Thorne's Wife Page 9

  At least, she hadn’t been cold while she was still sharing his bed. A deep sigh was wrenched from his throat. Hearing the longing underlying his sigh, Jonas dragged his attention back to the subject under consideration.

  In what way was Val exceptional and different from all the other women he had known? In many ways, Jonas acknowledged. Then he laughed, softly. Hell, the Val of today was even more different and more exceptional than the Val he had first come to know over three years ago.

  Casting his mind back in time, Jonas recalled her as she had been when they’d met. She’d had an elusive, wistful look. Her fantastic violet eyes had revealed the grief she was still suffering from after the tragic death of her fiancé just two weeks before their scheduled wedding day. She had an uninterested look, as if she no longer cared what happened to her. She had been breathtakingly beautiful, soft and extremely vulnerable, and instilled in most men the urge to care for and protect.

  But her vulnerability hadn’t been the snare that had captured Jonas’s interest. He had worked too hard, had come too far on his journey from bastard orphan to the owner of one of the largest electronics firms in the world, to be moved to anything other than impatience with her vulnerability. Jonas had no time for anyone, male or female, who retired from the battlefield of life. No, what had initially caught his attention and interest was the spark of angry defiance Val had shown during their very first verbal exchange. Within hours, his interest had changed to desire, and within the few weeks she had worked as his private secretary, that desire had expanded to fill his waking and sleeping hours.

  Jonas could remember how he’d wanted her as if it were yesterday. He had stood at this same window, his muscles aching, his body taut, his mind centered on one thought.

  God, he wanted her.

  He still did.

  Feeling his body tighten in response to his memories, Jonas turned away from the window and forced his thought into safer channels.

  Yes, the Val of today was vastly different from the woman he had met three years ago. Although she was still breathtakingly beautiful—no, more so—still soft, still gentle, her spark of defiance had blossomed into a determination that nearly equaled his own.

  I am not a thing.

  The echo of Val’s voice whispered through his mind. His anger flaring anew, Jonas strode to the door, past the work he had planned on finishing that evening. The work would still be waiting for him when he returned.

  * * *

  Val was not waiting for him. The house was dark when he got home. Dark and empty. It seemed too big, too spacious without Val’s presence to lend welcoming warmth.

  Trailing through to the kitchen, Jonas opened the refrigerator, looking for something to appease his protesting, empty stomach. As usual he had skipped lunch. A covered baking dish sat at the front of the center shelf. Jonas was reaching for the casserole when the phone rang. Leaving the refrigerator door open, he crossed to the kitchen phone.

  “Thorne,” he said into the receiver, in exactly the same way he answered his office phone.

  “Surprise, surprise,” Val drawled, causing the emptiness inside Jonas to expand into aching need. “Have you found your dinner?” she went on to ask.

  Jonas shot a glance at the open refrigerator and casserole on the center shelf. “I think so. The baking dish?”

  “The same,” Val said in a dry tone.

  “What is it?” Jonas really didn’t care; he just wanted to keep her talking.

  “Macaroni and ham casserole.”

  “What do I do with it?”

  Val’s impatient sigh sang along the line to him. “You heat it in the microwave and eat it, Jonas.”

  “I know that,” he retorted. “But you know I never use the micro, Val. What setting do I use?”

  “You’re the electronic wizard,” Val said sweetly. “You figure it out.” With that, she hung up.

  Naturally, Jonas did figure it out. It required thirty seconds of his time to read the instruction manual that came with the appliance. The steam rising from the bubbling mixture of macaroni and chunks of ham smothered in a creamy cheese sauce sharpened his appetite when he removed the dish from the microwave a few minutes later.

  Jonas ate his dinner perched on a stool at the breakfast counter. Under normal conditions he would have relished the food. Tonight he simply ate it to appease the hungry growl of his stomach. But then he wasn’t dining under normal conditions, he reminded himself.

  As if he needed reminding, Jonas thought, staring at the phone. He wanted to talk to Val. Not true. He wanted to see her. Wrong. What Jonas really wanted was to hold her, love her, never let her go.

  With one emptiness filled, the deeper emptiness was fully exposed. It had been exactly two full weeks since Jonas had held Valerie in his arms, kissed her with his mouth, loved her with his body. Two weeks of stilted conversation, meaningless words, thick, heavy constraint. How he had longed to break through the cloak of reserve Val had drawn around herself, her emotions, he reflected, automatically scraping and rinsing the dishes before stacking them in the dishwasher.

  As he returned the untouched portion of the meal to the refrigerator, a consideration struck Jonas. It was strange, but although Val was barely speaking to him, she continued to keep the house spotless, do the laundry and grocery shopping, and cook for him, not just any old thrown-together meals, but some of his favorites.

  Val confused him, and Jonas didn’t appreciate the feeling. He had never understood her adamant refusal to have help in the house, other than the woman who came in once a month to do the heavy cleaning. He was a wealthy man; he could easily afford to have live-in help for Val. Yet she insisted on doing it all, or the majority of it, herself, claiming that since Jonas rarely entertained on a lavish scale, she didn’t require or want additional help.

  Shaking his head, Jonas wandered through the empty house and up the stairs. A sigh whispered from his throat as he passed the closed door to the guest room.

  After a quick shower, Jonas grimaced and slid between the freshly laundered sheets. He didn’t appreciate the sudden emptiness of the king-size bed any more than he valued his state of confusion. And he knew that if Val went through with her plans to fly to the West Coast at the end of the coming week, the house, the bed and he himself would feel not only empty, but deserted as well.

  Why was Val being so damn stubborn? Jonas railed in silent frustration. What did she want or expect from him? Damn it, he was faithful to her and honest with her. He had happily provided for her not only the necessities, but luxuries beyond the wildest imaginings of many other women. And he loved her to the marrow of his bones. What more could he offer her? Why was she so restless and dissatisfied with their life together? Even as Jonas asked the silent question, the memory of their bitter argument tormented his tired mind.

  Trust. Val had accused him of not according her the trust necessary to a successful marriage.

  But he did trust Val, Jonas defended himself. It was other men he didn’t trust. And in the sorry case of Lynn, Jonas had believed he was right in keeping the fact that he was supporting Lynn to himself. It had nothing to do with Val. Well, at least the question of Lynn was now resolved. With her usual flair for the dramatic, Lynn had departed Philadelphia for France the previous Monday.

  Partnership. Val had insisted upon being a complete and equal part of his life.

  But didn’t she know how very much a part of his life she was? Jonas wondered. Equal? Hell, she was his life. Didn’t she know that? Then again, how could she know? he mused. When was the last time they’d talked, not just about trivial matters, but really talked to each other? When had they ever communicated, understood, touched base intellectually and emotionally?

  Jonas shifted beneath the light weight of the smooth sheet. He had been too busy with the company, he excused himself—or attempted to. There had never been enough time. Three years of being too busy and not having enough time? Jonas jeered at himself. And through every one of those too busy ye
ars without enough time he had refused her pleas to return to work. She was his wife. And Jonas Thorne’s wife did not work outside the home.

  His wife.

  His possession.

  His woman.

  Jonas winced. Was it any wonder Val had attempted to fill the lonely hours of her days with courses and causes? And had he, in his superior wisdom, understood, or better yet, encouraged Val in her quest for fulfillment?

  Not he, Jonas derided himself. Not the electronic genius. Not the strong, fiercely independent and individualistic man who had fought his way from the stigma of bastard and the brutality of a foster home to a position of wealth and respect. No, instead of helping his wife realize her full potential as a woman, he had demanded she stay home and play house.

  When had he stopped thinking in matters concerning Val?

  When had he ever started?

  Rolling onto his back, Jonas stared into the middle distance. He knew the answer to his own question. He had never done any rational thinking about Val, simply because his emotions always got in the way.

  Val had told him that they both needed to do some thinking about their relationship. She had been thinking about it for two weeks at least, and very probably much longer. It had taken him nearly two weeks to work his way up to thinking about it. She had said that when they were finished thinking, they’d talk. Jonas was ready to talk now.

  Flinging back the sheet, he sat up and reached for the phone. His hand fell away before it touched the plastic receiver. He couldn’t force the issue, couldn’t take the chance of having her accusing him of once again trying to assert his will over her. He had no other option than to wait until she was ready.

  I am an individual.

  The echo of Val’s voice whispered through his mind. And though Jonas was aching for her, longing to go after her, bring her home and enclose her in his arms forever, he contented himself with sending her a silent reply.

  In spades, sweetheart.

  * * *

  While Jonas had his mind full of questions, Val had her hands full trying to keep the nervous bride calm.

  “Oh, God, am I doing the right thing?” Janet wailed, pacing up and down her living room.

  “Yes, Janet,” Val said in a soothing tone.

  “But I’m nearly forty years old!”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Janet came to an abrupt halt at the low coffee table, picked up her glass and took a sip of champagne Valerie had brought with her. “Nothing, I suppose,” she mumbled into the glass. When she looked at Val there was fear in her eyes. “Do you think I’m too old to have a child?”

  Val was taken aback. “Are you pregnant?”

  “No!” Janet exclaimed. Then, more quietly, “No, I’m not pregnant. But suppose I should get pregnant. What then?”

  “You’ll have a baby?” Val asked in wide-eyed innocence.

  Janet frowned. Then she laughed. “I’m acting rather silly, aren’t I?”

  Val smiled. “You’re acting like a bride on the eve of her big day.”

  “You didn’t get crazy the night before your wedding,” Janet pointed out. And, since Val had stayed with her at the time, Janet was in a position to know.

  “Yes, well,” Val murmured, “Jonas didn’t give me time to get really crazy. You’ve had months of planning and preparation to help you along,” she said, hoping to divert Janet from the topic of Jonas. Her ploy failed.

  “No, Jonas didn’t give you much time,” Janet said, her tone full of musing remembrance. “About two weeks, wasn’t it?”

  “Mmm.” Val nodded, concealing a wince behind the glass she raised to her lips.

  “It seems so long ago now.”

  Val arched her eyebrows.

  “I mean, it seems now that you and Jonas have been together forever,” Janet explained.

  “Does it?” Val asked vaguely, thinking that the past two weeks had seemed like forever.

  “Yes,” Janet replied, taking off again, this time in the direction of the kitchen. “I’ve got to get something to eat. I’m famished.”

  “Nerves,” Val said with authority.

  “Do you want something?”

  “Yes.” Standing, Val carried her glass into the kitchen, thinking that she had nerves to feed herself.

  * * *

  Tears trickled down Val’s face. She didn’t try to check the flow. After months of frantic activity, and the morning’s confusion of getting dressed, then to the church with a bride and six attendants, all with nerves on the brink of twanging out of control, the procession went off like clockwork. The solemn ceremony was touching in its beauty and serenity.

  Val’s tears were for the lovely bride and the endearingly attractive bridegroom, to be sure, but mostly for the devastatingly handsome best man.

  Jonas.

  As she preceded Janet down the aisle, Val’s heart had contracted at the sight of him, standing tall and composed at Charlie’s right side. The wedding guests packing the church faded as her vision focused on Jonas’s imposing form. Her steps correctly measured, Val closed the distance between them. Then he was momentarily lost to her sight as she stepped to the left and turned to watch Janet take the remaining steps to her bridegroom’s side.

  Her tears began to fall halfway through the ceremony. Under cover of the cascading bouquet she carried, Val rubbed her thumb over her marriage rings. The words of the service were muted by her thoughts.

  How very different this service was from the one that had united her with Jonas. Valerie had had a similar thought on the day Mary Beth and Jean-Paul were married. Val had not had the round of showers and parties both Janet and Mary Beth had been treated to. She had not had the excitement and the hassles of fittings and shopping and last-minute details to be seen to, either. Val had not been decked out like a fairy princess in yards and yards of China silk and imported lace, as Mary Beth had been. Nor had she been dressed in skillfully cut shimmering satin, as Janet now was.

  With the clarity of her inner eye, Val could see the suit she’d worn for the occasion. It was nice, but not spectacular. Jonas had not worn a tuxedo. He had been attired in a three-piece suit, attractive, but not special. They had not been married in a church. There had not been a note of music. They had recited their vows before a judge in his chambers.

  Yet Valerie had never felt any less married than any other woman.

  And now, standing beside her friend, two bodies away from her husband, Valerie ached with the need to touch the man she had married under such inauspicious, mundane circumstances.

  Two weeks. It seemed like forever.

  * * *

  She came into his arms in a swirling cloud of warm satin and heady perfume.

  Lord, she was beautiful, Jonas thought, his pulse quickening as he enfolded Val in his arms for the wedding party dance. She looked good. She smelled good. She felt…wonderful.

  Jonas and Valerie had not danced together very often over the past three years, yet they moved as one, in perfect timing to the haunting music of a current love song.

  “I missed you last night.” Jonas startled himself with the unplanned, open admission. The surprise in the eyes Val raised to his indicated he had startled her also.

  “Did you?” Her tone indicated that though she was startled, she was equally skeptical.

  “Of course I did,” Jonas said in an impatient whisper. “The house felt empty.”

  Val met his impatience with cool reserve. “I’m well acquainted with the feeling.”

  Her shot hit home. Ignoring the hint of warning, Jonas persisted. “It’s going to feel even emptier after you leave for California next week.”

  “I’ll only be away for four days, Jonas,” Val reminded him. “You’ve often been away twice as long.”

  “That was business,” Jonas said defensively.

  “I know.” Val smiled at the couple dancing by. “The house was just as empty. I was just as alone.”

  “Val…”

&nbs
p; The music ended. Val danced out of his arms.

  Had he heard what she’d said? Had he understood? Val’s thinking process was unaffected by the male arms that had caught her as she spun away from Jonas. The arms belonged to Ted, one of Charlie’s friends and groomsmen. He was a pleasant enough young man, good-looking and well built. But when compared to Jonas, he paled into insignificance.

  Had he heard a word she’d said? Did he give a damn? Val gave the large reception hall of the country club a casual scan, her eyes searching for the tall, imposing figure of her husband. She spotted Jonas at the edge of the dance floor, conversing with a plump, matronly woman, whom Val recognized as the wife of an important business associate of his.

  Business. Val smothered a sigh, and smiled at whatever it was Ted had said to her. With Jonas it was always business. Val didn’t actually resent Jonas’s devotion to his company. She understood the force of the ambition that drove him. He was a self-made man. Jonas was on top in his particular field and fully intended to remain there.

  But there were times, more and more frequent in number, when she wished Jonas would delegate more and work less. He had not taken a vacation, a real getaway vacation, since she’d met him. They spent very little “quality time” together. They had never played together with the abandonment of other couples, married or single, on a carefree holiday. The work was a joy to him, Val knew. She also knew that his work was a growing strain on their relationship. If only…

  The music ended. Val murmured the appropriate inanities, then turned toward the spot where she had last seen Jonas. He wasn’t there. Wandering aimlessly around the room, her restless gaze skimming the faces of some of the over three hundred guests, Val stalked her husband.

  She eventually found him leaning against a decorative Grecian pillar while he observed the gathering with an aloof, contemplative expression. He’d been watching her progress, and his eyes narrowed as she approached him.