He framed her face with his hands and stared deep into her eyes. "What if I make love to you so often tonight and so well, you'll be too exhausted to leave?"
She felt as if she were swimming against a heated tide and she was about to go under. "You won't unless you plan to rape me."
"Rape is an atrocity. What I plan to do to you will be a pleasure for both of us. I'll show you…"
Unable to wait a moment longer, he pulled her into his arms and did what he had wanted to do all night. He slid his hand between the chiffon shell and the silk slip and closed it around her breast. Her breast fit perfectly into his hand, her body perfectly in his arms. Emotion slammed through him, and he was shaken. Why had he waited so long? Certainly he had never done so with any other woman. He felt her nipple tighten with his caressing and groaned. At this very moment his desire for her was consuming him.
His ever-present anger with Edward had become even greater during the telephone call. Soon it would die down again to its usual simmering rage, but for now his anger and his need for Arabella seemed mixed together. There was an overwhelming urgency in him. He hurt with wanting her, and he hurt with his anger, but she could help him. She could release him from at least part of his torment.
Even as he was thinking this, he felt her arms slide around his neck. He laughed softly and captured her lips with his and began taking and taking. And she responded until she was practically boneless against him, all softness and fire. A hard shudder raced through him. There was something new and fresh about the way she made him feel. And she had a sweetness about her he wasn't used to… almost an innocence.
"Jake…"
The sound of her voice was nearly lost beneath the loud beating of his heart. He slipped his hands beneath the white slip and the pearl-encrusted skirt and cupped her bottom, lifting her and pulling her hard against him. "You're going to have to wear this dress for me again sometime," he said roughly, "but I think for now it's served its purpose."
Her heart jumped as his lips closed over hers. She could feel herself weakening. With every touch, with every kiss, she was falling more under his spell. She had to help herself, but the pleasure was deep, deep inside her… She couldn't stop herself from moving against him, drawing another groan from him and eliciting a series of hot kisses down her throat to the collar of pearls and below them to her breast.
"Jake"—she cast about in her mind for something that would break the spell, something that would free her from his control—"you said we'd go to your bedroom."
"I've decided a couch will do very well," he muttered, guiding her toward the nearest one and lowering her onto its plush cushions.
He started to follow her down, but something made him hold back. He stared down at her, drawing ragged, painful breaths in and out of his lungs. Moonlight streamed through the glass roof, bathing her in an incandescent light, making her appear luminescent. The pearl-encrusted skirt lay high on her thighs, revealing an enticing expanse of silken skin between the top of her rolled stockings and the hem. Beneath the transparent bodice, her slip strap had fallen from her shoulder, and the slip itself gaped low on her breast. Butterflies fluttered around them, stirring the perfumed air with their delicate wings. In some ways, he realized, she reminded him of a butterfly with her elegance and beauty. And right now there seemed to be a certain fragility about her…
Dammit, what was this hesitancy in him? He didn't understand it. He wanted her until he was almost blind with it. But he had never knowingly hurt anyone or anything innocent.
She wasn't an innocent. She couldn't be.
He went down to her and settled himself on top of her, fitting himself into her curves and valleys, then had to clench his jaw as heat rolled through him. He had to slow himself down, he thought ruefully, or this wouldn't last more than a minute.
But he couldn't resist putting his hand around her breast once again. "If you feel this good with your clothes on, I can't wait to take them off."
She curled her arms around his neck; he pulled back.
She made a soft sound; he heard a thundering in his brain.
This wasn't right. Dammit, something wasn't right.
He jerked to his feet.
Bewilderment clouded Arabella's eyes as she looked up at him. "Jake?"
"Get up." He reached down for her arm and hauled her upright She was confused, and he didn't blame her. But, dammit, he could not tolerate one more second of looking at her on that couch without tearing her clothes off and driving into her sweet body.
Why hadn't he? What in the hell was wrong with him? He could have taken her, he thought, disgusted at himself. It would have been so easy.
His anger grew—at her, at Edward.
He was going to let her go, for now at least, and he didn't know why. "Let's get out of here."
"I—I don't understand."
He pulled her to her feet and hastily, clumsily, rearranged her clothes. "I shouldn't have left my friends. I'm the host."
"I don't believe you."
"Dammit, Arabella, would you rather stay here and have me take you on that couch? Because, sweetheart, in case you don't realize it, you are one minute away from being ravaged in about every way there is."
Tears threatened, but the sight of his dark, angry expression kept them at bay. "I don't deserve your anger, Jake Deverell. And I don't deserve to be talked to like that. And to answer your question, I can't wait to leave this place."
Arabella couldn't sleep. Her skin was too hot, her nerves too agitated, her mind too busy. She kicked the covers aside and reached for her robe. Without knowing where she was going, she left the room.
Her robe of ivory Alençon lace drifted out behind her as she walked the shadowed halls. All the doors leading off the halls were closed; everyone was asleep.
She took the stairs down to the second floor, remembering the day she had walked these same halls as a child. There had been a different kind of quiet then, the quiet of a house partially closed and suffering grief, the quiet imposed by the master of the house who had eyes that didn't smile.
The house had a new master now, a master with eyes that could glint with heat and who filled the house to bursting with people. And still there was quiet, the quiet of a house, enduring, waiting.
Except. What was the thumping sound?
She started down the stairs toward the landing and the Tiffany window, the sound growing louder as she went. Stopping before she reached the landing, she peered over the railing and looked down into the immense entry hall. Jake was there, stripped to the waist, hitting a small rubber ball against the wail, using all the strength that was in him. His muscles rolled and flexed with fluid power and sweat gleamed over his dark olive skin with his violent exertion. Time and again his hand connected with the ball, slamming it against the wall on the exact spot where Edward Deverell's portrait had hung. Lucas sat quietly on one of the bottom steps, his eyes following his friend's every move. Vanessa was asleep, her head in Lucas's lap.
Above them Arabella sank unseen onto a step and gazed down into the hall between two railings.
Jake was like a man obsessed, she thought. A man with furies and his own private demons inside him.
What were they? What drove him so? What caused his burning and his inability to rest? Could she possibly have anything to do with it? No, she quickly answered herself. He had stopped the lovemaking, not she. His anger toward her had been totally irrational, and she had been left bewildered and chagrined.
Cold seeped through the delicate lace of her robe, but she couldn't tear her gaze from the scene down in the hall.
Jake moved with agility and power, smashing the ball again and again against the wall as if he were trying to destroy something there.
What did one do about loving such a man? His longtime friend, Lucas, supported him with his presence, but when all was said and done, he could only watch. What chance did she have with only a tender, brand-new love to offer him, a love that he wouldn't even want?
&nbs
p; Her heart ached as she watched the poignant, emotionally charged scene below. She felt an instinctive need to help him, to reach out her arms and comfort him, to ease his pain. But she didn't have to think twice to know he would never give her the chance. In truth, she didn't think he could truly love a woman, and she was more convinced than ever that she should leave in the morning.
The thing was, she had never lacked for courage in anything. And after years of remaining uninvolved, she had tumbled hard for Jake. It went against her nature to turn her back on those she loved… or on danger. What should she do?
Her heart, mind, and body was telling her to stay. But her self-protective instincts were telling her to run as fast as she could.
She rose and walked silently back up the stairs.
Arabella dodged a snowball as it flew across the entry hall, its target a red-cheeked girl who shrieked with delight when it missed her. Choosing a snowball from her own arsenal, the young woman aimed and tossed.
Arabella frowned. The massive carved black-walnut front doors stood wide open, admitting not only the afternoon sunlight, but the snowball fight as well. Everyone involved was having a grand time.
She saw Marlon standing impassively to one side. Where was Jake?
"Ready?" Kenneth asked, coming up beside her, pulling on his gloves.
"Yes. The maids have already left with the luggage in the second car."
"Then I guess there's nothing to do but get on the road." A snowball hit the side of his neck. With a good-natured laugh, he brushed the snow away. "Good-bye, everybody. See you soon."
"Good-bye," Arabella echoed, and waved, then followed Kenneth out. But when she reached the doorway, something made her look back. And her breath caught in her throat.
Jake was standing at the top of the landing, his chest bare, his legs planted wide apart, his hands in the pockets of the trousers he had worn to dinner the night before, the same ones he had been wearing early this morning when he had seemed bent on destroying the wall with the ball. He hadn't been to bed, she realized.
Breathtaking jewel-colored light streamed from the stained-glass window behind him and outlined his dark, powerful shape in clear, sharp detail. The sight of him pulled at her like a gravitational force.
She lifted her chin and stared back at him, wishing with everything that was in her that she could read his expression. She wasn't sure what it was she wanted from him—a sign perhaps that he was sorry she was leaving, a softness that would tell her one day he might love her. If he had done any of these things, if he had even lifted his hand toward her, she would have gone back to him. Heaven help her, she would have.
But as she watched, her heart in her throat, he turned and walked slowly back up the stairs.
Chapter 5
His brow furrowed with concentration, Edward studied the latest profit and loss statement that Jake had brought him.
Jake watched him, a wry half smile on his lips. The figures were excellent, but he didn't expect praise. In the past eleven years, Edward hadn't uttered one word of praise to him, no matter his accomplishments. In fact, nothing had changed between them since they had first laid eyes on each other the afternoon of Jake's eighteenth birthday in the tiny, run-down apartment he had shared with his mother. He still hated Edward for his despicable treatment of his mother all those years before when she had come to him and told him she was pregnant, and Edward still hated him for not being his legitimate son, John.
Edward's coal-black hair was generously sprinkled with silver now, and a few wrinkles had been added to his face. But his carriage was still rigidly straight and his manner arrogant and imperious. And, Jake thought, he was still every bit the cold-blooded bastard who had come to his mother's apartment so long ago. Even at seventy-five years of age, Edward didn't have a mellow bone in his body.
Eleven years earlier Jake couldn't have imagined being in a plush office on the top floor of the Deverell Building, nor could he have imagined that he would take to business as he had. To his surprise, he had discovered he had a special knack for it. He had done some brilliant and innovative work with the company since his Harvard graduation and had increased profits many times over.
His original idea had been to ruin the business gradually until all that Edward had achieved was gone—even if it had meant going against his own best interest. But once he had gotten involved, he hadn't been able to help himself. He loved the business and he was good at it. Besides, there were other ways to hurt the man…
Edward finally looked up at him.
"Well?" Jake asked, knowing exactly what Edward would say.
"The profit is adequate."
"It's much more than adequate, and you know it."
Edward shrugged. "To say it's adequate doesn't imply criticism. On the contrary, I'm quite satisfied."
"You damned well should be."
Edward leveled a sharp gaze at him over steepled fingers. "But the figures are the only thing I'm satisfied with. Two weeks have passed since I telephoned you at SwanSea and told you to return to Boston. I expected you to come back immediately."
"I had guests. It would have been rude to leave them."
"You always have guests, Jake. In fact, you probably have people staying there who are left over from parties you gave two years ago."
"You think so? I'll have to check."
Edward scowled. "The point is, I needed you back here immediately."
Well aware of why Edward was so eager to see him, he crossed his legs and settled back in his chair with a nonchalant ease. "Anything serious?"
"Yes, dammit, it is."
Jake's mouth relaxed into a full smile. Edward always began their meetings with his emotions under control. By the end of their meetings, the vein on his forehead was pulsing.
"I found out that you had gone around me and stopped our policy of buying stocks on margin. I want to know why."
He might harass and irritate Edward on other things, but when it got to the bottom line of business, he was always serious. "I went around you because I knew you would never agree, and I stopped our policy of buying stocks on margin because I felt it was time to do so."
"What in the hell does that mean?"
Jake rolled his shoulders, unsure if he could explain his feeling. "Since 1924, you and your cronies have been playing fast and loose on Wall Street."
Edward stiffened. "There are no regulations or laws against our practices."
"No, but I'm beginning to think there should be. You and your friends bid up a security, get other people interested in it, bid it up some more, then sell it, and you walk away with a profit. But you've built a house of cards, and when you walk away, it comes tumbling down. I think Wall Street has become a giant house of cards, and I just don't feel people can keep up this manipulation much longer."
"Then you're a fool."
Jake pointed toward the profit and loss statement on the desk. "A fool couldn't be responsible for that, old man."
Edward sliced a hand through the air. "Bah! This country is operating on a sound foundation, and it's no time for the fainthearted. We can only get richer."
"Yeah, but not on the stock market. And that's the other half of my plan. I'm going to start selling off our stocks and securities."
"What?"
Jake viewed him impassively. "By August we'll be completely out of the market."
Edward's hand slapped the desk, causing the profit and loss statement to flutter, then settle back down about an inch from where it had been. "I won't have it, damn you! I'm still the president of this company."
"You may have the title, but I have the power."
"It's power I've given you. I can take it away."
Jake grinned. "But you won't. As much as you might begrudge me my successes, Deverell comes first with you, and you would never ruin your precious company, even to spite me."
Edward coughed, brought his hand to his mouth, paused a moment, and coughed again. Then he settled back into his chair. "But I don't h
appen to think this course of action is in our best interest. In fact, I think it's foolish, stupid, and asinine. There's a fortune to be made—" He broke off, coughing.
Jake poured him a glass of water, handed it to him, and waited until he had drunk it. "We have several fortunes, Edward, and I'll make us several more. But not on the stock market. Not now."
"I tell you, I won't have it!"
"When you give yourself time to think about it, you're going to come to the same conclusion as I did. But you still won't admit that it's a good idea, because then you'd have to give me credit and you'd never do that, would you? You can't stand for anyone, not even your son, to put you in the shade. But then, you still won't acknowledge that I am your son, will you?"
Edward stared back at Jake, the expression in his black eyes as opaque and impenetrable as Jake's. "That's a closed subject, Jake."
Fresh anger spurted through him. "To you, maybe."
Edward sighed. "I read about your New Year's Eve party."
"Oh, I see," Jake said, rubbing his forehead. "We're going to talk about SwanSea for a while, are we? Well, let me put your mind at ease. SwanSea is still standing. It's a tough old house."
"That's because I built it to last. I wanted my children and their children to be able to live in it for generations to come. I still do." When Jake didn't say anything, he went on. "I was pleased to see that the Lindens were there."
"You know them?"
"I know their father. He's a very prominent banker. I've done business with him for years. His son and daughter are exactly the kind of people you should be associating with." He coughed again.
Jake frowned. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, yes, I'm fine. In fact, Arabella Linden would make a most appropriate wife for you."
"Appropriate." Jake mulled over the word, thinking how like Edward to use it in regard to Arabella. She had all the proper credentials, along with wealth and social position. On the other hand, Edward hadn't deemed Jake's mother an appropriate wife for himself because she had been only a poor young Irish widow.
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