THE MILLIONAIRE SHE MARRIED Read online

  "All those years we were together…" Alec shook his head. "She never said a word. But she had what we used to call her sad times, when she would hardly smile, when she'd have a certain miles-away look in her eyes. At first I would ask her what was wrong. But she would only pat my cheek, tell me, 'It's one of my sad times, Al, that's all…'"

  Alec readjusted his glasses on the end of his nose.

  "After our first few years together, I just accepted that the sad times were a part of who she was. I knew they would come, and that eventually they would pass. But I never knew why. Not until a few hours before she died. I…" Alec seemed to catch himself. He looked from Mack to Jenna. "Maybe you'd rather not hear all this."

  Jenna waited for Mack to answer, but the silence stretched out too long. She couldn't bear it. "No," she said, "Really. Please…"

  To her relief, Mack spoke up then. "Yeah. It's okay. Go ahead."

  "All right. I … well, isn't that strange? I can't remember exactly what I was—"

  Jenna suggested softly, "You said you never understood your wife's sad times, until a few hours before she died."

  "Oh. Yes, of course. That's right. All those years. I never knew the cause of them. And then, the day she died, I was sitting by her bed, holding her hand and … she told me." He looked at Mack. "About you. About the girls. She said she knew almost nothing about Bridget and Claire. That she hadn't seen them, hadn't heard from them, or about them, in all the years since she'd given them up. But that you had come looking for her. That you had grown into a fine man. You were wealthy and successful, a lawyer. She spoke of you with such pride. She said you had told her that her daughters were doing all right. She asked me to call you, said she needed to see you. She explained about this box then. She said that whatever happened, I had to make sure you got it. I promised her I'd take care of it."

  Alec picked up a folded square of yellowed construction paper. Carefully he unfolded it to reveal a stick-figure family beneath a big yellow sun. In the lower right-hand corner, the name Bridget was written in red crayon.

  One by one Alec touched the smiling stick-figure faces: father, mother, daughters, son. "She was telling me this impossible, incredible thing. That she'd had a whole family I never knew about. I should have had a thousand questions. I do have a thousand questions. Now. But then … nothing. Then, I was just plain scared. I only wanted to give her whatever she needed, make any promises she had to hear. I knew the worst was coming, that I was losing her.

  "And she knew, too, didn't she?" Alec looked to Mack for an answer, but Mack said nothing. So the older man looked beyond Mack, at Jenna. "Don't you think she must have known that she didn't have long?"

  Jenna had no answer either. She gave what she could, a sad look and a shrug.

  Alec refolded the stick-figure family and gently set them next to the stack of albums. Then, with great care, he took a swatch of silk in his hand. He peeled it open and stared at the tiny tooth inside. "I told her from the first that I didn't want children. I told her I was set in my ways. That I wanted us to have our freedom, I wanted her all to myself."

  He swallowed, shook his head. "Later, after a few years, I started to see things differently. I told her that maybe it would be nice … a little boy, or a little girl."

  He slid a finger and thumb up under the dark frames of his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "But she never got pregnant. Now I'll always wonder … was it on purpose? Because I had said once that I didn't want children? Or because she couldn't forgive herself, couldn't let herself have another baby after the ones she'd given up? It's so sad. She didn't understand, how much I loved her, how much I could have accepted, the longer and longer I loved her. How I would have wanted to go looking, to find you. If she'd only told me. If I'd only known…"

  * * *

  It was after two when Jenna and Mack stowed the box of keepsakes in the trunk of the Lincoln and headed for the hotel. Mack had been ready to leave much earlier, but Lois had returned and insisted that he and Jenna stay for lunch. So they'd all sat around the kitchen table for a while as Lois bustled about getting the food ready. Then they ate. After the meal, there were cookies and coffee.

  Lois kept the conversation going. She chattered away about how things had changed in Long Beach since her last visit and how much she enjoyed her life in Arizona. Jenna asked questions and made interested noises. The men were mostly silent.

  Mack didn't have much to say during the drive to the hotel, either, which was all right with Jenna. Looking through Doreen's secret box of keepsakes had been difficult even for her—and she wasn't the husband from whom Doreen's secret had been kept, or the son Doreen had given away.

  When they got to the suite, Jenna checked the hotel phone. The message light was dark: no calls. Mack pulled out his cell phone and punched up a number.

  Jenna dropped her shoulder bag on a side table and wandered over to the chair where Mack had laid his newspaper earlier that morning. She sat down and began glancing through it, tuning out Mack's phone conversation.

  But then she heard him say, "Yes. To Miami, the next flight you can find me."

  Jenna set down the paper and listened, bewildered and beginning to get angry, as he made reservations for two to Florida.

  By the time he hung up, she was on her feet. He started to punch up another number, but got only halfway through it before she commanded, "Wait a minute, Mack."

  He punched the off button and looked at her impatiently. "What?"

  "What are you doing?"

  He made one of those noises that always used to drive her crazy in the old days—a low, intolerant, utterly contemptuous sound. "What does it look like?"

  "It looks like you're making arrangements to leave."

  "Very perceptive."

  Her irritation was increasing. "I don't like this, Mack. It feels way too much like old times."

  Now he was glaring at her.

  Thank God she was a thirty-year-old woman now, much too mature to be intimidated by a man's facial expression. "Yes," she said, "just like old times. You've got the phone in your hand. You're making reservations. You think you're flying to Florida right away and you also think that I'm going with you. Is that correct?"

  He made a growling sound that she decided to consider an answer in the affirmative.

  She continued, "You think we're flying to Florida. And have you discussed this with me at all? Have you asked me what I think about it, if I want to go, if I'm even willing to go? No. You have not. As I said, it's just like old times, when you thought nothing of taking a job in New York City and then informing me that we were moving." She gave him her sourest smile. "You know, Mack, if I didn't mind being kept in the dark about major decisions, I might have stayed married to you."

  "You are married to me."

  "You keep saying that."

  "Because it's true."

  "When you behave in this manner, it only reminds me that if I can just get through the next twelve days, you'll never be able to say that again."

  He tossed the phone on a low table a few feet away from him. Jenna winced when it hit. "It's my damn week, remember? It's supposed to be my choice where we go."

  That gave her pause. He did have a point. She'd hardly consulted him when she'd chosen Wyoming for her week.

  And now, looking more closely at him, into those gray-blue eyes, she could see the pain he imagined he could outrun.

  "I'm finished here, Jenna. I've got that damn box my mother left me and I'm sorry I didn't get here in time to hear whatever she had to say to me. We spent yesterday doing what we could for Alec. Now his sister is here. He'll manage all right. I've got five days left in my week. And I want to spend them my way. I want to show you my house, take you out on my boat. I want what I asked for in the first place. Time together, just you and me."

  At that moment, she actually wished she could give him what he said he wanted. But she knew it wouldn't be right. "Well, I'm sorry." She put real effort into making her voice gentler than be
fore. "We have to stay for the funeral."

  "My mother is dead, Jenna. She's not going to care if I miss her funeral."

  "Oh, Mack. Haven't you heard? Funerals aren't for the dead. They're for the rest of us. And your stepfather needs you to be there for this one."

  "Damn it, I only met the man yesterday. I can call him right now and tell him we've got to leave. It's not going to kill him if I don't stick it out to the end."

  "Maybe it's not. But it will hurt him, and he has been hurt enough. And Mack, I think it would mean so much to him, I honestly do, to have you there at her funeral. It would show him that you're able to do what has to be done, that you turned out all right, you turned out to be the kind of man who knows how to forgive."

  "Hell. I forgive her. I think Alec knows that."

  "Then you'll reinforce that knowledge. Because that man really likes you, Mack, that man wants a connection with you. In a way, if you think about it, you're the closest he'll ever come to having a child."

  His lips made a flat line. "It's too late for that. I'm nobody's child."

  "Of course you're not. But you know what I'm getting at. You know what you have to do. I'm sorry that it hurts you. But there's no getting away from it. You talk about how you've forgiven your mother. Do you think you'll be able to forgive yourself if we run off to Florida right now?"

  He didn't answer immediately, but when he did, her heart rose. "All right, damn it. We'll stay."

  They stood near the glass door to the balcony. Beyond the glass, it was a gorgeous Southern California day. The sky was the softest, palest of blues, dotted here and there with white cotton-puff clouds. Gulls wheeled above the golden stretch of beach below them and a few young mothers with toddlers sat beneath bright umbrellas in the sand. The sea looked calm as glass.

  Jenna wanted to touch the man beside her, so she went ahead and did it. She took his arm, the way she had the night before, and, as she had then, she rested her head on his shoulder. "This is a lovely hotel. And look at that beach. Key West might be fabulous, but this isn't half bad. Long Beach has become a real resort area. See those islands out there, with all those cute small hotels on them?"

  He chuckled. "Jenna. Those are dressed-up oil derricks."

  "You are kidding me."

  "Nope. They've been there for years. The Disney people came up with the look. They put a false front on them and light them at night. Very attractive."

  "You could have fooled me."

  "I think I heard somewhere that they're named after dead astronauts. Island Chaffee, Island Grissom. The oil industry here is nothing if not innovative."

  A thought came to her—a way to make their stay a little more bearable to him. She lifted her head and their eyes met. "I'll tell you what, since you're being so gracious about this—"

  He pretended to scoff. "Gracious? Now, there's a word I'll bet you never thought you'd use in conjunction with me."

  She laughed. It felt good, standing there at his side, overlooking the Pacific, her arm in his and a feeling of real accomplishment spreading through her.

  In the old days, at this point, she would have been crying and Mack would have been packing their suitcases to go.

  But this wasn't the old days. She was stronger than she had been then. And he was … gentler, more willing to let her have her say.

  "That's right," she said. "Gracious was never a word I would have used to describe you. But I'm using it now. And since you are being gracious, I can be gracious, too."

  The grin he gave her sent a shiver racing along the surface of her skin. "Does this mean you're giving up on those damn separate rooms?"

  She clucked her tongue. "Dream on."

  "Excuse me. I don't consider making love with you a dream. I consider it a very real possibility."

  "Consider it whatever you want. I said separate rooms and I meant what I said."

  He had stopped grinning. The look in his eyes melted her midsection and did that embarrassing wobbly thing to her knees.

  He turned, so quickly that it startled her. She might have backed up, but he gave her no chance. He reached for her and hauled her close. With a sharp gasp of surprise, she splayed her hands against his chest.

  "Mack." It was a warning, one he didn't heed. Before she could order him to let go, his mouth came down and covered hers.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  « ^ »

  Apparently, some things never changed.

  It was that moment at the door to Mack's L.A. apartment all over again, even all these years later.

  Jenna heard her own small cry as Mack's mouth opened over hers. She stopped pushing him away and slid her hands upward, over his big, solid shoulders. His tongue found hers and danced with it.

  She couldn't help herself. She stroked the back of his neck. She had always loved that, the feel of his skin at the nape, the texture of the hair that his barber cut with electric clippers, silky and stubbly at the same time. She pulled him closer. And he did the same to her, nestling her hips along his thighs, so that she could feel his desire for her, there against her lower belly.

  Oh, she was melting. Yes, all softness. All willingness.

  Though she shouldn't.

  Shouldn't do this.

  Shouldn't give in to this.

  This wonder…

  This glory…

  His hands roamed her back, sliding over her hips one minute, cupping her the next and pulling her even closer—and then moving upward, so that he could tangle his fingers in the strands of her hair.

  His tongue went on playing with hers.

  And she played back.

  Oh, how lovely. Playing back. She and Mack played so well together. They had from the first.

  And oh, how easy it would be to fall right into playing again…

  How delicious and lovely…

  But she couldn't.

  She really couldn't.

  With a sigh that was part regret and part determination, she put her hands flat against his chest again and broke the kiss. "No, Mack."

  He opened his eyes and stared down at her. He didn't look happy. She moved in his arms, signaling clearly that she wanted him to let her go.

  He did, but he also asked, "Why not?"

  She longed to fling out a quick and flippant response. But they both deserved better. They deserved—and they needed—as much honesty as they could bear, wherever this two weeks together ended up taking them.

  She said, "Because making love was always so good with us. Sometimes I think it was too good. Sometimes I wonder if it was all we had, really. A great sex life, as you said the other day."

  He was shaking his head. "No. There was more. You know there was."

  "Do I? You were on your way to make it big at any cost. And I was getting a business degree, getting a little taste of the larger world before I went home and opened my store and married Logan and raised a family. We … intersected over Byron. And there was this attraction. Maybe it was only physical, did you ever think about that? Maybe all that was good was the sex and that's why it didn't last."

  "Jenna." He made her name into a tender rebuke. "How can you say it didn't last? We're both here now, aren't we?"

  She held her ground on that one. "It was ended. We agreed on the terms of a divorce."

  "But we didn't go through with it."

  "I went through with it. You were the one who didn't sign the papers."

  "And you never came looking for me to find out where they were."

  "I did come looking for you. I came looking for you two weeks ago. I asked you—"

  "Wait a minute."

  She folded her arms across her middle and let out a small sound of irritation. "What?"

  "Do we really need to go into all this again?"

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth, worried it a little, then let it go. "No. You're right. We don't. All I'm trying to say is that I'm not allowing the sexual part of our relationship to take over everything again. I want a lit
tle balance. I want to be sure we've got more in common than how good it feels making love together."

  "So. You're admitting we do have something, then?"

  "Yes. I am. And as I was trying to tell you before you distracted me, I'm willing to give a little ground here."

  He looked doubtful. "You're kidding me. You? Giving ground?"

  "Yes. Since you've been so gracious about staying for your mother's funeral, once the funeral's over, we can go to Key West—and stay until the two weeks are up."

  A smile lit his eyes. He teased, "What about Wyoming and all those Bravos you want to get to know?"

  "I guess Wyoming and my Bravo cousins will just have to wait. I'll get there. Someday." She looked out past the balcony again. "And I am thinking it might be nice to take a walk on the beach."

  "Right now?"

  "You have something better to do?"

  "I did. But you turned me down."

  "So?"

  "So, let's go."

  * * *

  The red light on the hotel phone was blinking when they returned to the room an hour later. A message from Alec. Mack called him back.

  Alec invited them to his house for dinner that night. Mack wanted to decline. They'd spent last night taking care of Alec. Tonight, he'd imagined a long, intimate evening, just him and Jenna.

  But before he could make their excuses, Jenna spoke up. "It's Alec? What's up?"

  And he had to ask Alec to hold on while he told her about the invitation. And naturally, she thought they should go.

  And hell. So did he.

  He told Alec they'd be there.

  He hung up and turned to Jenna. She was standing a few feet away, in front of the gilt-framed mirror near the door, brushing out the tangles the wind had put in her hair. He went to her, stopping just behind her. Their eyes met in the mirror.

  "Six-thirty," he said. "For cocktails. For dinner, Lois is whipping up something called Chicken Fiesta."

  "Sounds interesting." She touched the tip of the brush to her pretty, slightly pointed chin. "But somehow, I didn't picture Alec as the type to serve cocktails—and on Tuesday night, too."