by Kathryn Shay
"You did this on purpose," she said sleepily.
"What?"
"Showed we could compromise."
The backs of his fingers grazed his cheek. "I’ve made so many mistakes, with you, during my whole life. I want to change, Mol. Really.”
“I know.” She did, and wondered again why she couldn’t have been more understanding.
“Besides, I wanted you to see the city."
The next day they visited churches. Molly was awed by the apse and flying buttresses of Notre Dame Cathedral. Inside, the hallowed atmosphere was redolent of incense and filled with the low murmur of Mass chanted up front. Amidst the ancient statuary, humongous stained-glass windows and one of the biggest pipe organs in the world, she reverently lit a candle.
Sliding his arm around her, he watched the flame flicker. "What did you pray for?" he finally asked.
She shook her head, unable, maybe unwilling to tell him.
At Sacré-Coeur Basilica, near where they were staying, he lit his own candle. "It’s for us, Mol." Reverently he touched her stomach. "All three of us."
The next night he bombarded her with romance—dinner on the sunset cruise down the Seine on a Bateaux Mouches boat. They were serenaded by French singers and a strolling violinist, stood on the deck and watched the sites go by: a replica of the Statue of Liberty and a likeness of Charlemagne; houses of famous Frenchmen like Voltaire; landmarks such as the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre and Notre Dame, which were stunning lit up at night.
On the day before they were to go back to Hyde Point, they visited the Musée Rodin. They both loved the trailblazing Frenchman’s sculptures, whose work combined progressive thinking and classical overtones. Molly was particularly impressed by the outdoor gallery but her favorite statue was inside. The Kiss. As she stared at the white marble depiction of the man and woman embracing, Molly’s heart hurt. She wanted this with Jase again.
He came up behind her and settled his hands on her shoulders. "Beautiful, huh?"
Molly nodded and turned to him. Since it was early in the morning, they were relatively alone in the museum. "Kiss me, Jase."
Grinning, he cupped cheeks. "Change your mind about no physical stuff, sweetheart?"
“Yes.”
“Then I accept the invitation."
And right there in the main room of the Musée Rodin, Jase took Molly in his arms. His lips were soft at first. And gentle. As always, she melted into him. Against his mouth, she whispered softly, "Take me home, Jay."
oOo
Having lost Molly once, having thought he’d never have the right to touch her again, he cherished the chance to do so. An almost spiritual reverence he’d never experienced before overcame him as he slid her out of the oversize sweater she wore. Her skin was rose-petal soft everywhere and feeling the silkiness again made him suck in a breath.
He tugged off her skirt, knelt to remove her boots and socks and eased off the scrap of lace at her middle. Molly never wore a bra. Even with pregnancy, her breasts were firm, though fuller.
"Let’s lay you down, sweetheart. I want to look my fill." He eased her onto the bed. Stretched her out fully. Placed her hands above her head. Though he was still dressed, he began his exploration.
"Renoir should have used you as one of his models." He traced her eyebrows, her upturned nose, her lips. His fingers tingled with the softness he found there. Then he leaned in and kissed her. The earthy scent of the lotion she’d used that morning filled his senses.
"I missed how you taste, Mol. So honeyed and sweet." A fierce possessiveness shot through him, for this woman who carried his child. He cradled her breasts, felt them plump in his hands.
She startled. "Oh."
He drew away. "Hurt?"
"No, just tender." She brought his hands back to her. "Don’t stop—it feels good." Her eyelids closed as his fingers flexed on the warm, supple flesh. "I…pregnant women…I crave your touch, Jase."
His hand trailed lower, cradling her stomach. Leaning over, he brushed his lips across her slightly rounded belly. "You’re bigger here."
"I’m almost four months pregnant."
"With my baby."
He’d sat up in time to see fear flash on her face, which was nothing he didn’t deserve. Still, it hurt. "Say the words, Mol. When you’re not sick and afraid. Say she’s mine." He leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Say you want her to be mine, and nobody else’s."
"She’s yours. I want her to be yours."
His heart sank at the catch in her voice. There were tiny star-like tears in her eyes. "Oh, sweetheart." He kissed away the renegade drops when they ran down her cheeks. They were hot and salty against his lips.
"Everything is going to be fine. I promise. We’ll work this out." He held her to his heart until she calmed. Then he looked down at her. "I need to be close to you. As close as a man can get to a woman."
Kneeling again, he kissed her, slowly losing his common sense, which always happened with her. He never liked the state she brought him to, that loss of control, but tonight, in Paris, he let it happen freely and without restraint. He suckled her breasts. She braced her arms behind her and threw back her head. He spread her legs, slid her to the edge of the mattress and cupped her. Her entire body flushed, and he could tell she was ready. He eased her down then, and covered her with his mouth.
She came almost instantly. Little gasps. An "Oh, Jay." Then "Yes. Yes.” Pregnancy had sensitized her to his touch, but he remembered how easily he could make her spiral even before. How at his mercy, physically, she’d always been.
Then again, so was he. At hers. As if to underscore his thought, she tugged him down onto the bed and helped him scoot over. The mattress gave under his weight. She came up on her knees and began her own exploration of him. She inhaled his scent, murmured, "I missed this so much. I missed you."
He closed his eyes, let himself just feel. Her mouth was everywhere, tickling his chest…tonguing his nipples…nipping the inside of his thigh. By the time she got to the part of him that craved her touch the most, he practically ricocheted off the bed. But she didn’t stop. And he gave himself over to it, until he knew he couldn’t last any longer.
He entered her gently. His back was against the headboard and she straddled him. Her hair was thick and wound around his fingers as if to show him it had missed his touch, too. He tunneled through the glorious mane that had haunted his midnights. "I don’t want to hurt the baby."
"You won’t." Her eyes were already starting to glaze.
"I won’t hurt you either, Mol. I promise."
She raised her hands to his mouth. "Shh. Not now. Be a part of me again, Jay. I missed this as much as I’d miss breathing if it was taken away from me."
So he thrust, careful not to hurt her this way, vowing he wouldn’t hurt her any other way, either. She gasped at his entry. Emotion clogged his throat as he filled her, felt her wet and hot, closing around him. They climaxed together, which they’d always done, easily, without effort. Their union was earth-shattering. It was holy. It was right.
He told her so, hours later, after they napped and she was refreshed. "We have to talk, Mol."
Snuggling into him, she pressed her body the full length of his. "I never liked conversations that started with that phrase."
He kissed her head. Hugged her close. "I want claim to this baby."
oOo
Molly stared at the man seated next to her on the 747, which alternately hummed and roared as it flew them back to Hyde Point. Today, in the suit and tie he’d worn to Paris, he looked so much like the Redford character from Barefoot in the Park that her heart clenched. She wondered why they ever thought they could be together.
Last night, things had gone from bad to worse. Molly had tried not to overreact. Tried to understand his position. But he’d hurt her so badly before. And she didn’t trust him. So she’d stiffened when Jase said he wanted claim to her baby…
"Is that what this was all about?" she asked as a bone-chilling coldn
ess replaced the warmth his body had given her.
"No, this was all about you and me."
She hadn’t said anything, reeling from the phrase itself—he wanted claim—and all its ramifications.
Reaching over, he’d switched on a light. Gently he tipped her chin up. The slumberous sexual haze was gone from his eyes. "You don’t trust me."
"Why would I, Jase?"
"Fair enough." He took in a deep breath. "I’ll earn back your trust."
She swallowed hard. "You never had it. Not really. I don’t know if I can ever give that to you."
His hand slid down between them. Even after their sexual marathon, his touch made her shiver. He caressed her stomach. "You’re going to have to try. You’re carrying my child and that changes things."
He’d seemed surprised when she drew away, climbed out of bed and rummaged in the armoire. Finding a big terry robe, she shrugged into it and tied the belt then went to stand by the window, looking out over Montmartre. Darkness had settled, but the streets were lit up and traffic beeped its way down the narrow cobbled roadways. "Do you realize what you said?" She cleared her throat. "Or rather, what you didn’t say?"
"Did I say something wrong? I’m just trying to make this right."
She turned, holding back the tears. He was sitting up against the pillows amidst the light blue sheets, his dark hair sexily disheveled. "You said you wanted the baby, Jay. Not me. I’ll ask you again. Is that what all this is about?"
"How can you accuse me of that after what just happened between us?"
"Because of what you left out of your seduction."
"Is this starting already? The bickering, the divisiveness?"
She sighed. "I guess so." She glanced to the ceiling, studying the small crack in the plaster. "Maybe a relationship between us is never going to work. Maybe we’re too different." With that, she’d turned and walked into the tiny bathroom.
In minutes, he’d come to the door and pounded on the wood when he found it locked. "Open up, Molly."
She’d been crying too hard to move.
"Open up."
Still she didn’t. She sat on the toilet seat and sobbed.
Until he said in an anguished voice, "Please."
Slowly she’d unlocked the door. She sat back on the seat and he knelt in front of her. "I’m sorry."
She just cried.
"I’m sorry you’re crying, Mol. But I don’t even know what I did. What I said that was so wrong."
And that, she thought, was the problem. He was able to hurt her so easily and he didn’t even know what he was doing. Having to explain it to him was like asking somebody to tell you he loved you.
In the end, he’d coaxed her back to bed. Made more promises. Touched her like she was spun glass and more precious to him than gold. Once again she’d capitulated…
"Molly?" Reaching out, he clasped her hand. His was big and warm, yet anything but safe. "I asked if you were all right."
"I’m fine."
"We’re almost there."
"Good."
"I left my car at the airport."
"Oh, well, I called Logan."
"What?"
"I called Logan about the store when we changed planes in New York. He’s going to pick me up."
"Why would you do that?"
She shrugged. "I don’t know. Habit, I guess."
He swore then. "I hate your relationship with that guy."
She turned her face to the window. The glass was cold, like she felt inside.
There were more surprises at the airport. Logan had Jill with him; she went to Molly and hugged her tightly.
And Thomas Stevens had brought Tommy to meet Jase. The child squealed and raced to his father. Jase scooped him up and held him tightly. Molly’s hand went to her stomach. Jase was a good father.
Tommy caught sight of Molly. "Holy cow!" His five-year-old voice carried out over the airport din.
She smiled. "Hey, Tommy Boy, how are you?"
He scrambled down and ran to her, throwing himself at her when she knelt down. She cherished the feel of his chubby arms around her neck. "Jeez, Molly Golly, I missed you."
Over his shoulder she saw Thomas Stevens slant a confused look at Jase. Molly felt his disapproval in the marrow of her bones. God, she thought she was done with letting people’s views of her hurt. "I missed you, too," she told his son.
He drew back and still in her arms, grasped a handful of her hair. "Were you in Paris with Dad?"
"I, um, I was there before your dad came. We met up."
"Neat." He toyed with the long strands. "Can I come to the store again? I haven’t been there in so long." He’d loved Natural Options, with its crystals and stones, its home-baked cookies and its astrology section. It also sported a children’s area.
I don’t want him believing in that, Molly.
Why? Stones have psychological properties. Astrology is science.
Dear Lord, the divisive memories came back as soon as they set foot in this town.
"You’ll have to ask your dad about the store." She stood and looked to Logan, a man she knew she could depend on.
He came forward immediately. "Hi, honey." Leaning over, he kissed her cheek. "You okay?" he whispered.
"Get me out of here, please."
"That I can do." He drew back and took her hand. He smiled down at Tommy. "Jet lag is catching up, kid. I’m gonna take Molly home."
She saw Jase stiffen. Thomas approached him. "I hope this was all right. After you called to let us know when you’d be in, Tommy begged to come to the airport."
His gaze locked on Molly, Jase said tightly, "It’s all right."
Logan tugged on her hand, then abandoned that and slid his arm around her shoulder. "Let’s go."
"Goodbye, Jase," she murmured and allowed Logan to steer her to the exit.
Once inside his car, she burst into tears.
oOo
In her bedroom, lit with jasmine-scented candles, Jase held Molly close as her breathing settled down, and waited for his own heart to slow. He hadn’t expected to end up here, in bed with her, when he came to her place after work to apologize for upsetting her in Paris. He’d just wanted everything to be right between them. He accepted that he should have been more sensitive and she said perhaps she’d overreacted. They’d made bittersweet, poignant love.
"That was so good, love. When we’re like this, I think nothing can go wrong."
"Me, too."
"I missed you."
He felt her smile against his chest. "It’s only been three days since we got back from Paris."
"Forever." He kissed her hair.
"Are you hungry? I could fix you something."
He glanced at his watch. "No, I have to go."
"You’re not staying for the evening?"
"No, the Stevens are having a party for Tommy’s birthday."
He felt her stiffen. "I see."
"Your party yesterday for him was great. His buddies loved the pudding paint."
Molly had invited Tommy’s friends over to the store and in the children’s area, had set up a big table where the kids could finger paint with chocolate pudding—and eat it as they played. They’d been a sight when Jase had swung by to pick them up. Even Jill, who’d come to help, had gotten into it. She and Molly were covered with the confection.
"I’m glad they enjoyed themselves."
"Then what’s wrong?"
"Nothing." She slid out of bed and threw on a print kimono he’d never seen before.
"New bathrobe?"
"Logan got it in Indonesia."
"Oh, Logan. Of course."
She ignored the sarcasm. He ignored the fact that she was growing closer to the guy every day. He was her safety net, in case Jase let her fall.
God, sometimes it seemed they’d made no real progress since he followed her to Paris. She was still treating him as if he was going to betray her any day now. He didn’t know what she wanted from him. He’d made sure sh
e got to spend time with Tommy. He invited her to lunch in town. They had plans to spend Friday night with Jill and Riley.
"Tell me what’s bothering you."
She circled around. "I’m upset about not being invited to this party."
He didn’t know what to say. "I didn’t think you’d want to come. It’s just…"
"It’s just family."
"I understand how that sounds. But you had a party for him."
She watched.
“I honestly didn’t think to ask you. Come with me, then.”
Systematically she circled the room and blew out every candle. "No, I—"
The phone rang and she reached for it. "Hello?" A smile. "Actually, I don’t have plans." She laughed. "Sure. Just a sec." She covered the mouthpiece. "Will you be gone in twenty minutes?"
oOo
Jase couldn’t concentrate at work the next day. He kept seeing Molly in Kane’s robe and pictured her with him last night. Of course, it had been St. Logan on the phone. He’d wanted to take Molly to some new vegetarian restaurant that had just opened on Main Street, which Jase had never thought to do.
But her being out with another man, especially after their lovemaking, killed him. Because of that, and the tenuousness of their relationship, he hadn’t slept well, haunted by the notion that he wasn’t aware enough of what triggered her distrust, worried he never would be and he could lose her again.
"Jase, good morning." Thomas stood in the entryway of his office. "Are you busy?
"Still trying to catch up from my trip."
"I’d like a word with you."
His shoulders aching with fatigue, Jase sat back. "Sure, come on in."
When Thomas sat, Jase smiled at the man who’d become like a father to him. "Thanks again for Tommy’s party last night." Though he’d been upset to see Sarina Matthews there—apparently it wasn’t just family, which increased his guilt—the party had been a nice gesture.
Adjusting his perfectly knotted tie, Thomas focused his keen gaze on Jase. "I’d like to know what’s going on with you and the Kimball woman."
"Molly?"
"I’ve been a lawyer a long time. I sense dynamics. This trip to Paris was because of her, right?"
Jase watched his father-in-law. He knew he should calm the waters, tell Thomas he wasn’t ready to get into this yet, but that would be another concession to his and Molly’s issues. “Yes, I did. And I care for her, deeply, Thomas.”