Kitabı oku: «The Tycoon's Virgin Bride», sayfa 3

CHAPTER THREE

THE sun was behind Bryce, shining full on the woman on the porch. She looked utterly magnificent, he thought, brushing the dirt from his hands. She also looked extremely angry.

Good. He was all too ready to take her on.

She ran down the board steps in her bare feet, her cream silk pajamas brushing the swell of her breasts and clinging to her thighs. Her hair was a wild tangle of curls, her eyes bluer than the sky and her cheeks the pink of the apple blossoms on the tree just behind him. To his dismay, his groin tightened involuntarily.

How could he desire a woman he so thoroughly disliked?

Was that one reason he was so angry with her? A reason that had nothing to do with Travis or Julie.

Standing up, he said cordially, “Good morning, Jenessa.”

She stopped three feet away from him, her hands on her hips. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Weeding…isn’t it obvious?”

She glanced downward. “Weeding?” she squeaked. “You’ve just pulled up three-quarters of the beet seedlings.”

“You’re kidding. You mean those funny little red-colored things would have turned into beets?”

“If you hadn’t hauled them up by the roots, they would have!”

Realizing he was thoroughly enjoying himself, Bryce said, “You should have got up earlier…I thought you had a painting to start. Then I wouldn’t have done so much damage.”

“You should have gone back where you belong yesterday evening,” she stormed. “Why don’t you head back there right now? Ten minutes ago wouldn’t be too soon.”

“Boston’s where I belong,” he said. “I decided I’d given up entirely too easily yesterday, so I stayed in a charming bed-and-breakfast down the road. Whose owner, by the way, gave me the lowdown on you—on the lack of men in your life, and on the peculiarities of modern art as exemplified by your paintings.”

“Wilma Lawson,” Jenessa groaned, momentarily forgetting that she was in a rage.

“That’s the one. Why aren’t there any men in your life, Jenessa?”

“Because far too many men are just like you.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “I’m not that bad.”

“Says who? And why is this discussion taking place at the level of a couple of seven-year-olds?”

“So I’ll keep my mind off how enchanting you look in those pajamas,” Bryce said promptly.

Hot color flooded her cheeks in a way that intrigued him. She was twenty-nine years old, he knew that from Travis. But she was blushing as though she were sixteen. As though she’d never been complimented by a man in her life.

Impossible. The way she looked, she must be surrounded by men. Day and night.

Not a thought he cared for.

He’d said she looked enchanting. He should have said sexy. Voluptuous. Seductive. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss those delectable, sleep-swollen lips. Feel the warmth of her skin beneath the smooth silk. Run his hands through that tumbled mass of hair.

For Pete’s sake, what was the matter with him? He’d come back here this morning to tell her she was going to Maine come hell or high water. Not to seduce her. That wasn’t on the cards. Apart from anything else, she was the kid sister of his best buddy.

Jenessa said in a strangled voice, “There aren’t any men in my life in Wellspring. For one thing, most of the men here are over sixty. More to the point, half the village is made up of gossips like Wilma Lawson. So I keep my love life and my home life separate. One in Boston. One here. Okay?”

No, Bryce thought irritably, it wasn’t okay. “Are you shacked up with anyone in Boston?”

“Are you?” she countered.

“Nope. No marriages, no divorces, no kids and no commitments.”

So he hadn’t changed, Jenessa thought, and to her intense annoyance found herself wondering why he’d never married. It was none of her business; he was nothing to her now. Nothing. She said crossly, “Why don’t we get back on track? I’ll repeat what I said yesterday—I can’t come to Maine, not before my show. You can tell my brother you did your best. Goodbye, Bryce Laribee. Have a nice drive back to Boston. Have a nice life. But from now on, stay out of my hair.”

Patently unimpressed, he remarked, “You blew it by not going to Travis’s wedding—now you’ve got the chance to redeem yourself. Simple.”

If only it were that simple. “Go away!” she exclaimed.

Closing the distance between them so that he was standing altogether too close, Bryce said lazily, “I can smell coffee. Aren’t you going to offer me any?”

Six-foot-two, broad-shouldered and long-legged: none of that had changed, either. Elusively, the tang of his aftershave wafted to Jenessa’s nostrils. Fighting to keep her hands at her sides so she wouldn’t be tempted to run one finger down the cleft in his chin, she said, “I wasn’t planning on it, no.”

“I’m going to camp on your doorstep until you agree to come to the christening. So you might as well get used to having me around.”

“I’ll set the police chief on you!”

“Tom Lawson? First cousin of Wilma? I met him yesterday evening, told him I was here to see you, and that your brother and I were good friends. He seemed like a nice guy.”

Again Bryce had outwitted her. Jenessa took a long, slow breath. “You really are insufferable.”

“Coffee, Jenessa.” He indicated a paper bag on the bench under the apple tree. “A couple of Wilma’s Danish pastries—thought you might like one. They’re stuffed with raspberries and custard. They’ll go just fine with brewed Colombian.”

Jenessa stared up at him. Hadn’t his determined jaw and strong bones enthralled her from the start? Clearly a lot more than his jaw was determined. He wasn’t going to go away. And the longer he stuck around, the greater the chance he’d recognize her. Or that she’d fall on him like a sex-starved virgin, a prospect she couldn’t bear to contemplate.

She’d be better to send him packing, turn up at the christening in her most elegant outfit and make sure on any subsequent visits to her brother that Bryce Laribee was conducting business on the opposite side of the globe. She said evenly, “Okay. You win. I’ll come to Maine. So you can leave right now. Mission accomplished.”

Something flickered in Bryce’s eyes. “It’s not often a woman takes me by surprise,” he said. “Why the sudden capitulation?”

“Oddly enough,” she said pleasantly, “the thought of you camped on my front doorstep doesn’t turn me on.”

“I don’t turn you on. That’s what you’re saying.”

“You can interpret it any way you like.”

His voice deepened. “We could put it to the test.”

She stepped back quickly, her deep blue eyes widening in what was unquestionably panic. “Don’t you dare!”

Bryce stood still, his brain racing. “What are you so frightened of?”

She bit her lip. “I’m not.”

He said dryly, “If I really came on to you, you’d only have to scream and three-quarters of the village would come running. Including the police chief.”

“And then they’d talk about nothing else for the next six months.”

“So by kissing you, I’d be doing them a favor?”

Jenessa took another step back. “Bryce,” she said edgily, “I’m hungry and I want my breakfast. Tell my brother I’ll be there for the christening and that I’ll pay my own way, and go back to Boston.”

Bryce edged around her and picked up the paper bag. “Coffee first.”

“I can see why nobody married you—you don’t listen to one word anyone says,” she flared, and marched away from him toward the house.

Her hips swung in her silk pajamas; her silky curls bounced between her shoulders. Bryce followed her, wishing he could ignore her as successfully as she was ignoring him.

Be honest, Bryce. You’re not used to women turning their backs on you. You’re used to them draping themselves all over you.

A change is as good as a rest? Yeah, right. And what in hell had made her change her mind?

The screen door banged in his face because Jenessa hadn’t bothered holding it open for him. He let himself in, glancing around a small mudroom where jackets hung on hooks and boots were lined up on the floor. Then he walked into the kitchen.

There was no sign of Jenessa. But the coffee smelled delicious. By checking out the cupboards and refrigerator, he located two mugs, some cream and a sugar bowl, as well as plates for the pastries. A couple of minutes later, when Jenessa came into the room dressed in paint-stained jeans and a sweatshirt, her hair in an untidy cloud around her head, he was sitting at the table sipping his coffee.

“You sure know how to make yourself at home,” she said.

“Bachelors fall into two classes. Those who want a woman to look after them and those who fend for themselves. Guess which kind I am?”

“There are some women, including me,” she said pointedly, “who don’t see their life’s work as looking after a man.”

“Congratulations,” he said dryly.

After pouring herself a mug of coffee, Jenessa sat down across from him; her back was to the light. Cutting one of the pastries in half, she took a big bite and started to chew. “How can I stay mad at you when I’ve got a mouthful of raspberries and custard?” she mumbled. “Yum. Wilma’s known across two counties for her baking. She sells homemade bread all year…it’s my downfall.”

A crumb was caught on her bottom lip. Unable to help himself, Bryce leaned forward and brushed it off, the softness of her mouth vibrating along his nerve ends. She shrank back, her jaw tense, her blue eyes full of fear. Frowning, he said, “You act like you’re scared to death of me. Have you had a bad experience with a man?”

“So what if I have?”

“What did he do to you?” he demanded.

“Bryce, my past is none of your concern.”

His gaze still fastened on her face, he said more moderately, “I’m sorry if I’ve done anything to frighten you, Jenessa. It certainly wasn’t my intention.”

For the first time, Jenessa felt a twinge of liking for him; and more than a twinge of guilt that she was deceiving him. “Apology accepted,” she said through another mouthful of custard.

“Why don’t you tell me about it?”

She drew in her breath sharply and choked on a crumb. Quickly Bryce went to the sink, filled a glass with water and passed it to her, his fingers brushing hers. Ringless fingers, long and graceful, yet undeniably capable. Dark green paint was lodged under her nails. Frowning again, he said more to himself than to her, “You know, it’s funny—every now and then you remind me of someone…the way you move, the shape of your face. But I can’t remember who it is.”

Jenessa buried her face in the glass, her pulse racing in her throat. Another ten minutes and he’d be gone. Then she’d be safe. Letting her hair fall forward, she cut another chunk of pastry. “My eyes are the same color as Travis’s,” she mumbled.

He laughed. “I ain’t talking about a guy, baby.”

“You’ve known so many women, I’m sure it’s not easy to remember them all,” she said waspishly.

For some reason wanting to set the record straight, Bryce announced, “From the time I was twenty until I turned twenty-five, I went through money, houses, cars and women as though there was an unending supply of each. But then all of a sudden it palled. Sure, I date sometimes, and I have the occasional affair. But nothing to get excited about.”

“I can’t imagine why you’re telling me this.”

Neither could he. “So how many men in Boston, Jenessa?”

He’d been honest with her: even if it had hurt something deep inside her to find out that all those years ago she’d simply been one in a long procession of women. Taking another gulp of coffee, Jenessa said flatly, “Men? None. At the moment.”

“My home base is there. I’ll leave you my phone number and address—next time you come into the city, we could have dinner.”

She made a noncommittal noise. “I don’t like driving back after dark. Bryce, if I don’t get to work in the next five minutes, the gallery’ll be firing me and I’ll have no reason to go into Boston.”

He swallowed the last of his coffee and pushed back his chair. But instead of heading for the front door, he walked over to the doorway of her studio, his eyes wandering over its intriguing blend of chaos and extreme order, his nostrils registering the pungent odors of linseed oil and turpentine. Then his gaze sharpened. “Is that the painting you just finished?”

With noticeable reluctance Jenessa said, “Yes, it is.”

The scene she’d depicted could have been one of the streets where he’d grown up. She’d chosen a sunny summer evening, and had given loving attention to every detail; yet the boarded windows, piled-up garbage and rusted cars were infused with foreboding. He said harshly, “How do you know what those streets are like?”

“I’ve walked through them.” She hesitated. “Travis told me you grew up in the slums of Boston.”

“Why did he tell you that?” Bryce said in an ugly voice.

“It was only in passing. Nothing specific.”

“I don’t talk specifics. Not to him or anyone else.”

She said gently, “Maybe it’s time you did.”

“Maybe it’s not.” His gaze shifted. “Are those sketches for the new work?”

In a flurry of movement, Jenessa inserted her body between him and the untidy pile of papers. If he saw her drawings of his naked body, she’d die right on the spot. She gabbled, “Nobody sees any work of mine until it’s finished.”

“There,” he said, “you did it again, it’s something about the way you move. Who the devil do you remind me of?”

“I have no idea! Bryce, please go, I’ve got work to do.”

He took a card out of his wallet and put it down on the table. “Call me, Jenessa.” Then his smile broke out, igniting his features with a purely masculine energy. “Travis will be very happy to see you at the christening.”

If she told Bryce she’d changed her mind, he’d stay in Wellspring. If she went to the christening, she risked him remembering their long-ago encounter. Maybe in the next three weeks she’d come down with pneumonia. Or break a leg.

He held out his hand. “Someday you’re going to tell me about the guy who made you so afraid. Then I’ll go and punch him out for you.”

If only he knew how ironic his offer was. Reluctantly Jenessa placed her hand in his, searingly aware of the latent strength of his grasp and the heat of his palm against hers. His grip tightened. Her heart banging against the cage of her ribs, she said evenly, “Goodbye, Bryce. Safe journey.” Then she tugged her hand free.

She heard his footsteps cross the floorboards in the living room, and then the front screen squeak on its hinges. She should oil every door in the place, she thought. But house repairs never had been her strong point.

A minute or two later, Bryce’s car drove away down the lane. Jenessa sagged against the studio door. For the space of three weeks she was safe.

It didn’t feel like very long.

CHAPTER FOUR

BRYCE stepped off the launch onto the long wharf that jutted out from the island of Manatuck, where, money no object, Travis’s father Charles had built a castle that wouldn’t have been out of place in the Austrian alps. Bryce had seen the towers and turrets of Castlereigh before, and they had never failed to amuse him. Today, however, he had something other than castles on his mind.

Had Jenessa come to the christening as she’d promised? Would he discover when he saw her again that she was just another woman, beautiful of course, but nothing exceptional? Certainly nothing to warrant the way she’d been lodged in his mind the last three weeks. He’d spent one week in Brussels, and the last couple of days in Finland; the rest of the time he’d been home in his house on Beacon Hill. He’d thought about her in all three places far more than he was comfortable with.

She hadn’t phoned. Not that he’d expected her to. Nor had he visited her, although he could have; she lived only an hour or so outside the city.

He strode up the slope, aware that he was probably the last guest to arrive; there’d been a delay unloading the luggage at the airport. Friends and family were gathered in the rose garden between the boathouse and the woods. The June weather had cooperated wonderfully, giving a clear sky with only a few scudding clouds. A light wind was laden with the scents of evergreens, of roses and the sea.

Then he saw Jenessa standing under a white-painted arbor, talking to Travis and Julie, and a spring that had been tightly coiled inside his chest relaxed. She’d come. She’d kept her word.

Judging by his heart rate, he’d just rowed across the bay that separated Manatuck from the coastline of southern Maine, rather than standing peacefully on the deck of the launch. Dammit, Bryce thought. I don’t need this. She’s an uptight, unfriendly woman who’s the sister of my best friend, and if I was smart I’d keep my distance. Big time.

What he really wanted to do was march past the roses, take her in his arms and kiss her senseless.

That’d really impress the guests. As for her reaction, he could think of several possibilities, all of them hazardous to his health.

“Hello, Bryce.”

He dragged his eyes away from Jenessa and said with genuine pleasure, “Leonora, how are you?”

Leonora Connolly was the mother of Travis and the twins, Brent and Jenessa. Soon after the twins were born, she’d fled to Paris to pursue her career as an avant garde dancer. The reaction of her husband, Charles, had been to tell six-year-old Travis that she was dead; by dint of threats ensure that she never got in touch with any of her children; and then divorce her secretly. Two years after her departure, he’d married Corinne, a woman who couldn’t have been more different from Leonora.

Last summer Leonora had traveled to Maine and had sought out her children. In the intervening months she and Travis had built a solid relationship; but according to Travis, Jenessa was indifferent to the sudden appearance of a mother she’d never known and had always assumed was dead.

“Another family gathering,” Leonora said dryly. “I’m as well as could be expected.”

“Under the circumstances, you look great.”

She was tall and slim, her long black hair streaked with gray, her every movement imbued with a dancer’s grace. “So you’re to be Samantha’s godfather,” she said.

“And Jenessa’s the godmother,” Bryce replied with a lift of his brow. “I met her for the first time three weeks ago. Talk about the original ice maiden.”

“When I first saw Travis last summer, he was very angry with me for abandoning him when he was only six. In retrospect, I prefer his anger to the impeccable good manners with which Jenessa treats me. As though I was a chance-met stranger who means nothing to her.”

“She’s a very talented artist.”

“You’re right. I’d like to go to her opening at the Morden Gallery next month…will you be there?”

“I might.”

“She’s also exceptionally beautiful,” Leonora said, a twinkle in her eye.

“I’ve wondered if that’s why Travis asked me to go and visit her. Matchmaking. He ought to know better.”

Leonora laughed. “Perhaps you should go and say hello to him. The ceremony’s supposed to start in a few minutes.”

“We’ll talk again afterward,” he promised, and headed toward Travis and Julie; but on the way, he was hailed by Brent Strathern, Jenessa’s twin brother. “Hi there, Bryce, how’s it going?” Brent said breezily.

Brent was handsome, charming and—in Bryce’s opinion—spoiled rotten. “Fine. I’ll be happier when I’ve done my thing with Samantha,” he replied amiably.

Brent bared his teeth in a smile. “You’re like me—you’ve had the sense never to get hitched.”

Bryce didn’t like being bracketed with Brent, who was known to be a womanizer and suspected of dubious financial dealings. He said mildly, “Your sister doesn’t seem to have matrimony in mind, either.”

“Jenessa? Who’s she going to meet in a dump like Wellspring?”

“Artistically, it’s not doing her any harm.”

“Contemporary art’s nothing but a big scam,” Brent said edgily. “So she can slop paint on a canvas…big deal.”

It was interesting, Bryce thought, that the privileged twin was jealous of the twin who’d been ignored by her father for years. “I suspect there’s a little more to Jenessa’s paintings than that,” he said. “I guess I’d better say hello to my host and hostess…excuse me, Brent.”

“See you later,” Brent said.

Not if I can help it, thought Bryce, and strode between the rose beds toward Charles and Corinne.

Charles Strathern was tall and thin-haired, his handsome face underlaid by obstinacy rather than real strength. Corinne, as always, looked as serene and imperturbable as if she’d stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. However, her passion for roses was responsible for the beauty of their setting; Bryce had often thought there was more to Corinne than met the eye.

He shook Charles by the hand and kissed Corinne’s cool cheek. “It’s a real pleasure to be here,” he said. “The garden’s lovely, Corinne. And the weather couldn’t be better.”

“A very happy occasion,” Charles said bluffly.

“She’s a sweet baby,” Corinne added. “The charm of being a grandparent, of course, is that you can hand your grandchild back to the parents whenever you like.”

It was difficult to imagine Corinne dealing with a dirty diaper. Bryce kept this thought to himself, and answered Charles’s queries about his latest travels. “So you and Jenessa are to be the godparents,” Charles said. “I’m glad Jenessa came. She hasn’t been to Manatuck for many years.”

From Travis, Bryce already knew that Jenessa had no use for her father, whose main aim from the time she was little had been to crush her artistic impulses: impulses she’d presumably inherited from her runaway mother. “Then she’s seeing it at its best,” he said smoothly.

“She has a show opening next month in Boston,” Charles labored on. “We thought we might attend.”

Charles and Corinne owned a luxurious mansion in Back Bay, one of Boston’s most prestigious addresses. “Jenessa could be on the brink of a highly successful career,” Bryce said blandly.

“She graduated from Columbia’s School of the Arts,” Charles remarked. “A very fine school.”

Bryce’s heart gave a great jolt in his chest; the rose garden, the polite chatter of the assembly and the soft sighing of the waves vanished from his consciousness as if they no longer existed. “Columbia?” he rasped. “When?”

Not noticing Bryce’s tone, Charles did some quick mental calculations. “She enrolled twelve years ago. So she must have graduated when she was twenty-one.”

Twelve years ago Jenessa had been seventeen. The same age as the spike-haired art student who’d said she wanted to sketch him after that lecture he’d given at Columbia.

But the art student had had eyes that were almost purple.

Contacts, Bryce. Colored contacts.

The way Jenessa moved, the elegance of her lean, capable fingers, that elusive sense that somewhere he’d seen her before…his intuitions had been dead-on. He had.

In his bed. Twelve years ago.

Jan Struthers had been Jenessa Strathern. What a fool he’d been not to make the connection.

“Bryce, are you all right?” Corinne asked.

Hastily Bryce pulled himself together, furious that he’d revealed, if only partially, the shock of his discovery to Charles and Corinne. “Sorry, I was just wondering if I’d met her on a visit I made to Columbia some years ago,” he said with a minimal degree of honesty.

Charles gave a hearty laugh. “Computers and art don’t go together,” he said, “so I rather doubt it. Bryce, I saw that article about you in the Financial Times recently, where they were explaining how extremely well you’ve done by maintaining your independence from any of the big corporations. You’re to be congratulated, that’s not an easy road.”

Talk about your career, Bryce. Talk about anything other than the fact that Jenessa Strathern, a woman you lust after, has already been in your bed. When she was still a teenager. “That’s high praise, Charles,” he said wryly. “But you know me—what other choice did I have? I’m far too single-minded, not to say stubborn, to work for someone else.”

It was true. He’d always been a loner; for many years it had suited him to go his own way, both in his business life and his personal life. “But thanks for the compliment,” he added. “Now maybe I’d better go and say hello to the proud parents, and take a peek at Samantha. I only hope she doesn’t cry when I pick her up.”

“If she does, pass her back to her mother,” Corinne said with a mocking smile.

“Good advice,” he grinned. Excusing himself, Bryce crossed a pebbled path and a stretch of manicured lawn toward the arbor. Through his long struggle to reach the international reputation Charles had applauded, he’d learned a number of lessons, the first of which had been to mask his feelings. Discouragement, ambition, anger, despair: he’d taught himself to hide them all. But could he dissemble the chaos of emotion in his chest right now from his best friend and from the woman who’d gone to his hotel room when she was only seventeen? He wasn’t sure he could.

He’d soon find out. “Hi Travis, Julie,” he said. “Hello, Jenessa.”

Travis clapped him on the shoulder, his black hair ruffled by the wind; in a time-honored ritual, Bryce punched Travis lightly on the chest. The two men were similar in height, and since sports were one of their shared interests, were both of athletic build. But there the similarities ended, for Travis’s emotions, since he’d met Julie, were much more on the surface than those of his friend. Open up, man, Travis was apt to say to Bryce: with as much effect as if he’d addressed the walls of a squash court.

Julie gave Bryce a friendly kiss on the cheek, while Jenessa said in a voice as cool as the ocean, “Hello, Bryce.”

She looked rather like the ocean, he thought, in her pale turquoise linen dress, her matching hat circled by a froth of white flowers. Her unruly curls framed her face; her makeup accentuated the elegance of her cheekbones and the depths of her eyes. Blue eyes. Not purple. Fathoms deep, and unfathomable.

Spurred by an anger he wasn’t ready to acknowledge, he took her by the elbow and bent his head, kissing her on both cheeks, European fashion. Her body tensed at his touch. Her perfume was subtle, her skin smooth as silk and warm as the sun that lanced through the trees.

Kissing Jenessa wasn’t remotely like kissing Julie. Not that he’d expected it to be. “How nice of you to come,” he said, and watched fury bring an added flush to her already hectic cheeks.

A second realization thudded through his chest. Jenessa was no more immune to him now than she had been at Columbia. She’d wanted him then; and unless he was losing his marbles, she wanted him now. Was that why she’d been so afraid of him in her little house in Wellspring?

His anger increasing another notch, Bryce remembered how he’d offered to punch out the man who’d made her so afraid; and how she’d gone along with this story. But the whole time she must have been laughing at him behind his back.

It would give him great pleasure to find out if she still desired him. But not now. Later.

Glancing at her sister-in-law’s high color, Julie said hastily, “Samantha’s done nothing but sleep all day…we figure she’s getting ready to scream her way through the ceremony.”

“Jenessa flew up last night,” Travis added, “so we’ve had a great visit. How was Helsinki?”

“Wet, dreary and profitable,” Bryce said succinctly. “When are you going back, Jenessa? I left my car at the wharf on the mainland, I could drive you to the airport.”

“Oh, no thanks,” she said hastily. “I arranged with Oliver for a drive later on today.”

Oliver was the captain of the launch that plied between Manatuck and the mainland. “You’re not staying overnight?” Bryce persisted. “Charles will be disappointed.”

“Hardly,” she snapped, glaring at him.

“I got the impression a couple of minutes ago that he’d like to see more of you. That he feels badly you haven’t been on Manatuck for so long…I hope you’ve sent him an invitation to your show.”

He was being unforgivably intrusive. Not to say rude. Julie was gaping at him, while Travis seemed to be struggling not to laugh. Had Travis really sent his best friend to Wellspring in the hopes that Bryce and Jenessa would fall for each other?

You’re right out of luck, buddy. No way am I taking on your kid sister.

Then, like a sledgehammer, a horribly obvious thought hit him between the eyes. He, Bryce Laribee, had taken Travis’s sister to bed when she was just seventeen years old.

Travis would kill him if he ever found out. Kill him and ask questions afterward.

“Are you okay, Bryce?” Julie asked, resting her arm on his sleeve. “You look as though someone’s just hit you on the head.”

Julie was far too acute; Bryce made a manful effort to get himself under control. Smiling into her emerald-green eyes, he said lamely, “Yeah…sorry. You’d think I’d be used to jet lag by now. But these short trips are always murder on the system.”

“We’re going to stay overnight. I think you should, too.”

“I’ll see how I feel later on. That’s a gorgeous hat, by the way.”

Julie’s hat, wide-brimmed and the exact shade of her eyes, was perched on the gleaming dark cap of her hair. “Travis found it for me,” she said, giving her husband the smile that always hurt something deep inside Bryce. He was never going to love anyone that much. Because the reverse side of love was the terrifying vulnerability it brought; he couldn’t imagine how Travis or Julie would survive if anything happened to the other.

Not for him. No, sir.

As Travis put his arm around his wife’s shoulders, pulling her to his body, something else was all too obvious to Bryce: their sexual accord. They made no secret of the fact that they adored each other, in bed and out.