The Expectant Secretary (13 page)

Determination battled the fear inside her. Cupping the back of his neck, feeling the wisps of his hair against her fingers, she pulled him closer, tested the line of his mouth again with the tip of her tongue, and it gave way. Suddenly their tongues met, flesh against flesh, melding, luxuriating in the tastes and textures of each other.

Stunned by her own boldness, by the wild sensations coursing through her, she started to pull away, ready to bolt out of the car and race for her sister's front door, never looking back, never able to face Brody again. As her courage slipped, he took control. His arms came around her, enfolding her in his embrace, which both thrilled and unnerved her. His mouth pressed hard and urgent against her, grinding, opening, invading. She gave. He took.

Her breasts pressed against his chest. Her nipples hardened, tingled with the need for his touch. His hands roamed her back, exploring, searching, molding her to him. Resistance and restraint that she had always experienced with James never surfaced. With Brody she felt free. Free to feel all he aroused in her.

She felt herself falling, tumbling into something she couldn't see, couldn't understand, losing control, losing herself. Was it into love? Or oblivion? Where she'd lose her very soul?

“Brody…” She put a shaky hand to his chest. He nuzzled her neck, sending electric shocks down her spine, making her skin tingle. “I'm…” Her heart pounded with excitement. With fear. “I'm scared.”

He stilled. Slowly he pulled away from her, his arms around her, holding her as if he wouldn't ever let her go again. He looked down at her, his eyes smoky with passion. “Of me?”

“Yes…” She shook her head. “N-no. I don't know. Of what you do to me.”

He cupped her chin and kissed her lightly, touching his mouth to each corner of her mouth, then running his tongue along her bottom lip, eliciting a wild mixture of sensations through her.

“Brody,” she said, breathless. “I—”

“You don't have to be afraid of me, love.” His voice sounded ragged. She felt a trembling in his chest. “I won't hurt you.”

“It's not you. It's…” A hard lump formed in her throat.

“I know.” He smoothed his hand over her hair, sifting his fingers through the strands. “It's okay.” He kissed her temple, her forehead, her hair. Her stomach turned inside out. “It's you standing between us. It's always been you. From the beginning. Not some other woman. Not some other man. It's been your fears.”

He understood her far better than she understood herself. It unnerved her and at the same time comforted her. Confused, she straightened, edging away from him. She needed time, space. She had to think. And being in Brody's arms she couldn't think clearly or rationally. Or maybe the opposite was true.

When she was in his arms, with him kissing her, everything seemed easy, perfectly clear. When anything separated them, things became muddled and her fears assaulted her.

He settled back into the driver's seat. But his gaze never left hers. She wanted to look away, to try to compose herself, but his eyes acted like a magnet to her heart. “You're afraid of the past. Of yourself.”

He reached over and clasped her hand, entwining his fingers with hers. She looked at their joined hands, the shadows playing along their skin, and she couldn't tell where he began and she ended. They were one.

“Take all the time you need,” he said, his voice soft but confident. “I can wait. I've waited this long for you. I can wait until you're ready.”

“What if that day never comes?” Her voice trembled with suppressed emotions.

“It will.” He spoke the words as a promise.

It was simply a matter of time. How much time depended on her. She began to wonder if second chances were possible.

“I
s there anyone who has any reason why these two should not be wed?” the minister asked. He peered out over the congregation gathered beneath the virginal white tent set up along the back side of the Double Crown's sprawling adobe-style estate.

Brody sat among his family with Jillian right beside him. He didn't expect anyone to protest the wedding of his brother Reed and bride, Mallory. After all, it was obvious to everyone how the two adored each other. But Brody had plenty of doubts and questions regarding his own heart's eagerness to suddenly commit to Jillian.

What had gotten into him?

Why on earth had he said it was only a matter of time before the two of them made love? Had he lost his mind? Or his heart?

And what would happen after they made love? Would marriage automatically follow?

His intentions toward Jillian were as clear as the U.S. tax codes. Never in his life had he been so uncertain, so sure and tentative at the same time, with himself or with a woman. He cursed the emotions pouring out of his heart, cursed the questions, his hesitancy. But he couldn't deny it, either.

Yes, he wanted her. God, the desire was stronger
than the constant, unrelenting pull of gravity. He needed her. Needed her as he needed air to breathe.

Watching her this past week at work as she went about mundane tasks of filing and typing on the computer, he became entranced, mesmerized by each tiny movement—the tilt of her chin, the way her hand hooked a lock of blond hair behind her delicate ear, her quick, unguarded smile. After years of feeling a gaping hole ache in his chest, he knew only Jillian had the ability to make him complete again.

But stark, cold fear kept him from allowing what seemed so natural between them from happening, from coming full circle.

Sitting beside her at his brother's wedding beneath the awning of the shimmering white tent, hearing the somber strands of the violins, watching the ceremony unfold in front of the cluster of family and friends gathered, Brody wondered if he could let himself love Jillian again. His heart pounded “Yes!” with each steady beat. Could he marry her? His mind shouted “No!” with each resonant question that battered his brain.

Dressed in a lemony-colored suit, with her ankles demurely crossed and her hands tightly clasped in her lap, Jillian seemed caught up in the celebration of love and romance. Brody wondered what her and James's wedding had been like. Had it fulfilled all her girlhood fantasies? Had she worn a Cinderella wedding dress, full and glittery? Or a sleek, mature dress giving a bold glimpse of her feminine curves? Had she given James a chaste kiss or an intimate, lingering one full of promise and purpose?

Once again, like a stinging slap, he faced the fact
that he had not been the first man in Jillian's life…or bed. Not that he thought he had to marry a virgin. But he was the only man for Jillian. Resentment wrenched his insides that someone else had claimed her first.

Even though he knew her marriage to James had been painful, Brody couldn't escape the haunting truth that she'd married James of her own free will. She'd said as much herself.

Feeling his hands clench with unmitigated jealousy, he turned his attention to the bride and groom as they exchanged vows. Mallory's voice wafted soft and sweet through the congregation. Reed sounded sure and confident in his love. And Brody knew he couldn't take a similar profound step until he felt the same.

Having never paid much attention to weddings when his friends or relatives had tied the knot, he found his focus sharp, his senses heightened, as new awareness and interest took hold today. He noticed each tiny detail from the sheer lace sleeves of Mallory's wedding dress to the white satin bows lining the center aisle. In spite of the fans set up around the periphery of the oversize tent and a soft summery breeze filtering through, heat nettled him. Suddenly the fragrance of jasmine and gardenias mingled with Jillian's carefree floral perfume and felt cloying, suffocating to him.

Brody watched Mallory give Reed a watery smile as he slipped a glittering diamond band on her left hand. His brother's Adam's apple jerked with suppressed emotions. Beside him, Jillian dabbed her eyes with a linen handkerchief. An overwhelming sense of
possessiveness surged inside him, swelling into a need to shelter and protect her. But did he want the responsibility of till death did they part?

Uncomfortable emotions wrestled inside him, pummelled him with guilt and longing. Fearful questions shadowed his heart, creeping up from behind and dragging him down into a mire of doubt.

“I now pronounce this couple husband and wife.” The minister finished the ceremony. With a nod to the groom, he added, “You may kiss the bride.”

With love and awe shining in his eyes, Reed cupped Mallory's jaw and gave her a kiss that left no doubts that this was his wife, his woman forever and ever.

Brody felt his insides tighten as his senses magnified on Jillian sitting beside him. The need to kiss her, hold her, make love to her overwhelmed him. But would she let him? Would she trust him again? He knew without that basic trust they had no future. Feeling all those doubts and questions clamp around him like chains, could he with a clear conscience make love to her?

After the bride and groom swept down the center aisle with the crowd clapping and the violins playing, Jillian turned to Brody, her hand on his arm, making his skin overheat. “That was beautiful.” Tears shimmered in her turquoise eyes, reminding him of the Coral Sea back home. “They seem so happy.”

He nodded, unable to speak.

Gathering her purse, she asked, “Where will the reception be?”

“In the courtyard.”

As the rows of family and friends filed out of the
tent and ambled toward the inner sanctuary held within the sandstone walls of the Double Crown adobe-style house, Brody took Jillian's arm. She felt delicate and small, but the tilt of her chin reminded him of her strength of character. Pride that she was beside him at this family occasion surged inside him.

The courtyard had been decorated with yellow and red bougainvillea, lush ferns and climbing ivy. All with Mallory's decorative touch. Already the bride and groom were posing for pictures beneath an arch-way of greenery and white rosebuds before moving to stand beside the five-tiered wedding cake. Curled shavings of white chocolate swirled over the sugary frosting. Brody had never realized so much went into a wedding and again he thought of Jillian's first marriage and all the preparations she must have orchestrated. On her own. Without her mother's help.

Servers wearing black slacks and white shirts handed out champagne-filled crystal flutes to the guests. A slight woman with mousy brown hair pulled back into a bun walked up to Brody and Jillian. “Want some champagne?”

Brody took one glass off the tray and thanked the woman. “What's your name?”

“Betsy, sir,” she answered.

“Betsy, the lady here needs a glass of…” Brody paused and glanced at Jillian. “What would you like, love? Ginger ale?”

She gave him a warm smile that filed down the jagged edges of his heart. “That would be fine.”

“Ginger ale, then,” he told the server.

“Yes, sir. I'll be right back.”

Taking a sip of the champagne, Brody couldn't
keep from asking the haunting question. “Does this make you think of your wedding?”

Startled, Jillian's eyes widened. She gave a halfhearted laugh. “Not exactly.”

He cursed himself for asking. It probably brought her pain just remembering James.

Her gaze swept over the courtyard and mingling guests and settled on the bride and groom who had their arms around each other. “Reed and Mallory seem to truly love each other. You know,” she tilted her face toward the warm glow of the setting sun, “I had this sinking feeling when I said ‘I do' that it was a mistake.” She took a deep breath and placed her hand on her abdomen as if at peace now. “And our wedding was…well, James decided on everything. Where the wedding would take place, when. He wanted the bridesmaids to wear black. He thought it made them look more sophisticated. He chose the wedding cake, the hors d'oeuvres, even my dress.”

“Why?” he asked, not sure if he was more surprised that Jillian wouldn't stand up for herself or that she apparently hadn't loved James as he'd imagined.

She gave a slight shrug. “I couldn't complain. He paid for everything. Or his father did.” She looped a lock of blond hair behind her ear. “I've told you how poor I was growing up. My mother wasn't hoarding money under her mattress. After I paid off her hospital and funeral expenses, I didn't have much left.”

He imagined how quickly she'd had to grow up, to take control of her mother's finances, limited though they were, and handle everything. “What about your sister?”

“She was already married. In a bad marriage of
her own, actually. So she had her own worries. I told her I'd take care of things.”

His heart ached for her.

“Anyway, James offered to pay for the wedding. So it would be in the style he was accustomed to. He did like to spend money. Most of the time it was other people's money. And he wasn't very good about paying back loans.”

His brows slanted downward. His shoulders tightened. “Did he leave you in debt?”

She nodded, her lips compressed. “The house didn't belong to us, anyway. His father owned it. But I didn't feel right staying there. That's when I came to live with my sister in San Antonio. I suppose I could have declared bankruptcy, but that didn't seem right to leave all the people he owed in the lurch. So I used what little insurance money I received after his death to pay everything off.”

Awed by her strength, her resilience, her integrity, he felt pride swell inside him. Regret lodged in his throat. He wished he could have been there for her. To help her. But she was right. She'd done okay on her own. Without anyone. Without him.

More doubts swirled inside his head. Would she ever need him?

She placed her hand on his arm as if to reassure him. But it only stirred deep longings inside him. “Don't worry. I'm okay. It was like starting with a clean slate.”

Not sure what to say, how to respond, how to broach the question making him feel stiff-kneed, Brody nodded toward the round lace-skirted tables. “Would you like to get something to eat?”

“All right.”

Together they filled their plates with smoked salmon rosettes on crisp rye toast, mushroom caps filled with crabmeat, and fresh blueberries and strawberries dipped in whipped cream, brown sugar and chocolate Grand Marnier sauce.

“Mmm,” she murmured biting into a juicy strawberry, “the food is delicious.”

Brody couldn't take his gaze off the dollop of whipped cream clinging to her bottom lip. Unable to stop himself, he caught it with the edge of his thumb. Tiny sparks erupted along his spine as he met her electric blue-green eyes. Could she feel the desire, too? Did she need him the way he needed her?

“Harrumph!” A gruff voice snuffed out the sizzle between Jillian and Brody. “Son, are you going to introduce me to this lovely lady?”

Jillian dabbed her mouth with a turquoise napkin.

“My pleasure, Dad.” Brody met his father's smiling gray eyes, the only physical similarity between his father and himself. He put a hand at Jillian's lower back. “Jillian Hart…Tanner, this is my father, Teddy Fortune. Dad, Jillie and I went to Winslow College together.”

“Well, I'll be.” Teddy chuckled. Sunlight glinted off the silver strands shooting through his blond hair. “You don't sound like you're from Down Under.”

“No, sir,” she said, shaking the older gentleman's hand. “I'm a Texan.”

“Well, my brother Ryan says there aren't any prettier women than here in Texas. I have to admit I disputed that fact, for the sake of my lovely wife, Fiona,
and daughter, Matilda, but you, my dear, make me think he's right.”

She smiled. “So this is where Brody gets his charm.”

Teddy clapped his son on the back. “Bring this lady around more often, Son. She's a keeper.”

Brody had to agree. But watching his father walk away and stop to chat with Griff, he couldn't escape the underlying reason for his fears—Jillian's unborn child.

“Your father and his brother were recently reunited, is that right?” Jillian asked.

He assumed she'd heard the rumors at work like everyone else and gave a crisp nod before gulping more of the chilled champagne.

“Had they been apart for a long while?” she asked.

“Their whole lives. They'd never even met. Josiah Talbot kidnapped my father when he was a baby,” Brody explained.

“Kidnapped?”

“Yeah, my great-grandfather hated his son-in-law, Kingston Fortune. Said he stole his daughter, Patience. Actually they did sneak off to get married. Then Kingston was shipped off to fight in the Second World War. While in Europe, his wife, Patience, who was my grandmother, died during childbirth. Instead of contacting Kingston about his newborn son, Josiah took off with Teddy. Took him to New South Wales to raise him. That's how we all ended up in Oz…Australia.”

It struck Brody then why Jillian's baby put a barrier between him and a resolute commitment. Not only had his father suffered during his childhood being
raised by a tyrannical Josiah, but Brody's brother, Griff, had endured an equally terrible ordeal as a child. One he never had shared with the Fortunes. Griff had never totally accepted their generosity. He was a loner.

Now, Brody worried what the outcome of raising a child that wasn't his would be. He imagined what it would be like to hold James's baby, to care for it, to raise it. To try to love it. Would he always see the pain James had caused Jillian? Would he resent the baby as much as he resented the fact that James had been the first man in Jillian's life?

He didn't know the answers to his burning questions. He wasn't sure he wanted to look deep enough to discover his dark, unforgiving side. But he knew conditional love wouldn't be fair. To Jillian. Or the baby.