Sentimental Journey (17 page)

"Is it some special occasion or something?" Tom asked.

"No, no special occasion." Jessica looked at the perfect strand of matched pearls, but couldn't bring herself to touch them. "Brodie just does this."

"Lucky you." Her sister smiled, then turned to her husband to scold him playfully, "How come you never bought me presents like that when we were dating?"

"I didn't want to spoil you. Besides—" Tom glanced at the pearls, his look assessing "—I wasn't rolling in money the way he is."

After that, Jessica was besieged by questions about Brodie, some of which she dodged, others she answered. It was a relief when the hour grew late enough that she could escape them to the isolation of her room. The bed was inviting, but sleep was far away.

In the morning, Jessica was able to pretend that she was sorry to see her sister go. She even managed to lie that she wished Jordanna could stay longer.

An hour after Jordanna and Tom had left for Memphis, Jessica was at the office, tormented by the hell of being jealous of her own sister. A tight ball of nerves, nothing she did went right. By ten-thirty that morning she was bent over her desk, her face buried in her hands. She was certain she was losing her sanity and wondered how she would get through the rest of the day.

The door to her office opened and Brodie walked in, tall and vigorous while she felt small and beaten. She stared at him, half-afraid she was having hallucinations.

"What are you doing here?" she breathed.

"I came to take you to lunch," he said, matter-of-factly.

"But you said last night that you had an appointment at noon."

"Yes, I do, in Nashville. We're flying there for lunch. I promised you a ride in my jet, remember?" An eyebrow lifted, arrogant and mocking, yet his look was piercing.

"But I can't—"

"Yes, you can," Brodie interrupted her protest. "I've already spoken to your uncle, and he has no objection if you take a few hours off. The lost time of a minor assistant is negligible compared to the large advertising account of Janson Boats. Get your handbag. We don't have much time."

Jessica was swept into the maelstrom of his commanding presence. Before she could think, she was hustled out of the office, into his waiting car, and was halfway to the airport. By then it was too late. She stared at the clasped hands in her lap and wondered what kind of fool she was.

"I presume Tom and Jordanna left early this morning."

"Yes, they did," she acknowledged stiffly.

He shot her a piercing glance. "Why were you so anxious to get rid of me last night, Jessica?"

She started guiltily. "Don't be ridiculous! I wasn't anxious to get rid of you," she lied. "I know the way you drive yourself. I thought you'd be better off resting than listening to a lot of boring family conversation."

"I wasn't bored."

No, Jessica swallowed at the pain that knifed through her, Jordanna didn't bore him. Her sister never had. She felt his glance and knew she had to make some response.

"I'm glad," she murmured as he parked in front of an airplane hangar.

The sleek private jet was waiting on the concrete apron. There were hurried introductions of Jessica to the pilot, Jim Kent, and the copilot, Frank Murphy, before she was hustled aboard.

The interior of the aircraft was not fitted out for passenger seating, but instead resembled a den with two lightweight desks mounted to the floor, some comfortable-looking chairs and a divan. Brodie helped her to buckle herself into one of the chairs.

"Have you ever flown before?" He took a seat near her.

"Yes, but never in anything like this." The plane was rolling down the runway. Jessica could feel the acceleration of the powerful jet engines.

"It's very practical. There's work space for myself and Cliff or Drew. There's a shower in the washroom." He continued to talk to her as the plane roared into the air. "I can nap on the divan. There're facilities for drinks and snacks."

Jessica glanced at him. "Are you trying to impress me?"

"Are you impressed?" Brodie countered, his mouth quirking.

"Yes," she admitted.

"Good."

"How long will it take to get to Nashville?"

"It's a short flight. By the time we take off, climb to the designated altitude, and level off, Jim starts his descent." He was eyeing her with an intent yet rather mocking look. "There isn't enough time to earn a 'mile-high' pin."

"What's that?" she asked blankly.

"That, Green Eyes," Brodie unfastened his seat her and straightened to tower beside her, "is given when you've made love a mile above ground."

His low, throaty laugh said that he had noted the agitated movement of her breasts. His hand cupped the back of her head, turning her face up. There was the blinding brilliance of his gaze on her. Then he was kissing her long and hard, eating away her resistance with his devouring mouth. Jessica responded, convinced she was without pride where Brodie was concerned. When he straightened, she felt light-headed and shaken.

"Want anything to drink?" he offered. "Coffee? Tea?"

Or you, she thought.

"Nothing," she refused.

While he got himself some coffee, she sat quietly in her chair. She found herself wondering how many women had received a "mile high" pin from him. Her stomach churned in a sickening knot.

A rental car was waiting at the Nashville airport. They lunched with some stranger. Afterward Brodie drove her back to the airport and put her on his jet alone to be flown back to Chattanooga.

"I'll call you next week," he told her as he kissed her goodbye.

She would be waiting. She had the feeling she would always be waiting.

Chapter Eleven

BRODIE DIDN'T CALL. A week later he drove up to the curb of her apartment building just as Jessica was arriving home from work. He honked the horn to call her over and left the engine running.

"Shall we go for a ride?" he asked.

"All right. Give me a couple of minutes to change."

"There's nothing wrong with what you're wearing." His gaze swept over the dirndl skirt and beige blouse she had on.

"But I—"

"Are you looking for compliments?" The slam of his mouth taunted her.

"No," Jessica denied.

"Then climb in," he ordered. When she was in the passenger seat and the door was closed, Brodie shifted the car into gear and turned it onto the street. His gaze glittered to her briefly. "Are you upset with me for not calling?"

"I…no," she admitted. As long as she saw him, it didn't seem to matter whether she knew in advance or not. And that was the shameless truth.

As if he knew what the admission
had cost her in pride, Brodie took hold of her hand, linking his fingers with hers and carried the back of her hand to his mouth. Her hand remained in the warm clasp of his as he drove through the city streets. Jessica leaned against the seat, turning her head on the back rest to study his profile. She felt she had been more than amply rewarded for telling the truth.

"Have you had a rough week?" He didn't look tired, at least not as tired as he had that other time he had visited.

"Not any more than usual." Brodie slowed the car to make a sharp turn onto a tree-lined road.

"Where are we going?" Jessica glanced around, noticing that they had seemed to leave the city behind.

"I forgot. Your present is in the glove compartment," he said. Hiding her displeasure, Jessica opened the compartment. There was an envelope inside with her name on it. She hesitated. Surely he wouldn't be so crude as to give her money? "Go on, open it," Brodie prodded.

Grudgingly she took it out and lifted up the flap. There was a key inside. Her gaze flew to Brodie as she held it up. "What's this for?"

He merely smiled, made another turn, and slowed the car to a stop. As he switched off the engine he glanced to her. "Why don't you try it on that door?" he suggested, and nodded in the direction behind her.

Jessica turned. They were parked in the driveway of a sprawling house nestled on the crest of a hill. A thousand questions spun through her mind, but a second look at Brodie told her he would provide the answers when he felt it was time.

She climbed out of the car and waited for Brodie to join her. Together they followed the curving sidewalk to the front door. The key in her hand turned the lock. She glanced at Brodie's enigmatical features and opened the door.

A few steps inside, she entered a completely furnished living room with a beamed, acoustical ceiling. The starkness of the off-white walls and terrazzo floors was relieved by the greens, beiges and golds of contemporary pieces. The fireplace was framed by a gold sofa facing two easy chairs.

In the opposite corner of the room was a sweeping curved sofa in green tweed with armchairs in avocado and beige striped fabric. Emerald green lamps on matching end tables completed the arrangement. Despite the subtle elegance, every corner invited Jessica to sit down and relax.

But Brodie's hand at her elbow was guiding her to the formal dining room where a blue gray carpet accented the gold velvet of the chairs. The dining room credenza held a beautiful china set and figurines. Natural silk draperies hung at the windows.

From there it was on to a spacious U-shaped kitchen with blue-tile counters. Antique copper pieces decorated the wall. The room was complete with a breakfast nook—a cozy sitting room filled with white wicker.

Backtracking, Brodie showed her the den with its wall of books and pale brick fireplace. An area rug of chocolate brown complemented the beige plaid sofa and easy chairs that flanked the fireplace. A walnut desk dominated one side of the room.

The two guest bedrooms were skipped over as Brodie led her to the master bedroom. The king-size bed was covered with a white quilt. Cinnabar velvet upholstered two small armchairs arranged with a low table between them.

"What do you think?" Brodie finally broke the silence that had been between them.

"What can I say?" Jessica lifted her hands, at a loss for words. "It's beautiful!"

"Beautiful enough to live in?" he challenged. Jessica stared, hardly daring to believe what he was saying. Brodie continued before she could respond, "It's within easy reach of town yet far enough away to give us some privacy." Her heart sang at the pronounced, "I imagine you'll want to keep working, although I would much rather have you here waiting for me."

Jessica was so full of happiness she couldn't speak. But it didn't seem necessary. Somehow she found herself in his arms, her hands around his neck to bring his head down to hers. Their lips met in a fiery kiss that fused them together, golden flames shooting through her veins.

Higher and higher she was lifted on the cloud of eternal joy. She clung to him, her life, her love. The dizzying climb was too much and she had to stop to catch her breath. She buried her face against his chest, feeling the roughness of his kisses on her hair. She was afraid she was going to do something silly like cry.

"Would it be very selfish of me," she murmured against his shirt, "to ask you to take a week off so we can have a honeymoon?"

Brodie became very still, his muscles tensing. "What honeymoon? What are you talking about, Jessica?" His hands gripped her shoulders to hold her away from him.

The smile faded from her lips as she stared at the puzzled frown above his hooded eyes. "Didn't you…Didn't you just propose to me?" Her voice died to a whisper as she saw the answer in his face.

"No." The denial was flat and decisive. "I can't marry you, Jessica."

Letting her go, he walked several feet into the master bedroom and stopped to light a cigarette. His features seemed harsh and cruel in the wafting blue smoke. She felt drained and lifeless. The descent to earth had been too rapid.

"Why?" Her voice cracked and she tried to control it. "Do you already have a wife? Won't she give you a divorce? Is she sick or an invalid?" Now her voice sounded brittle, devoid of feeling.

"I have no wife," Brodie answered curtly. "Marriage is out of the question."

"I see." Jessica thought she did see. Jordanna was the woman he wanted. If he couldn't marry her, he wasn't marrying anyone. "You want me to be your mistress."

"If you want to put it that way, yes." He blew out a stream of smoke with the words.

"Why bother with the house, then?" Her air of poise was thin, but it was holding. "Why not just ask me to quit my job and fly around the country with you?"

"I won't have you become a camp follower."

"But isn't that what a mistress is? Your own private—"

"I'm not going to get into a debate with you over definitions, Jessica," Brodie warned.

Her gaze fell beneath the icy blast of his. Her eyes ran sightlessly over the intricate pattern of the Oriental rug, as if searching for something but not knowing what.

"Have you made these convenient arrangements in other cities?" she questioned stiffly. "Memphis? Nashville?"

"No," he denied that, coming to stand in front of her. "I admit that I've had other women. But you're the only woman I want on more than a casual basis."