To Have and to Hold (7 page)

And that was how she spent her nights for the next seven days. In Gabriel's bed, in Gabriel's arms, as he taught her that no matter how well she thought she knew herself, she knew nothing. In those dark hours, she discovered a hidden, deeply sensual part of herself that gloried in what went on between the sheets, an houri who cared for pleasure alone.

Yet even as he stripped her of her defenses, he maintained his own steely control. That was what hurt and frustrated her the most—Gabe had brought passion into a relationship she'd once believed would be pure business, made her want things she'd never have dreamed of at the start, but the passion was all on his terms.

The days weren't much better. She spent them tormented by memories of the nights, confusion a churning knot in her stomach. So when her paintings arrived, she was more than ready to do something, anything, to temper her descent into emotional chaos.

Ripping open the boxes, she began stacking the canvasses in the large ground-floor room she'd commandeered as her studio. “I'm good at this,” she told herself, determined to rebuild her fractured confidence. She wasn't merely Gabriel Dumont's convenient wife, not merely the possession of a man who'd pushed her firmly to the periphery of his life—her place was in his bed and occasionally on his arm. Other than that, he didn't want to know him.

And she was finding the cold distance…hard.

Jess buried that thought soon as it rose. She'd entered this marriage knowing the rules. If she'd come to hope for more, then that was her mistake and one she'd be better off nipping in the bud.

Taking a calming breath, she set a prepared canvas on the easel she'd placed opposite the door, and picked up a soft pencil. Damon's face was easy for her to draw. She'd spent years staring at it with adoring eyes. But today, she saw things in it she'd never before seen…things that troubled her.

“Call for you, Jess, my girl.”

She looked up with a start, not having heard it ring. “Who is it?”

“A Richard Dusevic.”

Jess's eyes widened but she waited until Mrs. C. had left, to answer. “Mr. Dusevic?”

“Ms. Randall, I have on my desk several high-definition images my assistant tells me are of your work.”

“Oh.”
Very intelligent, Jess
.

“Can you send me the originals?”

Sounding calm became a test. “Sure. Would you like just the ones for which I submitted slides?”

“Give me a selection of your choice. I want to see what you can do. I have a feeling I won't be disappointed.”

She crushed the receiver to her ear. “I'll get them couriered up to you A.S.A.P.”

“I'll call you after I've had a chance to review them.”

Jess nodded though he couldn't see her. “Thank you.”

“Don't keep me waiting, darling.” With that flamboyant goodbye, he hung up.

She put down the receiver and tried to breathe but that was pretty much impossible. “Oh my God, Richard Dusevic called me.”

“How many men do you have, Jess?” The sardonic question came from the doorway.

R
eacting out of instinct, she flicked a coversheet over her work-in-progress and smiled. Nothing could spoil her mood today. “Richard Dusevic is the owner of one of the most prestigious art galleries in New Zealand.”

Gabe folded his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “Congratulations.”

“It's only a request to see work, not an offer,” she clarified.

“But Dusevic doesn't go around asking everyone I gather?”

“No.” She grinned and did a little dance. “I have to go to the post office tomorrow morning to send some paintings to Auckland. Can I borrow the SUV?”

“I'll drive you,” he offered unexpectedly, a smile on his lips that actually reached his eyes. “I have to see someone there anyway.”

She began to search through her work, disquieted by the happiness she felt at having made him smile.

“Are you going to show me your paintings?”

Surprised, she glanced at him. “Why should I?” It came out without thought, a snippy comment she hadn't known she had the capacity to make. “We don't talk, remember?”

“Been waiting to say that, haven't you?” He pulled up his body, his jaw an unyielding line.

Ashamed at having sunk that low, she shrugged and resumed her sorting. “I have work to do.”

When she looked up a minute later, he was gone.

Giving a frustrated sigh, she sat on the floor, her head in her hands. Why had she done that? It would have made far more sense to have acted civilly and broken the ice between them. But she hated the idea of being what he'd described her as—
well-behaved
,
undemanding
.

She wasn't a pet or a child. And Gabriel Dumont was going to learn that while he might be able to enslave her in bed, she'd give him nothing out of it.

It was exactly what he'd asked for.

* * *

The drive to Kowhai the next day was predictably tense, even more so because of what had happened the previous night. Exhausted by his lovemaking, she'd fallen into a deep sleep. If Gabe hadn't given a short, choked cry and jerked upright sometime in the darkest hours, she might not have woken till morning.

Startled and half-asleep, she'd put her hand on his shoulder. “Gabe?”

“Go back to sleep.” He'd gotten out of bed, uncaring of the moon's light on his nakedness.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Her voice had been soft, her heart unshielded. She'd forgotten she wasn't supposed to care.

“I
said,
go back to sleep.” Brutal in its coldness, the sharp command had thrown her tenderness back in her face. “Since you're up, it might be better if you went back to your own room.”

Stung, she'd done just that, but finding herself unable to sleep, had spent the rest of the night working in her studio. Gabe hadn't slept either—she'd heard him leave the house not to return till after dawn.

Now here they sat, both of them punchy from lack of sleep and a relationship going steadily downhill.

She finally couldn't take the silence anymore. “How long will your meeting take?”

“Not long.” He shifted gears as they neared a hill. “I forgot to give you your credit and debit cards so you'll have to use one of mine. Remind me to give it to you when we get to Kowhai.”

She could hardly refuse his money when she'd spent the past year living on it, but it had never made her feel good about herself. Still didn't. “If Richard likes my work and is able to sell it, I'll have some income.”

“That's not a problem, Jess. You're my wife.” The words were almost absent-minded as he overtook a big truck.

Of course it was nothing to him—Gabe held all the cards in this marriage. She'd been in his debt from the instant he'd saved her family home.

He turned down the street leading into town. “I'll park at the post office.”

“That sounds fine.” Kowhai wasn't much but it was okay for a town in the middle of nowhere. There was a grocery store cum post office, a bank, the obligatory pub and even a small medical clinic along with some other shops. “Doesn't seem like it's changed much.”

“Henry's handed over the running of the grocery store to Eddie.”

“At last! How's he handling it?”

“You can ask him yourself.” He nodded toward the store as they eased into one of the parking spaces out front.

Eddie was standing outside soaking up the sun and saw her the second she jumped out. Jogging over, he gave her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Jessie! Hey stranger. Hi, Mr. Dumont.”

Jess blinked at the formal way he'd addressed Gabe. “Gabe's got to head off so can you help me get some packages to the post desk?”

Gabe interrupted before Eddie could reply. “I have time.” Opening the door, he picked up the two biggest canvasses.

Nonplussed, Jess handed two more to Eddie and took the last one herself. They weren't that heavy, just awkward to carry, wrapped as they were for safe transport.

Eddie didn't speak again till Gabriel had left for his meeting. “You have to fill out one of these.” He slid a courier slip toward her then lounged against the ledge that served as a table.

Jess began to complete the form. “Don't you have customers in the grocery section?”

“Sally can handle it—we're not too busy right now,” he said, referring to his younger sister. “So, married to Gabriel Dumont, huh?”

“Mr. Dumont?” she teased.

He shrugged. “That's what I always called him when I used to work in the store after school. He's what, ten years older than you?”

“Nine,” she corrected automatically, Eddie's tone beginning to irritate her.

“Yeah, well I was sure surprised to hear the news about the wedding.”

Form filled in, she put down the pen. “Why?”

“Come on, Jess. When Damon left Kayla everyone thought it'd finally be him and you like it always should've been.”

Of course Gabriel chose that moment to walk in. He passed her a credit card, no expression on his face. “You'll need this. Meet you back at the car in an hour.”

“Okay.”

He left without another word. Eddie winced when she turned back to him. “Sorry if I stuck my foot in it.”

“Don't worry about it.” If only she could follow her own advice. “But do me a favor and stop talking about me and Damon in the same breath, all right? I'm married and so is he.”

“That's not what he said a few days ago at the pub. He didn't find out about your wedding until it was over, you know. He never figured Dumont would push you through it so fast. He said that if—”

“Don't.” Jess raised a hand, palm out. “I don't want to hear it. How much for the courier?”

Taking the hint at last, Eddie processed her packages without further commentary. But when she went to pay, he let out a long whistle. “Platinum card, Jess? You sure have moved up in the world.”

She chose to ignore the dig. People could believe what they liked. “Thanks.” She took the receipt. “See you.”

“Bye.”

There was plenty of time left so she decided to say hello to some of the other people she knew in town. However the first person she saw along the sidewalk was no one she wanted to meet. Unfortunately, she'd already been spotted.

“Jess!” Sylvie waved.

Knowing the gossip would spread like wildfire if she ignored the woman, Jess dug up her best fake smile. “Hello, Sylvie.”

“What luck to see you here when I was thinking of you a second ago. I'm throwing myself a birthday bash, an intimate dinner party. I'd love for you and Gabe to come.”

Jess couldn't think of anything she'd like less than to be stuck in a confined gathering with Sylvie. “I'll talk to—”

The blonde cut her off with a blinding smile. “Oh sorry, I should've said. I ran into Gabe at the bank and he said he'd be there.”

Pre-warned by that smug smile, Jess maintained her composure. If Sylvie wanted to see her bleed, she'd have to find a sharper knife. “When's the party?”

“This Saturday. Around seven for cocktails at my place. See you there.”

Jess made a noncommittal noise and they parted ways. Straightening the fingers she'd curled into fists inside her jacket pockets, she strode toward the bank. Gabe stepped out seconds after it came into view. Their eyes met and she found herself watching him walk to her, stunned anew by the impact of his presence.
Dear God
. If he could do this to her in public, then she was in desperate straits.

“Were you looking for me?”

Shaken, she barely noticed the hint of a smile on his face. “I met Sylvie on the way over.” The memory was precisely what she needed to cut through the cloudy haze of desire.

“And?” He raised an eyebrow.

“And don't you think it would be nice if you spoke to me before accepting certain invitations?”

“If you have a problem with going, we can cancel.”

“That's not the point. I know what you think of this marriage,” she said, trying not to let emotion color her words, “but I deserve respect. You should've spoken to me.”

“It's a party, Jess.” He put his arm around her shoulders and began walking. “Nothing serious.”

She went along rather than make a scene. “Maybe I don't want to go play nice with your ex-mistress.”

With his body aligned to hers, there was no way she could miss his sudden tension. “If I'm not mistaken, that implies I kept her. Sylvie is more than capable of keeping herself.”

Face burning at the subtle reminder that he
was
keeping Jess, she refused to look up and meet his mocking gaze. “You know what I mean. She's not my friend. I have no intention of going to that party.”

“Fine. I'll go alone.”

That answer only increased her fury. Taking her hands out of her pockets, she folded her arms across her chest. “No, you won't.” Thankfully, they'd reached the car by then.

He stopped walking and released her. “Excuse me?” A very quiet, very lethal sound.

Difficult as it was to stand her ground, she wouldn't be able to face herself in the mirror if she didn't. “You don't want me to see Damon. Fine. But that works both ways. You don't get a free pass to socialize with your old lovers either.”

“The difference,
Jessica
darling, is that I don't go around avowing my undying love for Sylvie. And I sure as hell don't crawl all over her every time she so much as crooks a finger.” He took out the car keys. “You can come to the dinner or not, but you haven't been paying attention if you think you have the ability to stop me from going.”

Jess wanted to scream. Because he was right—in a battle of wills, she'd always lose. Gabe had been tempered in the most cruel of circumstances and it had hardened him to all that was soft and gentle. He'd never bend for a woman, most especially not a woman he'd bought and married on the understanding that she'd expect nothing from him.

Ever
.

* * *

Several days passed in a procession of tense words and strained silences, with Jess keeping her distance while she figured out what to do. If she went to Sylvie's party, Gabe would win yet another skirmish in their ongoing war. But if she didn't, then that blond bitch would undoubtedly try something to ensnare Gabe. And Jess was discovering she had a rather wide streak of possessiveness where her husband was concerned. Something else she'd neither expected nor prepared for.

Of course, staying away from Gabe only worked during the day. During the night, she was his. In spite of everything, she'd come to crave the way he made her feel—so alive, so passionate, so intrinsically female. There was also another, less obvious temptation—she'd begun to believe that bed was the one place where Gabe might allow his ironclad control over his emotions to slip.

Sometimes, in the midst of the deepest intimacy, she thought she caught glimpses of the man behind the mask, fleeting moments of vulnerability and true feeling. If she could only push him further, make him remove that mask in other surroundings, she might yet discover the answers she so desperately needed…discover whether their marriage had a heart or was only a barren field. But Gabe never let her go that far, retreating behind his titanium-strong walls as soon as their bodies separated.

“Enough, Jess.” She slashed paint onto a canvas and told herself to stop thinking about the things that took place in the lush intimacy of Gabriel's bed. Which left her mind free to stew over the party—now only two nights away. And about the fact that she hadn't heard from Richard Dusevic. A glob of paint flicked off her brush and onto the canvas.

“Damn it!” She decided to stop before she ruined the painting altogether.

A quick shower later, she grabbed the keys to the SUV and left Angel, not giving herself the opportunity to change her mind. She'd been a coward long enough.