As it was, she entered the cathedral-ceilinged entranceway of Montfort exhausted and feeling like an unwanted visitor. Even during the long hours of travel that brought them home via Tahiti and Honolulu, he had barely spoken to her. A glance in his direction as they moved into the house sent her into a state of panic she could barely control; she wanted to turn and run into the night, anywhere that was away.
I don’t know this man! her mind shrieked. I know about him, I know that he is strong, that he is determined and unwavering in his pursuits, but it’s that strength that takes him away from me, allows him to close himself off… Dear God, I really don't know him, his touch on my arm is cold, his expressions could be chiseled from stone. It is impossible that I lived with him for six weeks entirely alone, entirely free; it is impossible that I slept with him, that I carry his child…
“Kyle! Skye!”
“Dad! Skye!”
“Kyle! Skye!”
Apparently the entire Jagger household had been alerted to their arrival. As soon as the door opened, Michael, Chris, and Kyle’s mother were upon them. Skye froze for a second, her feeling of ridiculousness overwhelming her. But right after clapping his brother on the shoulder, Michael Jagger swept her into a encompassing bear hug. There was chaos at the door, everyone talking at once, and then Kyle's mother, her eyes brilliantly happy, was taking her arm.
“You poor dear!” she exclaimed, walking Skye past the immense curving oak stairway with the elegant balcony that looked down on the marble floor. “I do hope he’s fed you! I know you must be dead tired, but I’ve arranged for some tea. We didn’t get to really meet on Igua. My sons can have atrocious manners at times. My name is Mary.”
“Mother,” Michael interrupted cheerfully. “We didn’t have much chance to introduce you two on Igua, if you’ll recall.”
“That’s hardly an excuse!” Mary Jagger scolded with a laugh.
Skye was half listening with a bit of awe at the enthusiasm of her acceptance, half scanning the graceful mansion where she had been brought to live. She had been led to a gracious drawing room with high carved ceilings off the grand entranceway. The fireplace was granite, the highly polished Victorian sofa and chairs that surrounded it were mahogany, handsomely upholstered in a beige and peach brocade. The floor was a parquet, but here oriental throw rugs added warmth, bougainvilleas curled from various end tables; a collection of Royal Doulton figurines filled the one curio cabinet. Although the room was in no way cluttered, and despite its size and immaculateness, it seemed in itself to offer hospitality. Maybe it was the cheer of the fire, or perhaps the cozy-looking window seats that wit before the bay windows.
“Have a seat, Skye, here by the fire.” Mary Jagger released her arm and indicated a high wing chair. “Would you like tea or coffee?” She moved to a handsome tea cart that sat—obviously awaiting their appearance—in front of the fireplace.
“Tea, thank you,” Skye murmured.
“Michael? Chris? Kyle?”
“Coffee, Gram,” Chris Jagger said, “But you take care of Skye, I’ll get Dad and Uncle Mike their coffee.”
It was absurdly like any homecoming. While Mary cheerfully questioned Skye on all sorts of trivia—How was the weather in Sydney? Didn’t she just love the Governor’s mansion? Did she miss New York? She shouldn’t, they were having a freak early snowstorm and the temperatures had been horrendous according to the news—Kyle stood by the granite mantel. He looked well there, Skye thought when she covertly glanced his way, master of the realm and all that went with the title. Kyle engaged in a rapid-fire business discussion with his brother and son.
It was shocking how easy it all became. Chris Jagger, who she had been dreading to confront the most, didn’t seem to find her appearance disturbing in the least. When he occasionally caught her eye, his smile was friendly. His deep brown eyes, so unusual for this family, held a warmth that surprised her. Skye had seen him with Lisa; it was evident that he loved his mother. And yet he seemed willing enough to welcome her into his home. In fact, no mention was made of Lisa at all. Nor, with all the care given her, had her own condition been mentioned. She had spent her last week in Sydney shopping for a suitable wardrobe, and the loose but attractive blouses she had purchased minimized the change in her appearance, but as Kyle had foretold, it didn’t take a very astute eye to determine she was pregnant.
“Dad”—Chris Jagger's voice suddenly broke through other conversation in protest—“I don’t want to go back to the university in January. I’ve been doing tremendously in your absence, ask Uncle Mike. And I can fly with the best of your pilots—”
“Oh, dear, here we go,” Mary Jagger said in a low, apologetic aside to Skye.
“There’s more to the business than flying, Christian,” Kyle said firmly. “You need facts and figures, policy and politics, geography and language. And you enjoy school, Chris. I don’t understand this sudden turn against it.”
“I’m not against it, Dad, I just don't want to wait. And I believe it’s a justified decision. Ask Uncle Michael. I’ve really been a help.”
Kyle glanced at Michael with raised brows.
“He’s been handling the European rerouting by himself. He’s been making some damn good decisions, Kyle,” Michael said.
Kyle turned back to his son. “That isn’t the point, Chris. I’ve always been proud of your abilities, pleased that you love the business. But you have to realize all the responsibilities that our business entails, how many people the world over make their livelihood through Executive Charters. It’s an incredible responsibility, Chris.”
“I know all that, Dad,” Chris said with commendable patience. “And I am going back to school. All I want to do is take the rest of the year off. Get some more practical experience. And”—he paused for a moment, glancing apologetically to Skye—“I want to be here when the baby is born. I never expected a brother or sister at my age. I'd like to be around for the event.”
Skye felt as if she had suddenly turned into some type of brittle substance. If she moved a muscle in her face, her entire countenance would crack and fall apart. The room had fallen silent. Only Chris Jagger seemed to be totally unaware of his faux pas. Still intent upon his purpose, he turned politely to Skye. “Please help me, Skye,” he said, a rueful smile twitching the corner of his lip. “When is the baby due?”
Michael spoke up, clearing his throat first. “Chris…”
Skye sensed another sound, a warning growl beginning to rumble from Kyle’s chest. Oh, no, she thought desperately, aware that the awkward blow he had delivered her was not intentional. She didn’t want to be the cause of strife between Kyle and his son. That the young man didn’t seem to resent her in the least was a miracle. She forced herself to reply quickly, straining to be natural. “The baby is due around the middle of March, Chris.” There, she had said it. The sound of her voice had been a little weak, a little squeaky, but it had come out with a forced twist of her own lips, a semblance of a smile.
“See, Dad,” Chris said triumphantly, pleased he had proved his point. “If I go back in January, I'll be in L.A.”
“Spring break is right in there,” Kyle said.
“Dad—”
“We’ll continue this discussion in a little while. I also want to see what you've done with these new routes. But right now I want to take Skye upstairs. It has been a long day for her.”
Kyle—whom Skye could have sworn had entirely forgotten her existence since their arrival—was staring at her with a deep and thoughtful gaze. The brittle feeling became more pronounced. She felt caught in his gaze, at a loss for words in her situation.
She was crazy. She shouldn't be here. How many times during the last few weeks had she considered disappearing? Defying his ultimatum? Despite the kindly acceptance of his family, including his son, her position was preposterous. She was still his mistress, his pregnant mistress, and she was sitting beside his mother, talking to his son.
“Oh dear! Of course!” Mary Jagger said with a gasp. “Sky
e, we didn’t mean to keep you down here so long. Kyle, your luggage is already up.”
Skye felt Kyle beside her, reaching proprietorially for her elbow.
She was rising, feeling color rush through her. She still couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Good night, dear,” Mary told her. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Night, Skye,” Michael said.
“Good night,” Chris said, dark eyes upon her. “Work on him for me, will you, Skye? Dad says you need to transfer your own business here, and I can really be a help to you too—”
“Chris!" Kyle interrupted with a growl.
Skye managed another brittle smile. “Good night.”
Kyle didn’t say a word to her as he propelled her from the drawing room and up the seemingly endless oak stairway. Each step took her closer to the panic that seemed to rise easily within her.
I really don’t know this man, I don’t know him… he is a stranger
They walked along the beautiful balcony until they reached a door near the end. Kyle pushed the door open and propelled her in, snapping on the light.
For a moment Skye stood still, surveying the room. It was large, very large, as all the rooms at Montfort seemed to be. A huge four-poster bed with a rich maroon quilt dominated the far left of the room; before it was a thick fur rug and against the back wall was another massive fireplace, also of granite. A low coffee table of natural wood sat before the fire, flanked by high stiff-backed chairs. Large, masculine-looking dressers sat across from one another nearer the entrance and a second door, partially ajar, exposed the tile of a bathroom. A heavy walnut wardrobe spanned the far right corner of the room, sitting near floor-length draperies that were drawn now against the night.
Skye could sense Kyle behind her, watching her. Her feeling of panic was suddenly overwhelming. Again her mind seemed to sound like a broken recording. I don’t know this man, I don’t know this man.
“This is your room,” she finally murmured stupidly.
“Yes. Any objection?”
Yes, she wanted to scream. It’s been more than three months since you’ve touched me, really touched me, and in all that time we’ve barely spoken, except when necessary. I can’t, I can’t do this. I can’t just step into this room and pretend that those three months haven’t been. I need something from you, I need to know you again, I need to know that you saved me from a prison term and are fighting for me because you love me and not because you’re a man of obligation expecting your child. I need you to talk to me, to say things, explain things…
“I’m waiting, Skye,” Kyle reminded her, his voice cool. “I repeat —any objection?”
What is the matter with me? she thought. I’m an affluent woman in my own right, I own my own business, I’m sophisticated and worldly… Still, she couldn’t look at him. She could actually feel him behind her although he didn’t touch her—a radiating heat… a power that was a stranger.
She stared straight ahead at the low burning fire. “No.”
“I believe Lottie has already unpacked our things. Just look around for whatever you need. There’s a whirlpool in the bathroom, but don’t set it too hot. You shouldn’t be in too much heat. I’ll be back up in about an hour.”
He paused at the doorway. Skye still couldn’t look at him. She finally nodded, and he left, closing the door behind him.
Skye was shivering. She walked to the fire and stooped before the low flames, rubbing her hands together. Why the hell am I so nervous, she wondered. Things were really working out beautifully. Even Chris Jagger, whom she had been sure would despise her, was treating her as if she had long been a family member, as if her place in the household were assured.
The fire was warm, the room was warm, but still she shivered. And then the question that was really bothering her came to her mind. Why didn’t I tell Kyle that yes, I do object to being in this room?
Because I don’t, she had to admit sadly. I can’t reach him, I don’t understand him. He’s hiding something from me and withdrawing because of it, but still I want to be with him, I want whatever he can give me.
She stood and left the fireplace, tentatively going through drawers until she found her own things, neatly folded away in the smaller of the two dressers. She selected a sheer peach gown, bit her lip, and returned it to the drawer, exchanging it for a floor-length gown of lightweight blue flannel. The woman he had desired on the island had been slender and agile. She might not be as big as a house as of yet, but her body had taken on awkward changes. She knew she wanted Kyle, she literally ached for him, and part of her nervousness was anticipation. But suddenly she didn’t want him seeing her. She began to see herself as a sad distortion, misshapen and graceless.
She was struck by the terrible urge to go running down the stairs and to tell Kyle she didn’t want to sleep with him. She started up a new wave of shivering, then halted herself, calling herself a few prime names. I can't possibly be this much of a coward! she chastised herself, walking with purpose for the door that led to the bath. She even uttered a gasp of delight as she entered the room. It apparently ran the length of the bedroom to the hallway, but had a private entrance only. And it was far more than a bath. The whirlpool was large enough to contain a party and it was reached by symmetrical tile steps. The entire room was done in red, black, and white, from the tiles to the towels, and was composed of a separate shower, twin mirrored dressing tables, an enormous marble sink, a handsome cabinet of magazines and books, and a thick pile rug to sink one’s feet into after leaving the whirlpool. Skye had never seen anything quite like it. She chuckled slightly as she set the whirlpool—temperate as Kyle had commanded. Apparently Kyle, his tastes so simple in all else, enjoyed the relaxation of bathing. Her chuckle broke off abruptly as she realized that this was another reminder of how little she knew about him. And then she was wondering pensively if the talcs and perfumed bubble baths had been set upon the racks that encircled the whirlpool for her use, or if he had shared the whirlpool before with Lisa. A pang of jealousy hit her and she bit into her lip. She was a fool to feel jealousy; she had entered into her relationship with him with her eyes open, But she couldn’t help wonder if Lisa and he had played here as man and wife.
Sighing, she eased into the water and allowed the rush around her to ease the tension from her body. She could certainly never complain about lack of creature comforts at Montfort. Still, it was hard at times not to remember the simplicity of the island.
She had almost restored her spirits when she emerged from the huge tub and sank her feet into the plush pile rug. But while reaching for one of the Burgundy towels with the monogrammed J, she caught sight of herself in one of the mirrors and once more bit into a lower lip that was now turning raw.
I look horrible… she thought, and no matter how harshly she chastised herself for being immature, no matter how she tried to convince herself that pregnant women were supposed to be beautiful, she knew the truth. She looked horrible.
Dropping the towel, she shimmied into her gown with haste although she stood alone. And then she tore from the bathroom and out to the bed, wrenching away quilt and sheets and diving beneath them. She had forgotten the light. She jumped out of bed, flicked it off, and dove back in, her heart thumping terribly. Kyle wouldn’t turn on the light. She could remember his courtesy on the Bonne Bree… The fire was still burning, of course, but its gentle glow still left the corner of the room in shadow.
Executives don’t act like this, she told herself But no logic could change her tremulous feelings. Oh, God, she thought, how could I be having a child when I am acting like one…
Still, she lay with her mind in a turmoil, praying first that Kyle would return, assume she was sleeping, and leave her alone. And then she would feel, from deep within her, a burning for his touch, a touch that was now only sweet memory.
Skye heard a click at the door and instinctively closed her eyes. He would enter, she knew, quietly—quietly shed his clothing, quietly climb i
n beside her. The four-poster was immense; they could easily sleep side by side with over two feet between them.
She became abruptly aware that Kyle hadn’t walked in quietly in the dark. Her eyes clenched more tightly in an involuntary reaction to the bedside light.
He walked directly to the bed, gently tugged the sheets from her clenched grasp.
She opened her eyes.
“You weren’t sleeping,” he told her, lips quirked with amusement.
“No,” she admitted, meeting his gaze.
He sat down beside her, brushed the stray strands of hair from her forehead, leaned down and kissed her—so gently at first, grazing her lips lightly with his, setting upon them more firmly, beginning a slow exploration.
And Skye was hungry for him. His slightest touch set off an eagerness within her that was almost shameful. Her lips parted to his, accepting the moist heat of his demanding tongue, drawing it in, dueling with it, her lips clinging to his. Her arms rose around the breadth of his shoulders, her hands seeking the vitality beneath the coarse material of his jacket with which they had once been so familiar. She felt the tension, the wonderful play of muscles; her fingers crept to feel the hair that fringed at his nape over his collar, into his thick hair, to clasp his head to hers.
The kiss ended breathlessly as he drew away. He was smiling tenderly at her, enjoying the wet puff of her lips, the fan of her hair in disarray over the pillow, the rise and fall of her breasts as she returned his stare, her eyes wide, dilated, her breathing shallow.
His right hand tenderly touched her cheek, moved over the flannel on her shoulder, down over her hip, feeling the soft shape beneath the material. Then he found the hem of her gown and his tantalizing touch began an upward motion, sliding slowly, suggestively over her calf, upward to bare her thigh, seductively persuading the flannel from her body.
“No!” Skye suddenly caught his hand with her own, chewing her lip nervously.
He ceased his motion, frowning slightly and raising an arched brow. “Skye,” he said, his voice low but firm, “surely you understood that coming here with me, accepting this room, meant that we would assume a normal relationship. I do intend that we have one. And I don’t intend to let you back out now. I’m afraid you had your chance, if that was your desire. But it’s too late now.”
Night, Sea, And Stars Page 27