His 1-800 Wife (7 page)

Catherine agreed. "I don't want a long-term com­mitment. I wanted someone who would be willing to comply with my plan, no entanglements, no emo­tional attachment."

"So what is the problem? Don't you have what you want?"

Catherine leaned back in her chair. Did she? She wasn't sure. She looked at her hand as she moved it back to the side of her plate. Jarrod put that ring on her finger and something happened inside her. Something she couldn't explain to herself, let alone Elizabeth, and certainly not Jarrod. She was alone in this and she'd never been alone before. There was always someone she could rely on to listen, share her stories, understand her problems. Her grandmother had been her confidant, but her grandmother had passed away four years ago, and Catherine wasn't ready to confide in Elizabeth. With this problem she had no one.

"This always happens to you," Elizabeth said.

"What?"

"You start some scheme and then you think better of it, but you're in too deep to get out."

Catherine knew Elizabeth was telling the truth. She had come up with the idea of stowing away on a small cruiser to hitch a ride to Long Island. Elizabeth got seasick the moment the eight-sleeper reached rocky water. They were discovered and told the boat wasn't headed for Long Island and returned to Newport. Luckily Jarrod came to get them instead of their par­ents.

"Elizabeth, I have done some things that only the young and stupid would think of, but I haven't done anything irresponsible in years."

Elizabeth nodded, agreeing with her. "The last time was before Jarrod left, and now he's back."

"I didn't do it because Jarrod was coming home."

"Didn't you?" Elizabeth's eyebrows rose in ques­tion.

"No!" Catherine felt anger growing inside her. "I did it to get my mother and sister—"

"Then why are you having second thoughts?" Eliza­beth interrupted. She lifted her drink and took a sip.

"I'm not having second thoughts. Not exactly," she whispered.

"This isn't about that jerk you were engaged to in New York, is it?"

"I can't help it. I know my engagement to Jarrod isn't real, but I was so humiliated by Jeff's defection. He had all these plans for what our marriage was going to be like, and he didn't even discuss them with me. He just assumed he could take over my life, that I would fall into line and be the obedient wife. I admit I was enamored by him. He had a charisma that blinded me to reality. I'm glad I had my eyes opened before we got married."

"Catherine, he was the wrong man. If you'd mar­ried Jeff Sherman, you'd be divorced by now, and much worse for wear."

"I know that."

"But I don't think you should cut yourself off from every man because of that experience."

"I'm not doing that." Catherine avoided Eliza­beth's eyes.

"What you're doing with Jarrod involves none of the emotions that were in play when you were engaged to Jeff." She stopped, suddenly realizing what she hadn't said. "Or does it?" She put her glass down. "Catherine, are you falling for Jarrod?"

“Don't be ridiculous.'' Catherine wasn't having sec­ond thoughts about Jarrod. Her problem was dreams, daydreams and night dreams. She'd seen herself more than once in situations with Jarrod that she'd have vehemently denied a month ago, but now they were wearing on her. She was getting used to the idea of being engaged to him, having him around, laughing with him and just being quiet in his presence. She actually liked it. "My problem is I might. . ." She stopped. She remembered the beach and Jarrod put­ting the ring on her finger. The feelings that went through her when he held her. What was she reading into them? Was it all her? Did Jarrod feel any of it?

"You might what?"

She stared at Elizabeth. She didn't know how to finish that sentence or if she should tell the unvar­nished truth, even to her best friend. She might be falling for Jarrod. Is that what was happening to her? It had only been a couple of days since they had seen each other again. It took longer to fall in love than that, no matter what happened in movies and on TV. This was real life, and she had more reasons for not falling for him than the opposite, yet she was almost sure this was the case. "I might have more to pay for when this is over than I thought."

***

The concert hall was small by standards set in larger cities, but for Newport it was a staple of the commu­nity. The building was old, had been used continu­ously for nearly a century. It had been renovated several times, the seats redone and the curtains changed, but the sound of the music still reverberated off the rafters as if the designers understood both architecture and opera.

Catherine sat in the darkness listening to the orchestra play Debussy. She loved his music, having discovered it when she was twelve years old and taking piano lessons. It usually soothed her senses, and often when she was upset or had had a particularly grueling day, she would pop a CD into the machine and let the music restore the natural order of her world. Tonight in the darkened hall, with Jarrod sitting next to her, it wasn't doing its job. In fact, the opposite was occurring. She was thinking of Jarrod, how good he looked in his suit, how white his teeth were when he smiled at her, how attentive he had been since they became engaged. He'd gallantly accompanied her shopping to pick out patterns for silverware and china—something she saw no need to do, but Audrey had insisted on, and Jarrod had backed her up. Nightly they attended the theater or dinner or some event at one of their friends' homes. She could find no fault in his actions.

Catherine suddenly looked up, not at the orchestra, but at her inner thoughts. Had she been looking for fault in Jarrod? Her lunch with Elizabeth two days earlier had been disturbing, but was this the result? Had she been unconsciously trying to find something wrong with Jarrod? Some reason to end the charade?

"You're not listening," Jarrod leaned over and whispered in her ear. Catherine felt his warm breath, and goose bumps skittered down her neck. He took her hand and held it in his. Catherine looked at him and smiled in the darkness. She turned back to the orchestra. The conductor was waving his baton and the violinists were pumping their bows like humming­bird wings. Abruptly the song ended. The audience thundered its applause. Catherine was relieved to drop her pretense at listening.

After a standing ovation and two encores, she and Jarrod made their way up the crowded aisle toward the exit. Both of them nodded and smiled, shook hands and accepted kisses of congratulation from friends who had heard of their engagement but hadn't seen them since the announcement. It was impossible to go anywhere in Newport without seeing someone they knew.

They finally made it out of the concert hall. Jarrod helped her into the car, but he didn't drive them home. Catherine didn't notice until she heard the roar of the ocean. They had parked on a deserted hilltop overlooking the ocean. She opened her door and got out. The wind was cold. She turned her face into it instead of away. She needed something lashing against her skin, some­thing to keep her grounded. There was a mist tonight, and Catherine pulled the shawl covering her shoul­ders closer. Jarrod came up behind her. She could feel his strength. She needed it.

Seeming to understand, Jarrod put his arms around her shoulders and pulled her back against him. She leaned into him. He put his chin on her head and together they stood there, looking at the dark water, watching it roll in from the North. Catherine let him hold her. She ran her hands along Jarrod's arms, forgetting everything except how good he felt behind her. She closed her eyes and listened to the waves crashing against the rocks in the distance.

"Where were you tonight?" Jarrod whispered, his voice as deep as the ocean.

"Lost," she said.

He tightened his arms but did not try to turn her around.

"It was the beach, your grandmother's ring, all the phone calls that have been coming in, wedding preparations from Audrey. I suppose I'm feeling the effects of my own deception."

He took her hand and looked at the ring. Then he turned her body. "She would want you to have it," he said.

"Jarrod, it's a farce. It's not real."

He didn't answer her immediately. "It's as real as we make it."

Catherine's head came up and she stared into his eyes. He looked down at her. Even in the dark, she could see the flash of raw desire burning there. Cath­erine waited. She held her breath, wondering if he'd lower his head. She'd make no move to stop him. If he tried to kiss her, she'd let him. She wanted him to. He'd kissed her once, and she couldn't keep thoughts of it out of her mind. Eternity seemed to pass and neither of them changed the distance between them by a fraction of an inch.

Catherine dropped her eyes, then rested her head on his chest. Sanity returned in time. What was she thinking? She needed to remember Audrey and her mother and the dreams they had given up after they married. She needed to remember Jeff Sherman and his thoughts on marriage. She was doing the right thing. She was protecting herself from the kind of life where she could lose herself, where being a Mrs. meant not having dreams of your own, only living her husband's dreams.

The taboos and rituals of the Victorian Age were gone. This was a new century, with greater decisions and more rights. She didn't have to have a husband to support and protect her. She didn't have to give up what she wanted to do for a man's dreams. She could be her own person, respectable and
single.

Chapter 4

Catherine was sure she was losing her mind. She found it hard to concentrate. When she wasn't twist­ing the ring on her finger, she was thinking about Jarrod. She sat at her desk. She was the Public Rela­tions Director for Butler Boating, Inc., and she had brochures to approve, boat presentations and press releases to write, yet all she could do was look at her finger and think of Jarrod placing his grandmother's ring there. She could feel his hand holding hers, smell the fragrant elixir that couldn't be bottled but came from the essence of his core and stirred her senses.

She'd been confused, disoriented since she put this plan in motion. She felt as though something was wrong with her, that she no longer had control of her own mind. But she did, she told herself. She took a deep breath and picked up the brochure board. It was for their new sailboat, sleek and sure, fast and easy to handle. She'd had a demonstration on one of the prototypes. It was one of the things she liked about working here, the practice demonstrations. When she wrote something or approved the publicity for a boat, she believed in her words. The boat in the photo angled toward the horizon. Its sails were full of wind, its body made of dark wood that reminded her of Jarrod—even brown with red tones. The boat sailed into the sun and Jarrod's skin looked as if it had been drenched in the red color of the winter's sunset, then covered with an even veneer that begged her hands to reach out and touch him.

He was back in her mind, but she pushed thoughts of his body aside with a shrug of her shoulders. She would return to her original plan. With them, it was a job, a six-month project that they would begin with a light heart, and at the end, part as friends. That's what she needed to remember. Keep it light. Don't let family heirlooms, daydreams, and china patterns get in the way. They would only compli­cate things and keep her from her goal.

Catherine felt much better after making that deci­sion. She jumped into her work with the zeal of a new employee, excited about accomplishing some­thing. By the time she left for the day, she'd made serious inroads in the stacks of paper on her desk, not to mention the large amount of e-mail that she'd read and responded to.

***

She went home to shower and dress. Jarrod was picking her up later. They had a date.

"Wedding invitations should be in the mail six weeks before the ceremony," Audrey insisted as Catherine and Jarrod addressed envelopes. "I'm amazed Mr. O'Neill could drop everything and do this favor for me."

Catherine pushed her hair over her shoulder and smiled widely at Jarrod. Audrey liked to rant. She liked people to think she'd gone to vast lengths to do the impossible. The truth was, it was a standard invitation. All it needed was the names, place, and time inserted into the already typeset spaces. The paper was a standard card stock in silver with black printing. The most Audrey had to do was ask the printer for a rush job. And Mr. O'Neill hadn't sur­vived in this small community by refusing the sudden and unexpected jobs that came his way.

"Audrey, I can plan my own wedding," Catherine insisted.

Audrey stopped what she was doing and turned to look at her sister. "When would you have time?" she asked. "You and Jarrod are out every night at a party or going to the theater. Since Jarrod's return you two have been joined at the hip."

"Isn't that how married people are supposed to be joined?" Jarrod dropped an envelope onto the growing pile in front of them. He winked at Catherine.

"Of course," Audrey answered. "They also need to attend to the necessities of life, and you two have no time for that."

"Aren't we lucky we have you?" Catherine leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms. She pulled her hair into a finger ponytail and gave her sister a smile so sugary sweet it could cause diabetes. Audrey didn't seem to notice.

"Don't forget Mom. She's doing a lot of the work too."