Just a Taste Page 15

  “I am on the pill.”

  Jillian’s quiet words came some time later, when they lay naked and replete in his bed. Seth had thought she was asleep—God knows, they both needed to catch up!—she felt so relaxed and boneless against his side, her head and one arm draped across his chest.

  Relaxed and so damn right it hurt.

  “For reasons other than birth control,” she added, possibly an afterthought, probably a prompt.

  So, she wanted to talk. Seth had expected as much, but what he hadn’t counted on was his own response. Or lack thereof. No instant tension. No urge to run, hide, avoid. A wry smile might have curled his lips if he had the energy to spare, but he was so done in he could barely lift a hand to settle her damp curls that tickled his chest and throat.

  Her shower-damp curls.

  Yeah, she deserved an explanation for his extreme response in the shower. Not the sexual one—she’d seemed pleased enough with that—but his biting retort on the question of protection. Round one downstairs should have taken the edge off, but they’d ended up just as wild in the thick steam and streaming water.

  No clothes, no pockets, no condom on tap. And she’d urged him to just do it. I’m safe, I’m protected.

  And he’d been so damn tempted, so close to succumbing—

  “It’s not that I didn’t trust your word,” he told her now. He stroked the smooth length of her naked spine. “I take that responsibility seriously these days.”

  Under the idle caress of his hand, he felt her body tense up. Knew she’d ask about the reckless encounter that had shaped his future. “You and Karen?”

  “At the time I thought I’d made the biggest blunder of my life.”

  “But now you have Rachel.”

  Her simple statement said it all. He had Rachel. And that chimed a chord in Seth’s memory. Rachel, that day after she’d lost her toy pony, had pointed out how Aunt Jellie didn’t have a daughter of her own. “Did you ever consider…?”

  “Having a baby?” she finished for him, when the words lodged in his throat. Surprise brought her up on her elbow, her expression rueful. “Not many men in your position would dare ask that question.”

  The naked-in-bed-with-a-woman position? She had a point. “Yeah, well, you may have noticed how I didn’t get the whole question out.”

  She acknowledged that with a smile.

  “So, are you gonna answer?”

  “Yes,” she said after a beat of pause, “I considered babies. Back when I thought my marriage would last forever.”

  He’d never heard her use such a cynical tone before. Never. And his surprise must have shown, because she fixed him with a wry look. “I wasn’t a complete fool, Seth. At least not for the whole five years.”

  He didn’t want to ask but he had to know. “Did you love him?”

  Something intensified in her eyes, a depth of emotion that grabbed and banded his chest like a vice. He didn’t think she would answer, not when she settled her head back on his shoulder. But then she spoke, so low he had to strain to hear the words. “I thought I did, but I didn’t even know him. How could I have loved a man who was so dishonest and immoral and selfish? How could I?”

  “Why did you stay with him?”

  “Pride. Stubbornness. Fear of everything I’d lose by leaving. Fear of admitting I’d been wrong, that I’d failed.” She exhaled on a humorless laugh. “Gee, if I think hard enough I’ll have an excuse for every year of the marriage.”

  “Maybe you believed you could make it work.”

  Her hand shifted fretfully against his chest. “You know what I felt when I first heard he was dead?”

  Seth stilled, waited, hating the direction of the conversation and all the crippling memories it churned in his gut but knowing it had to be said. It was long overdue.

  “Relief,” she said thickly, as if she’d dragged the word from some deeply hidden place. He didn’t know what to say—if there was anything to say—so he stroked her back, pulled her closer to his side, touched his lips to her forehead.

  “I’m not proud to admit it, but all I could think was, I’m free.” Against his heart, her fingers clenched and unclenched. “Then I heard that Karen was with him, and I thought about you and Rachel and I loathed myself for that selfishness. I hated Jason for what he’d done but I loathed myself more.”

  Self-loathing. Oh, baby, he knew all about that yawning black chasm. And listening while she opened up her heart, while she confessed things he knew she’d never shared with another soul, stirred a deep longing in Seth to share the pain and guilt that had festered in him too long.

  He just didn’t know where to start.

  She shifted then, turning her body in a fidgety little move that lifted her out of his loose hold. “I’m sorry, Seth. I didn’t mean to get this heavy.”

  “There’s a lot of heavy between us.”

  “A lot of past, I know.” She made a rueful sound. “And there’s Jason and Karen, just like you said.”

  The third and fourth in their bed.

  “I think we need to talk,” she said slowly, “not about the past, but about now. About what we’re doing here.”

  “I think we’re taking it one step at a time.”

  “One step at a time? Nice euphemism.”

  He grinned. Shrugged. And she surprised him by stretching up to kiss him. “Are you hungry?”

  “I could be.”

  “You should be.” A spark of all they’d expended earlier flickered between them. “Is it okay if I go and throw something together? In your kitchen? We can talk about our non-relationship while we eat.”

  “You’re asking permission to feed me?”

  “I’m asking permission to raid your fridge.”

  He spread his hands. “Knock yourself out.”

  “Don’t get too excited,” she said over her shoulder as she rose from his bed. “I’m not known for my cooking.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. When I’m looking for a cook.”

  In the doorway she paused, and Seth crossed his arms over his chest and waited for her sassy comeback. But she pressed her lips together and ducked away, leaving him with a big sense of letdown. He shook his head and huffed out a breath.

  “You are something else, Jillian Ashton.”

  In the space of a minute she’d turned the tight angst in his chest into something bearable. She wanted to talk? Fine, he could listen. If she put some clothes on first.

  He pulled on jeans and padded downstairs in bare feet, stopping at several points to gather up stray pieces of clothing. A smile curled his lips as he noted how none belonged to Jillian. She’d driven here without a stitch between that prim ladylike dress and her bare silky skin.

  At the foot of the stairs he whistled a hot breath through his teeth, remembering, then his attention caught—not on the clatter of plates from the kitchen but the sound of a lock turning. A second later the front door swung open.

  Rosa?

  Yes, and carrying Rachel. He was there, taking his daughter from the petite housekeeper’s arms, before the door closed behind them. “What’s up, princess?”

  “Her lunch, mostly.” Rosa had a way of cutting to the chase. “There’s some kinda stomach flu going through the day care place. Looks like the chicken caught it.”

  Rachel lifted her head long enough to whine, “I’m not a chicken,” and Seth reassured her that she smelled more like a pony, just as Jillian came out of the kitchen, concern etched all over her face.

  Of course Rachel wanted Aunt Jellie, and the pathetic look on her pale little face would have slayed a much harder heart. Seth let her go. For the minute. He turned to Rosa and asked the burning question. “Why didn’t they call me?”

  “They tried.” Knowing eyes flicked from him—in his jeans and nothing else—to Jillian and back again. “Maybe you turned your phone off.”

  Yeah, and maybe he’d been in such an all-fire rush, he’d left the blessed cell phone in his truck. Day care wouldn’t have tried
the house, not on a Tuesday.

  “It’s okay, boss. They found me.”

  “On your day off,” he said tightly. Damn.

  “You want me to stay now, look after her?”

  “Thanks, Rosa, but I’ll manage.”

  “You sure you don’t need me?” She directed the question right past Seth, and Jillian reassured her. “I can stay and help, Rosa.”

  Seemingly satisfied, the housekeeper departed, and Seth turned to his daughter. “C’mon, princess.”

  “I wan’ Aunt Jellie.”

  She met his eyes over Rachel’s head and mouthed, “It’s okay.”

  No, it was far from okay. This afternoon was the perfect illustration of all he’d feared and all he’d vowed to avoid. The perfect illustration of what he’d tried to explain to Jillian that day in the cellar. How do you explain to a sick three-year-old that the woman cradling you in her arms isn’t staying? That she and Daddy are having some sort of sexual non-relationship that neither wants but neither is strong enough to say no to?

  Hell, he couldn’t even explain that to himself.

  “Don’t beat yourself up about this, Seth.” Her quiet words brought his head up, stilled the hand rubbing at his neck. “Rosa was there for her. It’s all right.”

  “No.” His jaw locked tight. “None of this is right. You. Me. Rachel.”

  She stiffened a little at his tone, but her eyes shifted to Rachel and back to him. “Not now, Seth.”

  He acknowledged her point with a tight nod. “But we will talk later.”

  “Yes, but for now can we concentrate on a bucket and towel? I do believe we’re about to be sick again.”

  Later was much later, after an exhausted Rachel finally succumbed to sleep and her bed. The aroma of coffee lured Seth downstairs to the kitchen, where he found Jillian mumbling to herself while she fussed with the makings of…food of some sort. He was too rocked by the picture of domesticity to notice or care what.

  Too rocked by the thickness in his chest and the intensity of his desire to keep her there. In his house. To stay.

  The notion took root quickly, spreading tentacles that wound insidiously into his logic. She’d wanted a baby before her marriage collapsed. She was a natural mother, a nurturer at heart. And Rachel needed—she craved—a mother’s nurturing touch. Rachel loved her; she reciprocated.

  Only one solution made any sense of his tumultuous feelings…except for one small point.

  “You said you didn’t want a relationship.”

  Obviously she’d sensed his presence in the doorway, his silent observation, since she didn’t start at his voice. However, her shoulders bunched, as if with tension, and she put down a knife and wiped her hands on the sides of her dress. She didn’t turn around.

  “But we need to work something out,” Seth continued, starting across the room. “I don’t want a repeat of this afternoon.”

  “What do you propose?”

  Seth swore he could feel his heart knocking against his ribs, in perfect timing with each step until he stopped right behind her. And gave the only possible answer.

  “Marriage.”

  Disbelief, desire, trepidation beat a wild tattoo in Jillian’s chest. Had she misheard? Had she conjured that answer out of a silly, heart-struck moment of comedic wordplay?

  What do you propose? Marriage. Boom boom.

  “We’re good together,” he said, close behind her. “And we’re good together for Rachel. Marry me, Jillian.”

  She had to turn around then, although her legs trembled so fiercely she needed the countertop for support. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am.”

  God. He was. His eyes, grim and resolute, held hers…and instantly quelled that initial moment of yes, yes, yes exuberance.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “I think…I don’t…” Exasperated with her inability to put together a coherent phrase, she flung her hands in the air. “Surely you don’t expect an answer right now?”

  His beat of pause was telling. So was the flash of impatience she read in his eyes. Brief, momentary and curbed as carefully as his answer. “An indication would help.”

  Yes, it would. An indication that he wanted her—not for Rachel, but for him—would make a big difference. She didn’t expect an outpouring of emotion, just a little sign.

  Give me something, Seth, she quietly pleaded. Something to work with here.

  All she got was that same stony-faced expression, and a strong impression that he held his patience carefully checked. Her stomach churned with the panicky sense of being rushed, pushed, forced, and that was completely without logic. Perhaps if she tried to explain….

  “I’m not opposed to the concept of marrying again,” she said. “I would like children, a family, a partner to share my life with, but it has to be safe and solid and comfortable.”

  “And I’m not?”

  “Not to me, no. You’re white heat and decisions I can’t control. Things I’ve never said before or felt before or done before. Lord, Seth, I keep shocking myself with you and that scares the pants off me.” Unintentional, that reference, but oh, what a fine illustration of what she was talking about. “That’s not me, Seth, that woman without underwear.”

  “Maybe it is you,” he said, eyes narrowing, dark and intense. “Maybe you don’t want safe and secure. Maybe you want to gallop horses and make risky wines and—”

  “Oh, no.” She held up her hands. “That’s something else entirely. We’re talking about marriage here. Last time I acted rashly, on passion and instinct, and I made a very bad decision. This time, I know what’s at stake.”

  “Last time, this time—” In the space of a breath, Jillian knew what she’d implied. Saw it in the flare of his nostrils, heard it in the deceptively cool tone of his voice. “Are you comparing me to my brother? Do you think I’m using you? That I’ll cast you aside after the honeymoon?”

  “You know that’s not what I meant. You know I was only trying to explain why I can’t rush into marriage again.”

  He shook his head slowly, huffed out a breath. “You’re not the only one with a bad marriage behind you, Jillian. The world’s full of us.”

  His admission hung in the sharp silence, knocking all the breath from Jillian’s lungs. He’d never said; she’d never asked; and now she saw regret flash swift and harsh across his expression.

  “Look, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “But you did.” Heart beating fast, she tracked the shift of his gaze, waited for it to settle back on her. “Tell me, Seth. Please.”

  “You know why I married Karen and it turned out to be a bad reason. I used her, she trapped me. We tried but we couldn’t make each other happy.” He shifted his feet, so uncomfortable talking about this that Jillian’s heart contracted with a fierce burst of emotion. Oh, Seth, you can talk to me. I understand. “We wouldn’t have lasted.”

  “Despite Rachel?”

  “Yeah.” He exhaled harshly. “I couldn’t have stayed with a woman who cheated.”

  “Karen was having an affair?”

  “Is that so hard to believe?”

  It shouldn’t be, not for your world-champion cheated-upon wife, but Karen? She had a baby. She was married to Seth. “Why would she want another man?”

  He laughed, low and harsh, and shook his head. “Apparently I didn’t give her the attention she deserved.”

  “Apparently?”

  “I didn’t get a chance to ask her straight out.” Low, bitter, harsh, the words sounded as if they’d been wrung from his soul.

  “What do you mean? Didn’t you know until after…?”

  After she died. Jillian’s heart thudded, high in her throat, as the implication hit. She’d been with her lover the night she died.

  “With Jason?” she asked on a note of disbelieving horror, even as her mind rejected the notion. She shook her head and backed up a step, found herself hard against the kitchen counter, unable to retreat any farther from the confirmat
ion in his eyes. “You said he was giving her a lift home from the city. Her car had trouble. She needed a ride.”

  That’s what he’d told her, afterward.

  And she’d held him tight and unyielding in her arms and whispered that she was sorry, so sorry, while her heart and her stomach and her soul twisted with the guilty knowledge that her husband’s recklessness had killed an innocent wife and mother. Crippling guilt because when the policeman told her he hadn’t been alone, she’d known it would be a woman, his lover, beside Jason that night.

  And she’d felt glad, relieved, avenged.

  Hurt welled in her chest and throat, a thick, choking haze of anger and betrayal. Not because of Jason and Karen, but because the man she had always upheld as honest, true, straightforward—the man she trusted, the man she thought she loved—had lied to her.

  He hadn’t only concealed the truth, he’d straight out deceived her.

  “You lied to me.”

  “Hold on a minute. That’s not—”

  “No! I don’t want to hear justification and excuses. I heard enough of those from your brother. You knew for two years. You knew and you didn’t say a word.”

  “I did it to protect you, Jillian. I’m not Jason.”

  “You might as well be.”

  His eyes narrowed to piercing dark intensity. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “You don’t mean that.”

  “No.” She shook her head, appalled at what she’d said but unable to apologize. Not while disenchantment gnawed at her with sharp, unrelenting teeth. “But I can’t marry a man who isn’t one hundred percent honest with me. I can’t even consider that.”

  Thirteen

  D etermined not to fall into a heap of self-pity or remorse, Jillian carried on through the rest of the week. Doing her job, supervising as the painters and the cabinet maker and the electrician put their finishing touches on the tasting room, conducting furtive meetings with Caroline and Mercedes over the surprise aspect of Sunday night’s party. Fingers crossed, Cole and Dixie hadn’t sussed out the truth. They believed they were attending an unofficial opening party for family and close friends and Louret staff.

  The pace was frantic and involving until, finally, late on Friday afternoon, the last tradesman left. Apart from a few cosmetic touches, it was done. Finished. Complete. And Jillian walked through the big arched entrance doors and just stood, taking it all in—exactly as she’s envisaged, but more so—and she wondered when the joy of completion, of accomplishment, would hit.