Despite his cover, his body had taken full notice of that image, and that was something Mitch couldn’t pretend away. Cripes, he wasn’t a teenager anymore. He was twenty-eight, a successful businessman and horse rancher, and most importantly, sitting next to his brother’s wife.
No matter that Paul was dead, a vow was a vow. And that hot summer day when he and Paul had come to blows over a woman, they had vowed then and there never to get involved with a woman the other had feelings for. They both dumped the object of desire and made a blood promise. It was a turning point in their relationship. For the first time, they realized how unique and special their bond was.
Having the “coughing fit” under control, Mitch leaned back and watched Jenna again. She smelled sweet and clean, she looked warm and soft. She was Paul’s wife, the woman he’d loved. Hadn’t Mitch felt that so strongly, and then when she’d grabbed his arm in the kitchen, something else: Mitch felt Paul’s plea to protect her.
She’d said Paul’s heart had led her here, and now Mitch believed her. He had to look past the bizarre attraction he felt for her, an attraction that would lead nowhere, and find the truth. If Jenna could “feel” Paul, maybe through that connection she could tell Mitch what had happened the night their parents died. He already knew that Jenna wasn’t going to open that door readily, because that door could reveal an ugly truth that would rock their worlds.
Mitch wasn’t afraid to face it. Jenna obviously was. The truth had more dire consequences for him, and not knowing haunted his days, kept him from opening his soul and letting anyone in. He had to know, and he wasn’t willing to protect Jenna at the cost of that truth.
She looked at him then. “How old was Paul here?” She pointed at a picture of Paul sitting on Mickey Mouse’s lap at Disney World.
“We were nine.” Mitch knew she hadn’t asked his age, but where he and Paul were concerned, they were … well, they simply were.
What did surprise him was she never confused him and Paul. She smiled faintly at a picture of the twins in tuxedos at the age of ten, attending a fancy party in Dallas. Her finger rested on Paul’s image, making Mitch’s stomach twist. Beyond her smile, though, he could see the hurt of Paul’s betrayal. Like in the hallway, except that she wasn’t crying this time. He was glad; he couldn’t afford to hold her like that again.
Her faint smile disappeared when she got to the section of his and Paul’s teenage years. High school dances, proms, and Mitch and Paul with their dates. He couldn’t even remember the names of the girls in the photos. Paul hadn’t dated much, had only gotten really serious about one woman. Mitch stiffened at the thought, catching Jenna looking over at the movement.
“Bad memories?” she said, looking back at a picture of Mitch kissing his date’s cheek, hamming it up for the camera.
“Nah. Don’t even remember her name.” That wasn’t the woman he’d thought about.
“You seemed to have dated a lot more than Paul did.”
“He was looking for something … deeper. I only went out for fun. Most of the girls in town were only interested in one thing.” At her lifted eyebrow, he added, “Our money.”
“Oh, that explains your distrust.”
He narrowed his eyes. “There’s more to it than that.”
She backed down, turning the next page. It was her turn to stiffen at a picture of Paul among a group of people during a picnic. She pointed to the one particular woman Mitch had just been thinking about.
“Who is that?”
Her question was posed innocently, but he detected something tremulous beneath her voice. “Becky White. She’s the one Paul got most serious about.”
Jenna was blinking rapidly, though not in danger of crying. “When he left town … did she go with him?”
“No, he left her behind, too. Why?”
“Just wondered,” she said, lifting her shoulders. She didn’t fool him for a second. She was lying again. “She’s from here then?”
“Yeah, from, as my dad used to say, the white trash side of town. My parents couldn’t stand her, thought she was a gold digger. I think she reminded my father of where he’d come from; he grew up in the same part of town she did.” He focused on Jenna, curious about her reaction. She quickly turned the page, asking some question about another picture.
“You know her, don’t you?”
She didn’t meet his eyes. “How could I know her?” Another second or five of his relentless stare. “I don’t know her.”
She had a cute chin, slightly pointed, and he turned that chin toward him. “Why are you lying to me?”
“I’m not,” she stated, moving away from him as though his fingers were on fire.
“Did she send you here?”
That question jarred her, and she slammed the album closed. “I have never met the woman.”
“She’s dead.”
That didn’t seem to surprise her any. Jenna stood, holding the album to her chest like a shield of armor. “I need to get some rest. It’s been a long day.”
The sunlight had long faded, leaving them in a dark room but for the puddle of light on the couch. “Jenna, I want answers. It’s not asking too much.”
“Yes, it is.” She turned, setting the album down as she walked up the two steps and around the corner. “Just like my request was asking too much of you.”
He heard her footsteps on the stairs, then watched her walking toward her room. Her head was bent low, shoulders stiff as she disappeared into her room and quietly closed the door behind her. Mitch wanted to follow her, confront her. But his body stayed rooted to the floor as he realized what had set off the warning bell before.
Paul had died nine months ago in Maine.
And so had Becky White.
Chapter 5
Jenna’s mind wouldn’t shut down. Images and feelings bombarded her, refusing to let her flip the closed sign and turn off the lights.
On the other side of her door she could hear the television. Mitch kept the volume low, but the base rumbled right through the door. Betzi had said he couldn’t sleep at nights. Jenna pictured him sitting on the couch washed in the glow of the television. She sighed, turning over for the hundredth time. The man was impossible, insensitive and uncooperative. So why was she picturing him at all?
Guilt propelled her from her bed, and she whispered an apology to Paul. It’s because of my heart, and your connection to him. That’s the only reason I’m having these feelings. I don’t want them, believe me! The guy’s a jerk, nothing like you at all.
Her traitorous body agreed, flushing with the heat of remembering the way he’d touched her in the hallway. She hadn’t so much as had a thought about sex since her surgery. She was just now gaining her weight back, but the scar was still deep red, still looked like a zipper that Dr. Frankenstein left behind to open her up again if need be. The only man she wanted to see her naked, to make love with, was Paul.
She wore silk pajamas, and even those she buttoned way up to her neck. For a moment she stood at the door, listening. Maybe Mitch had fallen asleep on the couch.
Jenna stepped out into the hallway. The television sent crazy reflections across the walls, but downstairs the lights were out. Only the recessed hallway lights were still burning. Her intention was to keep close to the wall and walk down to the gallery again, but she found herself walking to the balcony.
Just as she’d pictured, Mitch sat in the undulating lights, arm extended as he aimed the remote control, feet up on the coffee table. He wore white cotton pants and no shirt, hair loose and wild-looking, as if he’d been running his fingers through it. She had given no indication that she was up there, but he started to look in her direction.
She moved on down the hallway, not ready for another confrontation with him. Tomorrow morning she would leave. She could not let Paul keep her here any longer. Besides, she and Mitch had come to an impasse. He would not help her, and she could not help him. Learning the truth was too high a price for her memories. She knew that Mitc
h wasn’t telling her the whole story, just as she was holding back. It was just as well.
There was another door on the right after she passed the foyer opening. It was closed, but she found herself pausing before it. She pushed herself on, stopping at her destination. The overwhelming grief didn’t come this time, though she was enveloped in a bittersweet warmth as she studied each picture. She reached out, touching a young Paul on a tricycle. He looked so happy, and it made Jenna face the truth: those pictures back home weren’t lying and she wasn’t imagining it. Behind Paul’s smiles lingered a shadow, and that shadow originated here, probably at the time he’d left. Probably because of the reason he’d left.
She’d hoped to take a picture or two home with her, but they would remind her of that shadow. Besides, she’d have to ask Mitch, and she didn’t want to ask him for anything else. She’d be fine with never seeing him again. Coward! her inner voice cried out. Yes, she was a coward. Because she could still feel Mitch standing there pressing her cheek against his shoulder, could still feel the way his hard chest felt against her breasts … stop it!
In keeping with her admitted cowardice, she decided to take herself back to bed before Mitch came up and found her there with a flush on her cheeks. She stayed close to the left wall, hoping that Mitch wouldn’t see her walk by.
As she passed the door she’d noticed before, her body came to a halt.
That anxious feeling crept through her. She stared at the doorknob, a fancy brass-looking thing. Before she knew it, she had opened the door and stepped inside.
In the light from the hallway, she made out a bed and dresser. French doors led out onto a balcony, and faint moonlight spilled in through the square panes of glass.
It was Paul’s room. She knew it, though nothing in particular gave her that impression. She tried to turn around, not wanting to go any farther. She didn’t belong there, did not want to be there. Dread edged in on her, the same way it had when she’d approached this house.
Her feet took her to the bed anyway, and she found her hand hovering over the tufted surface of the bedspread. Carved bedposts adorned each corner of the bed, and she redirected her hand toward them. Like the pine tree earlier, she felt as though they could keep her from sitting on the bed, or going farther into the room.
The air conditioner kicked on, washing cold, fresh air down on her face and shoulders. Her fingers curled around the wood, and her body went stiff. Anguish, deep and complete, overtook her. Anguish, remorse, and the sound of Paul’s muffled cries. The sensations crashed through her like cymbals, dizziness dropping her to her knees. Jenna thought nothing could be as terrible as what she’d felt upon hearing of Paul’s death, but this was far, far worse.
What have you done? A woman’s voice rang through Jenna’s head, urgent words filled with shock. And again, Paul’s anguish rocked her. She curled up into a ball, overwhelmed by his wracking sobs.
“What have you done?” It was her own voice now uttering the words over and over again.
“My God, what’s wrong?”
Jenna lifted her head, finding Mitch at the doorway, chest heaving. All she could do was tell him, “I don’t know,” in a thick, throaty voice that didn’t even sound like her.
He dropped down beside her, checking her for perhaps some injury. “What happened?”
Before she could stop herself, she reached for him. Her arms went around his neck, and she buried her face against his bare chest. She couldn’t stop crying, but it was Paul’s anguish that still had her in its hold. It was only the feel of Mitch’s arms sliding around her waist that started to quell the tears. She felt like a lost little girl, all curled up against him, unable to think of letting go. She couldn’t think past the safe, warm way he made her feel. He held her tight, his cheek touching her forehead, one hand sliding up and down her back.
When the tears subsided at last, exhaustion crippled her. She didn’t want to move, did not want to leave the warmth of Mitch’s body. She wiped her eyes and nose on the sleeve of her top.
He kept stroking her back as he softly said, “Jenna, tell me what happened.”
She slowly lifted her head, finding herself looking at his mouth. He still hadn’t shaved, but the hairs were long enough to be soft and not prickly. Her cheek brushed against those hairs, and she moved slowly back and forth. All of a sudden she wasn’t tired anymore. She hadn’t felt so alive since she could remember, body pressed against his, the feel of his soft hair twining between her fingers.
When she raised her eyes to his, he was watching her, pupils wide and dark. Their mouths were almost touching, so close her lower lip felt the hairs just below his. The anguish had left her in a daze, feeling needy and empty. But Mitch completed her, filled her. The hand he’d been stroking her back with slipped up into her hair, sending goosebumps over her neck. She closed her eyes, leaning forward the slightest bit, just enough to feel the softness of his lips. He opened his mouth a little, moving his lower lip along the bottom edge of her upper lip. She became aware of his other hand, squeezing softly where he’d been holding her waist.
She let out a sigh as desire surged through her body. Their lips were still grazing, testing. He’d been eating chocolate brownies, and that made her hungry in a way that had nothing to do with food. Blood rushed to her every nerve ending, making them ache to feel his touch. She felt the heat emanating from his body, enveloping her in that spicy-sweet scent. She wanted to merge with him, to melt right into him. His skin felt hot beneath her hands, soft skin, hard beneath. Her fingers swam in the waves of his hair, and even that seemed so intimate, so possessive.
She’d never felt anything like this before, this urgency, this rush that enveloped all her senses. Her eyes opened slightly, and in the dim light she saw that his eyes were closed, lost as she, lost …
Way too lost. She scrambled to find her way back. Wherever this was, this place of heat and desire and passion, was not where she belonged. It was a dangerous, foreign land. Somehow, through the mist, she knew this. Her body screamed that she belonged right there, and nowhere else.
No, I belong with Paul. Paul, my husband. This is wrong.
“Oh, my … oh, my,” she mumbled, losing her balance in her hurry to get away. She found her footing, but her knees were so weak, she dropped down on the bed.
Mitch had pulled his knees up, rubbing his face with both hands. He gave his head a shake and looked at her, that sexy haze still in his eyes. “Now that you’ve got me totally inside out and upside down, you wanna tell me what that was all about?”
How could his voice sound so steady? She looked away from him, shame reddening her face, but he drew her back the same way Paul had drawn her into the room. She caught her gaze drifting down to the mouth she’d almost kissed, and to her horror, still wanted to. Why didn’t it feel anything like Paul’s? Their mouths looked alike, but she’d never felt with Paul the way she had with Mitch.
She rubbed the palm of her hand across her mouth, hoping to erase the feel of his mouth on hers, and the tickle of the tiny hairs. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I think I must be going crazy.”
“We’re in sync so far.”
At those words, she dared a look at him again. He was serious. Well, as serious as he could look with his bare chest and mussed hair, hair she had mussed … .
She looked away again. “I came in here …” She wanted to make up some lie to cover what she’d felt, to make it all sound logical so he’d drop it. But she was so bad at lying.
“You just happened to pick Paul’s old room.”
That got her attention. “This is Paul’s room, isn’t it? It was like he led me in here, the same way he led me to you. I mean to your house,” she added, flushing again. No way could she blame that on Paul!
When she hesitated, he asked, “Why were you crying? I mean, bawling like all your horses went up in a barn fire.” He propped his chin on the arm that spanned his knees, waiting for her answer.
“I don’t know.” He w
asn’t buying it. His eyes narrowed, the way they had every time she lied to him. Lousy liar, she chastised. “I felt this-this anguish. And remorse. I could feel it when I touched the bedpost, Paul’s feelings.”
He seemed to digest this, his expression becoming more somber. “I heard you say, ‘What have you done?'”
“I did?”
“Over and over, before I came in.”
Before she’d nearly thrown herself at him. Jenna would never forgive herself for that. Sure, she’d enjoyed making love with Paul, but it wasn’t an experience she couldn’t live without. She sometimes daydreamed about making love with Paul again, but she didn’t crave it. In Mitch’s arms, she craved the touch of his skin against hers, the taste of his mouth, even the feel of those tiny hairs. She blinked, unnerved by the direction of her thoughts, disdained to find him studying her.
“I don’t know what it meant. I don’t,” she repeated when he gave her that skeptical look again. She stood, hoping her knees would keep her upright this time. “I think I should be getting to bed now.”
He was on his feet before she could even begin to move, hand curled around the bedpost, blocking her way. “Uh-uh. I want to know something, and I want the truth.” He was standing close, muscles tense. She realized she was staring at his chest. Apparently he did, too, because he lifted her chin with his finger, making her meet his eyes. “When you curled up in my lap …” He let the words drift off. They were hard enough for Jenna to hear, much less the rest of it. “Where you thinking I was Paul?”
“Yes.” The word was automatic, borne of guilt and not truth. His hand dropped from her chin. She had to think it over, and not with Mitch’s eyes boring into her. Damn him and his truth!
Mitch blinked, then shifted his eyes away, fingers tightening around the post. He didn’t want her to see the spear of disappointment that shot through him at that word, spoken so surely. He deadened his gaze to her, the woman who loved his twin so damned much she’d pretend Mitch was him. She’d pretend to have Paul’s baby with Mitch’s semen. Damn Paul for being so lucky, when it was his careless love for Becky that made Mitch so wary.
In a Heartbeat Page 7