The Marriage Merger (17 page)

“Do I pass muster, or are there some changes
you’d like to make?” He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling.

She felt a surge of colour in her neck as she
realised she’d been staring. “I was just thinking,” she blurted to
hide her confusion, “that maybe it would be a good thing if you and
your father could get together and sort out your differences.”

He went very still, his hands resting lightly
on the bench, but she could feel the tension rising in him. “And
what gave you that idea?” His voice was deceptively quiet.

Jenna debated her reply. She could shrug her
shoulders and say it was just an idea and go back to her letter
writing, or she could take her courage in her hands and confront
him with what his father had revealed. She knew that the latter
course would be a dance with the devil, she could see it in the
steel grey of his eyes, the tight line of his jaw, the muscle spasm
in his neck. But she was no coward, so she mentally girded up her
loins and sallied forth to do battle.

She stood up and moved to the bench.

“Your father loves you, Braden. He always
has. He regrets that he was never able to show you that love. He
thought you blamed him for your mother leaving.”

“Really? He told you that?” The sarcasm
rolled off his tongue. “I suppose he told you that he loved me so
much that he couldn’t wait to get me out of his sight by shoving me
into boarding school, too.”

“Lots of kids get sent to boarding school.
Were you the only weekday boarder there?”

His lips compressed and she knew she had
scored a point. “Has it ever occurred to you, Braden, that you may
not have been an easy child to deal with? Perhaps your father
simply didn’t know how to cope with you.”

“And who gave you that idea?”

She could feel his anger now, knew that she
should only respond to it with calmness. “Alicia. She hates to see
the division between you and your father.”

“Then why doesn’t he tell me he loves me?
Because he doesn’t, that’s why. All he’s ever cared about is
work!”

She heard the plaintive cry of a young boy
behind the scorn in his voice. No matter how tough the man, how
well he had suppressed his need to be loved, the pain of his
perceived rejection still hurt.

“He’s afraid you won’t believe him, Braden.
He’s nearly sixty-eight. Don’t leave it too late to get to know him
because your pride and your stubbornness wouldn’t let you.”

“So now I’m proud and I’m stubborn!” He
stared down at her and she quivered under the ferocity of his gaze,
but she didn’t waver.

“Yes,” she replied. “They can be good
qualities, but not if they stop you from reaching out to your
father.”

“Well, they don’t stop me reaching out to
you, Jenna.” His hands gripped her arms. “They don’t stop me from
wanting you, from dreaming about you, from needing your body next
to mine, under mine, your lips on mine ...”

And he carried out his words, kissing her
with such intensity she would have stumbled back if he wasn’t
holding her. But all she could feel was his anger. Desire was
there, evident in the hardness of his body pressed against hers,
but it was fuelled by anger. In spite of this knowledge her body
started to respond to his. She wrenched herself from his arms,
surprised that he let her go so easily.

“You see, Jenna,” he mocked “you don’t love
me either.”

Compassion welled in her chest, eager to give
solace to the hurt child within him. It would have been so easy,
then, to admit her love for him, to melt back into his arms, but
she knew he would only be giving her his body while she was
offering her heart.

“Perhaps if you took some risks with your
love, Braden, you might gain more than you risk,” she
retaliated.

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by
that?”

“You love Caitlin and Alicia because they’re
safe to love. They depend on you emotionally. They’re not going to
run out on you. But you won’t risk loving a woman and asking her to
share your life with you. You’ll consider marriage - but only to
get a perfect hostess and someone to breed your children. You’re an
emotional coward, Braden.”

She was shaking, hurt and frustration washing
over her in spite of her resolve to remain calm. She was almost
afraid to look at him, but she had called him a coward and could
not let him see that she was one herself. She expected to see fury
in the grey eyes, anger flushing his cheeks, but her stomach iced
over at the bleakness of his face, the dull resignation in his
eyes.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he muttered.

Before she could move, he pushed past her
with long strides. Suddenly afraid of what she had done, she ran
after him. His bedroom door banged shut. If it had been the study
door she would have followed him in, apologized, told him she was
way out of line. Anything to erase that dreadful look from his
face. But his bedroom was different. She didn’t feel capable of
confronting him in such an intimate setting.

Cursing her interference, her lack of
professionalism, she turned reluctantly back to the dining
room.

Why had she said that? She had been
determined to be as calm and detached as was clinically possible.
Was she trying to hurt him, to make him feel the pain that she
constantly felt when she realised her love for him would probably
never be returned? No, she hadn’t wished him pain. In her own
bumbling way she had been trying to help. Dear God, what a mess. He
was now more alienated from her than ever. Why hadn’t she left
things alone? Since that day with Alicia she had almost felt...

Now she wished that Mrs Jenkins would return
sooner than the eight days that were left, before the situation
deteriorated further. Cut your losses and run, wasn’t that the
saying? But she knew that no matter how far she ran she would never
recover from the loss she would feel if she never saw him
again.

Another note!

Had she hurt him so badly that now he didn’t
even want to see her or talk to her? She was up at six o’clock, but
he must have risen earlier. A coffee mug was in the sink, and the
note on the bench.

This time it wasn’t even addressed to her.
“I’ll be in Brisbane for the next few days. Any problems leave a
message with my secretary. Braden.”

At least it gave her breathing space to work
out how she could best apologize and try to get their relationship
on a friendly footing. Relationship? What relationship? It
see-sawed between a polite professionalism and a deep, overpowering
desire that was tearing them both to shreds.

How much longer could she hold out before she
gave in to the desire, the need, the sheer body-consuming lust that
she felt every time she came near him. If it was only physical need
she could have imposed her strength of will over her body’s
craving, but she had fallen in love with him, and her heart had a
wantonness all its own.

She tried to fill her day with activity. She
took Caitlin shopping, then to a movie, swam in the pool, had pizza
delivered as a treat for dinner, then read Caitlin stories in bed
until the small dark head slipped sideways into sleep.

She threw a load of washing into the machine.
Even this was no distraction. There was something poignantly
intimate in sorting and washing the clothing of the man she loved,
subtly implying a greater intimacy.

As the washing machine filled up on the rinse
cycle she realised water was spilling out onto the floor from
inside the machine. She lifted the lid, and instead of ceasing as
it should, the flow of water into the machine continued. She
reached to turn off the cold water tap but it moved effortlessly
around and around in her hand. Darn! That’s all she needed!

Luckily there was a drain in the laundry
floor but she couldn’t allow the water to keep running like this.
She gritted her teeth in exasperation, then remembered the list of
tradesmen who could be phoned in an emergency. Her watch said ten
o’clock. She hoped the plumber had his mobile handy.

After the fourth ring her call was
answered.

The plumber was sympathetic to her problem,
but explained that as he and his family had just been celebrating
the birth of their first grandson he was in no condition to drive.
He was, however, familiar with the layout of the plumbing in the
penthouse and advised her that outside the laundry there was an
isolation tap which would turn off the water to the laundry and the
bathroom she and Caitlin used but still leave water available to
the kitchen and the en suite in the master bedroom. He promised
that he would be there first thing in the morning to fix the
problem.

She found the isolation tap and turned it
off. It worked. She mopped the floor, put the clothes on the spin
cycle then hung them on the line. But now she had another problem.
She was hot and sticky and the only working shower was in Braden’s
en suite. She was grateful he was staying in Brisbane for a few
days.

She gathered her toiletry bag, nightgown and
robe. It was strange, brushing her teeth at his hand basin, almost
as though she could feel his presence. The sharp, clean scent of
his after-shave lingered, enticing her with the images it conjured
up.

In the shower cubicle she lathered her body,
wishing they were Braden’s hands holding the lavender soap that
glided over her breasts and between her thighs. She could have used
his soap but knew, if she had, the scent would have lingered with
her all night and the slim possibility of sleep would be totally
negated. As it was her fanciful mind was conjuring up images of him
in the shower with her and she let her wishful thinking run riot
for several minutes before forcing herself back to reality.

She towelled herself dry, hung the towel on a
rack, and walked to the vanity basin as she pulled off her shower
cap.

She was running her fingers through her hair,
fluffing out the curls, when the door opened.

“Braden!” It was a squeak, a strangled cry
that struggled through her vocal cords. Her hands crossed
instinctively over her breasts. “The tap ... laundry ... broke ...
no water ...” Her throat seized up.

He was naked to the waist, his socks dangling
from one hand, his shirt in the other, just as shocked as she at
finding he wasn’t alone.

But he was the first to recover, dropping his
shirt and socks to the floor and reaching a tentative hand towards
her. As though in a dream she registered the intense blueness of
his eyes, his arousal that was impossible to hide ... and her
reaction to it.

It wasn’t the sight of the flaming curls
between her thighs that sent Braden over the edge. It was the rosy
nipple, rising and hardening, he could see through the gap between
her crossed-over arms that was his undoing. It spoke more
eloquently than words of the desire coursing through her body. And
the already sparking arousal in his erupted with volcanic
power.

He closed the gap between them in two quick
strides. He saw her eyes widen, the pupils dilating ... in fear?
No, the soft rosy flush suffusing her body told the true story. His
hands found her shoulders, stroking down to her elbows. A tremor
scorched through her. He bent his head and captured the lips that
trembled beneath his. He nibbled gently on their fullness; his
tongue seeking hers as her mouth opened with a deep groan.

Jenna’s hands moved against his chest as she
made one last, futile effort to stop the madness that was engulfing
them both. But of their own volition they moved swiftly around his
back and drew him close against her. She felt him shudder as her
breasts moved against his chest. Her nipples brushed his dark curls
and heated skin, igniting explosions deep in his groin that rocked
his hardness against her soft stomach.

His kiss deepened and she felt he was
devouring her. She tasted the sweet, tender underside of his tongue
and liquid heat flowed between her legs. Her moan told him her
need.

Without moving his lips from hers, he held
her close and lifted her up, then swiftly moved back into the
bedroom, and unerringly found the bed.

There was no sanity, only passion blazing up
between them in mind-shattering intensity. His lips on hers, her
tongue seeking the nectar of his mouth. Their hands greedy for the
sensation of each other’s flesh beneath them. His pants dropped to
the floor and his body covered hers on the bed.

She knew it was madness, knew she should have
run from him, but her instinct told her that this overwhelming need
to consummate her love for him was as inevitable as the tide that
forced the ocean back into the river in unceasing rhythm.

One large hand found her breast, teased and
tantalized, then his mouth found the other nipple and surges of
desire rose in her groin like cresting waves. She ached for him.
Ached with a sweet, pulsating fierceness, the need building and
building with a force of its own. She could hear her own voice
whimpering, pleading. Her hips moved, writhed, seeking his length,
his hardness.

And then he plunged inside her and it was so
good, so incredibly good, she knew the dazed wonder on his face
must be reflected in her own. Her hands ran down his back and
across his buttocks, finding a sensitive spot that jerked him into
her, and she revelled in this intimate knowledge.

She bit lightly into his shoulder and touched
him again. The sweet sensation as his hard flesh jolted deeply into
her had her moaning his name, her lips finding his skin, her tongue
tasting the unique flavour of the man she loved. A wild surge of
joy shook her, and her muscles tightened around him, savouring the
pleasure he was giving.

Then he was moving, pushing, deeper, faster,
again and again, strong and sure, creating a white hot flame that
finally exploded inside her and shattered into a thousand tiny
fragments. She writhed with pleasure so intense her mind ceased to
function. She barely heard his tortured moan as his body shuddered
again and again into hers.