A Winter's Rose (18 page)

She did know, however, that her feelings for him hadn't changed. She ached for his arms and warmth, for what they'd had for those few weeks. She'd never felt this alone before.

Bentley trailed her finger across the cold glass. She and Jackson had been lovers just over three weeks. Hardly enough time to really know each other, let alone tire of one another.

Had
he tired of her? she wondered, a thread of panic curling through her. What would she do if he had? She loved him. She would never tire of him.

She dropped her hand. After they left Chloe at the airport, they would talk. She had to know how he felt; she had to know where she stood. She couldn't go on the way she had been.

Jackson pulled up on the street below. Chloe jumped out of the Blazer, and the sun turned her hair to gold. Just like it sometimes did Jackson's.

Chloe looked up at her window and waved. Aching, Bentley waved back. How wonderful it must be to see yourself in another person. How wonderful to know there was a part of you out there, a part that would continue on after you'd gone. She would love to call Chloe her daughter, would love to look at Chloe and see something of herself in the child, one of her own mannerisms or habits. She would love to be called Mama.

Bentley turned away from the window and picked up her coat and handbag. Since David, she hadn't experienced the bitter disappointment, the stinging sadness, she had once felt at her inability to conceive. She'd thought, maybe, that she'd left them behind with David and the woman she had been then.

She hadn't. Looking at Chloe just now, she felt the disappointment and sadness keenly. And she felt like crying.

Forcing a bright smile, she let herself out and went to meet Chloe and Jackson. Neither of them seemed to see beyond her bright facade, and they kept up a constant flow of conversation all the way to the airport.

They arrived with plenty of time to spare before Chloe's flight, and after checking her bags, they stopped for a snack. Through it all, Chloe and Jackson talked, and as the minutes ticked by, Bentley felt more and more left out. More alone.

What was wrong with her? she wondered. It wasn't like her to be so melancholy. So emotional. She really was feeling strange.

As the time of Chloe's flight drew closer, her state of mind seemed to rub off on the others, and by the time they reached the gate, even Chloe had become subdued. They stood together, hardly talking, watching the clock inch closer and closer to flight time.

Chloe touched her arm lightly. “Bentley,” she said, her cheeks pink, “could I talk to you a moment?”

“Sure.”

“Over there?” She motioned with her head to an unoccupied corner of the waiting area. Bentley nodded and together they crossed to it.

“I just wanted to say…I'm sorry.” Chloe's eyes welled with tears. “I was mean to you. I took stuff out on you that wasn't your fault. It wasn't fair. You were my friend.”

Chloe started to cry softly, and Bentley hugged her. “I hope,” Bentley murmured, “that I still am?”

Chloe nodded and sniffled. “I'm going to miss you guys. I wish we were spending Christmas together.”

“I know.” Bentley brushed the tears from the youngster's cheeks, moisture stinging her own eyes. “Me, too.” Cupping Chloe's face, she gazed at her. “But I want you to have fun. And Chloe, despite how she acts, I'm sure your mother loves you. Try to remember that. Okay?”

“I'll try.” Chloe grinned through her tears, looking suddenly mischievous. “I'll even
try
to be nice to Jacques.”

“Baby, your flight's boarding.”

Chloe turned to Jackson, who had come up behind them. “Okay, Daddy.” She turned to Bentley. “I have something for you.” She pulled a festively wrapped package out of her knapsack and handed it to Bentley.

“Oh, Chloe. Thank you.” Bentley took the present, touched beyond words. “Would you like me to open it now?”

“No. Save it for Christmas morning. That way—” Her throat closed over the words and she fought to clear it. “It'll be like me being there with you.”

“Chloe,” Jackson called. “Time to go.”

Standing on tiptoe, Chloe kissed her cheek, then ran toward Jackson, who waited with her ticket at the gate. After hugging her dad and giving Bentley a final wave, she disappeared down the ramp.

Bentley joined Jackson at the window and together they watched Chloe's plane back away from the terminal, then taxi down the runway. When she'd disappeared from sight, they turned and started to the parking area.

They didn't talk much, not on the trip to the car, nor after they were on the highway heading to Galveston. And as each silent second passed by, it seemed like another tiny piece of her was being ripped away.

What would she do if she'd lost him?

Jackson took her home, and without discussing it walked with her up to her apartment. Once inside, Bentley was unable to take the silence, the not knowing how he felt, one more moment. She whirled to face him. Curling her hands into fists, she met his eyes unflinchingly. “Has something changed, Jackson? If so, tell me now. I can't go on this way.”

For one unbearably long moment he stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“Our affair.” She trembled so badly she wondered how her legs continued to support her, but she jerked her chin up boldly, almost arrogantly. “Is it over?”

“Over?” he repeated, taking a step toward her. “Where did you get that idea?”

“It hasn't been the same between us since the night Chloe ran away. If you've changed your mind, if you're having second thoughts—”

“I'm not.” He reached out and stroked his thumb lightly over her jaw. “I haven't.”

She inched her chin up, not believing him though she wanted to so desperately. “Then why have you been acting differently toward me?”

“Have I?”

“Yes. You've been distant. Cool.”

He turned away from her and crossed to the window. He stared out at the day for a moment before turning and meeting her eyes once more. “I don't know what to tell you. The night Chloe ran away took so much out of me. I was so afraid I'd lost her. I guess, knowing that she was leaving today, I focused on her.”

Relief moved over Bentley, warring with the doubt that lingered, refusing to be shaken. Something glimmered at the back of his eyes, something that made her wonder if he was being completely honest with her. If he was holding something back. “There's nothing…wrong?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Nothing.”

This time it was she who turned away. Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked furiously, trying to keep them at bay. They slipped down her cheeks, anyway.

“Hey…” Jackson came up behind her and eased her against his chest. He buried his face in her hair. “Don't cry.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she leaned into him. If only she could believe everything was fine. But she had this horrible, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, a sense that something was very wrong.

But she didn't tell him that. Instead, she tried to pretend that everything was okay. She turned in his arms and linked her hands around his neck. “I'm being silly. I've been so emotional lately. And
I've been having these funny little pains.”

He drew his eyebrows together. “Pains?”

“More like twinges.” She rubbed her cheek against the soft flannel of his shirt. “Next week I have to go see my parents before they leave for the Caribbean. I'm going to see my doctor while I'm there.”

Jackson drew back so he could look in her eyes. In his she read concern. It warmed her more than she could ever have imagined. She smiled. “I'm fine. Really.”

He touched her cheek lightly with his fingertips. “You're sure?”

“Yes.” She straightened, pulling completely out of his arms. “Truthfully, I wouldn't even go if Jill wasn't returning and I wasn't way overdue for a checkup. I haven't been since the fertility clinic a year and a half ago.” When he still looked doubtful, she laughed. “Sometimes the holidays give me the blues.”

“I have the cure for that.”

“You do?”

“Mmm-hmm.” He grinned wickedly. “I thought we'd go and pick out a tree this afternoon. And tonight, I'll make some spiked eggnog and we can decorate the tree. Ever strung popcorn while under the influence of eggnog, Bing Crosby and me?”

She tapped her chin with her index finger. “I don't recall.”

He drew her closer, fitting his hips to hers. “Oh, you'd recall if you had. Especially the `me' part.”

“Well,” she teased, moving suggestively against him. “It has been a long time. Maybe my memory needs to be refreshed.”

With a hoot of laughter, Jackson picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder and carried her to the bed.

Chapter Eleven

S
omething
was
wrong. Very wrong. Or very right, depending on one's perspective.

She was pregnant.

Nude, Bentley stood before her bathroom mirror, studying her reflection, looking for even the tiniest change in her body. She saw none. But then she was barely pregnant, only three weeks along.

Just in time for holiday gift giving, Bentley thought, a hysterical giggle bubbling to her lips. Wouldn't Jackson be surprised?

Wasn't she?

Three weeks, she thought, touching her abdomen lightly with only her fingertips. She and Jackson had made love so many times, she couldn't determine exactly which time had been the lucky one.

Lucky? She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. She hardly thought that particular adjective the one Jackson would use to describe this situation.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. He was going to be furious—especially considering the way she'd assured him this couldn't happen.

Bentley cocked her head. How had this happened? The doctor had been amused by that question. “The usual way,” he'd answered, grinning. “It's not uncommon for women who have been unable to conceive to suddenly become pregnant at forty, or for couples who are finally able to adopt to turn up the same way.” He'd smiled and patted her hand. “Don't quote me to any of my esteemed colleagues, but nature is a mysterious and miraculous thing. And one that often defies science. Now,” he'd finished, “I can add you to my list of miracle stories.”

It sounded logical to her. Believable. But she wasn't Jackson. An unexpected present hadn't altered her life once already.

Pushing thoughts of Jackson's reaction away, Bentley turned to the mirror, focusing on her own. She tilted her head. She didn't look any different, but she felt worlds different. She felt full and lush;
she felt complete.

She touched her still-flat abdomen again, caressing it ever so softly. “Hello there,” she whispered, heat blooming in her cheeks. “I'm your mama.”

The words, the way they sounded, the way they made her feel, flowed sweetly over and through her. And with them flowed contentment. A kind of rich joy, a different kind of happiness than she'd ever known.

She smiled and hugged herself. The doctor was right, it was a miracle. She wanted to shout her happiness from the rooftops, she wanted to tell the world about her miracle.

But first she had to give Jackson the news. She dreaded telling him. But she had to. And soon. The longer she waited the more difficult it would be.

Her smile faded, her legs turned to Jell-O, and she called herself a coward. She was pregnant. It was a fact, one she had to deal with. Logically. Unemotionally. Immediately.

She brought a trembling hand to her mouth. Only logic didn't have a thing to do with this situation, and unemotional was an impossibility. And immediately? Her every instinct told her to run to the bed and hide under the covers for nine months. Or until nature forced the issue.

Turning away from the mirror, Bentley slipped into her robe. Crossing to the bed, she sank onto it. She would tell Jackson. Then her parents and Chloe and…

And Jackson was going to be mad as hell. He might very well tell her to take a hike. And then what would she do?

He wouldn't. He couldn't.

Her heart began to thrum in her chest. True, Chloe had been an accident, but he loved his daughter. And hadn't he said many times that he wouldn't change one thing about the past if he had it to do over again?

But that was then. He was a different man now, and she a different woman. He could abandon her.

What would she do then?

Bentley plucked the music box from its stand and sat cross-legged on the bed with it in her lap. She gazed at her look-alike. “This is some mess, isn't it?” She touched the glass with her fingertips. “Did you know this was going to happen?”

Sighing, Bentley returned the dome to its pedestal, then flopped back against the mattress. She stared at the ceiling. Things had been so good between her and Jackson the past few weeks. They'd readied for the holidays together, decorating and shopping, doing a round of parties.

They'd even strung that impossible popcorn. Bentley smiled, remembering. They'd ended up laughing and flinging the corn at one another, then had made love on the mattress of crunchy kernels. The stuff had been everywhere, and for a day after she could have sworn she still smelled of it. Bentley breathed deeply now, imagining the scent of the corn, the feel of it beneath her as she and Jackson made love.

Bentley gazed dreamily at the patterns of light above her head. Their hunger for one another had been insatiable, their passion boundless. And they'd laughed. Lord, how they'd laughed.

She drew her eyebrows together. Then why did she have this sinking feeling that something was not as it should be? Why did it feel like Jackson held a part of himself back?

Because he held his heart from her. Because he didn't love her. The truth hurt, and tears stung her eyes. He hadn't spoken of it—not once—and she'd been afraid to.

Just as she'd been afraid to face the fact that there was more wrong between them than that. She had this awful sense that he wasn't being honest with her.

And now this.

Bentley rolled onto her side, curling around her big feather pillow. Regardless of how Jackson felt, she wanted this baby. But, she admitted, she was terrified of doing it alone. She didn't know if she could, didn't know if she was strong enough. Her eyes filled. She wanted him to marry her.

There, she'd admitted it. She was terrified of ending up alone and pregnant, terrified of not being capable enough to take care of a child without help. She hugged the pillow tighter, David's brutal assessments of her character filling her head, pummeling at her security, her self-esteem.

She wasn't that woman anymore, Bentley told herself. She'd proven David wrong. She wouldn't go to her mother and father. No matter what. If Jackson abandoned her, she would make it on her own.

Bentley squeezed her eyes shut, her doubts stronger than her belief in herself. She felt so weak and frightened.

So happy.

Tears slid from the corners of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, pooling on her soft white bedspread. She had wanted to be a mother so badly. And now she would be. For her, it
was
a miracle.

She might lose Jackson. Her chest tightened. In all probability she would.

Panic coursing through her, Bentley lifted her gaze. It landed on her porcelain look-alike. Something about the figure calmed her. Reassured her. For long moments, she stared at the miniature's enigmatic expression and smile, letting it soothe her.

Pulling herself into a sitting position, she wiped the moisture from her cheeks. She loved Jackson. It would be all right. She would
make
it all right, she vowed, looking at the music box.

But how?

* * *

It didn't take Bentley long to come up with a plan of action. She decided on one as old as time.

Seduction.

Bentley surveyed herself in her bedroom mirror, her stomach fluttering like a field of butterflies. Everything was in place—the gourmet dinner she'd ordered, the soft music and candlelight, the dress that was at once too revealing and not revealing enough.

She studied her reflection. Emerald green, strapless and made of touchable velvet and shimmery taffeta, the dress hugged her body to below the hips, then flared out to inches above her knees. She'd chosen hose that were sheer and dark, and glittery earrings that called attention to her bare throat.

She'd never looked better. Or been more nervous. It would be a Christmas Eve to remember.

Or to forget.

Bentley swallowed, her mouth suddenly desert dry. The two days since she'd been to the doctor had passed with alarming swiftness. A dozen times she'd almost blurted her news to Jackson, but she'd held back, wanting the timing to be just right.

And for two days, she'd alternated between feeling like a little girl with a delicious secret and a grown woman consumed by fear and guilt. Every time the guilt had plucked at her, she had reminded herself that she hadn't planned this pregnancy. She had been as surprised, as shocked, as Jackson was going to be.

Bentley closed her eyes tightly and said a quick, silent prayer. Then she opened them again and resolutely pushed away the what ifs scrambling around in her head. Even if Jackson didn't love her, he did care for her on some level. Of that she was certain. This would work, and everything would be all right.

Bentley managed to hold on to her calm until Jackson knocked precisely at eight. She lit the last candle, blew out the match, then took a deep, steadying breath. She
could
do this.

Crossing to the door, she paused, then swung it open. “Merry Christmas,” she murmured, smiling alluringly.

Jackson moved his eyes slowly over her, then lifted them to hers. His lips tipped up in a devilish smile. “It certainly is. You look sensational.”

Bentley flushed and drew him inside. “I have a surprise for you,” she murmured seductively, then winced to herself as she thought of the other surprise she had waiting for him. “Oysters on the half shell, chateaubriand for two, your favorite wine.”

“Mmm.” Jackson drew her against his chest. “I like this surprise best of all.” He pressed his mouth to her throat, her collarbone, then the swell of her breast revealed by the dress's daring dècolletè.

Heat rushed over her, as did panic. She wasn't ready for this, the scene wasn't set, she…

She sucked in a quick, shaky breath and ducked out of his arms. “Come.” She caught his hand and led him to the table. She sank onto one of the big throw pillows she'd arranged around the coffee table.

He followed her down. “Very romantic.”

“I hope so.”

“Do you?” He turned toward her, his eyes gleaming with heat, with wicked amusement. He trailed his fingers over the curve of her jaw, across her shoulders, then lower, again to the swell of her breasts. “Do you have romance on your mind, Princess?”

She shuddered and tipped her head back. Her nipples hardened, pressing boldly against the the dress's bodice. “Yes,” she murmured, her eyes fluttering shut.

He laughed low in his throat and cupped her. “I hope that's not all you have on your mind.”

Her eyes snapped open, and she stared at him. Oh, Lord, if he only knew. And he would know. Soon.

The butterflies were back, only it felt as if they'd grown to the size of hummingbirds. She eased out of his arms as unobtrusively as she could, fighting to control her fluttering nerves, her runaway heart. “Why don't you open the wine.”

Jackson arched his eyebrows. “You're acting strangely tonight.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.” He smiled and reached for the wine bottle and corkscrew. “You seem nervous. And just the tiniest bit winded. Can't you catch your breath, Princess?”

She'd heard that women in their ninth month of pregnancy were often unable to catch their breaths. The thought popped into her head, and with it guilty laughter. What would Jackson say if she spilled out that particular pearl of wisdom?

“Bentley?”

She blinked. “What? Oh, no, I can't.”

He poured a glass of wine and held it out to her. She looked at it for a moment, her mouth dry. Then she lifted her eyes to his and forced a smile. “Thank you, but I'm not… I'll have the mineral water instead.”

His eyebrows lowered in question even as he complied, and guilt rushed over her in a wave of heat. She didn't drink much but Jackson knew she adored a glass of wine in the evening.

She felt dishonest. Like a fraud, a cheat. She'd always been honest with him. Always.

Until now.

“Shall we make a toast?” he asked.

“I'd like that.”

“To the coming year.”

He tapped his glass against hers and her heart wrenched.
Not “To us.” Not “To our baby.”
It hurt so badly she wanted to wrap her arms around herself and sob. “The coming year,” she repeated hollowly and took a sip of the water.

For long moments silence stretched between them. Bentley glanced at him over the rim of her glass. She didn't want him to think of her as a liar or a manipulator. And she didn't want to have their lovemaking sullied by deception. Or machinations.

Tell him, she thought. Tell him now.

Panic, real and debilitating, hit her as she faced the prospect of telling him. A whimper escaped her and she set her glass down sharply on the tabletop.

“Bentley?” Jackson set down his own glass and caught her hands. “Your fingers are like ice.” He rubbed them between his. “Are you all right? You never mentioned what the docto—”

“I'm pregnant.”

The words spilled plainly, baldly, from her lips. They landed between them the same way. Jackson forced a laugh. “Not one of your more humorous jokes. What's the punch line?”

That was the punch line.
A hysterical laugh flew to her lips; she bit it back. “I'm pregnant,” she repeated as calmly as she could.

For several excruciating seconds, Jackson held her gaze. Then he dropped her hands. “I thought,” he said softly, “that you were unable to conceive.”

Bentley cringed at his tone. “I thought I couldn't. The doctor said that miracles sometimes happen. He said—”

“Miracles?” Jackson looked at her, his eyes glacial. “I'd hardly put this in that category.”

She clasped her hands together, fighting a wave of hurt, of self-doubt. “Even under treatments I was unable to get pregnant, but they never pinpointed exactly why.”

He swore and stood, turning his back toward her. “Terrific,” he muttered. “Fabulous.”

“Jackson, I—”

He looked over his shoulder at her, his expression deadly. “Don't say anything, Bentley. Just don't say anything.”