by Eileen Wilks
He eased away carefully, then knelt to lift her. His Claire was no lightweight, and she was as limp as a soggy noodle. Picking her up from the floor was no easy task. He grunted and got it done. She rewarded him by snuggling her head against his shoulder and looping limp-noodle arms around his neck.
He felt as if he'd just won the best deal of his life.
Her eyes didn't open, but she smiled. He would have liked to carry her to his bed, but beneath her sleepy smile lay exhaustion. The skin beneath her eyes was bruised to a fragile violet. She'd had a hellish day and needed sleep, but if she were in his bed he would make love to her again. Control could only be trusted so far.
So he carried her down the hall to Sonia's room, laid her in that bed, and tugged the covers up around her. And started to stand.
Before he'd done more than shift his weight, her eyes blinked open. "Hey," she said, her voice as drowsy as her smile. "Where do you think you're going?"
"You need some sleep. We have a lot of decisions to make in the morning."
"Jacob." Her hand rose to touch his lips, tracing them gently. "You can't hold me to a promise made under duress … no matter how delicious that duress was."
"Yes," he said, and stood. "I can."
"I didn't agree to marry you. Not really."
Fear touched him in the place that had been aching and tender a few moments ago. His hands clenched into fists. Grimly, carefully, he loosened them. He wouldn't lose her. He couldn't. She was right. "Yes, you did. We'll talk in the morning. Good night, Claire."
* * *
Chapter 9
«^»
Claire slept alone, but she didn't wake up that way. Eyes closed, she drifted from dream into wakefulness, gradually becoming aware of sunlight pressing against her eyelids and the warm, living weight on her chest.
And the purring, buzz-saw loud.
Sheba? Her eyes popped open. Sure enough, a huge mud- and-smoke-colored cat sprawled across her chest, eyes squinted to smug slits at having found and claimed her human. Automatically Claire reached up to pet the cat the way Sheba preferred – firmly along the top of the head, then behind the ears and under the jaw.
Obviously Jacob's brother was a sorcerer. He'd cast a spell on her cat. Just as obviously Jacob hadn't bothered to lock her door when he left her last night. He'd opened it today to let her cat join her.
Last night. Thoughts and feelings blurred through her – a shiver of memory, the fear-sharp tug of delight. He'd made love to her so carefully at first. So precisely. But sex wasn't meant to be precise. It was messy and exciting, nourishing and awkward. Claire sometimes thought of it as God's gentle joke on mankind, a powerful gift you couldn't receive without shedding clothes and dignity alike. A gift you could cut yourself on, leaving wounds that healed unevenly … or not at all. A gift she'd refused for the past six years.
That's all this was. The yearning she felt for his touch this morning, for the deep completion of his body, was the natural product of her too-long abstinence, nothing more.
And the vast confusion she felt, as if she'd stepped out over a chasm where she'd expected to find solid ground?
She'd said yes.
How had that happened, for heaven's sake? How could she have let it happen? Not the lovemaking. She knew only too well how that had come about, and her body warmed at the memory. But she'd said yes when he asked her to marry him. She'd let him leave last night without making it clear he had to accept her refusal.
Did she have to refuse him?
The thought was beguilingly, deceptively simple. But she knew better, dammit. She used to base far too much of her life on impulse and emotion. The pain of her own bad decisions hadn't been enough to teach her caution. The price others had paid for those decisions had.
No way was she going to give in to hormones and longing again. Maybe, at this moment, she did want someone to lean on. Someone to offer her sanctuary. It would pass.
And maybe she did want Jacob until her vision blurred. That, too, would pass. Infatuation always did. The cold wreckage it left in its wake had nearly ruined her life once. Surely she didn't need to learn that lesson a second time.
Impatient with herself, Claire moved eighteen pounds of cat off her chest and sat up, giving Sheba a quick apology in the form of another chin scratch. She glanced at the clock – and her eyes widened. It was nearly eleven. Thank goodness it was Saturday and she didn't have to go to work.
Just to the hospital.
Oh God, Danny. How could she have forgotten?
Guilt smacked her hard, sending her scrambling to the office area to call the hospital. Only she didn't have to. There was a note taped to the banana-shaped receiver.
Danny is doing well, she read. His condition was downgraded from serious to stable. The doctor said he was awake earlier and responded to questions. You can visit him this afternoon.
The note wasn't signed, but she didn't need a signature to know who had left it where she was sure to see it. Her gaze flickered to the door between her office and Jacob's. Feelings gusted through her, soft and strong as wind – and just as hard to grasp. She closed her eyes.
What was she to do with such a man?
He'd proposed to her, and he'd seduced her. There was no other word for it, however much of an accomplice she'd been in her own seduction. She'd been achingly vulnerable last night, and he'd seduced her – not just into passion, but into agreeing to marry him. For his own purposes, which didn't include love.
He'd also arranged for her to have her cat, so she wouldn't worry. He'd called the hospital – again, so she wouldn't worry. And his purpose for marrying her was to save Ada's life.
He had been there for her. Both last night and this morning, he'd stood beside her, ready and supremely able to do whatever he could to help her, protect her.
Jacob was a good man, honorable and strong and kind. Mystifying at times, but she had to admit that only added to his appeal. She loved his sneaky sense of humor and the way he tried to take care of everyone around him. But she didn't actually love him. She couldn't, not this fast.
And he didn't love her.
You don't want love, remember? a sly interior voice pointed out.
Eventually she would want to love again, she told herself, hurrying back into the bedroom to grab some clothes. Maybe not now. Maybe not until she was sure she could love strongly and wisely. Marriage – real, long-term, committed love – wasn't for weaklings, and it only worked when two people had built a shared wealth of knowledge and memories. She would make it clear to Jacob. Gently, firmly, completely clear. She couldn't marry a man she didn't know very well. In the meantime, she'd better get herself into the shower. She was sticky in places she hadn't been sticky in a long time.
She was … oh, no. Realization struck with the force of a freight train. Claire stopped dead.
Jacob hadn't used a condom.
And she hadn't even noticed.
Making love without protection wasn't right or responsible … but making love with Jacob had been right. Heart-stopping, world-spinning right, as natural as breathing … and just as dangerous, just as full of potential disaster.
Life always was.
As quickly as that, confusion settled into simple certainty. Simple, but not easy. Not safe or sensible.
Love never was.
* * *
Jacob watched his brother move restlessly around the office, picking up a paperweight, putting it down, fiddling with the blinds, moving on to fiddle with something else.
Luke had always been difficult. Moody, though that wasn't the way the world saw him; that bright, restless charm of his kept others at a distance every bit as well as Jacob's icy reserve.
He was more than usually tense today. But then, so was Jacob, after what Luke had just told him. "I suppose I should wish you luck," Jacob said at last. "I'd rather knock you across the room."
That sparked a glint of genuine humor in Luke's eyes. "Oh, pound on me, by all means, if it will make you feel
better."
"Maggie is a special woman."
"I agree." Luke shot him a hard look. "You don't think I'll be good for her."
"Do you?"
Luke gave a short, harsh laugh and scrubbed a hand over his hair. "Hell, no."
"If you cheat on her, I'll pound you into the ground."
For a moment, Luke stopped moving. "I promised her fidelity. You think I'm going to break that promise?"
Jacob hesitated a beat too long. He knew it, and saw his doubt reflected in the quick slap of hurt in his brother's eyes. "No. You don't break your promises. I think you feel something for her, but damned if I know what that is."
Luke's grin flashed. "What, you think I'm going to give you an excuse to hit me?"
"Dammit, if all you want is some playtime in bed—"
"I wouldn't have had to marry her for that. Now, what about you? I've done my bit, and I understand Michael is ready to do his – and that you've got another candidate picked out for Mrs. Jacob West."
Jacob picked up a pen and toyed with it, suddenly uncomfortable. "You've talked with Michael?"
"He called me before he went off to play in whatever corner of the world he could find people willing to shoot at him."
Jacob's mouth crooked up in spite of the stab of worry. Luke's irreverent summary of their brother's job was a little too apt. "It could be worse. If he'd stayed on his original career path, he'd be getting shot at by people in this country. With badges."
"Yeah. And maybe some without badges."
The door to Claire's office swung open. "Jacob, I need to talk – oh." She stopped several steps into his office, her eyes widening as she stared at Luke. "I, uh, didn't realize you had someone with you."
The sight of her gave him a rush of pleasure. She was wearing a slim black skirt and one of her snazzy jackets, this one the color of peaches. Every hair was in place. Her makeup was understated, flawless. And she was barefoot.
He smiled at her flustered expression and moved to her. "Claire, I don't think you've met my brother Luke. Luke, this is Claire McGuire."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Claire." Luke's gaze slid over her, and his smile widened. "Very much my pleasure. Tell me you aren't involved with my stuffy big brother."
Jacob didn't like the way Luke was looking at her. He didn't like glancing from one perfect face to the other, and realizing how right they would look together – two stunningly beautiful people. He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her up against his side. "I asked Claire to marry me last night."
She tilted her head and met his eyes. Hers were bright and knowing, thoroughly aware of what he was doing. And amused, dammit.
Luke grinned. "Did you, now? You've always had good taste. Claire, come here and let me welcome you to the family properly."
"I'm afraid you're premature," Claire said dryly. "So is Jacob. I haven't accepted."
"No, Michael was premature. I was two weeks late, which my mother never let me forget. Jacob, of course, was right on time. Except this once?" He raised one eyebrow. "Did you rush your fences, Jacob?"
"We're negotiating."
"Negotiating?" Luke laughed. "First time I've heard it called that."
Jacob felt a stirring at his nape. If he'd been a dog, his hackles would have been raised. "It's time someone taught you some manners."
Claire spoke to Luke as if Jacob hadn't said a word. "You're the magician who found my cat and coaxed her into coming with you, aren't you? I want to thank you for that. You don't seem to be bleeding anywhere."
"She was reluctant, but a lot of females are wary of strange men. Fortunately I discovered her weakness for ham."
"I suspect you're good at that sort of thing. Almost as good as you are at getting a rise out of your brother."
"I usually have to work a lot harder than this to ruffle Jacob's feathers. Maybe he's short on sleep this morning."
She grinned. "He is."
She might have intended to say something else. Jacob didn't give her a chance. His arm tightened around her. When she turned her face to his, surprised, he kissed her. Hard and fast.
The kiss was for him, because he needed to touch her, remind her of last night. But the dazed look in her eyes when he lifted his head pleased him. So, for a different reason, did the speculative expression on his brother's face.
"Guess I'd better be going," Luke said cheerfully.
"Oh – wait," Claire said. "Don't hurry off on my account. I, uh, can talk to Jacob later."
She was flustered again. He liked that. "Luke was about to leave anyway. I think we've said what we needed to say." He met Luke's eyes, his arm still around Claire's waist.
Luke nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think we have. I need to rescue Maggie. Ada has her pinned in the kitchen. Good to meet you, Claire. I'm sure I'll be seeing a lot more of you. Not as much of you as Jacob does, of course—"
"Luke." Jacob made the name a warning.
Unrepentant, Luke tossed them a last grin and a wave and headed for the door. Leaving them alone, in a room that was suddenly too silent. The silence got heavier when she pulled out of his arms and moved away.
"Did I make you uncomfortable?" he asked, low-voiced. "That little scene with Luke…" She had every reason to hate and fear a man's jealousy.
Her smile flickered as she traced her fingers across the pile of printouts on his desk. "I can tell the difference between a little sibling rivalry and insane delusions, Jacob."
Good. That was good, but it left him more baffled than ever. What did she want? What could he give her? Frustrated, he crossed to her and sought an answer that wouldn't require the difficulty of words. He took her in his arms and kissed her.
For one instant, she held herself back from him. Then, with a small sigh, she relaxed against him, her lips parting as her arms went around him.
Fire. He tasted it in her mouth, felt it leap from her body to his, a heat that he craved. Sexual heat, yes, but more than that. More… He pulled his head away slowly, dipped back for one more taste, then folded her tightly in his arms. "You don't regret last night."
"No. Do you?"
"No." There was more he needed to say, but he needed words for the rest of it. Damned if he knew what those words were. Where are your scars, Claire? I know they exist, but I can't find them without help. How can I keep from trampling on the places that hurt if I don't know where they are? "Why haven't you been involved with anyone since you left Ken Lawrence?"
"What?" She pulled back. Then her eyes narrowed. "What makes you think I haven't been?"
He knew because it was in the report – the one he didn't want her to know about. He was appalled at the way he'd given himself away. "I'd rather not say."
"And I'd rather you did."
He had three choices. He could lie, he could refuse to answer, or he could tell her the truth. Refusing to answer wouldn't help – she'd know he was hiding something. If he told her the truth, though, she might change her mind about him. She might quit, walk out the door and never come back.
But he couldn't lie to her. He simply couldn't, though it made him cold inside. "I had North's agency investigate you."
Claire stared at him incredulously. He'd had her investigated? The irony of it struck her hard, and she had to turn away, moving to stand by the window. He'd done the sensible thing, the practical thing. A man forced to marry quickly, a man who planned to propose to a near-stranger, had a right to find out as much as he could first.
Only she didn't want sense. She didn't want reason, or facts. She wanted him to be as passionately, crazily confused as she was. And that was stupid, just plain stupid. Hadn't she learned anything? "Did my life make interesting reading?"
"I … the only way I knew to approach finding a bride quickly was the way I would handle a business deal. I needed facts."
"It's an unusual courting tactic." The day was bright, the light coming through the window winter-hard and brilliant. It hurt her eyes. Or something did, because they were stinging. "Tel
l me – if we did marry, would you feel free to have me investigated again if you needed facts?"
"No!" She heard his footsteps, whisper-quiet on the carpet, as he crossed to her. Then she felt the warmth of his hands on her shoulders. "I wouldn't do that. It's different between us now. More personal."
She turned around. "Marriage is pretty personal, all right. So is making love. Oh, Jacob." Her smile came out wobbly. "How can I blame you for being sensible? It's what I want to be."
"I wanted to know what to give you, what you wanted in a man." His eyes were intense, his voice low. "I thought I could find out from the report, but I keep guessing wrong. You'll have to tell me. What do you want, Claire?"
You. The thought was clear, when nothing else was. She laid her hand along his cheek, and swallowed. "I'm confused."
"Do you want this?" He brushed his lips across hers. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer, bending his head to nibble softly at her neck. His hands slid along her hips while his mouth teased her. "Is this what you need?"
Heat shivered over her, rich and restless. It felt like an answer – the quick tumble of sensation when his hands scooped lower, cupping her, the swift slide into yearning that made her stroke her body against his. He groaned. Pleasure, heady and drugging, claimed her as his mouth found hers again. For a moment, the kiss was enough of an answer.
For a moment. "It's what I want," she said, her voice unsteady as she sought to put a little space between them. Not too much, because she needed this, needed the feel of him against her. Her hands found a place on his chest where she could feel his heart pounding, pounding. Just like hers. "But I think that what I need is time. I need to be sure."
"I don't have a great deal of time."
"I know." If he didn't marry her, he would have to look for someone else. For Ada's sake. The thought triggered a quick clutch of panic – and greed. She didn't want him with anyone else. Ever. "That woman…"
His eyebrows drew down. "What woman?"
"The one you asked to marry you first. Before me. I need to know about her."
"She isn't important. Not anymore."
"She was important enough for you to ask her to marry you. This isn't negotiable, Jacob. What's her name? What is she like?"