Jared's Love-Child

“For a while I thought…but you’re really no different from the rest.”

She gave him a cool smile. “You realize you’ve just paid me a compliment?”

His own smile was reluctant. “Solidarity with the sister-hood? You’re quick-witted, I’ll give you that.”

“My goodness—two compliments. Watch out, Jared, you’re mellowing before my eyes.”

“Good. So you’ll like it when I kiss you.”

Soup slopped out of her spoon. Carefully Devon replaced the spoon in the bowl. “Are you trying to make Lise jealous? Is that what this is all about?”

“Leave Lise out of this,” he rapped, his jaw hardening.

It was a very formidable jaw. Devon retorted, “So you value fidelity as little as emotion.”

“You’re making a lot of assumptions that are none of your business.”

“Fine,” she said tartly. “Just as long as you remember that I’m none of your business. Literally. Because that’s all women are to you—a business deal.”

“The so-called battle of the sexes is one big business deal.”

“I couldn’t agree less!”

“Darling,” Alicia said, “didn’t you like your scallops?”

Very much aware that her cheeks were pink with temper and her eyes blazing with emotion—that word again— Devon said hastily, “Not on top of champagne, Mother.”

“Benson and I were just saying how much we hope ‘The Oaks’ will see the arrival of some grandchildren,” Alicia said archly; tact had never been her strongest suit.

“Oh…really?” Devon said weakly.

“I do wish you’d change jobs, darling. Jared, she’s never home. How can you fall in love when you spend all your time in Borneo and Arabia and Timbuktu?”

“Mother, I’ve never even been to Timbuktu.”

“Don’t be so literal-minded, Devon—you know what I mean.”

“I enjoy my job,” Devon said. “And if I was meant to fall in love, I’m sure I could do it in Arabia just as well as in Toronto.”

“You can’t develop a relationship in between airports!”

Her mother was serious. Devon said artlessly, “Then I guess you’ll have to depend on Jared for the grandchildren.”

Benson said, “Unfortunately, Jared doesn’t believe in commitment…Lise looked very charming, by the way.”

“It’s all these careers,” Alicia said crossly. “In my day, women stayed home.”

Devon bit hard on her lip. Alicia had made a career out of marriage and had stayed in any number of homes, although this was scarcely the appropriate time to say so. One waiter removed her soup; another put a plate of pork medallions in front of her. As her stomach lurched uneasily, she started asking Benson about his horses, and soon they were safely launched. The rest of the dinner, the speeches, the obligatory kissing of the bride by the groom, all passed by her in a blur. As soon as she was released from the head table she sought out Jared’s cousin Patrick; he introduced her to some of his friends and for the first time since the wedding had begun Devon started to enjoy herself.

They were laughingly exchanging horror stories about overseas travel when Devon saw Jared striding toward them: tall and commanding, wrapped in an aura of power and sexual charisma that made her deeply wary. The man of danger, she thought with an inner shiver, and wished him a thousand miles away.

He said abruptly, “The dancing’s getting underway, Devon—we’re expected to lead off after Dad and Alicia.”

Dance with Jared? She’d rather march barefoot through the desert. “I’ll be along in a minute.”

“They want us now.”

Short of making a scene, what choice did she have? Devon said, “Be sure you ask me to dance, Patrick,” and swept past Jared, her head held high.

As she crossed the grass, he put an arm hard around her waist; the contact scorched through her silk gown. He said tersely, “Two more hours and this shindig’ll be over. Can’t be too soon for me.”

Or for me, thought Devon.

Dusk had fallen; the dance tent, a ghostly white under the tall elm trees, was entwined with ivy and scented with baskets of roses. Inside, scores of tiny lights sparkled like stars. For a moment Devon relaxed in the circle of Jared’s arm, forgetting that she despised him and that a minute ago she also had been longing for the wedding to be over. “Oh, Jared, it’s enchanting,” she whispered, and twisted in his arms, her smile as vivid as a child’s.

His mouth tightened. “Let’s dance,” he said.

He took her in his arms as though she had some kind of communicable disease. He was a skillful dancer, his steps perfectly in time with the music as they circled Benson and Alicia, and Devon hated every minute of it. When the waltz ended, there was a smattering of applause from the assembled guests. Devon said flatly, “Duty done. Thank you.”

“The next one we’re dancing for us.”

“There isn’t any us!”

The orchestra was playing a slow and dreamy melody; as Devon tried to pull free, Jared tightened his hold on her, pulling her to stand body to body, her breasts soft against the wall of his chest. Then he rested his cheek on her hair and in the semi-darkness began to sway to the music.

Her face was nestled in the hollow between his shoulder and his throat; she could smell, very subtly, his aftershave, and, even more subtly, the clean, masculine scent of his skin. His hand slid down to hold her by the hips; his other hand was clasping hers. Nothing in the world could have prevented the flood of desire, sweet and hot and urgent, that swept over Devon.

She wanted this man. Wanted to lie with him, skin to skin, naked bodies entwined. Wanted to travel with him the many roads of passion. Her heartbeat quickened; she was achingly conscious of the thrust of his erection that said more clearly than words that desire was mutual.

She hated everything he stood for. How could she even think of going to bed with him?

With a little moan of dismay she tried to push away from him. But as though her movements excited him, Jared took her chin in his strong fingers and bent his head to kiss her.

As if a spell had been cast over her, Devon waited, letting her lids drift shut as she felt the first light pressure of his lips. To her surprise, there was no anger in his kiss, simply the need—or so she felt—to give her pleasure. Scarcely aware of what she was doing, she looped her arms around his neck, offering her mouth gladly to the warmth of his. He muttered something that she didn’t catch, then his tongue swept the soft curve of her lower lip, dipping deeper as she opened to him.

Between one instant and the next, desire was engulfed in a passion so fierce and so primitive that Devon began to tremble. Jared’s arm tightened around her waist; for a few brief seconds that could have been hours, he plundered all the sweetness of her mouth. Then, slowly, he lifted his head.

His eyes were as dark as pits; Devon had no idea what he was thinking. He was a stranger to her, she thought in utter panic. Not only a stranger: an enemy. Yet she had allowed him intimacies that she rarely allowed anyone.

She had to end this. Now. In a voice that was almost steady she said, “That’ll teach me to drink champagne.”

His lashes flickered; dark lashes, she thought abstractedly, as black as his hair. He grated, “You’d only kiss me if you were drunk? Is that what you’re telling me?”

Momentarily his arms were lax around her. Devon stepped back, smoothing her hair. “Let’s not kid ourselves, Jared—you don’t like me and I don’t like you. I’ve had less than four hours’ sleep in the last couple of days, and weddings—especially my mother’s weddings—are guaranteed to push all my buttons. You go find Lise and I’ll ask Patrick to dance with me.”

“So that’s what you’re after? Some guy you can lead around by the nose?”

“I want someone who won’t crawl all over me like a starving mongrel!”