On the Edge

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  No, it couldn’t. And she didn’t yearn for attention from any man but Jack Charbonnet, darn it.

  He watched her with absolute concentration. The denim shirt he’d had on in the morning had been replaced by a white shirt that drew attention to his tan, and to the darkness of his hair. “You’ve never been engaged,” he said. “Is that because you don’t like the idea of marriage?”

  “No.” If his probing questions drew only monosyllabic answers, he might give up the interrogation.

  “I take marriage very seriously too.”

  “Good. You take family and marriage seriously.” Drat, sometimes she couldn’t hold her tongue.

  “You think that’s a bad thing?” His eyes were so green tonight that they were hard to look at, then hard to look away from. “Celina, what do you think?”

  Why did he care what she thought? “I agree with you on both points.”

  “I loved my wife very much. We met in high school. There was never anyone else for either of us.”

  It was no good, she had to try to understand him. “Why are you telling me these things?”

  “Because I want you to know me.”

  “I suppose you’d be insulted if I told you I’m completely bemused by this entire conversation.”

  That stopped him. He dropped to sit on the floor beside her chair. With his long legs crossed and his face turned up to hers, he appeared younger, less sure of himself.

  “Elise’s death was the kind of shock you think you’ll never get over,” he said. “And maybe you never do—not completely. She...Elise struggled with depression. I never realized how serious it was until it was too late. Postnatal depression added to what she’d already been fighting was too much. She killed herself. My parents were murdered.”

  Celina touched his face impulsively. She couldn’t answer. There was nothing to say, especially not I’m sorry. I’m sorry would be so inadequate. Certainly she couldn’t brush him off with a reminder that everyone knew his parents had been murdered. Instead, she looked into his eyes and smiled a little, and let her hand come to rest on his shoulder.

  He smiled back and put her hand on the arm of the chair again, and kept one of his own on top. “Thanks. I’m okay about it now.”

  “You can’t be.”

  “If you’re going to be close to someone—for whatever reason—there has to be honesty between you.”

  All sensation centered where his skin met hers. “I believe in honesty. And I don’t believe in posturing. I’ve had to spend too much time with people who posture. You don’t do that.”

  His smile broadened. “Does that mean you find somethin’ honorable in me? Somethin’ you might even like?”

  Celina made herself look away. “You could get that lucky. Who knows?”

  “I’d like Amelia to have a woman in her life. Tilly’s a godsend, but she isn’t a mother figure.”

  “If you want to marry again, Jack, you know you can. I’m sure women would line up to be your wife.” Now he would think she was telling him how attractive he was.

  “How about you? Would you line up?”

  “I don’t like lines. I’m too impatient.”

  “You just want to be at the head of the line?”

  Word games, word games. “I’m getting tired.” And she was exhausted by this verbal sparring. “We haven’t done a whole lot that’s useful, but I do think going to St. Peter’s is a good idea, and I’m glad you agree.”

  “Good. We’ll do what you suggest, and go together.”

  He sounded different, not relaxed or more gentle, just different.

  “Right after Elise died, I didn’t want to consider marrying again. Not ever. Once I did think about it, I decided the most important thing would be to make sure Amelia wasn’t going to be exposed to something unpleasant. Like a divorce.”

  Okay, she would play along. “Divorce can happen. It’s too bad when a marriage fails, but I can understand how it happens.”

  “If you’re careful from the outset, it doesn’t have to. Errol would have married you if the baby was his.”

  “Errol asked me to marry him,” she told Jack with total honesty. “He died before I had a chance to give him an answer.” Errol had wanted to marry her the moment she told him there was a baby. She’d just about decided to take him up on the offer, when he’d died.

  “Why would you need time to think about a thing like that?”

  “No one should marry out of a sense of responsibility.”

  “Errol wanted to marry you only because of the baby?”

  Celina let her eyelids lower. Her hand was still beneath Jack’s on the chair. “I think Errol might have wanted to marry me anyway.” She knew he had. “The baby made him reach a decision.” Errol had even tried to take her to buy an engagement ring.

  “You didn’t love him?”

  “Not in that way.”

  “So let me get this straight.” His fingers closed around her wrist. “You only wanted Errol for sex. And you say the baby you’re carrying is the result of some of that mindless sex. You couldn’t make up your mind to marry Errol because you didn’t think of him in that way.”

  “I was going to marry him.” She wasn’t in a position to make any protests. She heard him suck in a sharp breath. He touched her cheek and she jumped. He turned her face toward him, but she kept her eyes almost shut.

  “Look at me, please. I want to see your eyes.”

  Slowly she did as he asked.

  “I’m sorry for Errol’s sake that you couldn’t love him.”

  Celina smiled and felt sadness deep inside. “I’m sorry about that too, but we can’t force love.”

  His thumb stroked back and forth on her cheek. “Could I try something and hope you won’t scream, or slap me?” Rising to his knees, he regarded her face minutely as if he could somehow find a way to see inside her. “I’ll take my chances.”

  Jack Charbonnet’s mouth should be outlawed. He settled it over hers. Firm, but gentle, gentle but insistent, insistent but carefully so. He kissed her with insistent pressure, but without attempting to open her mouth. With a hand behind her head, he kept on kissing her.

  And Celina started to kiss him back. She ached all over, a wonderful ache, a sensation more intense than she’d ever felt. The most natural thing imaginable was to slip her own hands around his neck and tangle her fingers in his hair. He smelled clean, clean skin, clean shirt. The start of his beard growth rubbed her chin, and she shuddered with pleasure. For this one suspended fraction of time she wouldn’t question what was happening. His mouth tasted like coffee and mint.

  She tightened her arms around his neck, and he wrapped her tightly to him. They kissed and kissed, and Celina didn’t care that kissing Jack Charbonnet should be the most unlikely thing ever to happen to her.

  His fingertips brushing up and down her spine left a sensitive trail that spread. Her breasts were crushed to his chest. Their increased fullness was something she had tried to hide, but his hard chest against them brought potently erotic pleasure.

  With a reluctance she felt, he took his mouth from hers. With the backs of his fingers he stroked the sides of her neck. “A successful experiment,” he said, his voice even quieter than usual. “What do you think?”

  “I think I’m amazed. The kiss was great—lovely. Thank you. But why would you kiss me?”

  “Just to find out what it was like. And because I wanted to.”

  "I liked it very much too. I’m going to want to do it again. But maybe we shouldn’t push it too soon.”

  “Are you trying to suggest you think we’re going to be doing a lot of kissing?”

  She was Celina Payne and she wasn’t in the habit of talking to men about whether or not they intended to kiss her.

  “You are a very lovely woman. I’m not surprised you won beauty pageants.”

  She cleared her throat. “I’m trying to forget I was ever in those pageants. It embarrasses me.”

  “You glow, Celina. Did you know th
at? It’s not an old wives’ tale. Pregnancy makes even plain women pretty, and you are not plain, my dear.”

  My dear. Was that actually a term of endearment, or just a figure of speech?

  “I’d better go home.”

  “I’m going to take you soon. Will Cyrus be there?”

  “Yes. He was only stepping out for a little while.”

  “Did Antoine come back and talk to you this afternoon?”

  “No. He really looked upset again this morning. He and his wife are very close, so I’m sure he wanted to be with her.” Jack’s hands, settling on her stomach, stunned Celina.

  “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked.

  “Well...I don’t suppose I do.”

  “People want to touch babies in the womb. I guess it’s a hangover from when a baby belonged to a whole tribe and everyone felt proprietary toward it.”

  “Could be,” she agreed.

  He fanned his fingers and stroked, then shocked her again by settling his ear on her navel. “Who’s in there? Speak up. What’s your name?”

  She giggled and said, “You’re silly,” then couldn’t believe she’d said such a thing to him.

  His expression, when he raised his head, was softly smug. “Wait till you feel that little tyke move. We’ll see who gets silly then.”

  “Maybe. Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “Somebody should be. You’re pregnant and pretty much alone. You’re going to keep the baby against difficult odds. I admire you for that.”

  “I never had any choice. I wouldn’t want one.”

  “Okay, on your feet.” He pulled her up, but instead of moving away he held her hands. “I’d like to get to know Cyrus better. He seems like a really nice guy.”

  “He is. Cyrus is my champion. He always had been.”

  “That’s great to hear.” The strangest expression entered his eyes. “My mother was pregnant when she died. I was going to have a brother.”

  She clung to him, horrified. “That’s awful. How do you know it was a boy?”

  He looked her straight in the eyes. “It was a boy.”

  In other words, back off.

  “It’s obvious what has to happen here, you know that, don’t you?”

  Celina went blank. “No. Right now I’m a very fragmented woman.”

  “You’re a Catholic, I presume.”

  “I am, but I’d be keeping my baby anyway. It’s different for different people, but I couldn’t live with myself if I did anything else.”

  “I like that. What do you think of prenuptial agreements?”

  She frowned. “I suppose I can see where they’re sometimes necessary.”

  “Would you be offended if you were asked to sign one?”

  “I don’t know.” She thought about it. “It could be that I’d think the man didn’t trust me not to take him for a ride or something.”

  “I used to think like you. And at that point I was right. Things have changed, especially with this situation.”

  She made a polite noise.

  “Errol would never have asked for one,” he said.

  “Do you mind if we don’t talk about Errol for a while. I don’t want to cry, but I’m starting to feel a little shaky.”

  “Sorry. I do believe I was thinking out loud. But that’s not what we’re dealing with here.”

  “Isn’t it?” She wasn’t sure what they were dealing with anymore.

  “By now you know exactly what I’ve got on my mind. It’s the only thing that makes sense. If we get right on it, we can be married within a week or so. I know you aren’t in love with me, but you need me and I’m prepared to do what needs to be done. Would you like your brother to marry us? If that’s important to you, it’s okay with me.”

  “Marry us?”

  “Perhaps he wouldn’t be able to. I’m not sure what that would entail with the Church, are you?”

  Not a single coherent thought would settle long enough for Celina to respond.

  Jack inclined his head and watched her face. He pressed her palms together and kept his hands over hers. “I’d decided this was the thing to do by this morning. There won’t even be a question about who the baby’s father is. It’ll be accepted that it’s mine. Later on we’ll have to decide what—”

  “We?” She gathered enough wit to pull away from him. “We?”

  “Celina—”

  “Please stop. Not another word—please. You decided? This isn’t something you can decide.”

  “But it makes sense.”

  “You, Jack Charbonnet, are an arrogant...ass!”

  Chapter 13

  A tiny staircase led from a narrow doorway in the corridor, behind Tilly’s rooms, and up to the attic, The stairs creaked, and the dust made Amelia want to cough. She had closed the door carefully behind her so no one could see the shine of her flashlight as she climbed.

  She wasn’t supposed to go to the attic, but when she was lucky, she got to play up there almost every day. Tilly liked her to come home from school, eat her snack, and lie down to rest for a while. Amelia often waited until she heard Tilly go upstairs to her apartment again, then slipped from her own room and up the stairs.

  This was the first time she’d come at night. Daddy would be angry if he found out, but he’d left with that lady Celina and probably wouldn’t be back too soon. Amelia was certain Daddy was dating Celina and she didn’t know how she felt about that yet. Tilly often talked about how Daddy should get married again because he was too young not to have a wife for the rest of his life, and because it would be a good thing for Amelia to have a mother. Amelia didn’t want a mother. She liked looking at the pictures of her real mother, and being with her daddy. But if Daddy needed a wife, then Amelia supposed she wouldn’t be a brat about it. She’d try anyway—unless Celina called her precocious like that lady Amelia and Daddy had met in the street once. The lady had kissed Daddy, and Amelia had told her she didn’t think that was appropriate. Then the lady said she was precocious.

  She’d just wait and see about Celina. She was pretty. Tilly was waiting to see too, but said she thought Celina might be okay. Nanny Summers wouldn’t like it though. Mama had been Nanny’s only child and she said they should never forget Mama.

  At the top of the stairs another door opened into the attic. A pointed ceiling rose high over Amelia’s head, and boxes were stacked against every wall. There was also an old sewing machine with ivy leaves painted on it, and a dummy thing for pinning clothes on. The dummy didn’t have a head, so Amelia had put a hat on it and draped a piece of lace over the top so you couldn’t tell about the head unless you looked really close.

  In one corner was a trunk. On the front, fancy letters on a dirty metal label spelled out ELISE SUMMERS. That was Amelia’s mama. She lifted the lid carefully so it wouldn’t bang when she leaned it against the wall. Inside was a big box with a window of plastic in the top. The box was taped and Amelia had left it that way. She knew this was Mama’s wedding dress. She’s seen it in photographs of Mama and Daddy on their wedding day anyway, but one day she’d get to take it out of the box because she was going to wear it when she got married. That reminded her that she needed to get going on that. Daddy said you should take your time finding someone to marry, just to be certain you’d keep on loving them no matter what. Amelia wasn’t sure what he meant by “no matter what.”

  Under the box were other pretty things wrapped in tissue paper. Pieces of lace. A white nightie and robe, and slippers with little pearls sewn on them. And there were books from when Mama and Daddy were in school. Amelia had found their pictures. They looked funny.

  And there were baby clothes. She was sure they had been hers, and it was hard to wait to ask Daddy. Meanwhile she had brought her big baby doll, Fanny, up to live in the attic and she wore Amelia’s baby clothes all the time.

  Would Celina come to live in their house, Amelia wondered. And if she did, would everything change?

  Daddy had taken Celina home, but would pr
obably be back soon.

  Roland’s mama had got married again just before he came to kindergarten. Amelia knew because she and Roland were friends and he’d told her. She’d tried not to be rude when she asked questions, but she’d asked them anyway. Roland said it was okay to have a new dad, that his new dad played ball with him. But now his mama was having another baby. Amelia said, “Yuck” aloud. She wouldn’t like it if Daddy got married and there was a new baby. It would probably want to touch all her things.

  She cuddled Fanny and closed the trunk again. From the little window set low in the sloping roof, Amelia could peek all the way down to the street. She went to climb on the suitcase she kept there. She could watch for Daddy to come home. Then she’d run down to bed.

  Outside it was very dark. There wasn’t any moon, but she’d see him come under the streetlights.

  She wasn’t going to look at the house across the street anymore. There was a lady who lived there who didn’t go out. She had another lady who looked after her. Tilly had told Amelia that.

  Amelia thought the lady who lived there might not be nice. Of course she wasn’t a ghost, Amelia had made that up, but she might be a witch, and she might be the kind of witch who wanted to kidnap little girls and make them work for her. That nearly happened to Phillymeana once when she’d been mean to the dragon prince and he’d gone away to mend his heart. She didn’t have him to help her then. If she hadn’t sent a message to the North Pole so Santa’s friend, Polar Bear, could tie up the witch with a rope made from her own broom bristles, the witch would have got Phillymeana.

  A little light flashed on and off—a red light, but really small. It was in the window in the lady’s house.

  Amelia had turned off her flashlight before she climbed onto the suitcase. She pressed her nose to the glass and peered down at the red light. It went out and didn’t come back on again.

  The lady had lace curtains in her windows.

  One of them moved, one in the same window where the red light had come on and off.

  Amelia shivered. She wasn’t cold, just scared of that mean old lady over there who stayed up in the night to spy on people. At least, Amelia was almost certain that’s what she did. And she’d seen the curtain move in the daytime too.