A Winter's Rose (15 page)

“Words,” she said simply. “His words bruised me in places fists couldn't. In places that couldn't be seen and wouldn't heal. David's quite intelligent, a master manipulator. He started on me subtly at first, undermining my confidence, questioning my every decision. I couldn't do anything right or well, including sex. I couldn't even get pregnant.” She plucked absently at the white sheet. “A blessing, I realize now. I can only imagine what he would have done to a child.”

Bentley looked at Jackson, her heart twisting at his expression.
Did he think less of her now, knowing how weak she'd been?
She shifted her gaze to the window. She was who she was, Bentley told herself. If he couldn't accept all of her, including her past, he wasn't worth having.

“Before I married David, I worried I was nothing. When he was finished with me, I knew it with every fiber of my being. It got to the point that I was afraid to pick out my own clothes for fear of making a mistake.”

Muttering an oath, Jackson hauled her into his arms and against his chest. “Bentley…baby, it's not true. He's a sick, sick man.”

“I know that now.” She cleared her throat of the tears clogging it. “But when you're in a relationship like that, it's hard to see the truth. When you're a woman, and particularly a southern woman, things are expected of you. Essentially, I was raised to be David's wife. Nothing more, but certainly not less. The outside world, including my family, believed me to be the problem. `Make the marriage work,'
they said. `You're not trying hard enough, you're letting us down.' So I tried harder. I wanted to please them. That's all I ever wanted.”

Jackson tangled his fingers in her hair, softly stroking. “What happened?”

She paused, wanting to look at Jackson but afraid of what she might read in his eyes. “The longer we were married, the more abusive he became. One day he would take my car keys and forbid me to leave the house. He took my credit cards, telling me that without them, I was nothing. A pretty, empty shell, he called me so often.”

She looked at Jackson, then away. “I think his abuse worked so well on me because, deep down, I feared the same things about myself.

“Finally, I couldn't take any more. I made some mistake, served the wrong tea, wore the wrong dress…I don't remember, I made so many mistakes. He locked me in the closet and left. I was in there all night. The maid found me the next morning. I made up a lie, but she knew the truth.”

Bentley drew in a shaky breath. “You can't imagine how humiliating that was. But in a way, the look in her eyes was the physical proof I needed. I left. I took nothing of his—even left things that were ours. I didn't want one reminder of David, or of the person I had become while married to him.”

She twisted her fingers together in her lap. “That's why I'm in Galveston. I gave up my family credit cards, my place to live, I got this job. I had to find out if he was right. I fully expected to fail.”

“Bentley, look at me.” When she wouldn't, he tipped her chin up gently. “You didn't fail. And you won't. You're made of tough stuff, Bentley Cunningham. Tougher than you think.”

She smiled, pride flowing through her. “You really think so?”

“Yeah, I do.”

She leaned into him, her muscles beginning to loosen, the knot of tension at the back of her neck easing. “Thank you, Jackson. You helped me.”

Jackson gave a hoot of laughter. “I find that hard to believe.”

“You did. You made me so damn mad. You refused to cut me a break, you refused to give me an inch.” She smiled at him. “So I stood up to you in a way I never had to anyone. Ever.”

“Felt good, didn't it?”

“Yeah.” She cocked her head, her smile fading. “You accused me of trying to prove myself, of using Baysafe, this job, as a way to prove myself. You were right. I had to know if I could stand on my own two feet, I had to know if I was anything more than a decoration.”

She met his eyes, hers swimming with tears. “I am, Jackson. I am more.”

“Bentley—”

She placed her fingers over his mouth, stopping his words. “Does having done that make me selfish and shallow? Maybe you were right, Jackson. Maybe it does. And I'll understand if you want—”

Jackson tumbled her to her back and rained kisses over her face. “I'm sorry…so sorry, Bentley.” He pressed his mouth to her throat, then the shell of her ear. “You're not selfish…not shallow.” He caught her bottom lip between his teeth and nipped.

Bentley brought his mouth to hers in a deep kiss. She didn't want to talk any more, and neither did he. They clutched at one another, each wrestling with their own demons. In moments, tenderness was replaced by a kind of desperation, a need to forget the past and avoid the future.

Bentley cried out as Jackson thrust into her for the second time, crying out with her almost immediate release. Jackson caught her cry with his mouth, then offered his own for hers.

For a long while after they didn't speak. The pattern of light on the wall shifted and changed, becoming longer and softer. The sounds from the street below mellowed.

Jackson pressed his lips to Bentley's head. “It's getting late.”

“Yes.”

“I should call Chloe. She'll be worried.”

“Yes,” Bentley said again, nuzzling his shoulder. “Phone's right there.”

Jackson reached for it, then stopped. “My God. This is you.”

Bentley opened her eyes. Jackson had seen her music box and was propped up on an elbow, staring at it. She smiled. “Not really. I found it in a curio shop. Marla's Small Miracles.”

Jackson sat up and lifted the box from the pedestal. For long moments he studied the figurine inside. “No relation at all?”

“No. It's from a Mississippi plantation.” She cocked her head, studying the piece. “But it's odd, I do feel like I know her.”

“It's the resemblance,” Jackson said, setting the music box down.

Bentley sat up. “You're right, I'm sure. But it feels like more.” She smiled at her own whimsy and motioned to the phone. “Chloe.”

“Right.”

Bentley watched as he reached for the phone and dialed. Chloe must have answered right away, because he began talking almost immediately.

“I'm here at Bentley's.” He paused. “Yes, everything's fine.” He angled a glance at Bentley. “Don't sound so surprised, I'm not a total brute.”

Bentley raised an eyebrow, amused. That was the first teasing exchange she'd ever heard between father and daughter.

“I know, I know. We had a lot of…talking to do.”

He blushed—everywhere—and Bentley put a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.

“I need to go into the office. You want me to pick you up? Okay…see you in fifteen minutes.” He looked at Bentley again; she blew him a kiss. “Maybe a little longer.”

As he hung up the phone, Bentley gave in to the urge and laughed. “You blush deliciously, Mr. Reese.” Jackson looked at her crossly, and she laughed again. “How was she?”

“Worried about you. I think she was afraid she'd never see you again.”

“My, my, Mr. Reese,” Bentley drawled, drawing him against her, “the lengths you will go to keep your daughter…and your employees…happy.”

He wiggled his eyebrows and lowered his mouth to hers. “I aim to please.”

She ducked away. “Oh, no, you don't. I need to get ready.”

“You seem ready to me.”

She climbed off the bed, then tossed one of the pillows at him. “Wipe that lecherous leer off your face. I'm talking about the office.”

“Stay here. I can handle it.”

“No way.” She looked at him archly, fists on hips. “I'm a working woman. Working women have to work. Got that?”

Jackson grinned. “Yes, ma'am.”

Then he tumbled her onto the bed.

Chapter Nine

T
hey all went to dinner together. Jackson and Chloe were more relaxed with each other than Bentley had ever seen them. And Chloe chattered, talking about the approaching Christmas holiday and the ski vacation she was taking with her mother and grandparents.

Bentley pushed her food around her plate, only half listening to Chloe, unable to concentrate on anything but Jackson. Sitting next to him, so close she could feel his heat, not being able to touch him, was agony. All she could think about was their earlier lovemaking; all she wanted was to make love again.

Jackson's thigh brushed against hers, and she caught her breath as fire flashed through her. When her world righted itself again, Bentley peeked at him from the corners of her eyes and found his heated gaze on her.

Wait,
his eyes seemed to say.
Soon we'll be alone.

But the wait seemed interminable.

Chloe cleared her throat, and Jackson jerked his gaze away from hers. Suddenly cold, Bentley shivered and slipped her sweater around her shoulders.

Jackson smiled at his daughter. “Sorry, sweetie, what did you say?”

Chloe looked from her father to Bentley, then back. “That I still have a couple of Christmas presents to buy.” The girl sighed. “Do I
have
to get one for Jacques?”

“What do you think?” Jackson asked.

She sighed again, this time more dramatically. “That I do.”

Jackson glanced at Bentley, then cleared his throat. “Would you like to go to the mall tonight? You could call and see if Randa or Billie could go.”

Chloe lifted her gaze, surprised. “Really?”

“Sure. I'll drive.”

Chloe drew her eyebrows together, looking once again from Bentley to Jackson. “It's a school night,” she said.

“But it's early. And I'd expect you home by nine.” Still Chloe said nothing, and Jackson shrugged. “I just thought you'd enjoy being with your friends. You worked so hard this week.”

Chloe paused only a moment more, then grinned. “Cool,” she said, jumping up. “Can I call now?”

“Sure.” Jackson fished in his pocket for a couple of quarters, then handed them to his daughter. After she'd taken them, she flashed him another smile then trotted off in the direction of the restaurant's foyer and the pay phone.

When she'd disappeared from sight, Jackson turned to Bentley. “If I don't touch you soon, I'm going to explode.”

“I know,” she whispered, shifting her gaze to the entryway, then to him. “This is torture.”

“I can't stop thinking about making love. I keep remembering how you were this afternoon, how you felt in my arms and under my hands.”

Bentley sucked in a sharp breath, uncomfortable from wanting. “Stop, Jackson.”

“I can't. God, I feel like a teenager.” He caught her hand under the tablecloth and brought it to him. Under her fingers he was hard, ready. She pressed her hand against him, then, shocked at her own daring, jerked her hand away.

“You're blushing,” he murmured, amused and obviously pleased. “No one can see.”

“They don't need to,” she whispered, trembling. “I'm afraid they've only to look at me and know.”

“Know what?” He leaned toward her, lowering his voice to a thick whisper. “That we're playing touchy-feely under the table?”

“No.” She met his eyes. “That I'm making love to you already. That I'm so aroused I can't sit still, so aroused I'm afraid to stand.”

This time it was Jackson who sucked in a sharp breath. “This was an incredibly stupid idea.”

“Yes.”

“Let's change the subject.”

“Yes. Let's.” Bentley fidgeted with her teaspoon, searching for something to say. The only thoughts that jumped to her mind and tongue had to do with the two of them. Alone and naked. She swallowed. “This isn't working so well.”

“No.” He checked his watch. “If Randa or Billie can't go to the mall—”

“Don't even think it.”

He met her eyes. “I have to think of something besides—”

“Yes. Me, too.” She picked up her teaspoon once more, then set it down again. “When are you going to tell Chloe about us?”

“I don't know. Not yet.” Jackson shook his head. “I'm not sure what I'm going to tell her. Or how. I just…I guess I'm not ready to admit to my daughter that I have a sex drive.” He looked at his hands, his mouth lifting in self-directed amusement. “Stupid. But I've never had to face this with her before.”

“Not stupid,” Bentley murmured. “Understandable. But I think—” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

“Please.” He motioned with his right hand. “Say what's on your mind. So far your instincts have been a hell of a lot better than mine when it's come to Chloe.”

“Okay. I think she's going to suspect that something's going on between us. In fact, I think she does already. And knowing Chloe, I don't believe it's a good idea to try to keep a secret from her.”

“You're right.” Jackson covered her hand with his, trailing his fingers sensually over hers, dipping into the junctures between her fingers, then out. “I know you are. But I'm not ready. Play along?”

“Of course. You're Chloe's father.”

He lowered his eyes to her mouth. “And your lover.”

Arousal was back, washing over her in a hot, breath-stealing wave. “Jackson—”

“When we're alone…” He moved his fingers over hers in an imitation of lovemaking. “I'm going to undress you. Slowly.” He dipped his index finger to the juncture between her thumb and first finger and rubbed it slowly back and forth. “And as I do, I'm going to touch you and taste you and do my best to drive you crazy. I want to hear you cry out my name just the way you did this afternoon.”

“Jackson…stop it.” Bentley tried to jerk her hand away, and Jackson laughed low in his throat, tightening his grasp.

“Randa's got a test,” Chloe said, bopping up to the table. “But Billie can go as…long…as…” The girl let her words trail and looked at them, a frown creasing her forehead.

Jackson eased his hand from Bentley's. He cleared his throat. “As long as what, Chloe?”

“She's home by nine,” Chloe finished, cocking her head, her frown deepening. “What are you guys doing?”

“Talking,” Jackson said quickly.

“Right,” Bentley murmured, knowing she sounded as guilty as Jackson looked.

Chloe frowned again. “I told her we'd pick her up right away. Is that okay?”

“You bet.” Not even waiting for the check, Jackson tossed some bills on the table and stood. “Let's go.”

They picked up Billie and dropped the two girls at the mall in record time. As soon as the giggling girls had slammed the car door behind them, Jackson turned to Bentley. “Your place or mine?”

“Yours is closer.” She clasped her fingers in her lap. “Hurry, Jackson.”

Without another word, he started toward his house. He drove just short of recklessly, and every time they caught a red light, he swore under his breath and flexed his fingers on the steering wheel.

Finally, they reached Jackson's house. He swung the car into the drive, and they both slammed out of it and raced for the front door. Inside the dark house, they flew into each other's arms.

“Oh, God…” Jackson rained kisses over her face. “I thought I would die waiting.”

“Me, too…” Bentley tangled her fingers in his hair and arched against him. “Me, too…”

As their mouths mated, they began to push at each other's clothing. Bentley kicked off her shoes even as she frantically tugged at Jackson's shirt, then sweater. Threads groaned, then gave; a button popped, sailing to the floor.

“Thank you,” he muttered against her mouth. “Thank you.”

“For…what?”

“Wearing this dress.” He tugged on the zipper pull, and the back of the dress parted. He pushed the soft knit from her shoulders. It puddled on the floor at their feet.

They parted long enough to remove the rest of their clothing. Jackson pushed at his denims; Bentley shimmied out of her clinging hosiery and silky undergarments. Nude, they came together again, urgency clawing at them both.

Jackson moved his hands desperately over her, molding, stroking. He found the warm, wet center of her, and she cried out as sensation after sensation rocked her. He followed his hands with his mouth, until finally her legs gave and together they sank to the stairs.

They made love impatiently. Engulfed by passion, caught in the frenzy of need, Jackson thrust into her. Bentley gripped a baluster for support and let herself be sucked into the maelstrom, stunned at her wanton behavior, shocked that sex could be like this. She'd never lost herself before. Never forgotten who and where she was, never been willing to let go of fears and inhibitions to give herself totally to another person.

Until now.

And yet, doing so didn't frighten her as it would have only days before. But then, she wasn't the same woman she'd been only days before.

And when it came to Jackson, her body—and her heart—had a mind of its own.

She cried out his name as release shattered her into a billion perfect pieces. Jackson caught the last of it with his mouth, with his own release, and all her pieces fit back together, perfectly matched and melding with his.

The trip to reality was fast. The cold licked at their passion-warmed flesh, and the stairs proved an uncomfortable and unyielding mattress.

Without preamble Jackson scooped her into his arms and carried her up the stairs to his big, soft bed. He laid her gently on the mattress, then followed her down. He searched her gaze, his soft with remorse. “I'm sorry.”

“No.” She moved her fingers lovingly over his face, tracing the craggy features she had come to love so much. “Don't be sorry.”

“I don't want you to think I'm like that bastard you were married to.”

“You're not like him,” she said quickly. “I know that. I never thought—”

“The stairs.” He ran his hands tenderly over her body. “You'll have bruises.”

Heat flew to her cheeks as she thought of what they'd done, then she smiled. “We were impatient.”

“Is that what you call it?” He made a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a groan. “I think I could make love again.”

She lifted her eyebrows teasingly. “Already?”

He brought her hand to him. “See what you do to me.”

Bentley curled her fingers around him, giddy with her own power. “Come here, Jackson.”

* * *

A short time later Bentley stretched sinuously. “I love this bed,” she murmured, running the flat of her hand across the rumpled bedding.

Jackson trailed his fingertips lightly over the smooth curve of her abdomen. “Mmm.”

“I hate this bed.”

Jackson paused, looking at her. He raised an eyebrow, amused. “And what has this poor bed done to inspire such a wild range of emotion?”

“When I stayed here, while you were gone—” She arched when he momentarily dipped his fingers between her thighs, continuing when her world righted itself again. “I couldn't sleep. I kept imagining you here. With me.”

“Amazing.” Jackson moved slowly up her body to nip her ear. “I was hundreds of miles away, having the same fantasy. Experiencing the same inability to sleep.”

She laughed, the sound husky and satisfied. “It smells like you. This whole place smells like you.”

“Not any more.” He nuzzled her neck, breathing deeply of her. “Now it smells like us.”

Us.
Bentley hung onto that word—its meaning—during the following days and weeks when she and Jackson were together but unable to be together. Unable to be
us.

The worst times were the ones at Baysafe with Chloe. There they would go through the day, interacting as colleagues and uneasy friends. Except for the heated glances they exchanged when they thought no one was looking, the secret touching of hands, the whispered words they thought no one else could hear.

Chloe suspected. Bentley was certain of it. Often she found the girl's questioning gaze upon her and Jackson, and lately, when Bentley had smiled, Chloe had snubbed her.

Chloe was feeling shut out.

Unsettled, Bentley tapped her pencil against the desktop. Chloe needed to be told what was going on. Bentley felt it strongly and in her gut, but Jackson kept resisting. Every time she brought it up, Jackson asked her to wait.

Bentley frowned. Why didn't Jackson want to tell Chloe that they were having a relationship? It made her feel dishonest. It made her feel as if what they were doing was wrong—as if Jackson thought what he was doing was wrong.

And that hurt. Bentley pushed the question, and her hurt, away. He'd explained why, and she understood. She did. Shifting her gaze to Chloe and Jackson, she watched as father and daughter laughed together. She tipped her head. Maybe she was imagining things. Maybe it was she who was feeling shut out. Jackson and Chloe were getting along so well. They talked and laughed, they even ribbed each other occasionally. Gone was the sullen and petulant teen that Bentley had met only weeks ago.

Bentley drew her eyebrows together, noticing not for the first time the way Chloe turned her back to her these days, noticing how she seemed to be competing for Jackson's attention.

Nonsense. Bentley shook her head. The girl was simply basking in her father's love.

Love. As she had many times over the last few weeks, Bentley thought of what Chloe had told her about her mother and what she'd overheard her say. It had been bothering her, but she hadn't yet told Jackson about the conversation. The time hadn't seemed right. Things were going so well—between him and Chloe, between the two of them. She hadn't wanted to upset him. And it would. Badly.

Love, she thought again, melancholy slipping over her. She loved Jackson so much she couldn't imagine a day without him, let alone a lifetime.