by Diana Palmer
"It isn't likely that I could," she replied. "Go ahead, if you want me," she said stiffly. "I'm your wife. This is my duty, and I'll do it."
"Oh, my God, not like this!" he ground out. "Don't make sex into a business arrangement!"
"Isn't that what it is to you?" she asked quietly. She sat up, feeling shaky even if she didn't sound it. "You married me because you wanted me. At the time, I thought you mightmight care for me a little, but you disabused me of that idea the day we got married. You told me just how it was going to be. You liked being with me, and you liked sleeping with me, but business and the corporation came first." She stared at her hands in her lap and noticed a faint chip on one nail. She picked at it nervously. "If you'd stopped to think about it, you'd never have married me. I'm as different from you as night is from day. You don't like the way I look or the way I dress, and you don't think I've got the breeding to entertain your friends."
She looked up, suddenly, and caught the expression on his face. It made her cringe inside. "I'm right, aren't I!" she asked miserably. Tears filled her green eyes. She took her glasses off and dabbed at the tears with the hem of her dress. "Why don't you get an annulment? I'm not pregnant, so you don't have to worry about a child. We can go our own ways with no damage done, and next time you can marry someone who suits you better."
He didn't know what to say. He felt helpless, which made him angry. He moved away from her to light a cigarette. "I don't want an annulment," he said shortly. "I want you, warts and all."
"No, you don't," she said. "You want the idea of a wife and family, but you aren't willing to devote any time to either."
"I'm thirty-seven years old," he said shortly, turning to face her with narrow dark eyes. "I've never even lived with a woman. I've never had to answer to anyone. My time has always been my own, and business has filled it."
"Children need two parents," she said simply. "And I don't want to wind up like so many society wives dowith a drinking habit or a lover because I'm left alone too much."
"I can't give you all my time," he said.
"I'm not asking for it," she replied. "I just want more than an occasional hour in bed and being made to feel like a harem girl."
He stared at her levelly. "Is that how I made you feel the first time we made love together?"
She colored and lowered her eyes to his broad chest where his shirt was unbuttoned and thick hair peeked out of the opening. "Oh, no," she confessed huskily. "You made me feel the way every woman dreams of feeling, her first time."
"Do you really think I'd have given a damn about your pleasure if I were the kind of man you're trying to make me out to be?"
"You're twisting it," she muttered.
"No, you are." He came closer, kneeling just in front of her, one big hand on her thigh while the other idly held the burning cigarette. Pungent smoke rose between them. "I want to live with you. I can't guarantee you the moon, or that I'll be home on time every night. But I'll take care of you, and I swear on my heart that you'll never be just a body in bed to me.
"But you don't love me," she whispered miserably. "You just want me."
"For a man, wanting sometimes comes first. It's the way we're made." He smoothed his hand over her thigh, watching the material of her dress ripple sensuously under his fingers. "You want me just as badly. I can hear your breathing change when I touch you."
"Yes, but"
"But what?" He moved, easing her backward so that she was lying down, and his big body slid sinuously over her, pressing her down into the mattress.
"Yourcigarette," she gasped as his hips settled over hers.
"To hell with the cigarette." His mouth went down on hers.
Somewhere along the way, the cigarette wound up in an ashtray and their clothing scattered from the bed to the floor. Maureen felt his skin brushing hers, the thick hair on his chest abrasive on her bare breasts, his mouth smoky and expertly demanding on the swelling contours of her soft lips.
She clung to him, moaning softly at the things he did to her, glorying in the sweet pleasure of loving. He whispered to her, graphic things, touching her in remembered ways, guiding her own hands, leading her deeper and deeper into the high waves of passion.
When she felt him lift her, her eyes opened, drowsy and narrow, to look straight up into his.
He held her gaze while his powerful body slowly, sensually, overwhelmed hers and she gasped at the stark intrusion, at the fusion that made her fantasies about him shatter under the blinding pleasure. He knew so much, she thought, crying out as the sensations piled one up on another and began to throb in great red waves. He kneweverything!
He laughed roughly, watching her helpless response to him, feeling her nails stabbing into his hips, her body lift to his as fulfillment buffeted her damp body. She cried out, the same throb in her voice that he felt in the pliant body beneath his. He watched her face as it happened to her, and only then gave himself the freedom to dive into the ecstasy with her. The waves hit him, too, and he groaned and groaned, his deep voice twining with her sharp cries as he felt the world spin off into darkness around him.
She couldn't stop crying. He held her, shuddering in his own peace, and smoothed her damp hair away from her wet face.
"It's all right," he whispered. His lips touched her eyelids, sipping away the salty tears. "It's all right, now."
But still she cried, her arms clinging around his neck, her body trembling as it sought the powerful contours of his, sought comfort.
His big hands smoothed down her back, loving the warmth of her. "I watched you," he whispered against her lips. "It was better this time than last."
"Oh, yes," she moaned, shivering. Her face burrowed into his damp throat, feeling the throbbing coolness of his skin. "Don't let go."
"I won't." He rolled onto his side, easing her lovingly against him, caressing her with his lips and his hands. "Is it easing?"
"N-no," she choked. "I'm sorry, I Jake!" Her nails bit into him and she arched in sweet anguish as he moved over her, against her, his mouth grinding into hers as he shifted.
"Easy now," he whispered into her mouth. "Come closer. I won't let you go until you feel it completely, this time. Kiss me"
She hadn't realized that it was possible to survive such an explosion of sensation. She clung to him, spinning wildly between heaven and earth while he made the world go red with a completion beyond her wildest dreams. It was the closest she'd come to a dead faint, and she couldn't even lift her head when she felt him move slowly away from her at last.
"Come here, baby," he whispered. He gathered her to him and pillowed her head on his shuddering chest. He stretched, groaning. "My God, I think I'm going to die of muscle failure. Are you all right?"
"If I die, right now, it will be all right," she whispered on a shaky sigh. "I love you, Jake."
"I'd have to be blind not to know it now," he murmured softly, smiling against her soft mouth.
"You don't mind?" she asked quietly.
His head moved against her cheek. "I don't mind. It just takes some getting used to, that's all." He laughed bitterly. "I've never been loved. Not by anyone."
She framed his broad face with her hands and held it so that she could see his dark, haunted eyes. "Your parents"
"I was adopted. Haven't you guessed?" he asked coldly. "They wanted children, or so they thought, so they adopted me from a young unwed mother whose name I never learned. When I got into trouble with the law, they blamed it on my unknown parentage and literally washed their hands of me."
She couldn't quite take it all in. "But you inherited the corporation?"
"My adoptive father hadn't changed his will, for God alone knows what reason. My mother had an income for her lifetime, but the corporation went to me." He rolled over onto his back, magnificent in his nudity, and laughed coldly. "You can't imagine how she hated that. She couldn't get a penny out of me. She drank. And when she drank, she liked to call me and tell me what a hell I'd made of her life when I was
a child. She'd get into the damnedest messes and call me to fly overseas and get her out of them. I cursed her until I ran out of curses, until the very night she died trying to kill me."
"Oh, Jake." She moved close to him, holding him, her cheek nestled on his hair-roughened chest. "Everyone said that you loved her, and I thought I don't know what I thought. I'm so sorry."
"I wanted to love her," he said heavily. "But she wasn't the kind of woman who wanted that." He smoothed the arm that lay across him. "She really hated me. I never quite knew why, unless she and my father had a warped idea of what parenthood meant. I think they realized at last that children aren't amusing little dolls that can be put on a shelf and forgotten when they aren't wanted."
"That's true," she said quietly. "But neither are wives."
He lifted his head and looked down at her. "I don't know very much about wives. I never wanted one, until you came along. I don't know much about children, either. But I suppose you and I can learn together."
"Can you spare the time?"
He sighed and touched her breasts gently with the tips of his fingers, watching her tautening body. "Oh, I think I'll manage that." His dark eyes caught hers. "Say it again."
"II love you," she choked, arching toward his fingers.
"How much?"
"More than anyone or anything in the world," she managed as his mouth came down to hers. "Except"
His lips poised just over hers, his excited breath making cool shivers against them, "Except?" he asked, his tone challenging.
She lifted her hands to the back of his head. "Except for the child I'm going to give younine months from today," she breathed shakily and brought his lips over hers.
He shuddered, and then his arms gathered her up tightly and he gave in, for the first time, to the need to be loved.
Eleven
» ^
Maureen and Jake bought the big gray house, and she did give up her job. But if Jake had thought she wouldn't be able to cope, he was wrong.
She found books on hostessing and other books on estate management. She took advantage of Jake's first overseas trip to start taking the reins of the household in hand. She hired a cooknot a French chef, but a kindly retired lady with an exquisite repertoire of home cookeryand a housekeeper and a maid. She employed a gardener. She went shopping for just the right clothes and had her hair done by an expert. The only concession she didn't make was to give up her glassesshe kept them, because after so many years, they felt like part of her.
"Mr. MacFaber is due home today, isn't he, Mrs. MacFaber?" Mrs. Candles, the cook, asked. "What shall I make?"
"Chicken crepes," she said instantly. "He loves those. And a potato casserole, asparagus, and a small caramel pudding for desert," Maureen told her with a smile. "That should satisfy his hunger for French cuisine and mine for American. Oh, and could you make a big chef's salad as well?"
"Yes, ma'am." Mrs. Candles grinned. "Wine?"
"I'll have coffee and so will Mr. MacFaber," she murmured. "I want him to keep a clear head so that he can see the changes around here."
The cook went away shaking her head.
Maureen had a gorgeous crepe dress with an overlay of hand-painted chiffon in rainbow colors. She wore that, with its billowing skirt, and left her hair loose in waves that fell beautifully to her shoulders. She didn't look the epitome of a sophisticated tycoon's wife, but she did look like Jake MacFaber's wife, she consoled herself.
He came in the door just as she came down the stairs, and Clare, the new maid, was quick to take his briefcase and raincoat.
"It was coming down in buckets in New York," Jake murmured, his eyes following the neat little maid's progress. He looked up at Maureen and his lips pursed as his dark eyes slid over her hungrily. "Are you going to be dessert?" he asked huskily.
"If you'd rather have me than a caramel pudding with cream," she said, laughing. "Oh, Jake, I missed you so!"
She threw herself into his arms, to be swung around and kissed within an inch of her life. He'd been gone for three weeks, and she'd barely been able to stand being away from him, even though he'd phoned almost every day. It wasn't the same as having him close in her arms like this.
"Are you going to kiss me to death?" he whispered.
"Can I try?" She grinned and reached up to his mouth again.
"I'm not complaining." He nuzzled his cheek against hers with a heavy sigh and brought her close, his body shuddering a little. "I need you, Maureen," he whispered at her ear. "Suppose we make love on the hall table?"
"Mrs. Candles would faint."
He lifted his head, frowning. "Mrs. Who? And come to think of it, who was that?" He nodded in the direction in which the maid had gone.
"Clare is our maid," she explained. "Mrs. Candles is our chef."
His heavy brows began to knit. "Is she a French chef?"
"Her great-grandfather was French," she assured him. "And she's a top-notch chef."
"Now, listen, baby"
She took his hand and pulled him along. "We can go to bed early," she promised, "and I'll show you how much I missed you. But right now, you have to taste Mrs. Candles's crepes!"
He allowed himself to be persuaded, but he was still reluctant, right up until he took the first mouthful of Mrs. Candles's crepes. Then Maureen could see all his resistance crumbling.
"Marvelous," he said.
"Yes, isn't it?" Maureen grinned. "We also have a gardener, and I have a new wardrobe, and we're giving a dinner party next week for all your executives at the corporation."
He blinked, shocked by her take-charge manner. "Well, well, you've been a busy little bee, haven't you?" he mused.
"Indeed I have," she said, laughing.
His eyes narrowed. "You haven't been sneaking back to the office to work?"
"I don't have time for that these days," she murmured. "I've been too busy looking after the house and getting everything organized. Do you like to swim?"
He stared at her. "Yes," he said cautiously.
"Good."
There was a sudden whump in the backyard.
"What was that?!" he burst out and started to get up.
She touched his hand gently, easing him back down. "Nothing to get excited about. It's just the bulldozer."
"What bulldozer?"
"The one that's digging the hole for the swimming pool," she explained calmly. "Do eat your crepe, sweetheart. It's going to get cold."
He let out a slow breath, frowning toward the noise outback. "Are there any more surprises in store for me?" he asked.
"Only one little one," she said carelessly. "But not right away. Don't you want some potato casserole?"
"I don't think I like potato casserole," he said absently. "My God, you haven't wasted any time, have you?" he chuckled. "Maids, housekeepers And I thought you couldn't cope. More fool, me."
"You didn't realize how desperately I love you, that's all," she said, smiling softly at him, her eyes adoring on his dark face. "When you love someone, you'll do anything to please them."
"Is that so?" he said, as his eyes twinkled mischievously. "Well, I do have an idea or two on that subject. When we've had dessert."
"So do I." She smoothed her fingers over his big hand, loving the very texture of it. Her hand slid into his and she clasped it warmly. "Jake," she said hesitantly, meeting his eyes. "Joseph," she corrected, and all the playfulness went out of her face. "I'm carrying your child."
At first she didn't think he'd heard her. He just sat staring at her. He didn't even seem to move. His eyes got wider, and darker, and the big hand in hers began to contract with growing hunger.
"You're what?" he asked huskily.
She smiled, and then she laughed. "I'm pregnant!"
"My God. My God!" He came around the table, laughing, scooped her up and sat down with her in his lap. "When? How long?"
"A little over six months from now," she sighed, nuzzling her face against him. "I wanted to be sure before I told you, and I wasn
't until I saw the doctor yesterday."
"We've been married a little over three months," he murmured, counting back. Then he grinned and she colored. "Just about," he breathed, brushing his mouth over hers, "the afternoon you whispered something about nine months"
"Hush!" She laughed, then reached up and kissed him, stilling the words on his lips.
A long moment later, a discreet cough parted them. They looked up, blank-faced, as Mrs. Candles set the pudding on the table.
She smiled at their blank looks. "Pudding," she explained. "It's healthy stuff. Great for blossoming parents."
"However did you know?" Maureen gasped.
Mrs. Candles grinned. "I had six of my own, didn't I tell you? I'll just bring the cream in, then I'll go to my room and watch television."
Jake chuckled as she left. "She's terrific," he murmured. "And much more pleasant than a temperamental French chef throwing things about in the kitchen."
"Darling, if you miss that, I'm sure Mrs. Candles could throw a pot now and again, just to make you feel comfortable."
"No need," he murmured against her mouth. "We're going to be too busy to notice. Aren't we?"
Six months later, Joshua Blake MacFaber came home from the hospital in his father's arms while his mother was gently eased from the car and into a wheelchair for the trip inside. It had been a difficult birth, ending in a cesarean section, but Maureen was so proud of their little boy that she hadn't minded the discomfort one bit.
"Isn't he the image of his father?" she asked Mrs. Candles as they brought him inside.
"Indeed he is, madam," the cook replied, smiling at the tiny bundle MacFaber was holding close against his heart. "Right down to his eyes. They'll be dark, you can tell."
Once Maureen was in bed, and little Joshua was curled up in her arms asleep, Jake offered to take him.
"You need to baby that incision along," he whispered as he lifted the tiny little boy in his big arms and sat down in the chair by the bed.
"Do I really?" she teased, her eyes glowing with love. "Or do you just like holding your son?"