His 1-800 Wife (24 page)

"It can wait, Catherine."

She caught his arm as he turned to walk away. "I don't understand why you're so angry."

He stopped walking."

You should be glad. This marriage is tempo­rary, remember? A baby would complicate our lives. And I haven't done anything that any wife wouldn't do, any
real
wife."

He stared at her.

She didn't know if he believed her, so she rushed on. "Every wife wants to make sure before she tells her husband." She took a deep breath. "Jarrod, I was so scared."

They stood as the rain drenched them further. Jarrod said nothing, but she thought she was reaching him.

"When did you find out you weren't pregnant?"

"Yesterday, in the hospital." Her shoulders dropped in defeat.

'' But you told the nurse you weren't pregnant when she asked."

"I know. You were sitting right next to me. I was too afraid to tell her there was a possibility. When they took me to the X-ray room, I told them. That's why the X-ray took so long. We had to wait for the pregnancy test results."

Jarrod turned away from her. He took a few steps. Catherine thought he didn't believe her.

"Jarrod, it's the truth. You have to believe me."

"I do believe you." He turned back.

"Then why are you so angry?"

He grabbed her arms and looked her straight in the eye. "I'm angry, Catherine, because I'm in love with you."

Catherine backed out of his grasp. No, she thought. Her mind screamed it. He couldn't be.

"I see the feeling isn't mutual."

"Can we talk about this in the car, Jarrod? There's no need for us to catch pneumonia."

He came to her. Catherine stood her ground, even though she wanted to run. She couldn't run. When she left the house, chasing Jarrod, she hadn't taken her pills. She could feel the pain in her shoulder returning, and the cold rain wasn't helping. Catherine turned toward the car. She'd only taken a few steps before Jarrod noticed her limping. It wasn't from the accident; a pebble lodged in her shoe when she'd tried to catch up with him. He scooped her up in his arms. She buried her face in his neck and he tightened his arms around her.

Jarrod stood in the middle of the marsh, holding her. The rain beat at them, stinging like needles. He whispered something she couldn't hear, but she didn't need to understand him to recognize his mouth seeking hers. She turned her head and met his kiss. She could feel his desperation. This was noth­ing like the gentleness of that morning's kiss. Jarrod's mouth was fierce, hungry with need and raw with anger. He wanted her, and Catherine wanted him too. She embraced him, drawing him as close as she could get while he held her. He let her legs fall to the ground, but his arms kept her against him. His hands went to her head, threading through the strands plastered to her head, holding her mouth to his as he kissed her lips, her eyes, her cheeks and returned to the paradise of her mouth. Catherine had been kissed before, had kissed Jarrod before, but this was different; these were love kisses. Everything about them screamed
I love you.

Catherine's heart pounded, above the sound of the rain, over the roar of the sea, hammering with a beat so strong that it drowned out all other sound except that of Jarrod's heart, which was beating the same drum as hers.

Jarrod raised his head and stared into her eyes. He said nothing. Words weren't necessary. Then he lowered his mouth and kissed her again. A sorcerer couldn't have summoned more magic than the drums beating through them. Catherine heard it, felt it, understood it as only love could explain.

The wind howled about them, tearing at them, trying to separate them, as if the forces swirling in the heavens had gained intelligence, banded together to pull them apart. Catherine didn't know which of them moved first, but her hands were under Jarrod's soaked sweater. She felt his skin, hot even with the rain. She pushed her hands under the soggy garment, heavy with wetness, until she reached his back. Smooth, silky skin, subtle and warm. Her fingers tin­gled as she moved them across it. Jarrod groaned in her mouth when her fingers moved around to touch his nipples. She ran the tips over him, bringing the flat nipples to life and enjoying the way Jarrod moved back and forth against her.

He stepped back and ripped the sweater over his head as if it had just come fluffy and light from a drier and had none of the water weighing it down. Catherine gasped at the sheer virility of him. His muscles were defined, his chest carved in dark con­tours. The water sluiced over him, designating paths for her hands to follow.

"You're beautiful," she said, more to herself than to him.

"I love you, Catherine," Jarrod said. "I've loved you since you were sixteen years old."

He pulled her to him and kissed her again. She felt the zipper of her dress being dragged down, the coldness of the rain trickling down her back, along with Jarrod's fingers caressing her spinal column. She shuddered, not from the cold, but from anticipation. She wanted the dress gone. She wanted to feel Jarrod's naked skin against her own. He peeled the dress away from her body, defying the rain, which fought him for possession. It fell to her hips. He eased it down and dropped it. Jarrod kissed across her shoulder, holding her tenderly as he remembered her accident. Catherine wasn't thinking of her shoulder. She could only concentrate on the hot kisses Jarrod's open mouth rained over her skin.

She closed her eyes as ecstasy gained a foothold. Jarrod kissed the column of her neck and continued down until he came to the swell of her breasts. He reached around her and unhooked her bra. Immediately his mouth closed over her already sensitive nip­ple. Delight fissured through her at the sensations that rioted inside her. Like stars shooting through her, Catherine felt her body coming apart. She raked her fingers down his back until she reached his jeans. Moving around him, she fumbled for the fastening, then unsnapped it.

Jarrod shrugged out of them, forcing them over his wet skin. Catherine pushed her panties to the ground. The two stood naked in the dark day, with the wind whipping at them and the rain pelting them. She stepped forward first. She clamped her mouth to Jarrod's and pulled him down to the ground. She didn't care that it was wet, that it was grassy, or that she was lying on her caftan, its colors bleeding a sea of pink and brown.

He covered her with his body, gently spreading her legs. Catherine should have remembered the sensa­tions, remembered the burst of pleasure that shot through her when Jarrod entered her.

But she didn't.

It was as if they had never before made love. They hadn't, not like this, not with this new intensity. Jarrod's hands slid under her, lifting her slightly as he drove himself into her. Catherine felt each thrust with greater pleasure, each rise and fall with greater fury. The wind bellowed about them, tearing at them, unleashing the forces of nature but unable to match the gale-force frenzy with which they competed. Cath­erine's breath was ripped from her. She fought for more, dragging it into her lungs as Jarrod forced it out of her in powerful, measured strokes. She cried out with each virile thrust.

There was no lightning, no thunder opening the heavens. It was all inside her. She felt the raging storm, the electrical monster coiled and ready to spring, snapping and releasing its power over the land and sea. She felt the tear in her universe, knew the cry of rapture that gripped her, the long shudder of passion that burst open and shot into her as a final wave of uncontrollable emotion. Rapture flourished inside her; riptides overwhelmed her, lifting her to the eye of the internal storm and holding her there. Her body changed, morphed into a single unqualified pleasure vessel. She clung to the place, held on to Jarrod while suspended over the abyss. Balancing on the edge of forever, she felt the exhilaration of life, the onslaught of temptation, the fulfillment of fantasy and the explosion of ecstasy that burst inside her with a power so strong she couldn't contain it. The scream tore from her body, loud enough to reach the heav­ens, to cross the seas and to rival the storm that raged around them. The pleasure was uncontrollable, wash­ing through her like the rushing waves that crashed against the cliffs. She crashed too. Jarrod came with her.

Together they fell back to earth, delirious, clinging to each other, knowing nothing except the past few minutes. They collapsed, and she finally felt the rain washing over them in delicious rivers of welcome coolness.

***

The bathtub
was
big enough for two. Jarrod had thought so earlier, when he saw Catherine in it. She'd looked pale and small then. Now she glowed. Even with his long frame and Catherine's shorter one, they had plenty of room to luxuriate in the hot water. Catherine hugged him, her hand moving through the sudsy water to massage his chest.

They'd lain on the grass until they started shivering. Then Jarrod had gathered her and their clothes and hustled her back to the deserted car. He wrapped her in the car blanket and pulled on his wet jeans. The heat was on full as he drove back to the house on Ocean Drive. Jenny hadn't seen them running across the foyer and up the stairs, leaving wet foot­prints behind as they headed for her room.

Jarrod immediately ran water in the bathtub and rubbed Catherine's feet to warm them before they both got into the reviving water. He remembered her laughing as he tickled her feet. Jarrod had let some of the water out once and turned the faucet to heat it again. He held her, stroking her back, content for nearly an hour.

Catherine wore no makeup, her face completely clean, her hair wet and slicked back, yet she had never looked more beautiful.

Jarrod kissed the top of her head. "We can't go back, you know."

"I know," she said.

She didn't ask what he meant. Jarrod knew she understood. After their lovemaking on the grass, there was no way they could return to the rules. The rules no longer applied. The world no longer revolved around the same sun. Nothing was the same; not him, not Catherine, not the universe.

"What do you propose?" she asked.

Till death do us part
was on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't say it. He'd told her he loved her. He'd said it twice, but Catherine had yet to say it. He knew she was afraid. He'd known her all her life, had discov­ered he'd loved her for years. She needed time to get used to the idea, but Jarrod wouldn't go back to the guest room. He needed her every day and wanted to be with her every night.

"One day at a time," he finally answered.

"What does that mean?" Catherine asked.

"It means we give it a try."

"For the rest of the six months?"

Her hand continued to massage his chest. His stopped in the middle of her back. "You still plan to divorce me in February?"

Chapter 11

Catherine's period started the following morning. She wasn't pregnant. While the hospital test had said she wasn't pregnant, this was true proof. She stood in the bathroom, washing her hands. She looked at herself in the mir­ror. She didn't look much different, but she felt differ­ent. She looked at her stomach in the mirror. There was no child there. She touched herself just under her breasts. What was wrong with her? She didn't want a child. It was Jarrod's comments seeping into her mind. He'd mentioned it that day in the library, when he was drunk. And he'd been so angry when he found the pregnancy kit. So why did she feel depressed?

No strings, no complications for this temporary arrangement. She reminded herself of her convic­tions. A child would change her life, change both of their lives. A child would tie them together for eter­nity. It wasn't what they wanted, she told herself. But was it what Jarrod wanted? Had his anger been so strong, so uncontrollable because he did want a child? But with her? Catherine was too confused to think about it. Yet her thoughts kept returning to the possi­bility. She wanted to know if it would be a boy or a girl. Would it look like her or Jarrod?

She stopped her thoughts. She couldn't think like this. It was up to her to make sure a baby wasn't in their future. She and Jarrod were sharing space now, sleeping together, making love. She had to make sure they always used condoms, and tomorrow she'd make an appointment with her gynecologist for birth con­trol pills.

Catherine had gone to work today. No one pro­tested her decision, not Jarrod and not Jenny. She supposed the determined look on her face told them both she would not be crossed this morning.

She went back to her desk, where papers and books were strewn in organized chaos. She was in her slow period. There were things to do, but nothing press­ing. The season was over, but building would go on all winter. Sales would pick up during the boat shows in the spring. It was then she had to have everything done. All the brochures completed, the repair manu­als updated and any information for previous custom­ers approved and mailed.

This was the time for conferencing, for trips to warmer climates and learning about changes in motors, interior design and wind shirring. This was the time for ordering photographs or materials for the men working in the warehouses near the ocean. This was not the time to daydream at her desk, think­ing of Jarrod and nothing else. But that was exactly what she was doing. He filled in the spaces of her life, spaces she hadn't known were open.

Jarrod had taken her news quite well. She
was going
to divorce him in February. It didn't matter that he could melt her with a touch. Or that she'd never made love with anyone who made her lose all her inhibitions, all her training and manners and her thoughts of moral acceptability. Between herself and Audrey, she was the wild one. Audrey did all the right things, while Catherine did them differently.