“What in the hell is wrong with you?” he muttered, but he did as she said. “I’m calling 911 as soon as I get you on your bed.”
“No. Pharmacy…in the drawer.”
“Pharmacy? You want me to call the pharmacy?”
“No. I mean…medicine.”
“There’s medicine in the drawer? Is that what you’re saying?”
She whimpered. “Don’t yell.”
“Honey, you’ve never heard me talk as softly as I am right now. You’ve also never known me to be as worried as I am at this exact moment.”
Worried. He was worried about her. She didn’t want that, but she couldn’t think of a thing to say to get him to go away.
With her eyes still closed, she sensed when they passed through the double doors of her bedroom. There, with a gentleness she wouldn’t have thought him capable of, he laid her on the bed and adjusted one of the pillows behind her head. Without further discussion, he switched on her bedside lamp and opened the drawer of the nightstand. He cursed beneath his breath.
She knew what he’d seen, but she no longer had any control over the situation. Tears were stinging at the back of her eyes. The light was piercing her skull. She blindly reached out for a pillow and pulled it over her eyes.
She heard him stride into her bathroom, heard water running; then, after several moments, the mattress shifted with his weight as he sat down beside her.
“Jill, honey? Can you open your eyes? You need to look at me for a second.”
It was the last thing she wanted to do. The light was going to be intolerable. She dragged the pillow off her face and slowly opened her eyes. With each hand, Colin held up six pill bottles by their tops.
“Which do you need?”
She pointed to one.
“How many?”
She held up one finger.
He lifted her head and slid his arm behind her shoulders to brace her. She took the pill with a gulp of water from the glass he offered.
She settled back onto the pillow, her eyes once again closed. “The light…” The lamp was turned off before she could finish the sentence. The only other light came from a low-wattage lamp in her bathroom. She tended to leave that one on all the time, which was good, because once he left, it would be safer for her if she had some light, in case she decided she needed more medication or had to go to the bathroom. “Thank you. You can leave now. I’ll be fine.” If the pain didn’t let up soon, she was going to have to try something else.
“I’m glad you’re going to be fine, but in the meantime, I think I should call your doctor.”
Even with pain pounding in her head, she could appreciate the texture of his voice—low-pitched and husky with concern. “No.”
“Jill, I’m not blind. You’re in severe pain. Your doctor should know.”
“He knows.”
She heard him exhale a long breath. “Okay, if I see that you’re feeling better within the next thirty minutes, I’ll hold off calling him for now. But I am staying with you.”
“No.” She would never be able to relax with him there.
“Shh. Don’t try to argue with me, because you won’t win. Besides, it’s clearly too much of an effort for you.”
He was right about that. Then, though any movement was going to be hard, she managed to roll her head slightly on the pillow and tried to reach the hairpins that had her hair bound so tightly into its French twist. Her movement brought a wave of nausea with it, and she faltered.
He gently brushed her hand aside and did it himself. When all the pins were out, he slowly, tenderly combed his fingers through her hair until it was loose and her scalp didn’t feel quite as tight. Then he took her hand in his and softly stroked her forearm. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but surprisingly, his touch soothed. Normally she didn’t like to be touched.
She tried to calculate the consequences of Colin’s having seen her at her most vulnerable, but no thoughts could form when there was so much pain, pain that was exhausting her as she tried to fight it. So she lay very still, waiting, praying for the medicine to kick in.
“What about your dress?” she heard him ask. “Would you be more comfortable in something else?”
Yes, she would, but she simply wasn’t up to changing. “Not now.”
“Let me know when you think you can move without so much pain.”
She attempted to blank her mind, but she was too aware of the pain, too aware of the man stroking her arm.
Colin carefully watched her, trying to think of what else he could do for her. He had recognized a couple of the names on the prescription bottles. It was medicine used for migraine headaches. Several people he knew had them. How long, he wondered, had Jill been suffering from them?
From what he’d heard about migraines, she was a prime candidate for them—type A personality, a perfectionist through and through who worked extremely hard.
Tonight had been a perfect example. She hadn’t enjoyed the party. She had worked the party. And he knew her well enough to know that his invitation, along with many others, had been extended to make up the numbers she needed. There had really been only two or three people she had wanted to talk to, though she was a professional at camouflaging her intent.
His eyes traveled down her body. For the party, she had worn a high-necked, narrow column of ivory silk crepe that discreetly skimmed her body, leaving only her arms bare. It was a dress in perfect taste, yet on her, it had a subtle sexiness to it that was enough to bring a man—hell, him—to the point where he was almost ready to beg to see more. But he knew that was no way to get to Jill, so he had forced himself to stay away from her and merely watch.
From the first moment he’d met her, something about her had gotten to him. She was a classically, breathtakingly beautiful woman, with her sleek dark hair and lovely bourbon-colored eyes. They had both been attending a glittering affair in a gilded ballroom with tall candles, the room filled with women draped in jewels and shimmering gowns. But to him, Jill had stood out among the peacocks. She’d worn no jewels, only the unadorned elegance of a slim, strapless, red velvet gown. He could still remember how her skin had glowed in the candlelight.
Right off the bat, she’d rebuffed him in a manner that had been almost automatic. He’d been amused. Rebuffing men was obviously instinctive with her, and because of it, he’d been challenged.
At first his attraction had been simple and basic—a burning, hungry, primal need that made him want to grab her, take her to the nearest place where they could be alone and have sex with her until they were both too spent and tired to do anything but go to sleep.
He had watched her for the rest of that evening, and as he did, there had been a moment when she had turned away from someone she’d been talking with. In that instant, he’d seen something that had connected with him on his deepest, most elemental level. In that moment, he had recognized a depth in her that held much more than what she allowed the world to see. Still, he wasn’t certain what it was about her that he had connected with so strongly. Only later, after other encounters, had he figured it out.
Loss and need.
He had seen scars of loss in her, wounds not entirely healed and hurts remembered as if they had happened yesterday. He had recognized that in her because he had some of the same things in him, maybe not as deep, maybe not as hurtful, but he definitely knew what loss and need were all about. Their experiences might have been different, but the pain was the same.
The knowledge made him realize that the wait for her to turn and look at him as a desirable man whom she wanted in her life would be well worth the patience that would be required. The knowledge also made him more determined than ever to have her, because he knew that, deep inside, where all the holes and hurt were, they could help each other.
It hadn’t taken him long to learn she was interested in only one man. Des Baron. Once he’d figured out the whys and wherefores, he had known she and Des wouldn’t work out. The bone-deep certainty had come from knowing that he w
as the only man she should ever be with, and that sooner or later he was going to make her his. What he hadn’t known was how long it would take him. Luckily, he had plenty of patience.
He had made it his business to study her, learn her moods—what made her happy, what made her unhappy. It hadn’t been easy. Jill, by her own design, had built a formidable barrier around herself. Only recently had he begun to see cracks in her barrier—small cracks, true, but for Jill, even a tiny splinter fracture was extraordinary.
Maybe the ongoing problem of the migraines had been the cause of the cracks. Or perhaps she was simply running out of challenges, something he knew, because he had made it a priority to know every move she made, business, as well as personal. And because of it, he could almost guarantee he knew what was coming next. It was what he’d been waiting for.
But tonight, as the party had continued, he’d noticed that her eyes had taken on a bruised look, something someone who knew her only on a social or a business level wouldn’t have noticed. But he had, and it was the reason he had returned.
“How are you doing?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you feel like putting on something else now?”
A shudder racked her body. “I’m cold.”
Before she could say anything more, he was up and walking into her closet. He dismissed the rows of perfectly hung business suits, dresses, blouses and skirts, and zeroed in on a full-length beige knit nightgown with long sleeves and a matching robe. His hand closed over the knit. It was a cashmere blend. Perfect. Someone in pain should be encased in softness.
Beside her again, he saw that her eyes were open. He tossed the matching robe on the end of the bed. “Is this okay?” He held up the gown.
She gave an ever-so-slight nod, then closed her eyes once more. “I can do it.”
It made sense that, under any circumstances, she would be adamantly opposed to having him help her change her clothes, but tonight her formidable determination to control all things involving herself was vastly diminished, and as weak as she appeared, she wouldn’t be able to change her clothes without help.
He had to divert her attention, and he had the perfect topic. “I know you can,” he murmured casually, “but as long as I’m here, I might as well make myself useful.”
With the greatest of care, he raised her to a sitting position. He had pitched his voice so low he wasn’t certain she could hear him, but there was one statement he knew would probably raise her from the dead. “Besides, there’s something I need to tell you—well, really it’s a confession, and it’s this. I know you’ll agree with me when I say how seldom I’m wrong.” She made a faint sound of disgust. He smiled. She could hear him. Good. “Well, as it turns out, I was wrong tonight. You don’t have Des up here, after all.”
“Des didn’t…come.”
“He never comes to your parties, does he?”
“Some.”
“Anyone would think he didn’t like you.” He quickly slid the zipper down to below her waist, then slipped the dress off her arms.
“He likes…”
The lined dress fell to her waist. He paused, and his throat went dry when he saw the cream-colored, sheer lacy bra she was wearing. He brought her forward to lean against him so that he could reach around her and undo the bra. Perfume rose from her skin as the bra fell away to reveal rose-colored areolas and tight pointed nipples. He felt himself harden, and his mouth began to water.
He tossed the bra toward the closet and forced himself to continue. “I’m guessing that you’ve decided now is the time to pull out all the stops and go after him, am I right?” He slipped the sleeveless knit gown over her head. “Raise your arms for me.”
“No.” There was a lack of comprehension in her bruised eyes, but he sensed she was trying hard to focus on what he was saying. “Des likes me.”
“Yes, he does—as a member of his family. Lift your arms, honey, so I can put on the gown.” Slowly she did. “But I feel I should tell you that you don’t have a chance in hell of getting him into bed, much less to the altar.”
“No. I do. I mean, why…why would you think I don’t?”
He forced himself to concentrate on getting her arms through the openings of the gown’s sleeves and not looking at her breasts. Still, the back of his hand brushed the top of one of them, causing his breath to catch in his throat. He almost groaned. Her breasts were exactly as he had imagined them to be—high, round and firm, large enough to fill his hands, but not large enough to make a man’s neck whip around when she walked by. Just as he liked, wanted.
“Well, first of all,” he said, the huskiness in his voice revealing the effect she was having on him, “as I said before, he considers you family, and I can’t see you changing his mind on that. After all, you’re not exactly a femme fatale, now are you?”
“I am…”
He pulled the gown down over her breasts, thankful that he had finished that part of undressing her. It had to be the most difficult part. At least, he hoped it would be. He didn’t know how much temptation he could stand. “You are what?”
“A femme…”
“Fatale?” he supplied when she couldn’t seem to come up with the last word.
“Yes.” She looked down at the gown that covered her to her waist as if she’d didn’t have a clue how it had gotten there.
“Lie back down.” He cradled her head in his palm and eased her back to the pillow and bed. “As for you being a femme fatale, I would really like to agree with you, but I’m afraid I can’t.” An out-and-out lie, but now was not the time to profess how easily she could make him want her. Even a gesture as simple as lifting a canape to her mouth could have him fighting to resist vaulting the table and kissing her until all her barriers were down and she didn’t care where she was or who was watching.
He stood, bent over her and eased the rest of the ivory sheath over her hips, down her legs and off. For a minute he just stared. She was wearing a tiny scrap of silk and lace that matched her bra.
“I’m going to have Des eating out of my…”
“Hand?” Once again he supplied the word she couldn’t seem to come up with, but his voice was rough with the desire that was rising in him, too fast, too uncontrolled. He had to be careful. As out of it as she was, she still might begin to notice.
“I need him.”
He cleared his throat. “The problem is, you say you need him, but you don’t. It’s a matter of what you want—you want the fifty percent of Baron International Des will inherit from your uncle William when William dies, so that you can screw your sisters to the wall with your majority holding.” He forced himself to toss the panties toward the bra and pull the gown down as much as he could.
“Yes. No.” She pressed her hand to a spot above her right temple. “When we marry, I’ll gain his fifty percent of…our, uh…business. Company.”
“That’s what I just said.”
She remained silent, obviously trying to figure out the conversation.
“Are you that anxious for your uncle William to die?”
Her eyes flew open, then quickly closed again. “No. I love him.”
“Sometimes I wonder if you even know how to love,” he muttered. “No one would think so if they heard your plan.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Sit up again.” As before, he helped her up. She was like a limp doll, her body working only because of his strength. He pulled the top covers from beneath her and slid her pillow back into position as he slowly returned her head to its softness. He couldn’t tell whether she was feeling less pain or not. “Besides, strictly speaking, you won’t gain the fifty percent, Des will, and who knows what he’ll want to do with it.”
“Once we’re married…”
“If you marry him, you mean. But for argument’s sake, let’s say you do get him to marry you. Do you honestly think he’s going to be so overwhelmed by your feminine charms that he’ll just hand over his percentage?”
“Yes, he—”
“Think again, honey. Besides, do you really think you’re the only woman who wants Des? And not for his future percentage of Baron International, either.”
“Who?”
Now it was a fairly easy task to pull her gown over her hips down to her ankles, straighten it, then draw the covers from beneath her legs, up and over her.
“Is that better? Do you feel warmer now?”
She gave a small sigh, and he hoped the sigh meant she felt at least a bit more comfortable.
After a moment, she frowned. “Des will…” Once again she pressed her hand to the same spot she had before, the spot above her right temple. “He’s never shown interest…”
“You’re right. He’s never shown any interest in Baron International, but I wouldn’t bet against him once he inherits his father’s portion. In case you don’t know it, Des is a very astute businessman. How are you feeling now?”
“I…” She stopped, and he had the feeling she was having to evaluate the pain, which meant he’d been somewhat successful in preoccupying her.
“It’s still bad.”
He checked his watch. “It’s been fifteen minutes since I gave you your medication. Should you be feeling less pain by now?”
“I will.”
“You mean you’ll feel better soon?”
She didn’t respond. Looking down at her beautiful pale face, he felt more helpless than he could ever remember. “I’m going to call your doctor. Where’s the number?”
She moaned and made an attempt to move that was quickly ended. “Sniffer.”
“What?”
She lifted a shaky hand and pointed to the night-stand. “Sniffer.”
He jerked the drawer open, causing pill bottles to roll every which way. “Sniffer?” Then he saw it. An inhaler. He held it up. “Is this what you want?”
She stretched out her hand for it, and he gave it to her. With his help, she struggled up to one elbow, then looked at him. “This will…put me out and I’ll…be fine.”
“Okay.”
“Will you…go?”
“As soon as I know you’re okay, I’ll go.”
One puff from the inhaler and she fell back onto the pillow.
The Barons of Texas: Jill Page 2