by Noelle Adams
She liked him more than she’d expected to on first meeting. He was certainly bitter and isolated, but he was also clever, observant, and surprisingly funny. So she smiled at him brightly and said she’d be happy for him to join them if Jonathan didn’t mind.
She looked over at Jonathan. “Is that all right, honey? Can Ben come?” She wasn’t quite sure why she added the endearment, but she suspected they weren’t doing a very good job of acting like a couple, and it seemed like a “honey” moment.
He blinked at her. “Sure.”
He didn’t say anything else, but that wasn’t unusual for Jonathan. So Sarah assumed they were all satisfied with the arrangement.
***
Sarah was glad Ben had come along after all, since Jonathan was very bad company that day.
She had no idea what was wrong with him. He wasn’t his normal, matter-of-fact self. He was curt, grumpy, and occasionally even rude—and it seemed to get worse as the morning progressed.
Bath was only a half-hour from the manor, so they got there early. They went through the Roman baths and the Jane Austen museum. Then they just wandered the quaint streets, admiring the architecture and stopping for coffee in a charming tea room.
Sarah would have had a very good time if Jonathan hadn’t been acting like an ass.
At least Ben was better company.
He certainly wasn’t charming or talkative, but Sarah was good with laconic men. After all, she’d spent three years working with Jonathan. She soon grew to realize that Ben wasn’t anything like Jonathan. He wasn’t reserved by nature the way Jonathan was. If he hadn’t been so cynical and scarred, he probably would have been as charming and charismatic as Andrew. When she managed to get him talking about books or history, he was really quite interesting and compelling.
He had no interest in Jane Austen but then neither did Jonathan. They both traipsed through the sites with her, though, Ben mocking her enthusiasm and Jonathan saying nothing at all.
They decided to have lunch before they headed over to Stonehenge. When Ben got up to go to the bathroom, Sarah had had enough.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she gritted out, keeping her voice low so the nearby tables couldn’t hear.
Jonathan had been staring down at his empty plate, but he looked over at her now with raised eyebrows. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“That’s obviously a lie. You’ve been an asshole all morning.”
“I haven’t said anything rude or inappropriate.”
She gave a huff of indignation. “You haven’t said anything at all, and you’ve flat-out ignored half of what Ben has said. He’s really trying.”
Something grew cold and still in Jonathan’s eyes—something she couldn’t begin to understand. “Trying to do what?”
Her mouth dropped open in astonishment and incomprehension. “Trying to be nice. He’s your cousin and you barely ever see him. The least you could do is meet him halfway. Jonathan, he’s trying to be nice.”
“Is that what you think?”
The words were so uncharacteristically clipped that she suddenly understood something. “Are you angry with me?” she asked.
He just looked at her. Didn’t say anything. And she knew, just from the expression in his eyes and the tension on his face, that there was something major going on inside him that he hadn’t even begun to express.
She wanted to shake it out of him. She was suddenly so angry she could have slapped him. “Damn it, Jonathan,” she hissed. “You’re the most frustrating man in the world. If you’re upset about something, you need to say it. I have no idea what I’ve done, so it’s never going to get better if you don’t tell me.”
She stared at him, flushed and panting. He just looked back at her. His breathing had picked up too, and his hand had fisted on his lap, but he gave no other sign of what was bothering him.
“Why the hell can’t you say it?” she demanded. “If you’re mad at me, I need to know why.”
For just a moment, she thought he was going to tell her—it was like something was coiled inside him, ready to spring free.
But then he let out a breath and looked away. “I’m not mad at you, Sarah. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
She knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, but she still wanted to know what had upset him. Gazing at his handsome and now passive face for several seconds, she realized she wasn’t going to know.
It was just midday, but he needed to shave again. She could see the dark bristles on his strong jaw. She wanted to stroke them, to feel them beneath her hand.
She wanted to hit him and take care of him both. It was a very disorienting feeling.
“Jonathan?” she asked thickly.
He just shook his head.
She gave up and finished off the sparkling water in her glass. And then she realized that he was still her boss, and she’d spoken to him in a way that might be considered inappropriate.
“Sorry I yelled at you,” she said sheepishly. She hadn’t really raised her voice, but she’d definitely spoken harshly, more harshly than she ever had before. She didn’t think he would fire her for something like that, but it would better if their relationship returned to somewhat professional grounds.
“Don’t be sorry,” he murmured, heaving himself up to his feet as if it were hard to make himself move. “I deserved it. I’m going to get more coffee.”
He went back inside the tearoom just as Ben was coming out. He didn’t greet his cousin.
When he returned to the table, Ben slouched down in his chair and gave her a half-smile.
“Sorry,” she said, nodding toward where Jonathan had walked into the building. “He’s not himself today. He’s not a big talker, but he’s usually polite. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”
“Don’t you?” Ben asked, looking amused.
Sarah’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
He didn’t answer, and once more Sarah had the almost irresistible impulse to shake an answer out of a close-mouthed asshole.
Instead of answering, Ben looked from the spot in the air he’d been staring at and met her eyes without warning. “You’re not really engaged to him, are you?”
She froze. “What?”
“I’ve been trying to figure you two out, and there’s no way you’re really engaged.”
“Yes, we are,” she argued lamely.
“Is it some sort of plot to trick Lord Uncle into leaving him alone? If so, I heartily approve.”
Sarah didn’t reply, just sat tensely, trapped and terrified. If she’d somehow given them away, if Jonathan would lose everything because of it, then she’d never forgive herself.
“I’m not going to tell,” Ben added. “Your secret is safe with me.”
She studied him closely, desperately, and concluded he was telling the truth. She relaxed a little. She hadn’t admitted anything, after all, and Ben had no love or obligation toward his uncle that would compel him to share his suspicions.
He glanced over toward the tearoom, where Jonathan was emerging with a full cup of coffee. Then, with an almost naughty glint in his eye, Ben reached over and picked up her hand.
He looked down at her finger. “It’s a really nice ring,” he drawled, “For a fake engagement, I mean. How long did he take picking it out for you?”
***
Jonathan had only been gone for a few minutes, but when he returned Benjamin was holding Sarah’s hand.
She withdrew it almost immediately, but she was prettily flushed and flustered. A wave of jealousy slammed into him, so intense it almost consumed him.
Sarah was his.
At least, that was how it felt.
He’d never been a violent man, but the thought of her with Ben made him want to smash something. Preferably, his cousin’s face.
He stopped walking until he could control the feeling. He had no claim on Sarah, except as an employer. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t reasonable to expect her to act like they were in a relat
ionship.
He’d spent his life trying not to be irrational, to work hard and accomplish something worthwhile with his intellect and his persistence. He wasn’t going to throw it all away now for something so ephemeral.
If Sarah wanted to be with Ben, if she wanted Ben’s company over Jonathan’s, then he would have to live with it and he would have no grounds for complaining.
Sarah wasn’t his.
When he felt like he had himself back under control, he walked over to their table. “Ready to go?” he asked, pleased that his voice sounded natural.
Ben was smiling smugly, as if he knew something Jonathan didn’t. Maybe he knew he’d taken Sarah away from him.
“Yes, we’re ready,” Sarah said, standing up. She still seemed flustered, and she stumbled a little as she took a step away from the table.
Jonathan reached out instinctively to help, and she grabbed onto his shirt to stabilize herself. His arm tightened around her, pressing her soft body against him.
She gazed up at him with flushed cheeks and heavy eyelids, her lips so full and kissable he almost couldn’t resist.
“Sorry,” she said, lowering her eyes and pulling away. “Just clumsy today, I guess.”
For some reason, Benjamin laughed.
***
The afternoon and evening seemed endless to Jonathan. They visited Stonehenge, which didn’t take long, since after they walked around the roped off path and took some pictures, there wasn’t much else to do. Then they drove back, and Sarah got ready for Marietta’s wedding shower.
Since Jonathan had a free afternoon, he tried to work on email. But he hated doing email, and he couldn’t seem to focus, so he gave up and worked out instead. He ran hard on the treadmill, but it did little to ease the tension in his mind.
That evening, they had the bachelor and bachelorette parties.
There wasn’t a stripper at the bachelor party, since Cyrus Damon was paying for it and Harrison wasn’t really that kind of man anyway. They went to a local pub and drank beers, and Harrison’s friends and Andrew told jokes and tried to embarrass Harrison with stories from his past.
Jonathan didn’t have a bad time. He might have even enjoyed it if Benjamin hadn’t been there giving him knowing, amused looks.
It was late when they got home, and Jonathan was surprised to discover that Sarah hadn’t returned yet. He didn’t know what the women had done, but he’d (perhaps ignorantly) expected them to be done earlier than the men.
Jonathan took a shower and was reading in bed when there was a knock on the bedroom door.
He was surprised to see that Gordon had walked up with Sarah, carrying her purse and sweater. Then he realized why the butler had done so.
Sarah had clearly had a little too much to drink.
Fortunately, Jonathan had pulled on a t-shirt when the knock on the door came. He wouldn’t want to talk to Gordon in just his underwear.
Sarah giggled when he opened the door. “There he is. My fiancé.” She drawled out the last word unnaturally long.
Jonathan met Gordon’s eyes.
“My apologies for disturbing you, sir, but I thought I should make sure she got to her room all right.”
“I only got lost once,” she declared, clearly offended by some imagined slight to her sense of direction. She grabbed fistfuls of Jonathan’s t-shirt and slumped against him. “I had a really good time at the bachelorette party.”
“I can see that,” he said. He glanced over her head at Gordon. “What did they do?”
“They went to a club, sir.”
“Hey,” Sarah objected, glaring at Gordon. “I was going to tell him. We danced a lot.”
She started to show him, swinging her hips and waving her arms. “I was very sexy.”
“I’m sure you were,” he murmured, putting an arm around her waist so she wouldn’t dance her way down the hall. “Thanks, Gordon.”
“Do you need anything, sir? Some more water, perhaps?” It seemed impossible that Gordon wasn’t a little amused by Sarah’s antics, but there wasn’t a trace of laughter in his placid blue eyes as he handed Jonathan her purse and sweater.
“We still have a couple of bottles here. Thank you.”
“Make out with me, Jonathan,” Sarah mumbled, as he tried to pull her into the room. She was pressed up against him, her lush body rubbing against his in a way that was very distracting. “I want you to make out with me.”
“Maybe later.” He managed to guide her into the room, gently pushing her toward the bed. “You should lie down now. How much did you have to drink?”
“A couple of glasses of wine,” she huffed, still rubbing up against him.
When she’d left earlier that evening, she’d been wearing a little cashmere cardigan over her dress, and he was alarmed at how much the dress actually revealed.
It was strapless and not very long, and it had discreet sparkles in the dark green fabric. She looked absolutely delectable, but he hated the idea of who knew how many other men seeing her this way.
The neckline kept slipping down as she rubbed against him, and the sight of her lush cleavage and the insistent rubbing had a predictable effect on his body.
Even in her muddled state, she noticed it almost immediately and started rubbing up more strategically against his groin.
He almost groaned at the sensations but managed to summon enough willpower to gently push her away. “Let’s not do that right now.”
“I want to do that.”
“I don’t think you really do.” He maneuvered her onto the edge of the bed and knelt down to take off her shoes.
She stretched her foot out until it was pushing into his shoulder, showing him much too much very sexy leg. “Do you like my stockings?”
He did like them. A lot. But he couldn’t let him himself admire them at the moment. Looking down at the shoe in his hand, he said, “They’re very nice. Now, why don’t you get in bed?”
“Jon-athan,”
His body tightened at the throaty word. It sounded exactly the way she’d said his name during sex.
“Jonathan,” she said again, louder and more insistent.
Since her voice didn’t sound like sex, he looked up to meet her eyes.
“I have something to tell you.” She leaned over, a sweet but blurry expression on her face.
“I’m listening.”
“It’s a secret,” she whispered, her eyes darting around as if someone might be listening. She reached out, grabbed the shoulder of his shirt, and pulled him closer.
Irrational or not, it felt like she was going to say something significant, something he would want to hear. Maybe it was less than ethical to listen to intimate revelations while she was intoxicated—and he knew enough to know they couldn’t always be trusted—but he tensed up anyway, waiting.
“Jon-athan,” she murmured throatily into his ear. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”
He let out a huff of dry amusement and also lust at the image the words conjured up. But he steeled his will and asked, “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”
“Yeah. You’re a very smart man, you know.”
He helped her to her feet and then to the bathroom, but there he left her to her own devices, since he was quite sure she wouldn’t appreciate his watching her pee.
After he heard the toilet flush, the water ran for a long time in the sink, so long he finally tapped on the door. “Sarah? Everything all right?”
He pushed the door open and found her with her hands stuck under the running faucet, staring at herself fixedly in the mirror. He went over to turn the water off, dried her hands with a towel, and then put his palm on her back to urge her back toward the bed.
She sat on the edge of the bed again where he put her and didn’t move. But she raised her hands when he brought an oversized t-shirt over and helped her put it on. Fortunately, her dress was strapless, so he could just pull it off under the shirt without any inappropriate leering.
She was still sitti
ng on the edge of the bed when he handed her a bottle of water. She made a face. “I don’t want water.” She seemed to have passed the silly stage of her intoxication and moved into the pitiful stage.
“You will later,” he said, placing it on the nightstand beside her bed. “Why don’t you lie down now?”
She scooted under the covers obediently. He went to the bathroom, turned out the lights, and got into bed beside her.
She immediately edged over and burrowed into his side. Since there was nothing else to do with his arm, he put it around her.
“I had fun tonight,” she said to the dark room.
“I’m glad.”
“I danced.”
“That’s what you said earlier.”
“A lot of men came onto me.”
He swallowed. “I’m not surprised.”
She was silent for a long time, and he thought she’d gone to sleep. But then she said, her voice softer, almost broken, “I wish you liked me.”
“I do like you.” He said it instinctively because he didn’t like the catch in her voice, and it didn’t feel dangerous because she was so far out of it.
“I wish you thought I was pretty.”
“I do think you’re pretty.” He never would have said such a thing at any other time, but she felt small and needy, huddled up against him.
“You don’t really.”
Yes, she was tipsy. Yes, she never would have said such a thing had she been in her normal state. But he somehow knew she believed it—she actually believed he didn’t think she was pretty.
The knowledge roused in him such an astonished indignation that he burst out, “Don’t be ridiculous, Sarah. You’re the most beautiful woman I know.”
The grumpy words hung in the air. She didn’t reply immediately, just nestled against him some more.
She probably wouldn’t even remember them when she woke up tomorrow morning.
“Oh,” she whispered at last. “Thank you. I’m glad.”
The words sounded more lucid than anything else she’d said that evening, so Jonathan bent his head to peer at her in the dark, wondering if she was sober again.