Part of the Bargain

by Linda Lael Miller

  With a mock-glare and a motion of his free arm, Jess tried to field her blatant advances. She simply knelt astraddle of his lap and had her way with him, her fingers tracing a path of fire around his mouth, along his neck, over his nipples.

  Jess caught the errant hand in a desperate hold, only to be immediately assaulted by the other. Mischief flashed in his jade eyes, followed by an I’ll-get-you-for-this look. “See you then,” he said to his father, his voice a little deeper than usual and very carefully modulated. There was a pause, and then he added, “Oh, don’t worry, I will. In about five seconds, I’m going to lay Libby on the coffee table and kiss her in all the best places. Yes, sir, by the time I get through with her, she’ll be—”

  Falling into the trap, Libby colored, snatched the receiver out of Jess’s hand and pressed it to her ear. The line was, of course, dead.

  Jess laughed as she assessed him murderously. “You deserved that,” he said.

  Libby moved to struggle off his lap, still crimson in the face, her heart pounding with embarrassment. But Jess’s hands were strong on her upper arms, holding her in place.

  “Oh, no you don’t, princess. You’re not getting out of this so easily.”

  “What—”

  Jess smiled languidly, still holding her fast with one hand, undoing his jeans with the other. “You let this horse out of the barn, lady. Now you’re going to ride it.”

  Libby gasped as she felt him prod her, hard and insistent, and fierce needs surged through her even as she raged at the affront. She was powerless, both physically and emotionally, to break away from him.

  Just barely inside her, Jess reached out and calmly untied her bathrobe, baring her breasts, her stomach, her captured hips. His green eyes glittered as he stroked each satiny expanse in turn, allowing Libby more and more of him until she was fully his.

  Seemingly unmoved himself, Jess took wicked delight in Libby’s capture and began guiding her soft, trim hips up and down, endlessly up and down, upon him. All the while, he used soft words to lead her through flurries of silver snow to the tumultuous release beyond.

  When her vision cleared, Libby saw that Jess had been caught in his own treachery. She watched in love and wonder as he gave himself up to raging sensation—his head fell back, his throat worked, his eyes were sightless.

  Gruffly Jess pleaded with Libby, and she accelerated the up-and-down motion of her hips until he shuddered violently beneath her, stiffened and growled her name.

  “Mess with me, will you?” she mocked, grinning down at him.

  Jess began to laugh, between rasping breaths. When his mirth had subsided and he didn’t have to drag air into his lungs, he caressed her with his eyes. In fact, it was almost as though he’d said he loved her.

  Libby was still incredibly moved by the sweet spectacle she had seen played out in his face as he submitted to her, and she understood then why he so loved to watch her respond while pleasuring her.

  Jess reached up, touched away the tear that tickled on her cheek. It would have been a perfect time for those three special words she so wanted to hear, but he did not say them.

  Hurt and disappointed, Libby wrenched her bathrobe closed and tried to rise from his lap, only to be easily thwarted. Jess’s hands opened the robe again, his eyes perused her and then came back to her face, silently daring her to hide any part of her body or soul from him.

  With an insolent finger he brushed the pink buttons at the tips of her full breasts, smiled as they instantly obeyed him. Apparently satisfied with their pert allegiance, Jess moved on to trace patterns of fire on Libby’s stomach, the rounding of her hips, the sensitive hollow at the base of her throat.

  Jess seemed determined to prove that he could subdue Libby at will, and he only smiled at the startled gasp she gave when it became apparent that all his prowess had returned in full and glorious force.

  He slid her robe off her shoulders then and removed it entirely. They were still joined, and Libby shivered as he toyed idly with her breasts, weighing them in his hands, pressing them together, thumbing their aching tips until they performed for him.

  Presently Jess left his sumptuous playthings to tamper elsewhere, wreaking still more havoc, eliciting little anxious cries from a bedazzled Libby.

  “What do you want, princess?” he asked in a voice of liquid steel.

  Libby was wild upon him, her hands clutching desperately at his shoulders, her knees wide. “I want to be…under you. Oh, Jess…under you…”

  In a swift and graceful motion, he turned her, was upon her. The movement unleashed the passion Jess had been able to contain until then, and he began to move over her and within her, his thrusts deep and powerful, his words ragged and incoherent.

  As their very souls collided and then fused together, imitating their bodies, it was impossible to tell who had prevailed over whom.

  Libby awakened first, entangled with Jess, amazed that they could have slept the whole night on that narrow couch.

  A smile lifted one corner of her mouth as she kissed Jess’s temple tenderly and then disengaged herself, careful not to disturb him. Heaven knew, he had a right to be tired.

  Twenty minutes later, when Libby returned from her shower, dressed in sandals, white slacks and a lightweight yellow sweater, Jess was still sleeping. She could empathize, for her own slumber had been fathomless.

  “I love you,” she said, and then she went to the kitchen and wrote a quick note on the blackboard there, explaining that she had gone shopping and would be back within a few hours.

  Getting into the rented car, which was parked in the gravel driveway near the front door, Libby spotted a cluster of colorful travel brochures fanned out on the opposite seat. Each one touted a different paradise: Acapulco, the Bahamas, Maui.

  As Libby slid the key into the ignition and started the car, she grinned. She had it on good authority that paradise was only a few yards away, on the couch where Jess lay sleeping.

  The day was a rich mixture of blue and green, set off by the fierce green of pine trees and the riotous blooms of crocuses and daffodils in quiet front yards. Downtown, Libby found a parking place immediately, locked the car and hurried on about her business.

  Her first stop was a jewelry store, and while she had anticipated a great quandary, the decision of which wedding band to buy for Jess proved an easy one. Her eyes were immediately drawn to one particular ring, forged of silver, inset with polished chips of turquoise.

  Once the jeweler had assured her the band could be resized if it didn’t fit Jess’s finger, Libby bought it.

  In an art-supply store she purchased a sketching pad and a gum eraser and some charcoal pencils. Sweet as this interlude with Jess had been, Libby missed her work and her fingers itched to draw. Too, there were all sorts of new ideas for the comic strip bubbling in her mind.

  From the art store, Libby pressed on to a good-sized department store. None of the dresses there quite struck her fancy, and she moved on to one boutique and then another.

  Finally, in a small and wickedly expensive shop, she found that special dress, that dress of dresses, the one she would wear when she married Jess Barlowe.

  It was a clingy creation of burgundy silk, showing off her figure, bringing a glow of color to her cheeks. There were no ruffles of lace or fancy buttons—only a narrow belt made of the same fabric as the dress itself. It was the last word in elegant simplicity, that garment, and Libby adored it.

  Carrying the dress box and the heavy bag of art supplies, she hurried back to the car and locked her purchases inside. It was only a little after ten, and Libby wanted to find shoes that would match her dress.

  The shoes proved very elusive, and only after almost an hour of searching did she find a pair that would do. Tired of shopping and anxious to see Jess again, Libby started home.

  Some intuitive feeling made her uneasy as she drove toward the elegant condominium hidden in the tall trees. After crossing the wooden bridge and making the last turn, she knew w
hy— Stacey’s ice-blue Ferrari was parked in the driveway.

  Don’t be silly, Libby reprimanded herself, but she still felt alarmed. What if Stacey had come to try to talk her out of marrying Jess? What if Cathy was with him, and there was an unpleasant scene?

  Determined not to let her imagination get the upper hand, Libby gathered up her loot from the shopping trip and got out of the car. As she approached the house, she caught sight of a familiar face at the window and was surprised all over again. Monica! What on earth was she doing here? Hadn’t she left for Washington, D.C., with the senator?

  Now Libby really hesitated. She remembered the proprietary looks the woman had given Jess as he swam that day in the pool at the main ranch house. Looks that had implied intimacy.

  Libby sighed. So what if Jess and Monica had slept together? She could hardly have expected a man like him to live like a monk, and it wasn’t as if Libby hadn’t had a prior relationship herself, however unsatisfactory.

  Despite the cool sanity of this logic, it hurt to imagine Jess making love with Monica—or with any other woman, for that matter.

  Libby grappled with her purchases at the front door, reached for the knob. Before she could clasp it, the door opened.

  Jess was standing there, shirtless, wearing jeans, his hair and suntanned chest still damp from a recent shower. Instead of greeting Libby with a smile, let alone a kiss, he scowled at her and stepped back almost grudgingly, as though he had considered refusing her entrance.

  Bewildered and hurt, Libby resisted a primal instinct urging her to flee and walked in.

  Monica had left the window and was now seated comfortably on the couch, her shapely legs crossed at the knee, a cocktail in her hand.

  Libby took in the woman’s sleek designer suit and felt shabby by comparison in her casual attire. “Hello, Monica.”

  “Libby,” replied Monica with a polite nod.

  The formalities dispensed with, Libby flung a hesitant look at Jess. Why was he glaring at her like that, as though he wanted to do her bodily harm? Why was his jawline so tight, and why was it that he clenched the towel draped around his neck in white-knuckled hands?

  Before Libby could voice any of her questions, Stacey came out of the kitchen, raked her with guileless caramel eyes and smiled.

  “Hello,” he said, as though his very presence, under the circumstances, was not an outrage.

  Libby only stared at him. She was very conscious of Jess, seething somewhere on the periphery of her vision, and of Monica, taking in the whole scene with detached amusement.

  Suddenly Stacey was coming toward Libby, speaking words she couldn’t seem to hear. Then he had the outright gall to kiss her, and Libby’s inertia was broken.

  She drew back her hand and slapped him, her dress box, purse and bag of art supplies falling to the floor.

  Stacey reached out for her, caught her waist in his hands. She squirmed and flung one appealing look in Jess’s direction.

  Though he looked anything but chivalrous, he did intercede. “Leave Libby alone, Stacey.”

  Stacey paled. “I’ve left Cathy,” he said, as though that settled everything. “Libby, we can be together now!”

  Libby stumbled backward, stunned. Only when she came up against the hard barrier of Jess’s soap-scented body did she stop. Wild relief went through her as he enclosed her in a steel-like protective embrace.

  “Get out,” he said flatly, addressing his brother.

  Stacey hesitated, but then he reddened and left the condo in a huff, pulling Monica Summers behind him.

  Chapter 10

  Furious and shaken, Libby turned to glare at Jess. It was all too clear what had happened— Stacey had been telling more of his outrageous lies and Jess had believed them.

  For a few moments he stubbornly returned her angry regard, but then he spread his hands in a gesture of concession and said, “I’m sorry.”

  Libby was trembling now, but she stooped to pick up her dress box, and the art-store bag. She couldn’t look at Jess or he would see the tears that had clouded her eyes. “After all we’ve done and planned, how could you, Jess? How could you believe Stacey?”

  He was near, very near— Libby was conscious of him in every sense. He moved to touch her, instantly stopped himself. “I said I was sorry.”

  Libby forgot that she’d meant to hide her tears and looked him full in the face. Her voice shook with anger when she spoke. “Sometimes being sorry isn’t enough, Jess!” She carried the things she’d bought across the room, tossed them onto the couch. “Is this what our marriage is going to be like? Are we going to do just fine as long as we aren’t around Stacey?”

  Jess was standing behind her; his hands came to rest on her shoulders. “What can I say, Libby? I was jealous. That may not be right, but it’s human.”

  Perhaps because she wanted so desperately to believe that everything would turn out all right, that a marriage to this wonderful, contradictory man would succeed, Libby set aside her doubts and turned to face Jess. The depth of her love for this erstwhile enemy still staggered her. “What did Stacey tell you?”

  Jess drew in an audible breath, and for a moment there was a tightness in his jaw. Then he sighed and said, “He was sharing the glorious details of your supposed affair. And he had a remarkable grasp on what you like in bed, Libby.”

  The words were wounding, but Libby was strong. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe all women like essentially the same things?”

  Jess didn’t answer, but Libby could see that she had made her mark, and she rushed on.

  “Exactly what was Monica’s part in all this?” she demanded hotly. “Was she here to moderate your sexual discussion? Why the hell isn’t she in Washington, where she belongs?”

  Jess shrugged, obviously puzzled. “I’m not sure why she was here.”

  “I am! Once you were diverted from your disastrous course—marrying me—she was going to take you by the hand and lead you home!”

  One side of Jess’s mouth lifted in a grin. “I’m not the only one who is prone to jealousy, it appears.”

  “You were involved with her, weren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  The bluntness of the answer took Libby unawares, but only for a moment. After all, had Jess said no, she would have known he was lying and that would have been devastating. “Did you love Monica?”

  “No. If I had, I would have married her.”

  The possible portent of those words buoyed Libby’s flagging spirits. “Passion wouldn’t be enough?” she ventured.

  “To base a marriage on? Never. Now, let’s see what you bought today.”

  Let’s see what you bought today. Libby’s frustration knew no bounds, but she was damned if she was going to pry those three longed-for words out of him—she’d fished enough as it was. “I bought a wedding dress, for your information. And you’re not going to see it until tomorrow, so don’t pester me about it.”

  He laughed. “I like a woman who is loyal to her superstitions. What else did you purchase, milady?”

  Libby’s sense of financial independence, nurtured during the insecure days with Aaron, chafed under the question. “I didn’t use your money, so what do you care?” she snapped.

  Jess arched one eyebrow. “Another touchy subject rears its ugly head. I was merely curious, my love— I didn’t ask for a meeting with your accountant.”

  Feeling foolish, Libby made a great project of opening the art-store bag and spreading its contents out on the couch.

  Jess was grinning as he assessed the array of pencils, the large sketchbook. “Have I been boring you, princess?”

  Libby pulled a face at him. “You could be called many things, Jess Barlowe, but you are definitely not boring.”

  “Thank you— I think. Shall we brave the car dealers of Kalispell again, or are you going to be busy?” The question was guileless, indicating that Jess would have understood if she wanted to stay and block out some of the ideas that had come to her.

/>   After Aaron, who had viewed her cartooning as a childish hobby, Jess’s attitude was a luxury. “I think I’d rather go with you,” she said with a teasing smile. “If I don’t you might come home with some motorized horror that has horns on its hood.”

  “Your faith in my good taste is positively underwhelming,” he replied, walking toward the ladder, climbing its rungs to the loft in search of a shirt.

  “You were right!” Libby called after him. “The view from down here is marvelous!”

  During that foray into the jungle of car salesmen and gasoline-fed beasts, Libby spent most of her time in the passenger seat of Jess’s rented car, sketching. Instead of drawing Liberated Lizzie, her cartoon character, however, she found herself reproducing Jess’s image.

  She imagined him looking out over the stunning view of prairies and mountains at home and drew him in profile, the wind ruffling his hair, a pensive look to his eyes and the set of his face. Another sketch showed him laughing, and still another, hidden away in the middle of the drawing pad, not meant for anyone else to see, mirrored the way Jess looked when he wanted her.

  To field the responses the drawing evoked in her, Libby quickly sketched Cathy’s portrait, and then Ken’s. After that, strictly from memory, she drew a picture of Jonathan, full face, as he’d looked before his illness, then, on the same piece of paper, in a profile that revealed the full ravages of his disease.

  She supposed it was morbid, including this aspect of the child, but to leave out his pain would have meant leaving out his courage, and Jonathan deserved better.

  Touching his charcoal image with gentle, remembering fingers, Libby heard the echo of his voice in her mind. Naturally I’m brave, he’d told her once, at the end of a particularly difficult day. I’m a Jedi knight, like Luke Skywalker.

  Smiling through a mist of tears, Libby added another touch to the sketch—a tiny figure of Jonathan, well and strong, wielding a light saber in valiant defense of the Rebel Alliance.