Inherited: One Child

by Day Leclaire

  “This might be a good time to confess that I already know about the incident.”

  She froze. “How is that possible?” she asked carefully.

  “I have an excellent PI. I had you checked out after I hired you. I believe he referred to it as a youthful indiscretion.” He attempted to interpret her reaction to his confession with only limited success. “Are you angry that I had you investigated?”

  She drew a cautious breath. “I guess that depends on why you did it.”

  He didn’t hesitate. “I did it to make sure you were a safe and trustworthy person to have around Isabella.”

  She seemed to breathe a little easier. “Yes, of course. Since we’re now married, I assume I checked out?”

  “With that one exception.” He still couldn’t get a read on her and it puzzled him. “Did you want to talk about it?”

  She shrugged and wandered across the room to the bow window that overlooked the courtyard where they’d been married. Her gown rustled in the silence of the room. She perched on the edge of the window seat, her skirts settling around her in a graceful arc. Moonlight cascaded through the beveled panes and bathed her in silver, while leaving her expression in shadow.

  “There’s not much to tell. I got drunk.”

  “It happens to most of us at one point or another. That’s when we learn there’s a reason for our current drinking laws.” He approached her the way he would a wounded animal, slowly and with utmost caution. “Is there more to it than that?”

  She sat without moving and simply stared at him. “To be honest, I don’t remember a lot about that night.”

  A hideous suspicion took hold. “Did someone take advantage of you?” he asked sharply. “Were you drugged?”

  “Not exactly. At least, I don’t think so,” she whispered. “But I did lose my virginity.”

  Fury consumed him. “You were taken advantage of. What sort of bastard—”

  She stopped him with a quick shake of her head. “He was no more capable of making rational decisions than I was. Trust me, he paid a steep price for it.”

  “I gather your father found out?” Jack guessed.

  “And his. It…wasn’t pretty.”

  “I can imagine.” It explained so much about her, especially her need to keep herself under such tight control. He closed the remaining distance between them and sat beside her, taking her hand in his. Her fingers were like ice. “Why are you telling me all this, Annalise?”

  “Because you should know that I haven’t had any alcohol since that night.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze with a directness that sliced straight through to his soul. “And I haven’t been with anyone sexually since then, either.”

  The air burned in his lungs and he slowly exhaled. “Never?”

  “No.”

  “Because of one youthful mistake?”

  She hesitated, as though considering the matter. “It didn’t seem…wise. Plus, I’ve never really been tempted.” Her eyes burned in the darkness. “Until now.”

  He stilled. He hadn’t realized until that moment how desperately he wanted her. But he couldn’t take her. Not after what she’d told him. He’d been so cold for so long, had looked forward to warming himself in the fiery heat of Annalise’s desire. But he couldn’t take advantage of her like that callous boy from her youth. He wouldn’t.

  He fought for control, fought for the cool, calm deliberation that had once come with such ease. “Annalise—”

  “You’re going to send me away, aren’t you?”

  “What?” He shook his head. “No, not away. Just to the room next door.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  He froze at her words. A stinging slap couldn’t have made a harsher impact.

  “Earlier today I was positive that was what I wanted,” she went on. “But I realize now that was just fear speaking.”

  “Fear?”

  “Last time I was sixteen,” she explained. “I don’t even remember the act itself. Now, the pain? That I recall. The embarrassment when it was over is a particularly vivid memory, not to mention the humiliation when the whispers started during the weeks and months afterward.”

  He regarded her with compassion. “I’m so sorry.”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sixteen anymore, Jack. My fear isn’t logical. It’s more of a wispy memory than a rational emotion.” Her mouth curved into a smile full of feminine mystery and wry humor. “Don’t you think it’s past time I changed all that?”

  “Are you certain?”

  “I’m positive.” She shifted to face him. “Please, Jack. Help me replace those other memories with new ones. Better ones. Special ones.”

  A short, harsh laugh was torn from him. “But no pressure, right?”

  “I’m fairly certain most of the pressure is on me.” She disengaged her hand from his and slid her fingers along his arm to his neck. She tugged gently. “Like this, for instance.”

  He bent closer and allowed her to take charge of the kiss. Her mouth slid across his as light as a whisper. She moved in again, a slow, thorough exploration. Then she slipped inward, giving him a taste of such sweetness that it proved headier than the most potent drink. She eased backward, breaking the contact.

  “See what I mean? What if I do something wrong?”

  He cleared his throat. “Not a chance.”

  “No? Why don’t we test your theory.”

  She caught the edges of his bow tie and tugged. The scrap of silk slid away and drifted toward the floor, vanishing into the shadows. One by one she removed the studs from his shirt, placing each in turn on the windowsill in a neat line. His shirt parted. Did she have any clue what her slow, deliberate movements were doing to him? It took every ounce of willpower to allow her to take the lead, to follow instead of dictate.

  Her hand slid into his and she turned it in order to have access to his cufflinks. First one and then the other joined his shirt studs on the windowsill. He wanted her hands on his skin, to feel them move on him. Warm him. Take him. Instead, she eased his shirt from his shoulders, not once actually touching him.

  His breathing grew harsh. “Anna—”

  “Shh. It’ll be all right.”

  With a soft rustle of silk, she stood in front of him and gently lifted the circlet and veil from her head. She placed it on the window seat beside him. The tulle and lace flowed over the edge like a waterfall, a silent statement in the moonlit darkness. Never once taking her eyes from his, she lowered the side zip of the gown.

  Inch by glorious inch, the beaded silk fell away, revealing skin beautifully gilded by their weeks at the beach. The gown slipped to the floor in a soft cloud of surrender. She stepped free of it, as well as her voluminous petticoats, and stood before him in a lacy bustier. He leaned back against the coolness of the window with a groan. He’d caught a glimpse of her stockings and garter when Madam had knocked them to the ground, but it hadn’t prepared him for this.

  “Let me do the rest,” he demanded.

  He didn’t wait for her agreement, but erupted from the window seat. Gathering her into his arms, he kissed her. Claimed her. Told her without words how beautiful he found her. And then he journeyed downward, worshipping her with mouth and tongue and teeth.

  Turning her so her back was to him, he swept the ebony tumble of curls over her shoulder and unhooked her bustier, exposing the elegant sweep of her spine. He traced his fingertip from the back of her neck down to the dip just above her buttocks. Teasing her with the lightest of caresses, he finished undressing her until she stood before him clad only in the silvery rays pouring in through the window. She lifted her arms and shook her hair free. The heavy ringlets cascaded toward her waist. Then she turned ever so slightly and looked at him over her shoulder. He could just make out the sweet curve of her breast.

  “Please, Jack,” she whispered. “Make love to me.”

  Eight

  Without a word, Jack swept Annalise into his arms and carried her to the petal-strewn b
ed. He lowered her to the satin duvet, the rich ruby color a perfect complement to her hair and skin.

  “Nudity becomes you, wife.”

  She laughed softly, just a hint of shyness evident in the deepening color that swept across her cheekbones. “I suspect it would become you, as well.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Or were you going to make love to me with your pants on?”

  Following her example, he removed his remaining clothing, lingering over the process the same way she had, despite the urgency to simply finish the job and get down to business. He wanted to go slow, to ease toward the moment when they became one. To build the memories one blistering touch at a time.

  When he finished stripping, she moistened her lips and lifted up onto her elbows. “Jack…I think I should warn you that I’ve just started birth control but it’s not effective yet. I guess I should have said something sooner.”

  “I’ll take care of everything.”

  He made short work of the matter and then joined her on the bed. Candlelight flickered across her, gleaming on the sweet, rounded curves of her body and chasing darkness into the dips and valleys. He traced his index finger across the dusky tip of her breast, watching the nipple bead beneath the light caress.

  “What should I do?” Annalise asked.

  “Whatever you feel like. Nothing you do will be wrong.”

  “Show me how,” she insisted. “Show me what you like.”

  Jack took her hands in his and guided them to his chest, pressed them there, close to his heart. Her fingertips danced across his flesh. Where once there was ice, each lingering stroke melted the coldness, turned it to warmth. Then to heat. He sank backward and gave himself up to her. Her undisguised pleasure and curiosity were a joy to witness. Little by little her inhibitions fell away and her stroking touch grew bolder.

  She cupped him, then measured his length and width with her fingers and he closed his eyes, fighting to retain some vestige of control. This was a first for her, he reminded himself—her first memory of being with a man, of having free rein to indulge the sensuous side of her nature and explore to her heart’s content—and he wanted it to be perfect. When she’d driven him as far as he could handle, he gathered her up and flipped her onto her back, caging her within his arms.

  “Jack,” Annalise whispered, her voice rife with emotion. “Make love to me.”

  He couldn’t help but smile. “I’m working on it.”

  A soft laugh escaped. “Work faster.”

  Jack didn’t listen. He took his time, not wanting to alarm her or do anything that might remind her of that long-ago event. He needn’t have worried. With each touch she loosened, opening more and more of herself, both physically and emotionally. Shards of moonlight caught in her eyes, allowing him to witness her intense pleasure.

  He cupped her breasts, filling his hands with the delicious weight of them while he teased the tips into excited buds. Then he tasted, reveling in the unique flavor of her. He felt the pounding of her heart against his cheek and the swift burst of her breath ruffling his hair. Sliding lower, he delved across the tensed muscles of her abdomen to the protected delta below. Cautiously, he drifted inward. Her small gasp of pleasure was all the encouragement he needed. He pleasured her until he felt the early ripples of impending climax. Only then did he pull back and settle himself between her thighs.

  Cupping her bottom, he lifted her and slowly surged inward. Her hips shifted to meet his, fighting to find the appropriate rhythm. It took her only a moment to discover it. And then instinct kicked in and she followed the beat. Moved with it. Drove it. Caught within her rapture, she was sheer radiance. She rode them toward a peak, further and higher than anything he’d thought possible. They teetered there for an endless moment before the first tiny convulsions shimmered through them. And then they shattered.

  As he flew apart Jack realized that the cold had disappeared, replaced by a raging fire he didn’t think could ever be doused. Annalise had done that to him. Had done that for him. Somehow, in some strange, unfathomable way, she’d freed him from the arctic wasteland in which he’d been living and brought him into the sun’s balmy light.

  “Are you all right?” Jack asked much, much later.

  Annalise stirred against him. “I think so.”

  Her tentative comment alarmed him and he rolled over. Cupping her chin, he lifted it just enough so that the moonlight revealed her expression. Her mouth curved in a tremulous smile and a melting softness burnished her gaze. But he could also see a vague bewilderment that tautened her muscles and gave him a worrying sense of uneasiness.

  “I’m sorry if it wasn’t all you hoped it would be,” he said. “It gets better with practice, I promise.”

  “I can’t believe that’s possible,” she retorted with satisfying speed. She feathered a string of kisses across his chest. “That part was amazing. Incredible. And there’s absolutely no comparison between last time and this.”

  Relief crashed over him. “I would hope not.” He gathered up fistfuls of her hair so she had no choice but to look at him. “If that’s not the problem, then what is?”

  “It’s not a problem, exactly.”

  “But…?”

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth. For some reason the small gesture threatened to send him straight over the edge again. He wanted his teeth on that lip. Wanted to give it a small nip and tug. And then he wanted to soothe it, kiss it endlessly while he sank into her honeyed mouth. Before he could act, Annalise spoke again.

  “Will it be like that every time?”

  “Like that…good?” he asked cautiously.

  “No, not good.” His heart stopped in his chest, until she added, “That was incredible. That was amazing. That was…” She shook her head. “That was beyond belief. I had no idea. None.”

  “Your previous experience isn’t a fair basis for comparison,” he explained gently. He waited for her to absorb that. Once she did, his smile turned wicked. “In my opinion, we need more practice in order to improve.”

  Her eyes widened. “Improve? On that?” She lit up. “Are you serious?”

  He didn’t bother to respond. There was a far more satisfying way to answer her question. He applied himself to the task with all due diligence. He was going to enjoy married life, he decided. He was going to enjoy married life a lot.

  The next few weeks passed in a blissful haze, overflowing with days of constant laughter, a heartwarmingly joyous Isabella and a fat and sassy Madam. And the nights were even fuller, each moment spent in Annalise’s arms richer and more life-affirming than the one before. The changes served to solidify Jack’s certainty that he’d done the right thing, both for his niece as well as for himself. Even Mrs. Locke cooperated, delaying her final visit so that the new family had an opportunity to settle into a comfortable routine.

  Though Annalise continued to fuss because her father remained out of touch and she’d been unable to tell him about their marriage, Jack’s father had given his opinion in no uncertain terms.

  “Have you lost your mind?” Jonathan Mason demanded. “You married your nanny? What were you thinking?”

  “Wasn’t your second wife the au pair of one of your business associates?” Jack shot back. “Or was that wife number three? To be honest, I’ve lost track.”

  “I believe she was my third mistake,” his father retorted. “I paid through the nose to escape that noose. At least tell me you had that woman sign a prenuptial agreement.”

  Defensiveness swept through Jack without thought or intention, an instinctive reaction to what he perceived on a gut level as an attack on one of his. His employee. His nanny. His wife. He couldn’t explain when Annalise had come to mean so much to him, or even why. It wasn’t their marriage alone, or the fact that she now shared his bed. It was more than that. Little by little she’d eased past his barriers and infiltrated every aspect of his life. Warmed it. Healed it. She wasn’t just his employee, despite what their prenup might say. She was his wife, and he would def
end her against everyone and everything, including his father.

  “That woman has a name. She’s Annalise Mason,” Jack replied in a hard voice. “And you will treat her with the respect my wife deserves. Are we clear?”

  To his surprise, his father apologized. “Call me once the two of you are past the honeymoon period. Suze and I will have you over for dinner. And, Jack…?” He paused, his hesitation out of character for a man so decisive. “One of the few comforts I’ve had these past few months is knowing that Joanne and I were able to rebuild our relationship before she died. I made a lot of mistakes when you were young. Terrible mistakes that I’d give anything to undo. Would you be willing…Do you think we—” He broke off abruptly.

  Jack forced himself to pick up the ball. “Could start over?”

  There was another long pause, and then: “I know I don’t deserve it,” Jonathan said in a rough undertone. “But I want to have my son and granddaughter in my life again. Your wife, as well, if you’re willing.”

  For some reason, picturing Annalise’s face stayed Jack’s cold refusal. She would want him to take the proffered olive branch, as would Joanne. If his father could humble his pride—something Jack would have once thought an impossibility—so could he. “I’d like that, Dad. We’ll call you and set a date.”

  “Thanks, Jack.” Uncharacteristic emotion trembled in Jonathan’s voice. “Anytime you’re free. Anytime at all will be fine with us.”

  The weeks flowed by after that, and Family Bed became a Sunday morning staple. Little by little they accumulated furnishings that would better accommodate both a five-year-old and a massive klutz of a dog. Madam, in particular, reveled in her new home, her coat gleaming with health, while the regular nutritional meals kept her nicely filled out.

  Or so he thought until Isabella woke them in the early morning hours with a piercing shriek. He was out of bed a split second before Annalise and raced flat out toward his niece’s bedroom. She wasn’t there. The covers of her bed were thrown back and Isabella was nowhere to be seen. Jack’s heart began to pound in dread.