The Heiress (35 page)

“What I don’t understand,” Jack said, a protective note coming into his voice as the two of them walked into the bedroom together, “is how Richard could have locked you in that room and frightened you so.”

Daisy shrugged as she slipped off the short pink and white–striped kimono robe, and climbed into bed, clad in just a white camisole and coordinating pink tap pants. She sat up against the pillows, drew her knees up to her chest and clasped her arms around them. “He wanted to finish what he’d started with that caterer,” Daisy said, resting her chin on her upraised knees. Now that her memory of that awful evening was finally coming back, she couldn’t seem to shut out the torrid sounds and pictures. She closed her eyes against the onslaught of awful memories. “I heard them, Jack,” she told him miserably. “He was moaning.” She’d thought he was in awful pain. And she had never understood. Never gotten over the shock of her first sight of the male anatomy.

Jack climbed into bed beside her and sat up against the pillows, propped against the headboard, too. “And you never realized it was him until tonight?”

Daisy was quiet, thinking as she curled her bare toes into the coverlet. “I think maybe deep down I always knew, but I was so young—six—and he had frightened me terribly and it just seemed safer to think it was all a figment of my hysterical imagination, especially since that’s what Mother and Iris thought.” Daisy paused as she turned to look at Jack. “I know I wouldn’t have wanted Mother to be hurt. Because despite the cold, disapproving way my father always treated me, my
mother always loved me and did her best to try and protect me.”

“As did Iris,” Jack interjected, reaching over to rub her back.

Daisy moved into Jack’s arms. She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his chest. “I’ve found out in the past few months that Iris’s life was harder, more lacking in love, than I had ever imagined.”

Jack continued rubbing her back with soothing motions. “Iris seems to have landed on her feet.”

Daisy acknowledged that was so with a rueful smile. “Probably better than I would have.”

Jack slid a hand beneath her chin and lifted her face to his. “Don’t sell yourself short, Daisy. You’re every bit the strong woman your mother and sister are, in your own right.”

Daisy warmed at his praise even as she struggled to come to grips with all that had been revealed. “Then why do I feel so disillusioned, in despair?” she asked him softly.

Jack shrugged his bare shoulders ineffectually and told her matter-of-factly, “People surprise you. And disappoint you. It’s just the way life is. A lot happened tonight,” he soothed her gently when he saw she was still troubled. “It’s going to take you a few days to absorb it all, but then you’ll be okay, as will your mother and your sister, and even your father.”

Daisy rubbed her hand across the satiny-smooth muscles of his chest. She loved the way he felt, so strong and warm. She loved the way he conducted himself, so tough and tender and capable. “You can really be that pragmatic about it?” She searched his face.

Jack tangled his hands in her hair and tenderly
stroked the length of it. “I lost my naiveté a long time ago, Daisy,” he admitted honestly, looking deep into her eyes. “I’m not sure, given the way I grew up, that there ever was a time when I was able to be innocent and hopeful and pure of heart as you probably were at one point. But in certain ways, my cynicism about the murkiness of life has served me well, because it’s enabled me to appreciate the good things that do come along.”

Daisy smiled, able to see where this was heading. “Good things like what?” she teased.

“Like you,” Jack whispered, and lowered his lips to hers. He kissed her sweetly, evocatively. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Daisy. And don’t you ever forget it.”

A whisper of longing threaded through her. Followed swiftly by a wave of lingering disillusionment and disappointment. She so did not want to follow in Charlotte’s and Iris’s footsteps and make a fool of herself over a man by believing and seeing what she wanted and needed to believe rather than what was really true. “You’re just saying that because you want to make me feel better after everything that happened,” she baited, only half teasing, as she waited to see what his reaction would be.

Jack’s eyes darkened to pure liquid gold. “I’m saying it because I’m in love with you, Daisy.”

Daisy caught her breath at the raw emotion in his low tone. “Don’t say that unless you mean it, Jack,” she warned, tears suddenly blurring her eyes as myriad feelings welled up inside her. To date, everyone close to her had betrayed her in some way or another. She couldn’t bear it if Jack deceived her, too. Or worse, was
just saying and doing this to fulfill what he saw as his duty after the devastating evening she’d had.

“I mean it,” Jack reiterated gruffly, his arms tightening around her. “And one of these days, Daisy Granger, you’re going to say it and mean it, too.”

The next thing Daisy knew, she was lying beneath him, sideways on the bed, on top of the covers instead of beneath.

He kissed her temple, her cheek, the slope of her neck. “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through,” he whispered in a voice thick with emotion. “If I could, I’d erase it all and give you the happy childhood you deserved.”

But he couldn’t do that for her, any more than Daisy could erase the unhappiness of his youth, so they concentrated on the present instead, loving each other slowly and patiently. Passionately. And without reservation. Until Daisy accepted Jack, not just as her husband, but as the love of her life, until she realized just how lost she had been without him.

Afterward, Jack held her close. “I love you, Daisy,” he whispered in her ear.

Her heart filling with tenderness, Daisy snuggled closer. She knew he wanted her to say it back. And she wanted to be able to, but she couldn’t. Not yet. Not until she knew for certain that this—like the baby they’d made together and loved for just five short weeks—wasn’t going to be taken away from her, too.

W
HEN THE PLANS
for the party, announcing Daisy as his daughter, were complete, Tom stood. “It’s late, Grace,” he told his ex-wife with obvious reluctance. “I should be going.”

“I know.” And yet, even though it was past mid
night and she had a long day of taping ahead of her, Grace made no move to show him out.

Tom gave her a slow smile, reminiscent of their first, heady days together. “I don’t want to leave, either,” he said with a commiserating smile.

Grace knew that, too. She felt the same way. This evening had been like going back in time, to everything good they had ever had in their lives. It had made her realize all over again how very much she cared about Tom. How much she loved him, and always would. And it had made her question whether she really wanted to go on without him, and the answer was a resounding no.

He was the only man she had ever wanted. The only man who had ever made her want to share her life with him. And she knew, more than ever before, that her ex-husband felt the same way, too. It was in his eyes every time he looked at her, in every fleeting touch, every avoided touch.

Which left only one solution to their problem, Grace knew.

Grace took a deep breath. “So don’t go,” she told Tom softly, seriously. “Stay.”

G
RACE AND
T
OM STOOD
for a long moment, not speaking, just looking into each other’s eyes. “If I stay here any longer tonight, Grace,” Tom said finally, taking both her hands in his, “I’m going to make love to you.”

A tremor of anticipation swept through Grace, along with the familiar uncertainty. As she gazed up into his eyes, she was struck by the intensity of his expression. He seemed to want to join not just their bodies this time, but their hearts and souls and lives in a way they hadn’t when they had been married. Grace swallowed, even as she melted into the tenderness of his touch, knowing she had to be honest with him about her fears as well as her desire. “That’s what scares me,” she said, looking deep into his eyes, “because that’s where our problems started.” And she didn’t want to fail him again.

Tom’s expression remained concerned.

In the past, Grace had readily accepted defeat when it came to sex. In the beginning, of course, she had tried to enjoy herself in the marriage bed, but when she had been unable to get past the mixed messages in her head, that her mother had repeated often to her in her youth—that told her sex for pleasure was wrong versus the ones that said it was her wifely duty to please her husband—Grace had given up trying to be something she wasn’t
and had simply faked it. She’d thought, at the time, she was doing her husband a favor. In retrospect, she realized she had done them both a grave disservice in keeping her hang-ups secret from him. Because he had sensed something was wrong anyway, and ended up suffering, too.

Now, having spent so many years alone, having wasted so many years away from Tom, the only man she had or would ever love, Grace was not willing to continue on the same path. She looked up at him shyly, knowing this was going to be one of the most challenging things she ever had to do. “But maybe it doesn’t have to be that way,” Grace continued hopefully, willing to make herself truly vulnerable to her husband at long last.

The regret on her ex-husband’s face faded. “Maybe if we just start fresh?” Tom suggested huskily. “See what happens?”

Grace nodded, knowing if they were patient with each other, if they were honest about what they were feeling or not feeling, this was something that likely could be overcome. “That’s what I want more than anything,” she told him softly.

Tom smiled, all the tenderness he had ever felt for her in his eyes. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against her temple. “Sounds good to me, too.”

Grace’s heart raced as she thought of the momentous occasion ahead. In many ways, this was even more nerve-racking than her wedding night had been. “Can you give me a few minutes to change?” she said.

“Sure.” Tom smiled. “Want me to fix you a drink?”

Grace nodded. They’d finished a bottle of wine much earlier, but the coffee and hours of working on the party had long since dissipated any of the relaxing effects.
And right now she needed to relax just a little bit. “There’s some champagne downstairs in the fridge.”

He laced his arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. “I’ll take it from here. And Grace—” he paused to kiss her again, slowly and lingeringly “—take all the time you need. We’ve got all night.”

Grace glided across the hall to the bedroom, her heart racing, while Tom headed downstairs to the kitchen. She could hardly believe she was doing this. Hardly believe that the reconciliation she had wanted deep in her heart, but never expected to have, was finally happening.

What do you wear,
Grace wondered as she riffled through the clothes,
when you finally realize what you want more than anything in this world is to please your man?
Grace knew what Tom needed, what he had always needed—someone sexy and appealing and sophisticated and smart and at ease in his monied world. Grace had, in the course of her network television job, become sophisticated and at ease in the world of privilege and money. She had always been smart. She had never ever been sexy. She was the mom next door. That was how the network execs and marketing gurus had always described her. That’s why women liked and trusted her, and men could be persuaded to listen to her, even when she had been interviewing heads of state, economists and politicians.

But no one had ever turned to Grace for advice on how to catch or keep a man. Because the truth was she had no clue. Which left her in a quandary. Because she wanted Tom back. And not just for tonight. She wanted to remarry him. She didn’t know how or when exactly she had come to that decision, she only knew it was true.

Getting fired had been the worst thing that had ever happened to her, and it had been the best. Because it had made her stop and reassess her life and decide what was important to her, and what wasn’t, and in what order. She knew now her priority was home and family. Work played a part, of course, it would always play a part. She liked being connected to the outside world, doing good, bringing information to people in a pleasing down-home sort of way. But most important to her was the love of her children, and Tom. Which was why she had to get him back.

But how did she do that? How did she make him want to do more than simply sleep with her again? Grace wondered as she debated the merits of wearing a brand-new black lace negligée or the cotton pajamas she had favored when she had been his wife. How did she get and keep Tom’s attention in that strictly man-woman way?

T
OM HAD JUST BROUGHT
the ice bucket of champagne and two crystal flutes up to the second-floor sitting room, when Grace emerged from the bedroom across the hall. She was wearing a lacy black negligée and matching robe and a pair of satin mules, and she had never looked lovelier in her life.

The blood rushed to Tom’s groin and he wondered how he was going to be able to keep a lid on his desire long enough for Grace, who had never been at ease in the bedroom, to feel comfortable climbing into bed with him again. Deciding to take his seduction of her as slow as possible, Tom poured them each a flute of champagne. “To us.” They touched glasses and sipped. And Tom wanted her all over again. Wanted her desperately.
But Grace was already trembling, and not, he noticed in frustration, from desire.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly, worried now that they were at the moment of truth, that things were going to go bust all over again.

Grace gulped as all the color left her face, and she looked as if she might faint if she didn’t get ahold of herself soon. “I’m afraid I can’t do this.”

Tom’s heart hammered in his chest as he braced himself for the rejection he was sure was coming. “Sleep with me?”

Grace’s lower lip trembled as she replied in a low, hoarse voice, “Please you.”

Tom blinked as the meaning of her words slowly sank in. “Why would you ever think that?” he asked, stunned. No woman had ever turned him on the way Grace did, or ever would. He loved everything about her, from her soft, slender curves, to her pretty woman-next-door looks.

“Because I never…really liked…” Grace flushed as she attempted to get the words out of her throat.

“Making love with me?” Tom guessed.

Grace drew a trembling breath, nodding. “Making love, period.” Reluctantly but deliberately, she lifted her eyes to his. “And that wasn’t right, but…I couldn’t…Tom…every time we… I kept hearing my mother’s voice, saying that lovemaking was for one reason and one reason only…for making babies. And when we were doing that, when we were trying to have another baby, well, it was okay.”

“But not really pleasurable,” Tom guessed, thinking of all the times she had faked it with what he was just now realizing had obviously been—for her—an Academy Award–winning performance. And later still, all the times when, unable to perpetuate the lie anymore,
she had simply turned away from him. He had thought it had been disinterest on her part, but instead, she was telling him, it had been shame that had made her resist his bedroom overtures. “Oh, Grace,” Tom said softly, understanding at long last what the problem really was. “You should have told me.”

Tom could tell by the way she was looking at him that Grace hadn’t wanted to hurt him—and she still didn’t. But she also knew, as did he, that they would never get back together unless they were brave enough to be completely honest with each other about their needs, wants and expectations. “The problem wasn’t you, it was me.” Grace stumbled through the rest of her confession, tears glimmering in her eyes. “And it still is because I’ve never once climaxed in my whole life. I have to face it, Tom, as much as it pains me to admit it—I’m frigid.”

Tom set his glass down. At last, he thought, something they could fix. “How do you know?” he asked patiently, more than willing to put this at the very top of his To Do list.

It was Grace’s turn to blink and look completely flummoxed. “What?”

“How do you know if you don’t try?” Tom asked, smiling, as he realized truth was what had been missing in their marriage bed, not love. And with love, anything and everything was possible. He took Grace in his arms and cuddled her close to him. “I meant what I said earlier, Grace,” he murmured, running his fingers through her hair, kissing her temple, her cheek, before returning with unhurried pleasure to her lips. “We have all the time in the world. And tonight we’re going to take it.”

“M
Y RULES TONIGHT
,” Tom said as he led her into the bedroom beyond, and up onto the four-poster bed.

Grace had never seen Tom looking so sexy or determined as he did at that minute, not even on their wedding night. It was also the first time in a long time that he had approached their coupling without the expectation of mutual disappointment and a less than stellar ending. The combination of his confidence and patience were like a balm to her wounded soul. She felt as if an albatross had been lifted from her, a very necessary permission granted, and she smiled at him willingly. “And those are?” she responded in the same gently teasing manner.

Tom removed his tie and dropped it over the back of the chaise lounge. “For every sip of champagne we take, we have to spend five minutes kissing. And we don’t stop until we empty the bottle.”

Grace eyed the magnum, already anticipating more of Tom’s delectable kisses. “That really is going to take all night.”

“Exactly,” Tom quipped happily as he unbuttoned his light-blue oxford-cloth shirt and stripped it off, “my point.”

Mouth dry, Grace watched as Tom’s slacks, socks and shorts went the way of his suit. At ease in his nakedness as she had always wanted to be, he turned down the covers and slipped beneath the sheets.

“What if I decide I want to do more than kiss?” Grace challenged playfully as she, too, slipped beneath the sheets, beginning to relax now that the secret was out, and Tom had taken the truth in stride and decided to help her rather than turn away from her permanently.

“Then we’ll have to see,” Tom determined with a lazy shrug of his broad, muscular shoulders.

“See what?” Grace asked, her nipples beading beneath the lace of her negligée. She had never had trouble responding to Tom’s initial kisses or becoming aroused—she just had never been able to get beyond the tingling state. Never known anything in the aftermath of lovemaking but frustration, contempt for herself and her own inability to respond completely.

Tom traced his fingertip along the plunging vee of her bodice, lightly caressing the swell of her breasts and the hollow in between. “Just how patient you can be.”

Her heart thudded against her ribs as he cupped her shoulders and came closer still. His lips tugged at her earlobe and played at the corner of her mouth as he turned her, ever so gently, onto her side. Then adjusted the pillows so their faces were aligned with maximum comfort. “You’ve got to help me out here,” he murmured as he fit his lips over hers, lightly tracing her lips with just the tip of his tongue. Aware she wanted, needed more, Grace slid closer and wreathed her arms around his neck. His lips were soft and warm, and accepting his invitation, she plunged her tongue into his mouth, too. Their tongues swirled together in a dance that was more erotic and emotionally satisfying than anything Grace had ever experienced. And she kissed him back, her body burning with everything that had been missing for her, everything she had always wanted but never felt was within her reach. And still he kissed her, gently tantalizing, taking full possession of everything she offered him, slanting his mouth across her, deepening the kiss, until her heart pounded in her chest. And she wanted…she wanted…

“Tom?”

“Hmm?”

“I want you to touch me.”

He pushed the flimsy bodice of her negligée aside and traced her nipple with his thumb. Ribbons of heat swept through her, accompanied by a new restlessness unlike anything she had ever felt. She kissed him again, abandoning herself to the taste of champagne and man and the unique flavor that was him, until she was gripping his shoulders and surging against the hand on her breasts. Chuckling softly, he bent to take her in his mouth. “I think you’re getting the hang of this.” The gentle suction of his lips and tongue made her simultaneously want to ask him to stop and beg him to continue loving her like this forever.

“Tom?” She stroked the width of his shoulders, the hardness of his chest muscles.

“Hmm?” He kissed his way up the slope of her neck and recaptured her lips again. Slowly, sensually.

When she could breathe again, Grace kissed the back of his knuckles, looked into his eyes. “I want you to touch me there, too.”

Tom smiled as he lifted the hem of her negligée and rubbed his palm across the gentle slope of her abdomen. “Like this?” He inched toward the nest of curls.

Grace hesitated.

He covered his fingers with hers, looked deep into her eyes. “Show me, sweetheart, show me what feels good.”

Emboldened by the love and tenderness in his eyes, Grace did. Until warmth flowed through every inch of her body, a peculiar weakness stole through her limbs, and deep inside, a strange urgency built. She moved against his hands restlessly as the dampness flowed between her thighs. Without warning, she was tingling all over in a way she had never tingled before.