Part 13 (1/2)

Jonas couldn't hang up when he was in bed with her. If he talked to her about anything important while he was actually in her presence, there was always the chance that she might talk back. He'd have to get up and put on his clothes and leave to get away from her. That could get awkward, so he just called her, said what he had to say and then said goodbye.

Emma set the phone down, her mind turning to those warnings of Deirdre's.

Let's talk about Jonas Bravo, who is a control freak... If you fall for a guy like that, you're in trouble. You've given him all the power, and he'll just use it against you...

They had been married for less than a week. True, that was only a tiny fraction of the year Blythe had given her to make Jonas Bravo into a different kind of man. It would be easy to tell herself that she still had plenty of time and it would be true. She did have plenty of time.

But she hadn't gotten off to much of a start, now, had she?

She'd let him do exactly what Deirdre had predicted he would take control and use her own craving for him against her. She'd allowed him to set up their marriage just the way he wanted it.

Jonas got back from New York on Tuesday. Emma knew he'd returned because he called to tell her he wanted to have dinner with her that evening at eight o'clock in the small dining room.

Emma said, ”Oh, Jonas, I'd love that,” feeling all warm and hopeful inside, thinking that this was more like it.

Jonas said, ”Good. See you at eight,” and hung up.

Emma dressed with great care that evening, in her one little black dress, which was much simpler and less provocative than the clothes she usually wore. Yes, it clung to her curves just as all her dresses did, but it fell to her knees rather than mid-thigh. It had a simple scoop neck and cap sleeves and seemed to her to be the kind of dress that would give off serious signals signals that said she'd enjoy a little conversation with her new husband for once, thank you very much.

She stood before the mirror in her dressing room and shook her head. ”Real pathetic. Married for one whole week and you only see him in bed.”

Even on the weekends, Jonas had proved elusive. This last weekend, he'd been in New York . And the one before, well, Emma had no idea where he'd been, exactly. Maybe working. She knew he worked very long hours during the week. He probably worked weekends, too. And he'd spent some of the time with Mandy Claudia had told her that. But somehow, he managed never to go to Mandy's rooms when Emma was there.

Well. Tonight would be different than the other nights. Tonight, Emma and her husband would talk.

What she hadn't counted on was how the sight of him hollowed her out, how all he had to do was put his hand on her arm and the blood seemed to rush up to the surface of her skin where he touched her, as if it only wanted to be closer to him.

Pathetic, she thought. Downright pitiful.

He led her to the living room where they'd shared drinks on their wedding night. He had the daiquiris ready banana flavored this time. The golden, icy confection tempted her.

But Emma couldn't afford to get any more stupid than his mere presence was already making her. Banana daiquiris were out. ”No, thanks,” she said.

He slanted her a look watchful, knowing. And he shrugged. He poured himself whatever he'd poured himself the last time, three fingers of something richly amber in color.

He raised his gla.s.s to her and he drank. And then he came toward her.

Oh, she wished he wouldn't do that. The closer he came, the more tangled up in yearning she got. And the more downright dazed. She was standing in front of one of the striped silk sofas, since she hadn't quite gotten around to sitting down yet. And then she couldn't sit down. Her legs felt spindly and weak as those of a newborn calf, yet at the same time, she could not get them to bend.

He stopped about a foot from her. It was way too close and it wasn't nearly close enough. She could smell him. He smelled so good, of some really nice aftershave and of healthiness and of something else, something that was just him, something that stunned her and drew her and made her want to grab him and run straight up the stairs to her bed.

”Dinner can wait,” he said. He turned to set his half-finished drink on the little table next to the sofa. She just stood there, longing moving through her like a pulse, thinking how pathetic she was and at the same time, too aroused to even care.

He faced her again. ”Ready?” He offered his arm. She hooked her hand through it. They turned for the door to the grand foyer and the stairs. * * * ”An attractive dress,” he said, when he was taking it off of her. ”It suits you, in a whole new way.” She actually opened her mouth then, to say what had been on her mind. ”Well, I wore it because I thought it looked serious.”

”Serious?” He had the zipper down. He put his hands on her shoulders.

”Yes. I was planning to talk to you about-”

”What?” He pushed the dress off her shoulders, his hands stroking down her arms.

”I thought-”

And he kissed her.

So much for thought.

He took away the dress, and her black bra and her pretty high-heeled shoes and even the pantyhose she had worn because they had seemed a kind of protection, a way to be more covered than usual around him.

Oh, well. So much for her plans for the evening.

He took off his own clothes and the two of them fell to the bed and after that there was nothing but sighing and moaning and some yelling, as well. * * * Emma knew that she needed a good talking-to. She needed someone to tell her what-for. For the first twenty or so years of her life, she had had her aunt Ca.s.s for times like these. And after Aunt Ca.s.s had succ.u.mbed to that melanoma she got because she'd always been so big on getting nice and tan, she'd had Blythe. Thinking about the wise things either of those two women might say now was like ripping open a healing wound. It made Emma's throat close up and her chest feel too tight. Well, Aunt Ca.s.s and Blythe were gone. If Emma wanted wise words, she'd have to look elsewhere. She and Deirdre had coffee and bagels together in Emma's office at PetRitz the morning after Jonas returned from New York . They talked a little about the workday ahead and then some about a new guy Deirdre was seeing, an accountant of all things. He sounded like a pretty decent fella, and Emma told her friend so.

Then Deirdre asked, ”So, how's life at the mansion?”

Emma told all well, not the details, but the main points.

It was awful, putting it right out there, how in just over one week of marriage, she'd had nothing that even came close to a real conversation with her new husband, that his touch caused her IQ to drop fifty points. How he came to her late in the night, and left before dawn.

”I swear, Deirdre,” Emma cried, ”if he sleeps at all, it's never with me.”

Deirdre shook her red head and munched her raisin bagel with raspberry-flavored cream cheese and said, ”It's not like I didn't warn you.”

Emma set down her coffee and made a low noise in her throat. ”Oh, gee. Thanks. Say 'I told you so.' That is a big help and what are you laughing about?”

”It's too delicious.” For a minute, Emma thought Deirdre meant the cream cheese, which she was licking from her fingers. But then she added, ”My boss, the s.e.x toy.”

Emma sat back in her swivel chair and tried to look dignified. ”You are just too mean to live.”

”What if the tabloids got ahold of what you just told me? Wouldn't that be rich? I can see it now, 'Dog Trainer Willing s.e.x Slave of Bravo Billionaire.'”

”Oh, I am so glad I talked to you about this,” Emma muttered under her breath.

”All right.” Deirdre had finished laughing. She leaned toward Emma. ”So what are you going to do?”

Emma swiveled her chair back and forth. ”I was hopin' that you'd have a suggestion.”

Deirdre shrugged. ”Get a backbone?”

”I've tried.”

”Try harder.”Oh, where were Aunt Ca.s.s and Blythe when a woman needed them?Deirdre was squinting across the desk now. ”You're serious? You want advice? From me.”

”Yes, I do.”