From This Day Forward (29 page)

He paused on the patio, staring up at the door on the second floor. Closing his eyes, he tried to head off the surge of tenderness that suffused his heart.

He'd thought having a family of his own would blot out the past and give him a chance to start over. Now that his goal was within his grasp, he wasn't so sure.

Was he capable of harming a helpless child or a woman? Was there a monster sleeping inside him, waiting for the right moment to awaken? His father had battered his own family, the people he was honor-bound to protect and nurture, physically and emotionally until they loathed and feared him. To this day, he couldn't use a razor strop without being reminded of cowering in the dark with Peggy, terrified that their father would come after them.

He'd learned early to withdraw into himself, to dull his mind so that he didn't feel anything, physically or emotionally. But those tactics didn't work with Caroline. Intimidation didn't frighten her, perhaps because he hadn't pushed hard enough. What if he pushed her and she pushed back? Would he be able to control himself, to keep things from escalating too far?

More than anything, he wanted to go to Caroline, to talk to her, to make her understand. But how could he when she knew the very worst about him—his secret fears, his bitter failures. He should have done something to stop his father. Instead he'd stood by and watched his family being destroyed.

"At first your letters were very businesslike,"
she'd said. Had there been something in her letters, something so subtle he hadn't been aware of it consciously, that prompted him to pour out his heart to her? To Derek?

Christ! He didn't know anything anymore except that he could never face her again. Every time she looked at him with those deep hazel eyes, he felt as if his soul had been stripped bare.

Turning with a heartsick sigh, Jason made his way to the dining room where, as usual, Ines had left a plate of food and a lighted candle.

He didn't even taste his food as he ate in silent solitude, trying not to think, not to wonder what the future held. Trapped in a life that had become a living hell, he found himself constantly yearning for his wife but unable to touch her, to even talk to her, wondering when he would become a brute like his father.

The right thing to do would be to put her on a boat for New Orleans. He knew exactly how far along she was; how could he not? She still had nearly four months, ample time to reach New Orleans. He'd provide for her and the baby financially; it was the least he could do.

But selfish man that he was, he couldn't bring himself to send her away. His position was intolerable. He couldn't bear having her near, and he couldn't bear the thought of sending her away.

Downing a glass of warm wine in one gulp, he stood and, taking the candle with him, stepped into the parlor. The shadowed figure of the grand piano mocked him from the corner. He hadn't heard her play since he returned, but then he'd spent as much time as possible away from the house. He missed it, missed the beautiful sounds she could evoke from the instrument.

Softly he ran a finger over the ivory keys, his touch so light that no sound came from the instrument. How recently had she played? Perhaps tonight while he was away hiding in the jungle, he thought, imagining that he could feel the warmth of her touch lingering on the silent keys.

In a way, it was as if she'd gone and he was alone again. He had to get a grip on himself. He'd gotten along fine before Caroline had come into his life. As long as she stayed out of his way, he would be able to control his violent nature—or so he hoped. All he had to do was convince her to stay inside the boundaries he'd established for her.

Jason laughed softly in the quiet darkness. He'd have better success convincing the Amazon to flow upstream!
He struck a white key and a clear, dulcet note filled the room. A soft moaning sound behind him startled him. Jerking around, he found Caroline lying on the sofa, her eyes closed in sleep, her brow furrowed.

Momentarily dazed, Jason could only stare at her, his little forger. He should be furious with her for what she'd done. It didn't matter that she'd been right. She'd acted without his authority. She'd forced her way into every facet of his life.

But despite all his efforts to hang on to the anger, he couldn't prevent his heart from twisting with a deep longing that took his breath away. She lay on her side, her dark hair draped over her shoulder, her hands crossed underneath her chin to serve as a pillow. How innocent she appeared, how vulnerable, how sweet. He wanted to touch her soft, white skin, to kiss her awake, to make love to her. He wanted to tell her about his demons and to hear her say it didn't matter.

Instead, he stood immobilized by this vision, this woman, his wife. He still didn't understand why she'd left everything behind and traveled to this remote, uncivilized jungle.

Placing the candle on the piano and extinguishing the flame, he moved toward her slowly, quietly, so as not to wake her. She'd probably been waiting up for him; it would be just like her. Having allowed him to retreat for several days now, it was about time for her to take action.

He drew a deep, ragged breath, stunned by the depth of his knowledge of her. He could predict her reaction to nearly any situation with alarming accuracy. When had she become so much a part of him?

Leaning over her sleeping form, he reached out and smoothed tendrils of hair from her forehead. His hand trembled as a surge of affection engulfed him. He didn't want to feel anything for her; he'd fought the feelings she evoked in him since the first moment she'd swept into his life and his heart.

Though she appeared comfortable enough right now, he couldn't leave her there to sleep the night away on the sofa. In her condition, she needed plenty of rest, and she didn't need to be cramped.

Carefully, he wedged his arms underneath her limp body. She groaned but didn't open her eyes as he lifted her off the sofa and straightened, twining an arm around his shoulders and nestling her head against his chest.

"Jason," she murmured.

His throat tightened as he felt a tiny chip form in the armor around his heart. Steeling himself against the swell of longing that rose in his chest, he carried her through the open doorway.

Her eyes fluttered open as the cool night air touched her skin. "Jason," she repeated, "what are you doing?"

"I'm putting you to bed," he informed her caustically, unaccountably angry.

"That sounds wonderful." She smiled languidly, pressing her soft body against his in a way that made his breath catch and his heart pound.

By the time they reached the foot of the stairs, Caroline was asleep again, and Jason was painfully aroused. Her feminine essence called out to his male body. The softness of her body in his arms and the absolute trust with which she nestled against him disarmed him and left him defenseless against her hypnotic spell.

Gazing up the precarious staircase without enthusiasm, he shifted her weight so that he could hold on to the rail before starting up. At the top, he paused, catching his breath before approaching his next obstacle—the door. He considered waking her and making her walk the rest of the way to bed, but he knew that if he did, she'd want to talk, and he wasn't in the mood. They would end up arguing or making love on her bed. He didn't have the strength for the former, and he didn't want to face the consequences of the latter.

He turned the doorknob and entered the dark sitting room, making his way through that room and into the adjoining bedchamber. He was lowering her to the bed when she gasped and opened her eyes.

He tried to rise, but she clung to him, pulling herself up, pressing her soft lips against his. His body responded with a will of its own. He wrapped a hand in her loose hair, deepening the kiss despite the alarm that sounded in his fevered mind.

Drawing herself up with her arms around his neck, she brushed her breasts against his chest. Her soft, pliant body beneath him awakened a sleeping torrent of desire that rushed through him with the force of a rain-swollen river.

He rose slightly, trying to remove himself from her embrace, but she only tightened her hold. Unsure whether he could extricate himself without hurting her, he relented.

"Caroline," he whispered against her parted lips. "No."

Releasing his neck, she ran a small hand down his chest in a seductive caress that ended at the waistband of his trousers and left him shaken to his core and painfully aroused. He tried to pull away, but she held him fast with a dark sorcery against which he had no defense.

In the netherworld between sleep and waking, she seemed to give herself over unreservedly to the demands of her body. She held him in thrall, her fingers working almost frantically on the buttons that ran down the front of his shirt.

He hadn't meant for this to happen. He'd meant to carry her to bed and leave quickly. But it had been too long, too long since he'd touched her, tasted her. His body remembered and urged him toward the inevitable culmination.

Cupping a tender breast, he realized on some elemental level that the soft, swollen flesh he felt through the thin fabric of her gown was heavier than before. He ran his hand downward, over the softly rounded curve of her abdomen.

Under his hand beat the heart of his child. The thought filled him with a primal joy and stark terror. Jerking upright, he sprang agilely away from her, his chest heaving, his heart pounding, his arousal still painful and demanding release. The very idea of touching her sickened him, as if by doing so he would be defiling her and the promise of life growing inside her.

"Jason," she murmured, reaching a hand toward him imploringly, like a siren luring an unwary fisherman to his death.

Why couldn't she let him go? Couldn't she see what being near her did to him? He wanted her—God, how he wanted her—wanted her in every way a man could want a woman.

It was all mixed up in his mind—Caroline, the child in her womb, his demons. Inside her body pulsed every mystery of the universe, of creation and life itself. He wanted to grasp it, to hold it and never let it go—never let her go. He wanted to watch his baby grow inside her body and know that they had created something good and perfect—he and Caroline together.

"Jason," she whispered again, her voice soft as silk and deep with desire.

The passion in her wafted around him like her scent. It showed plainly in the labored rise and fall of her breasts, the soft, dazed quality in her eyes. Closing his eyes, he tried not to remember the way her body had opened to his when they made love, the feel of her, soft and aroused beneath him, the way she'd cried out as he drove into her over and over.

Gazing down at her passion-heavy eyes, her swollen, parted lips, her flushed face, he gave in to the hunger surging through his blood. Quickly he slipped out of his clothes and covered her with his body, kissing her deeply, his tongue emulating what he wanted to do with his body.

He pushed her gown up over her hips, and his hand lingered on the moist flesh between her thighs. A terrible tremor ripped through his body as he struggled to control his growing urgency. He pressed her legs apart, and her soft, warm body opened eagerly to him, too eagerly.

All thought of control fled as his need overpowered his mind and he plunged into her, filling her with one unrestrained thrust that tore a gasp from her throat. Arching her body toward his to take him in fully, she moaned low in her throat. Already he could feel the waves of ecstasy swelling inside her as she writhed beneath him.

There was no holding back, no gentleness in the way he took her. Her body responded to his with a wildness that stirred his blood to the point that he forgot everything but the flesh around his flesh and the body clinging to his. He wanted to be inside her... inside her forever, to absorb her into himself and to be absorbed into her at the same time.

She cried his name as a shattering release trembled through her. The uncontrollable pulsing flowed into his body until her tremors became his, the pressure building toward an explosion that tore an animal growl from his throat as he spilled himself inside her.

A precarious silence filled the room, like the lull in a violent storm. Spent and exhausted, he lay on top of her, still inside her, not wanting to pull away and feel the consuming desolation of loneliness. As his labored breathing slowly quieted, his pulse calming to a degree, he felt her jerk sporadically beneath him, and he knew she was crying.

Fear and guilt sliced through him like a knife. Quickly he withdrew from her, rolling onto his back and taking her with him. He cradled her against him as if she were a child, smoothing the damp hair from her face, near to tears himself, tears of self-loathing.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry."