by Eileen Wilks
"You decided to kill me?" he murmured next to her ear, then gathered her close and shifted onto his side. "Funny. I didn't know we'd still sweat in the afterlife." He pressed one drowsy kiss on her mouth. "I love you, Claire."
And she went stiff. Silent. And scared.
He didn't say anything more. He didn't stiffen the way she had, but he pulled away into the same dreadful silence. After a long moment, he kissed her on the cheek. Then he rolled over – onto his back, then his side. Putting his back to her.
Tears stung her eyes. Why? she demanded of herself, but there was no answer, only an oily darkness churning inside her that she couldn't name or dismiss.
After a moment she forced herself to roll onto her side, to put her arm around him and snuggle close. It helped, a little. At least he didn't push her away. "Jacob?" Her voice quivered from the effort to hold back the tears.
"Go to sleep, Claire."
His voice was quiet, unemotional. But the very lack of emotion told her what she already knew. She'd hurt him terribly.
And she didn't know why.
* * *
Chapter 12
«^
"No, not the bank," Jacob said, drumming his fingers on his desk. "I'll have to obtain a private loan. A balloon note, I think, due in a year."
Claire looked up, surprised. They'd been discussing his options, how to amend the joint venture agreement with Murchison out of the picture and where to get the two million. "There's no reason to delay repayment that long. It increases the amount of interest you'll owe. And why not a bank?"
His fingers stopped. His eyes were cool, impatient. "I believe I'm aware of the basics of financing. The interest won't be ruinous."
"No, just unnecessary. It won't take that long to dissolve the trust – unless there's some question about that? You said Luke had already married. If Michael is having some trouble finding someone—"
"Michael's prenuptial agreement is in the safe. He will do what he has to."
The world went flat and gray. "Then it isn't Luke's and Michael's marriages you're concerned about."
"No." He paused. "I think it would be best if we postponed our wedding."
Claire looked away, trying to hide the staggering hit of pain. Maybe she deserved it, but that didn't help. It didn't help at all.
Jacob had been gone when she woke up that morning. She'd tried to find him before breakfast and again after breakfast, but he'd left the house. An hour ago he'd returned and starting discussing business.
It took her a moment, but she pulled herself together. "I don't want to put it off. Jacob, about last night—"
"I've rushed you. I promised you at least a month, then pushed you into marrying in less than a week. That was unfair. We'll wait." He riffled through the pages of a report. "Where's Benson's profit-loss summary?"
"Page ten, I think. How long…" She had to stop and swallow. "How long do you want to wait? My mother will need to change her reservations."
"I don't know." His voice was crisp. He wouldn't look at her. "Why don't we wait and see? I'm not going to rush you, Claire. Now, about Benson – it looks as if he might have enough free to increase his investment in the deal. Give him a call after you talk to my lawyer about amending the agreement. I'll see who would like to loan me two million dollars, give or take a few hundred thousand."
* * *
"You sure you don't want some of this rocky road?" Jackie asked.
Claire continued to pace the length of her friend's living room – all fourteen jumbled, Technicolor feet of it. "I can't eat."
"Things have to be pretty bad when rocky road ice cream won't help." Jackie's words were flippant, but her eyes were luminous with sympathy. "I might have a beer in the fridge if you'd rather have that."
"No, thanks."
"You want to stop moving long enough to tell me what's wrong?"
"Me." Claire did stop. "I'm what's wrong, Jackie, and I don't understand." She shoved her hair back from her face. "Dammit, I ought to chop this mess off. It drives me crazy sometimes."
"When you start talking about butchering your hair, I know you've got troubles. Come on." She rimmed her almost-empty bowl with the spoon, then licked the last drops from the spoon. "Sit down here and tell me about it."
Claire plopped onto the sofa beside her friend. "I'm losing my mind."
"Well, that's a start. Can you be more specific? Obsession, mania, hallucinations?"
She gave a reluctant chuckle. "Nothing quite that dramatic. I just… I hurt Jacob. I hurt myself, too, and I don't know why." Jackie didn't say a word. Claire looked at her. "Is this how you get suspects to talk? Just look at them with that wise, knowing expression, say nothing and wait for them to spill their guts?"
"Damn right. It works, too."
"It does, doesn't it?" Claire sighed. "Three nights ago Jacob told me he loved me. And I froze up like an eighty-year-old virgin on her wedding night."
"Hmm." Jackie set her bowl on the floor beside her "You're not sure if you love him back?"
"I love him." The certainty was there, bright and strong as ever. "I've had some doubts about rushing into marriage this way, but that's because it all happened so fast. I didn't know if I could get him to love me back. Then, when he said it—" She shoved to her feet and started pacing again. "I freaked out. Quietly, without saying a word … but he knew."
"So what did he say?"
"That he wants to postpone the wedding. Indefinitely." She'd tried to talk to him, but maybe she hadn't tried very hard. He'd been pleasant, kind, and implacably distant. And she didn't know what she would tell him if she did make him listen. That she loved him, but it scared her to hear he loved her back? That didn't make any sense.
"So…" Jackie said after a moment's silence. "Is he still sleeping with you?"
"Jackie!"
"If he isn't, you've got a real problem. If he is, then things can't be too bad."
"They're not good." Claire had moved her things into his room. She slept there every night – and every night he made love to her. Silently. In complete control of himself.
"Well, whether or not you're still making the beast with two humps, half of this problem is his. He doesn't seem to be doing much to fix it, either."
She sighed. "I don't blame him." Tears threatened for the ninety-ninth time in the past three days. "He needs someone he can count on. He needs permanence. That's why he loves that old house so much, because it's always been there. He can count on it, like he counts on Ada. I let him down in the worst possible way."
"Oh, come on. Not the worst. You didn't cheat on him, lie to him, hit him over the head with a baseball bat."
"You don't understand." For once, she had little patience with Jackie's irreverent humor. "Jacob needs—"
"Never mind what Jacob needs. I'd say you've got some needs you haven't looked at, or you wouldn't be clouding up and threatening to storm all over my living room."
"I am not crying." Yet. Her feet drifted to a stop. "I just don't understand why I reacted that way. I don't know how to make things right when I don't understand what's wrong with me!"
"Scared you, did he?" Jackie's voice was gentle. "Kind of overwhelming to suddenly get everything you ever wanted. Especially if you aren't sure you deserve it. Someone might notice, and take it away again."
"I'm not that messed up."
"Oh, sugar." Jackie laughed. "We are all that messed up, one way or another. Your big thing is atonement."
Her eyebrows lifted in a weak pass at humor. "You have something against sackcloth and ashes? I'll admit I did try them on for a while, right after Ken's trial. But I'm over that. I had therapy, remember? I don't blame myself for Ken's madness."
"No, you blame yourself for loving him in the first place. Flunked that one, didn't you?" Jackie uncoiled a mile or two of legs and stood. "Fact is, Ken was just another bump along the same road you've been on for years – blaming yourself for not loving people enough, or loving the wrong people, or doing it the wr
ong way." She snorted. "As if you were trying to pass Love 101."
"I don't do that."
"Yes, sugar, you do." Jackie's eyes were sympathetic, but she didn't let up one bit. "Ever since you came dragging back from California with your tail between your legs when you were sixteen, you've been trying to make it up to everyone. To prove you were worthy of love. You were convinced you'd ruined your cousin's life, your life, you mom's life, your stepdad's … shoot, if I'd screwed up and married Roger when he asked me back then, you probably would have blamed yourself for that, too."
For a moment Claire was speechless. "I had no idea you saw me that way." It hurt.
"You're human, Claire, just like the rest of us. And your mistakes aren't quite as big and important as you think they are. Even this one you just made, with Jacob."
Claire rubbed her forehead. She wanted to push away everything Jackie had said, deny it, walk away, just walk right out the door – but some of it was sticking. As if it belonged to her. "All this good advice is giving me a headache."
Jackie grinned. "Ice cream is great for headaches."
Claire's laugh wasn't steady, but it was genuine. "You just want an excuse to have another bowl."
"Couldn't let you eat alone, could I? Come on." She gave Claire a quick, one-armed hug. "Let's pig out. Then we can figure out how you're going to make it up to Jacob for being human."
* * *
Jacob stood by the window and sipped at his drink – Irish whiskey, not Scotch. No rain had fallen for days, and the sky was a vast, brilliant blue. The color of childhood, to Jacob. Of solitude and freedom.
He'd never thought of freedom as lonely before.
He was doing the right thing, he told himself. At least, he was doing the only thing he knew to do, and it wasn't totally wrong. He knew that much, because she hadn't left him.
Though she wasn't here now. She'd asked for the afternoon off so she could go see her friend. But she would be back. She slept in his bed every night, and she gave herself to him with a sweet warmth he craved more each time he held her.
He could make it work … as long as he didn't say he loved her.
The pain was strong and livid. He couldn't seem to grow used to it, to let the hurt scab over and fade.
Impatient, Jacob turned away from the window. Blurting out his feelings that way had been stupid. He hadn't known he was going to do it. He hadn't – until he heard himself say the words – known that he loved her. The truth had floated up so naturally, he'd had no defense against it.
He hadn't been thinking of defenses.
He reminded himself that Claire had heard those same words from another man that day. A man who'd tried to kill her. Jacob didn't exactly sympathize with the poor bastard, but he understood Lawrence's need to keep Claire. He shared it.
The sound of the front door opening, then shutting, was muted back here in his office. But he heard it, and his heartbeat picked up.
She was back. Because he needed to be sure he wouldn't grab her the moment she walked in the office, he turned to the window. He was standing with his back to the door when it opened.
"You don't drink during office hours."
Her voice, husky and low, sent a thrill up his spine. He gave himself a moment to control that by sipping at his drink. "I decided to knock off early today. Did you enjoy your visit?"
"It was … productive. There's something I'd like to show you, if you'd turn around."
Slowly, he did.
Her hair was mussed, from wind or her own restless fingers. She'd dressed casually to go see her friend; denim hugged her legs and hips like an old, intimate friend. Her sweater was a soft, faded blue with white buttons down the front. He couldn't keep from soaking up the sight of her, but he could and did keep his reaction from showing.
At first. He frowned. "You're not wearing a bra."
"I had to take it off." Her chin tilted up. "Are you going to ask me why?"
"I'll admit to some curiosity," he said dryly.
"I'll show you." Her fingers went to the first button on her sweater.
"Claire." His mouth went dry and his pulse began to hammer. "This isn't the time or place."
"Why not?" Another button. "Because you and I both find it a little too easy to blot our problems out with passion? Because we have trouble talking about what really matters?"
"You don't seem to be talking." He couldn't take his eyes away from the slow progress of that hand. Three buttons were undone, and the sweater gapped open, revealing the smooth, pale inner slopes of her breasts. His mouth went dry.
"I'm not sure words would be enough, after I rejected the words you gave me." Her voice scraped up against emotions still raw in him. And, he thought, in her. "That's why I need to show you how I feel."
She wanted him. It should have been enough. It wasn't. His voice came out harsh. "You were frightened."
"Yes, though how you knew that when I was so confused…" The last button seemed stubborn, or maybe her fingers were shaking. "I'm sorry, Jacob." She took a deep breath, and opened her sweater.
Shock widened his eyes, coarsened his voice. "Claire, there's a tattoo on your breast."
"Yes." Her eyes were huge and vulnerable. And she strode towards him with the confidence of an empress, bare-breasted and magnificent.
He couldn't take his eyes from her breasts. Her left breast, to be precise, about an inch and a half from her nipple. Drawn there in a warm, rosy red was the outline of a heart, the sort seen on children's valentines. A stick drawing, with an arrow piercing it.
Inside the heart were words: Claire loves Jacob.
He lifted stunned eyes to her face.
Tears blurred her eyes, but didn't fall. "Tattoos are permanent, Jacob. They're forever, or as close to it as we can get. And I – I wanted to show you that I know you don't just want the outside of me, the pretty parts. You care about what's inside, too, and I don't have to be perfect for you. I can be—" Her breath hitched. "A little wild, a little dumb. Impulsive. And imperfect. And it will still be okay." She stopped. "Won't it?"
The feelings bursting inside him were too new, too vibrant for words. He lifted a hand to touch her face – but his fingers went to her breast instead. Lightly, lightly, he felt the outline of that outrageous, courageous, permanent heart.
She winced. "It's a little sore. They, ah, they just did it."
"You went to a tattoo parlor." A grin was trying to break out.
"With Jackie. I'd like to claim this was her idea, but I guess part of me is still fifteen and crazy." Her grin appeared, and wobbled. "This time they didn't ask for my ID."
"You got a tattoo on your breast." If he said the words clearly enough, he might be able to tuck them down deep inside and keep them – and all that they meant. "To prove to me that you love me."
She nodded, and his bright, bold, beautiful Claire looked shy standing there with her breasts bare in the afternoon sunlight. "It isn't too late, is it? Jacob, tell me it—"
He laughed. Laughed and grabbed her and spun them both in a quick, dizzy circle. "You are crazy, you know that?"
"I hope you mean good-crazy, not lock-me-away nuts." Her hands were on his shoulders, the light shining in her face brighter than that pouring through the window.
"A very good way." He pressed a kiss to her mouth. Another. "A very, very good way. I was afraid I'd pushed you too hard, that I reminded you of Lawrence. I wanted to keep you so much, Claire."
"You're nothing like Ken. And love isn't obsession. I've finally figured that out."
He gathered his courage and asked, "What do you think of a Christmas wedding? I don't want to wait too long. And it has nothing to do with Tristar, or the trust."
"I think it would be perfect." She kissed him once, lightly. Again, more firmly. "Absolutely perfect."
Everything came together at once, so strong he could only crush her to him, burying his face in her hair. "Claire. You love me."
He felt her head nod against his shoulder. "I do. It
's pretty big and scary, isn't it?"
"Yes." He stroked her hair. "The words scared me, too. I wouldn't use them if they didn't mean forever, but I wasn't sure … I'm thirty-six and I've never been in love. I thought I might be like my father. I didn't want to make his mistakes."
"Jacob." She leaned back in his arms and touched his face. "You're not like your father. You take after Ada."
"But she isn't – Ada is family, but there's no blood relationship."
Her smile was tender. "She's been your mother in the important ways. She's a natural caretaker, like you are. So you modeled yourself after her – gruff and unsentimental, with a wicked sense of humor."
He felt unsettled. "You liked Ada right away."
"Yes." Claire laughed softly. "Although, when you were telling me how you'd deceived her for her own good, I felt a little jealous. That's when I knew how far gone I was. Because I actually wished you'd lie to me, too, someday. You never lie, but you loved Ada enough to sacrifice even that for her sake."
He kissed her gently. "I love you, too." More. Brighter, stronger, better than he'd thought was possible.
"I know." She sighed and settled closer against him. "And I wanted you to love me, but I thought I had to do everything right, that I needed to earn that love, I was so scared of doing the wrong thing … and then I did. I thought I'd ruined everything."
"You didn't mess up. I did. I should have realized those words might scare you, after what happened with Lawrence…" His arms tightened involuntarily.
She flinched.
Immediately he loosened his hold. "You're sore."
"Tender," she corrected wryly. "It will pass."
"I could kiss it and make it better."
"Not for another day or so. I'm, ah, supposed to keep it dry for a while."
Regret pinched lightly at having to wait to kiss that very special mark, but he thought of all the time – the days, the years – they would have when he could kiss her there, and elsewhere. Years to spend treasuring her. He snuggled her close again. "I must have done something right, but damned if I know what it was. I never did figure out what you needed, what I could give you."