company but the sullen brunette with the too-youthful clothes clinging to her perfect figure. He didn't want to go back, share that cubicle of space, never meeting her accusing eyes. But there was no place else to go.
He'd have to go back to New York to get his car. Hamilton had it garaged somewhere—he could only hope vandals hadn't stripped its venerable beauty. As soon as he knew everything was going to be all right he'd fly back, maybe stay a few days before the long drive
Hell, was he trying to kid himself? After all these years? He was going to see Jessica. They were completely mismatched—she was everything he disliked in women. Cold, ambitious, shut off from human emotion.
And yet he'd seen emotion in those lost blue eyes of hers, emotions like fear, anger, even a surprised desire. And once or twice he'd heard her laugh, and the sound still haunted him with its rusty, rippling charm. And she wasn't cold at all, once he had gotten past that armor-plated efficiency. She was warm, and trembling, and so shiveringly responsive that he felt himself harden just remembering.
A familiar figure in green scrubs hurried by, and Springer was pulled out of his reverie in sudden alertness. But no, it wasn't anyone he knew. The operation was supposed to take an hour—it hadn't been much more than an hour and a quarter. There was nothing he could do but wait.
Elyssa hadn't been much help. During the endless ride to the airport, when all the unanswered questions about Katherine were threatening to drive him crazy, he'd tried to distract himself by asking about Jessica.
Elyssa had hesitated, obviously loath to interfere. "Is that where you were last night when I was trying to find you?"
"Yes."
"I wish you wouldn't, Springer," she had said plaintively. "You don't need to add another scalp to your belt. Just because you can't resist a challenge—"
"Is Jessica a challenge?" he'd drawled. "I got the impression that she might be far too easy with her favors."
"She's not cheap, Springer," Elyssa had snapped.
"I didn't think so. I imagine she'd be a very expensive habit to acquire."
"I wouldn't have thought a man with your experience with women would be so easily deceived," Elyssa had snapped, rising to the bait quite nicely. "Jessica doesn't happen to be an executive hooker."
"Then what is she?"
There was a slight softening in Elyssa's dark eyes. "A confused, unhappy young woman. And she doesn't need you to add to her confusion. Not for some sexual whim on your part. Oh, Springer, I thought you'd gotten past all that. I can't stand the thought of your hurting Jessica more than she's been hurt already."
"I'm not going to hurt her," he'd replied. "And you're right, I have gotten past sexual whims."
"Then why did you do it?"
He met her gaze with his customary honesty, the honesty he reserved for those he loved. "I don't really know," he admitted.
Elyssa shook her head sadly. "Keep away from her, Springer. You may not want to hurt her, but I think you already have. She's a lot more vulnerable than she looks."
Leaning against the hospital window, Springer remembered that vulnerability, just as he remembered that mask she'd pull over herself. But which was the real Jessica? The efficient, manipulative vice-president of Kinsey Enterprises? Or the shivering, clinging woman who ran from him and then reluctantly, completely, fell into his arms? Retrieving his car was only an excuse. Far more important to his peace of mind was finding out who Jessica Hansen really was.
"John." His ex-wife had never called him Springer. Probably figured that if she had her own name for him she'd own him. That pinched, sour voice broke through his reveries, and he pivoted on his heel to face the approaching figure of Katherine's doctor.
Chapter Thirteen
Jessica stepped out into the cooler night air outside the Tavern on the Green, greeting its soft breezes with an unconstrained smile. She could feel the curious eyes of the man beside her and considered hiding her unexpected pleasure with the night and life in general. She dismissed the thought, turning to encompass Peter in her sense of well-being.
"You're looking quite pleased with yourself," he observed.
"Why shouldn't I? We've just been celebrating an extremely successful merger; I'm about to go on a long vacation. I'm very pleased with my life right now."
Peter's high forehead was creased in disbelief. "Somehow I hadn't gotten the impression you were looking forward to your trip with Lincoln. Particularly since I'm not able to join you." He sounded faintly aggrieved, and Jessica didn't bother to hide the wave of irritation that swept over her.
"I never expected you'd be able to join us, Peter," she said, her voice deceptively gentle. "After all, that was an unwritten part of the bargain, wasn't it?"
A dull red suffused Peter's face. "I don't know what you're talking about, Jessica. I would never—"
"Then I'm not part of the deal?" she queried gently. "A month of unrestricted fun and games with Jessica Hansen isn't included in the terms of the merger? Shall I go back in and tell Lincoln that I won't be going with him tomorrow?"
"No!" Peter's voice was strangled, and Jessica almost felt sorry for him. Almost. A light film of sweat had broken out on Peter's tanned, aristocratic face, and the panic she'd only guessed at was in full evidence. "Jessica, even you don't know what kind of shape we've been in. This merger was our last chance—if it hadn't gone through we would have been looking at receivership by the end of the year."
"But the merger did go through, Peter. The company will have a nice infusion of fresh money, and Lincoln will have the possibility of substantial profits. And he'll have me as a lagniappe."
"Damn it, Jessica, it's not as if we're asking for something you've never done before," he cried, shoving a rough hand through his blond hair. "You're not a virgin sacrifice, for heaven's sake."
Springer's term, she thought distantly. And Springer who had told her she was worth more than executive prostitution.
"You are asking
me to do it, then?" she questioned serenely. "I just want to be sure I have this straight."
"Jessica!" he pleaded.
"You and your father want me to sleep with Rickford Lincoln to cement the merger, is that right? Is it?" Her voice was still tranquil. "I need an answer, Peter."
"Yes."
A small, resigned smile lit her face. "I see."
"You needn't act as if it's a surprise," he said defensively. "You're a savvy person-you know the score. This has been in the cards for months now."
"Yes, it has."
Still Peter watched her, his face awash in misery. Poor Peter, she thought absently. Immorality didn't sit well on his patrician soul—he hadn't the killer instinct his father possessed in abundance.
"Father's transferred your bonus to your account. I think he's planning to give you an extra little something ..." The words trailed off as he realized how they sounded.
Jessica laughed in genuine astonished amusement. "How tacky of you, Peter," she murmured. "You're going to have to learn more finesse if you plan to keep this up."
"I didn't mean it that way."
"Of course you didn't." She had surreptitiously slipped off the huge diamond ring that had hung loosely on her left hand, and she tucked it into her palm. Moving closer, she slid her arms around his waist. "Kiss me good-bye, Peter. Lincoln's picking me up around nine tomorrow, so I won't have another chance to see you."
"Jessica, you don't have to go," he said miserably. "The merger's signed, there's nothing he could do...."
"Hush, darling." She slid her hands back, casually dropping the ring into his pocket. He wouldn't discover it for days. Reaching up, she kissed him lightly.
"Let me come home with you, Jessica. We need to talk about this."
"No, Peter." She pulled away from his suddenly clutching embrace. "I have a lot of last-minute packing to do. Good-bye, Peter."
There was nothing he could do as she made her way to the nearest waiting taxi but follow her, opening the door and helping her in, the misery still stamped on his face.
Leaning back, Jessica breathed in the myriad smells of a New York City taxi on a summer night. Sweat, cigarettes, exhaust and onions. Part of her would miss New York. And part of her would miss Peter Kinsey and think of him with gratitude. He couldn't have given her a better going-away present. By asking her to sleep with Lincoln, he had destroyed any responsibility she felt toward him. If somehow word got back to him that she'd had a baby, he would know better than anyone else that it couldn't be his. But no one would believe him if he denied it, and the thought gave her a certain tranquil satisfaction.
Now there were just the two of them, she thought, placing a thin hand on her flat, silk-covered belly. And that was exactly the way she wanted it.
Of course, there were problems, she thought as she entered her darkened apartment. Moving through the hall at her rapid pace, she avoided the memory of that night with Springer with single-minded determination. But none of the problems were too large to be overcome.
She had lied to Peter, of course. All her clothes were packed, waiting in the hall, all her few belongings were locked up and stored in the once precious back room that she now avoided like the plague. She was going to impose on Elyssa, who little expected it. She was counting on her to arrange a sublet for this huge place while Jessica found someplace to settle. The bonus money wouldn't go very far if she had to pay the extraordinary rent on this apartment, but she didn't have time to see to it herself. She had to be gone and fast.
Kicking off her high-heeled sandals, she wandered into the kitchen to peer into the almost empty refrigerator. Dutifully she poured herself a glass of milk, for once wishing she could have a drink to calm the trepidation that threatened to overwhelm her. It was typical of fate, she thought, swallowing the milk with a grimace of distaste. She, who seldom drank alcohol, would suddenly develop the urge when it was strictly forbidden. Just as well. She had an absolute horror of ending up like her parents.
There was still the question of where she was going to go the following day. At first she thought she'd just drive, but she couldn't even decide in which direction. Her sisters would always welcome her. Sunny, newly divorced in northern Minnesota, would be glad to have help with the three children driving her to the edge of distraction. Or Maren, with her pretty suburban Chicago house, her pretty suburban family and her delicate little suburban drinking problem. No, she couldn't stay with Maren.
Perhaps she should head south. Though with the summer humidity at an all-time high—
The doorbell slashed across her rambling thoughts, and she jumped, spilling the last bit of milk across the silk front of her black dress. The kitchen was still and dark, echoing the shrill intrusion of the doorbell as it sounded again.
She moved slowly toward the hall, wary and on edge. It had to be someone she knew. Her building had very good security and an excellent night doorman—no one would get past him unless the visitor was well-known. He'd never met Lincoln—she was safe at least from that. Logic told her it should be Peter, with one more excuse, one more argument, but for some reason she didn't think it was. Would Henry remember Springer from two weeks before?
Squashing down the sudden surge of panic, she reached the door as the bell rang again. Don't be absurd, she told herself. Springer was long gone, and if he did reappear it would hardly be at her door at eleven o'clock at night. Dear Lord, don't let it be Springer.
It was Springer's parents on the other side of her peephole. It took her a few moments to fumble with the three locks, long enough for her to regain a portion of her equilibrium. "What in the world are you two doing here?" she greeted them lightly as she swung open the door. "Not that I'm not delighted to see you at any hour. What brings you to town, Elyssa?" A sudden, horrifying thought came to her, stripping her of her smile and her banter. "Nothing's wrong, is it?"
"You tell me, darling," Elyssa retorted sternly, pressing her cheek against Jessica's for a moment. "I got your note."
"Hello, Ham," she murmured as she was enveloped in a bear hug. "Elyssa drag you along?"
"I dragged myself. What's going on, lambkin? Running out?"
"You weren't supposed to get my note till Monday," Jessica accused lightly. "No fair."
"The U.S. mail was for once quite efficient. So you're not going off with Lincoln?" Elyssa questioned.
"No."
"I'm glad. I can't imagine that Peter really expected you to. He must not have realized—"
"Oh, he realized all right," Jessica said, throwing her slender body into the uncomfortable sofa. "He came right out and asked me tonight."
"But you'd already decided to leave. Does he know?"
"Not yet. He'll find out soon enough. I expect Lincoln will call him when he comes to collect his door prize and I'm not here." She kept her voice light. "I hope you're not here to talk me out of it."
"Not at all, Jessica," Elyssa said firmly. "I think you're doing the right thing."
"But we're worried about where you're planning to go, what you're planning to do," Ham added seriously.
I'll be having your grandchild, she thought, but said nothing. "I haven't decided."
Ham heaved a sigh, exchanged glances with Elyssa, and then plunged in. "In that case, we have a proposition for you."
"I don't want to have anything to do with Springer," she said abruptly, betraying herself.
Ham looked surprised, obviously having missed those developments. "It has nothing to do with Springer, Jessica. He wouldn't have to know anything about it."
"About what?"
"We have a house, Jessica. It's been in the family for generations—an old, rambling Victorian summer
cottage on one of the Champlain islands in Vermont. It's been empty for years; since the divorce, as a matter of fact. We've rented it out a few times, kept it up, but neither of us has had the time or the inclination to go back. We thought you might like to go up there for a while. It's very secluded, but I don't think you'd mind that
."
Jessica eyes had lit up. "Hamilton, you angel!"
"And you could consider doing me a little favor while you're there rusticating."
"Anything," she promised rashly.
"You might think about honing your writing skills. I'll never forget that parody of the Slaughterer you wrote for me last Christmas. It was marvelous."
"But Ham, that's all I can do, I assure you," she protested, confused. "I'm completely uncreative. I can only do parodies and satires. God knows, I've tried, in college and later, but I just don't have it."
"I'm not asking you to force anything," Ham said mysteriously. "Just keep it in mind and we'll talk about it later. So, do you want to go?"
"More than anything. You two have saved my life."
"I hope it's not that bad," Elyssa said gently. "And the house has been winterized, after a fashion, though no brave soul has ever attempted to survive the rigors of Vermont weather there. If you're bold enough you can stay as long as you want. As Ham said, it's a little remote and lonely, but I know you prefer it that way."
"I would. Elyssa, it sounds like heaven."
A wry smile lit Elyssa's concerned face. "Wait till you've experienced a Vermont winter before you say that."
"I've already experienced Minnesota winters—I doubt it's worse."
"Then it's settled. Come by for breakfast tomorrow, and we'll give you keys, maps, instructions, the works," Ham said expansively. "Not to mention coffee and croissants. Elyssa brought fresh beans and pastry when she arrived tonight. We spent most of the evening trying to figure out what to do with you, and I think we've contrived quite well."