And maybe he understood what she was thinking, or maybe that was his breathing she heard, like a man who had run a long, hard race. His hands didn’t move, but the kiss was there, all at once, the full press of his mouth on hers, the nip of his teeth behind those sensual, mobile lips. She wanted to cry with the beauty of being wanted. She wanted to feel this way forever.
And so she took hold of him, grabbed at his shoulders and then wrapped her arms around his waist while he drank and drank from her mouth and she gave as much as he asked because she was filled, too. He took the one step required to layer her body under his, against the wall. His knee stayed right where he’d put it, so when his hands slid down her shoulder blades and her ribs and her spine, when he gripped her hips and pulled her tighter against him, the bulk of his thigh between hers was the sweetest force she’d ever known.
Without thought, she slipped her hands under the hem of his sweater, working her fingers over the rough waistband of his jeans to the glory of the smooth bare skin above. Breathless, she stroked up the incline of his back to those rawboned shoulders strung with lean, tense muscle.
His hands had wandered, as well, but with less success. “You have too many damn clothes on,” he growled, fumbling with sweater and shirt and slacks, while his mouth explored the arch of her neck, the curl of her ear, the angle of her jaw. “I can’t find you.”
But then his fingers seared her ribs, and she gasped.
“That’s better.” In a single rough motion he pushed the barrier of her bra up and away. His palms claimed her breasts and her knees buckled, leaving her held upright by the wall and the roll of his hips and his leg pushed hard against her.
The roughness didn’t matter. The lack of dignity, the desertion of principle and responsibility didn’t bother Jayne at all. She wanted this, as she had never wanted anything in her life. If he chose to take her against the wall, or lying on the cold, hard floor, she would let him. The pleasure would be worth any price she had to pay.
Her wandering hands found the loose waist of his jeans again, and dipped beneath. Chris jerked his head up with a quick breath, then groaned.
But in the next moment, he set his mouth against her temple and murmured, “Take it easy.” His body shifted and he withdrew his leg, allowing the fire between them to cool from flame to flicker. Rather than driving her to the next level, Chris was backing off. His hands slid to her sides, then to her hips, with her clothes again separating skin from skin. He didn’t actively take her hands off him, underneath the jeans. But she understood he expected it, and so she did.
Jayne couldn’t look at him, not after giving him so much power over her body. Leaning against the wall, she hoped her own legs would hold her upright. How embarrassing, to fall at his feet.
Dignity was back, she gathered. No doubt principle and responsibility would return in a moment.
She waited to speak until her voice would function and her lips could shape words. The tone was simply beyond her control. “Did you learn what you wanted to know?”
“I think so.”
She felt his gaze, and finally found the courage to meet it. The despair in his face caught her by surprise.
But she’d already given him more than she could afford. She wouldn’t give him her concern, as well. “So now we know.”
With every ounce of willpower she possessed, she managed to step around him and walk a straight line across the kitchen to the doorway. “Let’s make that the end of it.”
Then she walked across the hall into the women’s bathroom, where she ran water into the sink while she sat on the floor in the dark and cried.
CHRIS DISCOVERED THAT getting to sleep wasn’t any easier after making love with Jayne…Juliet…the woman who’d melted so sweetly in his arms, than before. He might as well go roll around in the snow buck naked. That might cool his body off.
And he couldn’t even say he now knew the answer. He’d been sincere when he thought a few minutes of necking would reveal whether this was his Juliet or not. For twelve years he’d lived on memories—every kiss, every moment they’d spent learning and enjoying each other’s bodies. His palms still knew the arch of her ribs, the curves of her calves, the soft pillow of her breasts.
So how could he explain the differences, except to say that Jayne and Juliet were different women? Jayne’s hips were round, her bottom heart-shaped and firm, compared to Juliet’s slender form. Bony form, if the truth were told—though, of course, he never had. Would she have matured into this voluptuous woman, or retained her coltish figure?
Had those small, fragile breasts become firm and full? Once, he could count every bone in her spine. Had they been overlayed with flesh rounded perfectly to fit the curve of a man’s fingers?
Chris wanted to say no. Though he might look like a fool, he could hardly believe that these changes would have overtaken Juliet in the twelve years they’d been apart. Nature didn’t stray that far from the original pattern. Jayne Thomas and Juliet Radcliffe could be two different women.
But…her taste. He had kissed enough women in the years since to know that each possessed a unique flavor. Regardless of the meal, a recent drink or breath mints and chewing gum, every woman’s mouth was as different as she was from all others.
Jayne and Juliet tasted exactly the same. Like a Golden Delicious apple eaten from the tree on a sunny morning. Like mountain water pouring down granite rock, like the scent of pine trees and summer rain. Every good and decent moment of his life was contained in that flavor.
Jayne and Juliet were the same woman. He had no doubt.
The only reasonable explanation for Jayne’s lack of memory was amnesia. She had supplanted her missing memories with the grandmother, the house fire and whatever other details she imagined. He’d hoped recounting their past would bring back the truth she’d forgotten, but nothing had surfaced so far.
He would have to push her harder, with details she probably wouldn’t want revealed to the girls. At the same time, he would have to undermine the memories she did have, quizzing her about all the specifics she would recall if that actually was her life.
After tossing and turning on the hard, narrow mattress for what seemed like hours, Chris groaned and levered himself off the bed. With a blanket folded around his shoulders, he went to stare out the window at the snow. He was planning an assault on the structure of Jayne’s life without any kind of professional backup or advice. Was he risking her emotional health? Her sanity? Was the truth worth that much?
He wanted to find Juliet. Under these circumstances, would she want to be found?
Leaning his forehead against the cold glass, Chris closed his eyes.
God help him, he didn’t know the answer to that question.
IN KEEPING WITH HER OWN frame of mind, breakfast on the second morning of the blizzard started out grouchy. Jayne allowed the girls to sleep an extra hour, but even the early risers grumbled when she roused them. Excitement always ruled the first snow day. The second, when sore muscles and fatigue took over, usually came as a disappointment.
She didn’t suggest going outside and wasn’t surprised when none of the girls did, either. A morning of indoor activities might restore their good spirits and energy for an afternoon out in the cold.
Chris came into the kitchen after everyone else had started on their cereal and toast. Jayne could only hope her face wasn’t turning as dark red as her hair.
“We have oatmeal,” she told him, avoiding eye contact. “Or cold cereal, or toast. Pretty much the same as yesterday.”
“Warm sounds good.” He heaped oatmeal, brown sugar and milk into his bowl, then took his usual place at the head of the table. “So, I was wondering when you start decorating for Christmas around this place.”
A couple of girls audibly caught their breath, and all seven looked up from their breakfasts to stare at him. Jayne pulled in a deep breath of her own.
“We don’t really celebrate, um, Christmas,” she said, keeping her voice even. “It’s
just too complicated.”
Chris raised both eyebrows over wide blue eyes. “Too complicated? What the he—”
She sent him a warning look.
He stopped and cleared his throat. “What does that mean?”
“I’m Jewish,” Beth volunteered around a bite of bagel with cream cheese. “My family does Hanukkah.”
“I’m a pagan.” Taryn lifted her chin and crossed her arms over her chest. “I worship the Goddess and celebrate Yule.”
“Well, I want Christmas.” Selena clanked her mug on the table. “Just because I had to stay here doesn’t mean I don’t want to celebrate.”
“Me, too.” Monique never seemed to have a problem expressing her opinion. “I’ve been wondering where the decorations were. And I want some Christmas cookies. The sugar kind, with red and green icing.”
Yolanda put up her hands, signaling halt. “If you start putting up all that shepherds and babies and angel stuff, I’m staying in my room, I don’t care how cold it is. I won’t sit around with that Nativity crap.”
On Yolanda’s right, Selena jerked around to stare at her friend. “Don’t be so disrespectful. You’re talking about Jesus and Mary.”
“I’m talking about a bunch of—”
Jayne’s whistle brought the argument to a halt. “Calm down, all of you. I don’t want to hear another word until I ask someone to speak.”
She didn’t mention specific names, but as her gaze connected with Chris’s, she conveyed the message that her instructions included him, too.
After sixty full seconds of silence, she looked at the girls around the table, then at Chris. “As I said, it’s complicated. I don’t want anyone retreating to their room when we have no heat. I don’t like hurt feelings and outraged beliefs. So we don’t celebrate any of the December holidays, other than the dinner we have marking the end of the first term and the beginning of winter vacation. In the past, we have sometimes had a party to welcome the New Year.”
Selena opened her mouth to protest, but only a squeak emerged when Jayne shook her head.
“The kitchen needs to be cleaned up. Afterward, you should dress for a morning indoors. This afternoon you can play in the snow on campus. Any questions?”
Selena raised her hand. “But what about Christmas? It’s as wrong to prevent me from celebrating as it is to force someone else to join in. I want some Christmas.”
Monique said, “Me, too.” Haley nodded in vigorous agreement.
Jayne acknowledged Sarah’s request to speak. “I agree with Selena,” the senior said in her gentle tone. “I’ve loved my years at Hawkridge, but I do miss how we used to decorate for the holidays. We still make a big deal out of Halloween, and May Day. But New Year’s Eve isn’t the same as Christmas.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s right.”
“But—”
Jayne sighed, and they quieted down. She thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t know an answer that will satisfy everyone. So I’m turning the problem over to the people most affected…the seven of you. Perhaps you all can work out a solution to this dilemma. Let me know what you decide.”
She gave them a single nod and left the kitchen. No noise followed her, no argument or protest or complaint.
Nothing but one troublesome male. Chris caught up with her as she walked down the hall. “Interesting maneuver you came up with.”
“A maneuver that wouldn’t have been necessary if you hadn’t flung the cat among the pigeons.” She pulled open the door into the entry and let it swing behind her, not caring—much—if it hit him in the face.
He followed. “Mine was an innocent enough question.”
“Oh, please. Anyone with an awareness of modern Western civilization knows that schools and libraries and all sorts of institutions walk a fine line during the holidays. No matter what we do, someone will be unhappy.”
“But this is little ol’ Ridgeville, where there’s a church on every other corner. I wouldn’t expect you to have that kind of problem.”
“As this morning demonstrated, however, we do. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
He caught her wrist as she turned away. “From what Sarah said, this ‘bah, humbug’ policy is new. I’m guessing it’s a change you installed when you took over. What have you, personally, got against Christmas?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” If only she could maintain her poise as he stared at her.
“I don’t believe you. Did you only get coal in your stocking as a kid?”
“We had very nice Christmases, thank you.” She jerked her arm, trying to break free of his grip. “Let me go.”
“Eventually.” Instead, though, he backed up until he could sit on the third step of the marble staircase circling up to the second floor. And then he drew her close, and closer, until she could choose to stand between his knees or sit beside him. After last night, Jayne chose to sit, with several inches of marble between them.
“So tell me about what your family did for Christmas.” Chris had turned toward her on the stair and was watching her face. “What kinds of special rituals did you follow?”
“I don’t recall anything special. My family wasn’t particularly…religious. We bought presents and a tree. That was it.”
“What kind of decorations? Live tree or artificial?”
She’d come up against that blank wall in her mind again. “I really don’t remember. It wasn’t important.”
“Oh, come on, Jayne. Everybody remembers Christmas, if they get it. Santa Claus and reindeer and cookies. Carols and colored lights. Dancing snowmen. What’s your favorite?”
“I don’t know!” She jerked hard, just as he let go of her wrist, and the momentum sent her staggering to her feet. With her cheeks burning and her eyes tearing she scurried to the office doorway, shut herself inside and locked the door.
Then she threw herself down on the sofa and buried her face in her arms.
Why, why, why couldn’t she remember?
CHRIS PUT ON THE SAME clothes for the third day in a row and went down to the kitchen to check on the girls’ cleanup job. Sarah must have gotten after them because the place looked crumb-free and neat enough even for Jayne Thomas.
Juliet Radcliffe had not been much for housekeeping.
The contrast didn’t shake his conviction, however. Juliet had become Jayne, sometime after that disastrous Christmas Eve, the last time he saw her. And Jayne couldn’t remember holidays with her make-believe family because she’d never had one. She should remember the penthouse apartment she’d told him about, the silver-trimmed artificial trees her parents rolled out of storage every year, the champagne-and-cocaine-fueled parties for Manhattan celebrities.
He could understand wanting to block those memories. But why not remember him, and Charlie and the grandmother she’d come to care about? Why create a complete fiction?
“Oh, hi.” Beth hesitated in the kitchen doorway. “Where’s Tommy?”
“Tommy? Is there another guy around here I don’t know about? Can he lend me some clothes?”
She grinned. “Tommy is Ms. Thomas’s nickname. We only call her that when she can’t hear us.”
“You think she doesn’t know?”
The girl winked at him. “I think she wants us to think she doesn’t know.”
“I think you’re right. Well, Tommy went to get dressed. And maybe take a breather from the responsibility for you young witches.”
Again, she surprised him. “The only witch is Taryn, the pagan. I’m just Jewish.”
“Right. What do you think about Christmas decorations?”
She shrugged. “I can cope. It’s not like I’ve never heard the Christmas story. And my uncle married a Christian.” She whistled and shook her head. “Boy, were Nana and Poppi mad. But she’s part of the family, and her kids celebrate Hanukkah and Christmas. Big deal.”
“Then you should help with the negotiations. Maybe somehow you girls can come up with a compromise that makes everybody hap
py.”
“Except Yolanda. She’ll never give in.”
“What’s her problem?”
Wrong question. Beth literally backed up, into the hallway. “One of the rules here is that we don’t talk about other girls. I gotta go find the crossword book I want before somebody else steals it.” A second later she vanished into the library, leaving Chris with the proverbial egg on his face.
Not being a puzzle man himself, he didn’t intend to spend the morning in the library, dutifully playing word games or piecing together edges. He’d already brought in enough firewood to handle a month-long blizzard. With the computers down and his cameras at Charlie’s, his professional outlets had been blocked.
So he went for another walk in the snow, wearing boots that were still damp. Heading away from the manor and the tangled trails of yesterday’s play, he forged a new path through the snow toward a cluster of cottages set at a distance from the main house. Yesterday, Jayne had told him they were originally used as quarters for a few superior servants, but the small houses now offered accommodation for guests and teachers at Hawkridge School.
The bright colors of the buildings—pink, blue, yellow and even lavender—made quite a contrast with the brilliant white of the snow, the dark green of the pines and spruces, garlanded with more snow, and the gray and black tracings of leafless tree branches. His fists clenched with the hunger for a camera. He wasn’t used to taking pretty landscape shots, but the beauty of this setting begged to be preserved.
Years spent in the dirty snow of big cities and the sparsely forested Asian battlefields had left him empty, Chris realized. He’d forgotten how much he loved these mountains, in winter and summer. Forgotten, too, the pleasure of being with Charlie, who offered love and acceptance without making demands. And in forgetting, Chris had almost left it too late. The doctors had given Charlie less than a year to live.
As he trekked past the lavender cottage, Chris noticed a plaque on the post of the small front porch. Out of curiosity, he detoured to read the three lines on the sign: Jayne Thomas, Headmistress, The Hawkridge School.
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