His 1-800 Wife (18 page)

Jarrod's head dropped, and she felt his mouth on her shoulder. The fire of it sent ribbons of excitement waving through her like a chorus of majorettes lead­ing a parade. Her body heated, boiled, turned to liquid. Jarrod continued to kiss her shoulders. She lifted her head, giving him room. His mouth followed the line of her throat to the soft hollow of her neck. Catherine's towel slipped farther. She didn't try to keep it up. She clung to him.

His hands smoothed over the towel, running over her back and down her spine to the point where the towel ended and her hips curved. Catherine dragged breath into her lungs, heaving, shuddering, as sensa­tion overwhelmed her. Jarrod moved his hand up her throat to her chin, then her bottom lip. The anticipation of him taking her mouth had her turning toward it. Hands coursing over her naked hips pulled her into him. She felt his erection and went up on her toes to meet it. Her mouth searched for his, burning for him, but he moved upward, past her lips to her cheeks and eyes before starting his route back down.

Sliding his hands higher and higher under the towel, he pulled at it, all the while kissing one corner of her mouth, then the other. The towel fell to the floor as his mouth finally covered hers in possessive completeness. Catherine's world spun out of orbit. She sailed through the universe, flying over the plan­ets, shooting stars and asteroids and seeing everything from a whole new perspective.

How could she be in his arms, with his wizard of a mouth doing things to her that no vampire could elicit by drinking the blood of his beloved? How could she even think of telling him last night meant noth­ing? It meant everything, drawing in her sails and re-spreading them, altering the course of her life. Nothing had changed her more, moved her more.

Suddenly she wanted to touch him. She wanted to feel the warm flesh of his body, run her hands over the smooth surface of his skin and listen to the guttural moans he made when she touched a point that caused him the most erotic pleasure. Tugging at his shirt, she pulled it free of his pants. Warm skin met warm skin.

Catherine's hands went higher as Jarrod's kiss deep­ened. He bent her back as they traded one drugging kiss for another. Her mouth was hot. She was sure they would melt into each other and be irrevocably joined.

Catherine unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it over his arms. She went to the belt buckle at his waist, quickly opening it. Jarrod lifted her then, taking her to bed.

"This is a very big bed," he murmured in her ear.

He laid her on it. She looked up at him. He stared at her, but he didn't move, didn't proceed to undress. In a moment, Catherine became aware that something had changed. As if putting her on the bed had some­how detached him from her.

"Jarrod?"

"This is as far as I go, Catherine. My bed is in the guest room." With that, he turned and left.

Catherine sat up straight, her hands going to cover her breasts. Anger seized her.

"You bastard!" she shouted.

***

He was, Jarrod told himself. like her real-marriage, he was a real-bastard. The guest room was at the end of the hall, on the side of the house that faced the backyard. Jarrod closed the door and leaned against it. He hadn't done anything like what he'd just done to Catherine in his entire life.

She tied him in knots in more ways than one. He should have understood her moving his things. They should never have been put in her room. They had agreed to an in-name-only marriage, but her do-good sister didn't know that.

And he'd agreed to the rules Catherine set. He knew where the boundaries were, yet in the past two days he'd broken them. He thought she wanted to break them. After last night there was no way he could think she wanted to live separately, sleep separately. They'd been together, seen the wonders they could create in each other's arms. How could she decide she wanted no part of him in her bed after that?

That had angered him. Jarrod wanted to teach her a lesson, but it hadn't worked. He didn't feel any better after what he had done. In fact, he felt like a heel, worse than any practical joke had ever made him feel.

He'd make it up to her. He'd apologize. He shook his head. Catherine wasn't in the mood to listen to anything he had to say, even if it was an apology. Maybe he could buy her something. Jewelry was sup­posed to work. He pictured her throwing it in his face. It didn't matter if it was diamonds or glass, Catherine would never be pacified with trinkets. Things were getting out of control. He needed to lighten the mood. She'd done it on their honeymoon, kept things from getting serious. He'd failed in the attempt to do the same here, but he wasn't down yet.

An apology wouldn't be enough. Jarrod was going to have to do something better--something outrageous.

***

The dining table was set for one. Jarrod glanced at the place setting. He didn't know if it was set for him or if it was a message that he should eat elsewhere.

"Jenny?" he silently questioned when she entered the room.

She smiled brightly as she followed his glance.'' Oh, Mrs. Greene asked for a tray in her room."

"Is it ready?"

"In a moment, sir."

"When it's ready, I'll take it." She smiled and turned to leave the room. "Jenny, aren't you here a little late?"

"We'll be leaving right after the tray is ready, sir."

"Jarrod," he corrected her.

For a moment, she looked perplexed. "Mr. Jarrod," she said. Her smile wavered for a moment before it became a sure grin.

He went to the den. Catherine had a full stereo system there, with a musician's collection of CDs. Jarrod remembered she'd once entertained the idea of music as her major. She'd played the violin, bought various recordings of piano concerts and made her own version of them with her as the major instrument. Jarrod couldn't remember what changed her mind. Music blended into something else and turned two or three more times before she entered college, where her major was communications.

She had worked for a large firm in New York, a television affiliate. She'd worked her way from writing press releases to writing the news. After a couple of years, she abruptly quit and returned to the island. He knew it was due to the breakup with her former fiancé, and that the experience had sent her running to a safe sanctuary. She was hiding in this marriage more from herself than from the pressure of her mother and sister.

The den was a paneled room, its walls dark cherry wood. The desk was large, ornate and sparsely appointed. Bookcases lined one wall, with volumes ranging from decorating with fabric to the physics of
Star Trek.
But Jarrod was more interested in the CDs. He scanned the titles, which were anally shelved in alphabetical order by artist He pulled a Michael Jackson CD from the collection and checked the titles. He put it back. Michael had been a dancer in addition to a singer. His moves were precision ballet. They looked easy when Michael did them, but he'd practiced for days, even weeks, before walking in front of a camera and having them recorded for posterity.

Milli Vanilli was next. Jarrod laughed out loud. They had dread locks and wore spandex. Michael Bolton redid everyone else's music, but the message in the lyrics was too revealing. Jarrod needed to find something appropriate to the situation. He went on selecting and rejecting. Catherine must have been collecting these CDs since she was fifteen years old or younger. He'd say her taste was eclectic, but it only reflected the changing of time, the emergence of new artists and the retirement of others. Mostly it reflected the changes in Catherine.

Stevie Wonder and Luther Vandross. He held the plastic jewel boxes in each hand. These were his final choices. He looked at one, then the other. Finally, he slipped Luther Vandross onto the shelf and put the Stevie Wonder CD in the portable disk player. He took the box with him, returning to the kitchen to see if Catherine's tray was ready.

Jenny was placing a linen cloth over the plate when he walked in. "Just finishing up," she said. She lifted the silver tray by the two handles and balanced it in the middle of Jarrod's single free hand. She smiled at the precarious way he leaned to one side to keep his center of gravity in place and prevent everything from toppling over. "We'll be leaving now."

"Good night, Jenny." Jarrod turned toward the door. Jenny rushed around him and opened it. The tray got heavy halfway up the stairs. Jarrod put the player down and repositioned the tray. Grasping it by the handles that Jenny had used, he took it to the top of the stairs and set it on the table in the center of the hall.

He retrieved the portable CD and checked its contents. Then he knocked quietly on Catherine's door. He heard her soft voice say, "Come in." Jarrod knew she was expecting Jenny. He didn't hesitate. He pushed the door open and went inside. She was lying on the bed wearing a robe; not the one she'd had on during their honeymoon, but one that was older and worn, one that looked as if it were comfortable, something she could retreat to when she'd been hurt, her per­sonal security blanket.

Hitting the
PLAY
button, he set the box on the floor. Too bad he didn't have any sunglasses, Jarrod thought, going into a lip-synch routine of "Yester-Me, Yester-You, Yesterday." Stevie Wonder sang and Jarrod performed.

Catherine sat up, swinging her feet over the side of the bed. Jarrod paraded up and down the room, bobbing his head back and forth and stumbling like a blind man. He sneaked a look at her. Her mouth turned up in the slightest Mona Lisa smile. She looked down so he couldn't see her expression. Jarrod knew she was laughing. He'd laugh too if she did this to him. The song continued. Stevie's voice rose and he got into character, performing as if he were at a con­cert hall even if his audience consisted of this one member.

He was nearly at the end of the song. Catherine's shoulders were shaking. Finally, she looked up. Her eyes were wet. Sound broke from her body as she laughed uproariously. Jarrod reached for her hand. She took it, and he pulled her up to dance. The song ended and with the precision of technology, Stevie's next cut began. "Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I'm Yours" summed up his feelings. He didn't say any­thing. He just swung her around the bedroom, the two of them acting like two teenagers on prom night. Jarrod didn't want the song to end.

"Do you forgive me?" he asked when the room was quiet.

"I suppose anyone who's willing to make a fool of himself like that"—she indicated the silent player—"deserves forgiveness."

Jarrod stepped forward to hug her but caught him­self in time. "I almost forgot," he covered. "I brought your dinner."

Turning around, he left the room and returned with her tray. "Jenny was on her way home. I agreed to bring it." Catherine sat down at the small table in front of the fireplace. Jarrod placed the tray in front of her.

She lifted the cloth covering the plate. "It's set for two," she said.

Jarrod tried to interpret the note in her voice.

"I didn't ask her to do that."

Catherine pointed toward the chair opposite her. He sat down. The silence between them was comfort­able. He enjoyed the food. Then Catherine started to snicker. Jarrod looked at her. She was obviously thinking of the fool he'd made of himself a moment ago. From that, she broke into a full laugh.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I keep seeing you prancing up and down the floor—"

"I did not prance," he protested.

"With your head bobbing." Catherine demon­strated. "I can't wait to tell Audrey."

"You do and I'll pull out a few secrets of my own," he asserted.

Catherine sobered immediately. "I'll deny every­thing."

Then the 1-800-WIFE line rang.

***

Catherine woke with a smile, then a giggle. She'd been so angry with Jarrod, but when he danced in her bedroom, she couldn't keep a straight face. She still laughed each time she pictured him strutting up and down the room, lip-synching to Stevie Wonder. Life had settled into a routine after that night two weeks ago. She pushed the covers back and got out of bed. Both she and Jarrod worked. They had to be out of the house each morning. They usually met at the breakfast table.

Heading for the shower, she thought of breakfast. What should she expect, today? So far, they'd kept things from getting serious. Since that first night after they returned from Montana, they were getting back to being the friends they'd been in the past. Yet each day she found something from Jarrod, notes inviting her to dinner, small gift-wrapped packages containing nonsensical trivia, Cracker Jack prizes, marbles, McDonald's Happy Meal toys. Stepping under the shower, she wondered what today's prize was.

She was enjoying this kind of marriage. She could do this for the next five months. In fact, if she was sure things could go on this way, she wouldn't mind being married. She liked being with him, especially in the evenings, when they talked or danced. The music they chose was upbeat tunes, fast tempos where
their hands touched and occasionally Jarrod put his arms about her waist, but only for a moment.

Catherine shuddered under the hot water. She hadn't been prepared for the open fissure that ripped through her at the thought of being in his arms. She turned off the water. Montana memories filtered through her head; the kiss on their first night there in front of that mammoth fireplace. The return home and them making love in her bedroom. Catherine's breath came fast. She wrapped herself in a towel and left the confining shower. Sitting down on the chaise lounge in her bedroom, she leaned forward, feeling as if she should put her head between her knees.