by Diana Palmer
"I never thought of that," she responded miserably. "It's our wedding day. I thought you Never mind."
"No, I'm not eaten up with desire," he said. He checked his watch. "Even if I were, I don't have time for it. I'll see you Thursday."
She started to speak to ask if he wasn't going to kiss her goodbye, but in his present mood, it wouldn't do any good to ask. He'd just bite her head off.
She watched him go out the door with a sinking heart. She was Mrs. Joseph MacFaber. She knew absolutely nothing about his parents, except that they'd let him go to reform school. She didn't even know their names. She didn't know where Jake was born, where he grew up, or what kind of toothpaste he used. She knew almost nothing about him. And right now she was wondering what had possessed her to let him rush her into marriage.
It was possible that he was old-fashioned enough to feel guilty that he'd seduced her. He said he wanted her, but he certainly hadn't acted like it today. His mind had been totally on work; not on her. He was leaving to spend the week in Chicago alone, leaving her here by herself only hours after they'd been married.
She glared at the closed door. He was being unreasonable. She ought to go over to his apartment and tell him so. But he was probably too busy packing to listen.
Well, if he expected her to sit here for four days while he went to Chicago on business, he was in for a surprise. She wasn't going to be his doormat. If he wanted a society wife, he was going to have one. She'd have herself done over and buy some clothes, then she'd start looking for houses. She'd engage her own staff, thank you very much, and if he didn't like it, he could divorce her and go and live with his company!
She felt much better with her mind made up. The only thing was they didn't have a joint bank account and she had only the money in her savings account. She pulled out her bankbook and grimaced at the small figure in it.
So much for having herself made over. Maybe she could set her hair or something and paint her body green and make a toga out of one of the colored bedsheets and meet him like that at the airport. The reporters would probably love that. She'd make all the evening editions.
She laughed at her own absurd idea. No, she couldn't do that even to MacFaber. It would have to be something less spectacular.
For one thing, she decided, she could tear up her resignation and keep her job. The way things were going, she might need it until she could find a job working for somebody else. If MacFaber was going to relegate her to the outfield of his life, she'd need something to occupy her time. He wasn't going to let her run the house or cook for him, and he'd just said that he'd only want her now and again in bed, so she might as well work.
"Car-rot!" Bagwell called from the kitchen table.
"You'll turn orange," she cautioned as she handed him another carrot and began to prepare a beef stew. "I'll get to eat this myself, you realize," she told the big green bird. "Bagwell, do you like beef stew?"
Too busy with the carrot in his claw, he didn't answer her.
She started the stew and sat down to watch television. There was a movie on and she stared at it blankly, thinking that, of all the wedding days in the history of the world, this must surely be the very worst.
Maybe Jake would come back by the apartment and apologize. Maybe he'd kiss her goodbye hungrily and decide he couldn't bear Chicago without her, even for a few days. Maybe he'd rush in on his knees with passionate declarations of love.
Bagwell stared at her, because she was laughing a little hysterically.
She got herself back under control, but as the minutes ticked by, there was still no sign of her new husband. Finally, unable to stand the waiting any longer, she picked up the telephone and dialed his number. It rang and rang and rang.
She hung up and went outside, around to his apartment. It was locked, and the lights were all out. He'd gone without a single word, as if she no longer existed for him.
Probably, she thought miserably, she didn't. Marrying him had been her biggest mistake. But she didn't have to compound it by mooning over him. She'd make the best of her situation until she could decide where to go, because she certainly didn't want to live with a man who could treat her like that.
She'd go to work tomorrow, she decided. Then she'd give herself a few days to decide what she was going to do with her life. One thing was certain: she wouldn't take a red cent from MacFaber, so he wouldn't have to worry about alimony or anything.
The only other worry would be pregnancy. She hadn't taken precautions and neither had he. A child was a definite possibility, and she remembered that he'd said he wanted one. Then why had he treated her like this, on their wedding day? Had he been temporarily insane when he proposed? Try as she might, she couldn't come up with a better explanation for his behavior.
He'd lived alone for a long time, she recalled, and that was by choice. What if he couldn't adjust to another person? And he might have some real doubts about her ability to handle his house and servants and give parties and do all the other things expected of a society wife.
She pursed her lips. She could go to the library, she supposed, and read some books on parties and such. She could check out some biographies of well-known hostesses. Now there was a thought. She'd do it, she decided, the very next day. Before she cut and ran, she would show MacFaber that she wasn't too stupid to organize a dinner party or motivate staff or be a successful hostess. And she would.
Ten
» ^ «
Jake's trip to Chicago lasted one day longer than he'd expected. It was Saturday morning, five days after the wedding, and Maureen was waiting for Harry to pick her up in the Rolls, as Jake had arranged by phone, and take her to the airport to meet Jake's plane. He'd promised to phone her, and he had. Once. It had been a quick, terse conversation, with neither of them giving an inch. Maureen had hardly slept all night after it.
She'd taken back her resignation and kept on with her job. If she and Jake were going to have a fight, she reasoned, it might as well be a proper one. She wasn't going to become a glorified mistress. If he wanted a wife, he was going to have to let her be one, in every sense of the worda cook, housekeeper and lover. She wouldn't settle for being made a convenience. And just because he was a tycoon, used to making people jump, he needn't think that he was going to make her jump, too.
Harry made it to the airport in record time and found, of all things, a parking spot close to the terminal. It had to have something to do with driving a Rolls, Maureen thought with faint humor. Harry went with her into the airport and they met Jake, coming down the concourse toward her with new lines on his broad, dark face.
Maureen felt her heart jump wildly at the sight of him. Their relationship was still new to her, despite the fact that they'd been intimate and were married. Just seeing him was enough to make her body sing. Even her mind delighted in him. He was wearing a slate-gray business suit, very expensive, with a neat red-and-gray pinstriped tie, and he looked terribly handsome. Maureen, in her soft gray dress, with her hair in an elaborate coiffure and her face carefully made up, felt more presentable than she had in a long time. But he gave her only a cursory glance, his dark eyes going past her to Harry.
"I hope you found a space close by. I'm damned tired," he told the chauffeur, handing him the luggage strap. Harry nodded politely, turned around and began to pull the suitcase along on its wheels, discreetly leaving the boss and his new wife alone.
"How are you?" Maureen asked, her voice cool and stiltednot at all the voice of a new bride meeting her husband of several days.
He noticed that and hated the way things had gone between them. He wished he'd never spoken to her so coldly the day he'd left for Chicago. He should have taken her with him and tried to make up to her for leaving her practically at the altar to take care of business. Looking back, he knew he'd made a monumental mistake in tactics. She was going to be uneasy and distrustful of him from now on, and it was all his own fault. In fact, he'd been miserable the whole time he'd been gone. He'd missed her terr
ibly during the past few days, and all his regrets were sitting on his broad shoulders as he looked down at her pale, miserable face. He'd bullied her into marriage without giving her time to get her breath, and then expected her to go on as if nothing had happened. He hadn't even kissed her goodbye, much less made love to her.
He couldn't blame her for the lost, sad look on her face. He'd put it there with his fear of being tied, of being possessed by her. He hadn't quite realized what marriage was going to mean until it was too late to back out. It had taken him a few days to accept those ties, but Maureen didn't know that. Now he was going to have to show her that he didn't resent her presence in his life. But it wasn't going to be easy; her attitude told him that.
"How am I? I'm tired," he said quietly. "But I'm all right. How about you?"
She couldn't quite meet his eyes. "I'm fine, too."
He shifted, wishing he had the right words to undo the damage he'd done. His big hand reached out and touched her cheek lightly. "Suppose you and I go and look for a house today?"
She hesitated. She wasn't sure whether or not they had a future together, but at least it was a kind of peace offering. It might get them on a better footing. "All right," she replied, but she backed away, because the feel of his fingers on her soft skin was disturbing.
He misread that move and dropped his hand without making an issue of her withdrawal. She was entitled, he thought bitterly. His face closed up. "We'll swing by the office," he said as he started back down the crowded walkway. "I have to leave some papers there."
She felt driven to try to calm the atmosphere between them. "What kind of house do you want?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Something with doors and windows, I suppose."
She couldn't help the smile that touched her mouth. "And a kitchen? I can cook, remember"
"You won't. I told you, I want a French chef." He glanced at her. "A house the size we're going to buy will be too much for you by yourself. You'll find things to do. Before you know it, all your days will be full."
And what about the nights? she wanted to ask. But that would be asking for trouble.
She pushed back a strand of loose hair. "So I'm going to be a figurehead, is that right? A decorative item? Fine. Then you can buy me a new wardrobe and have my hair styled and"
"Oh, hell," he muttered roughly. "That isn't what I meant at all. But if you want a wardrobe, go and buy one. You can have the charge card whenever you want it."
"Thank you," she said sweetly. She walked quickly to keep up with him. "And furthermore, I'm not giving up my job."
He stopped short. "I beg your pardon?"
The look didn't work as it was meant to. "You won't intimidate me by glaring at me," she returned. "I won't quit my job. If you won't let me be a wife, I'll be a career woman."
"You can't manage a house the size of the one I'm going to buy all by yourself," he said through his teeth.
"Watch me," she challenged. "Either you let me do it, or so help me, I'll keep working and I won't live with you!"
He took a slow breath. "You're a first-class pain in the neck!"
"Look who's talking!"
He glared and she glared back. Neither of them gave an inch, until the absurdity of the situation got through to Jake and he started chuckling. She was spirited. He hadn't realized that she had a temper because, until now, she'd been rather shy and withdrawn with him most of the time. But spirit wasn't a drawback. It was more like a bonus. She might manage to fit into his world after all, if she had spunk.
"You needn't laugh at me," she retorted.
"I'm not laughing. Not quite, anyway." He pursed his chiseled lips and stared down at her. "Okay. Try keeping the house by yourself, if that's how you want it. We'll see if you can manage."
She grinned, delighted at having her way. "I'll do very well," she replied. "I like cooking and cleaning."
"I'll remind you that you said that," he mused and started walking again. She was used to a small apartment. He didn't think she had any idea of the kind of house they were about to move into. But he'd let her find out for herself.
"Anyway, if we had a houseful of help, you'd have to buy me a gong. Isn't that what society hostesses use to ring for each course?" She smiled to herself. "I'd rather have a tuba and start my own tradition."
He laughed softly. He'd been very somber while he was away, but Maureen made him smile. She was the only woman who ever had. "I wouldn't mind," he said easily, escorting her out to the Rolls, where Harry was holding the door open. "As long as you don't paint your hair orange," he added and laughed at her expression.
They pulled away from the curb and Maureen's eye was caught by two young women, smiling at the Rolls with fascination and envy. She wondered what fantasies they were building about the wealthy man and woman in a Rolls-Royce.
Harry drove them around the best residential areas and past several For Sale signs until one caught Jake's eye and he had Harry stop in front of a two-story gray marble house.
It was set on beautifully landscaped grounds, and there was a garage and a tennis court.
"Ten bedrooms at least and servants' quarters outback, if I'm not mistaken," Jake remarked. "Do you like it?"
Maureen was stunned. Somehow she hadn't considered ten bedrooms a necessity. But he was probably used to people coming to visit and to stay—business associates. And now she began to have some idea of the magnitude of the household chores she'd insisted on taking over. She wished she'd kept her mouth shut, but she was too proud to go back on her promise now.
The house was very nice. She knew this section of Wichita, and it was where the wealthy lived. She was used to a secretary's paycheck and living on a shoestring. Just the thought of high-society entertaining gave her hives. But she could do it. She had to. The success of their marriage would depend on her adjusting to his way of life.
She looked up at him as they stood in the foyer with the real-estate agent, a very sophisticated redhead who seemed awed by Jake's good looks and take-charge manner.
Maureen was shocked at the wave of possessiveness that washed over her, but she didn't dare let Jake see it. He didn't want a clinging, possessive wife. So she wandered off by herself to look around while the other woman hung on Jake's every word as he outlined what he wanted done about the house.
The big stone fireplace in the living room fascinated Maureen. She could almost see and smell a roaring fire there in winter, and she pictured herself and Jake sitting near it, talking, with her head on his shoulder and his arm around her. She sighed. That would take some doing, with him all over the world on business. A more realistic picture would be herself here, perhaps with a child in her arms.
That thought melted her. She leaned against the door with a wistful, soft smile on her face. A little boy, perhaps. A tiny little boy in one of those fleecy, footed pajamas with his hands curled around a bottle
"It does look heavenly, doesn't it?" the realtor said with a sigh, joining her with Jake just behind. "I'd adore a white fur rug in front of it, and the right man beside me with the flames leaping in the hearth," she added throatily.
He was watching Maureen's averted face curiously. "What were you picturing, Maureen?" he asked suddenly.
She sighed, still looking at the fireplace without weighing the wisdom of the answer that came immediately to her tongue. "Oh, I was thinking about children," she murmured absently.
Jake's face underwent a remarkable change. It softened, like his dark eyes, and the look he sent toward his oblivious wife made the realtor clear her throat and start spouting prices and the advantages of the location.
Maureen turned around, stunned by the agent's quick change of attitude. Her eyes met Jake's and she felt the impact of his stare right through her. Those dark eyes went to her stomach, and she realized belatedly what he was thinking. She flushed and one quick jerk of her head told him what he wanted to know. Something seemed to flicker and die in his dark eyes. He shrugged and turned back to the hall without a word.
She wandered through the huge study and the smaller library, trailing behind him and the realtor, frowning at his behavior. Had he wanted her to be pregnant? Surely not, when he was talking about being away most of the time. If he'd really wanted children, he'd have been thinking of ways to be near them. No, it was probably just a stray thought, one he was already regretting. Now he knew there wasn't going to be a child, and he probably wished he hadn't rushed into marriage before he found out. She didn't know how to read him anymore. She'd thought she knew the mechanic named Jake, but the tycoon was another question entirely.
At the end of the tour, Jake said tersely that they'd take the house, without even consulting Maureen. Which did absolutely nothing to melt the ice that was growing between them.
All the way back to her apartment, she smoldered. By the time they reached it, she was all but boiling over.
Jake took the bag from Harry and sent him off. Then he turned to Maureen as she started coldly toward her own apartment.
"Like hell you do," he said shortly.
He caught her arm, leaving his luggage under the carport, and held on to her while he unlocked the door of his apartment and pulled her inside.
"Would you mind telling me Oh!"
He cut her off with the hard pressure of his mouth. While he kissed her, his hand reached behind to lock the door. Then she was up in his arms and he was carrying her.
"Heaven," he breathed against her trembling mouth. "Oh, God, it's sheer heaven!"
She felt that way, too, but she didn't have enough breath to say it. He tossed her roughly into the middle of his bed and looked down at her while his hands went slowly to the buttons of his jacket.
She lay looking up at him half-dazed. It had all happened so suddenly. "Are you showing me my place?" she asked quietly. "Is this where I'm going to fit into your life? A pleasant diversion between business deals and office work?"
His big hands stilled on his shirt buttons. He stared down at her with quiet eyes. "You haven't forgotten what I said to you before I left."