Читать книгу The First Wife - Tara Quinn Taylor - Страница 10

BRAD WASN’T SURE why he was pushing so hard. The whole reason he and Jane were good together, the one thing that had allowed their unusual friendship to work, was the lack of expectation for more than either wanted to give.

They cared about each other, they were open to soul-deep confidences, to emotional intimacy, but they didn’t require it of each other. And they never got personal, physically.

Other than that time she’d had the flu and he’d taken care of her.

And the lump. Brad had been in the shower and found a lump in his prostate. He’d called Jane first, his doctor second. And a day later she’d treated him to drinks at their favorite neighborhood pub to toast his perfectly normal good health.

As he recalled, she’d laughingly left him to it that night when he’d spotted a red-haired beauty sitting alone at the bar….

With so much unsaid between them, they sat on their picnic blanket silently staring out over a land that didn’t really hint at all the danger that lurked in the world. Not that Brad spent a lot of time pondering life’s dangers. He knew the dangers would find them without their help.

What they needed to figure out was how to be happy regardless of the dangers.

Jane was eating a strawberry; juice dripped off her lower lip. Funny, he’d never noticed how full her lips were…

Maybe he should stick to figuring out how, on Monday, he was going to fight a client’s husband for the support she deserved after having put up with his emotional abuse for more than twenty years.

“You’re wrong, you know?”

“About what?”

“About me being abused.”

Brad met Jane’s gaze and saw that she meant it. So why didn’t he believe her?

“After the tennis incident…I wasn’t sure. The doctor made such a big deal of the direction of the blow. He said that James would’ve had to pull his elbow back into my nose to have broken it the way he did, not going forward for a shot as he claimed.”

“How did it seem to you?”

Jane’s pause unsettled him. He dealt with similar silences too often. With intelligent, strong women who’d been so emotionally broken down that they second-guessed themselves in spite of their abilities.

“I honestly couldn’t say.” He wished her words surprised him. “One minute I was standing there, the next minute I was on the ground in the most excruciating pain I’d ever known. My head was pounding so hard I couldn’t hear. Couldn’t see.”

“Did you tell the police you didn’t know what happened?”

“Not at the time. I was too out of it. I just went with what James told me had happened. But a few days later, after James and I went back to work, I kept thinking about how angry he’d been, and what the doctor had said. The doubts set in. James left for a graduate study trip and while he was gone I went to the Victim Witness office in town, just in case I was reading things wrong. Since their sole purpose is victim support, I figured they’d know if I needed help. I told them everything. They said that there was no evidence of abuse.”

“Even with what the police and doctor had said? Even with your doubts?”

“They said that my doubts were indicative of a problem in my marriage, but that as far as obtaining a protection order was concerned, I didn’t have enough evidence.”

Jane was fiddling with the lid of the strawberry container. Opening and closing it. Watching the movement. Not at all the head-up-and-shoulders-straight woman he knew.

“Maybe they were wrong.”

“I don’t think so, Brad. I think my doubts were a result of professionals who had to do their jobs or risk potential lawsuits. While I was at Victim Witness another woman came in. She was bruised and swollen and she’d been sitting in the outer office, waiting for the counselor to be done with me. She could hardly speak. She was crying, but one eye was so swollen the tears couldn’t escape.

“She had two little kids with her, younger than four. They huddled against her and even as scared as she was, she protected them fiercely.

“Seeing them was a life-changing moment for me. That was what abuse looked like. I couldn’t get that family out of my mind and from then on I quit feeling sorry for myself. I made the decision that I was going to spend my life helping women not to live like that. I started volunteering as a receptionist at that office the very next week.”

Jane had never told him how she got her start with the women they helped. He’d never asked, assuming that she’d somehow fallen into it through her work—as he had.

“James and I had some bad fights after that,” she added, her voice soft and distant. “And not once did I get hurt. Nor was I ever physically afraid of him. Like I said. The incidents were accidents.”

Brad didn’t believe her. But he didn’t have any real reason not to, so kept his thoughts to himself. Maybe he’d seen too much of the other side. Maybe knowing that, statistically, one in two women suffered some form of spousal abuse had clouded his judgment. Maybe his perspective was too jaded.

And maybe not.

“Besides, one thing I know is that I’m more than capable of taking care of myself and those around me.”

Jane’s description fit the woman he knew.

“I’ve always had preservation instincts,” she continued, her voice going stronger. And when she smiled, Brad smiled with her. “I remember when I was a kid and I couldn’t wait for my dad’s visits. He’d only be with us a few days or weeks at a time, and those were the highlight of the year. For both my mom and me. Except for one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“He used to tickle me to the point that it hurt. I hated that. And the more I struggled, the more he tickled. It was a game to him but it wasn’t one I enjoyed playing. But I wasn’t strong enough to get away.”

Brad didn’t like the game at all. The older man had been way out of line, holding his own daughter captive.

“It didn’t take me long to figure out how to save myself, though,” Jane continued, not sounding the least bit put out or scarred by the incidents.

“How?”

“I’d scream at a really high pitch. My mom couldn’t stand the noise and would tell my dad to stop in that voice that meant he’d better do it now.”

“And did he?”

“Of course. Every time.”

And so she’d solved her problem. A little girl figuring a way to get the best of a grown man. That was his Jane—if one way didn’t work, she’d find another. Maybe he’d been worrying about nothing. Though that wasn’t like him.

They were silent for a long time, each lost in his and her own thoughts. It was a comfortable silence, one they shared a lot when they were together like this. And then Jane said, “I am afraid of something, though.” The tentative tone in her voice got his full attention.

“What’s that?”

“The picture you painted of me—alone—I didn’t realize it was so obvious.”

“That you keep yourself detached from all of us?” Not from him—except physically.

“I…” Jane’s eyes revealed uncharacteristic hesitancy when she raised her head and met his gaze. “Can I tell you something?”

“You know you can.”

“It’s personal and embarrassing and…”

“Then this is probably the day for it.”

She hesitated a moment longer and then said, “What James did—the mental cruelty, the infidelity—it killed my ability to…you know…want…things.”

She couldn’t be saying what he thought she was saying. Not Jane. She was femininity personified. Gorgeous. A head turner. And…

“Are you saying you don’t want…things?”

They were up on a private wooded hill, away from the rules of life. The rules of Brad and Jane. What they said here would be forgotten once they descended to real life.

And he’d all but bullied her to confide in him.

She shook her head. “I haven’t had so much as a tingle…down there…since my divorce.”

Brad was shocked. He knew she hadn’t dated, but…

Thinking of Jane sexually was taboo. So he hadn’t. But in the back of his mind, he’d assumed she…something. He’d never thought beyond that.

And didn’t have any solid thoughts now, either. Their hill had turned into quicksand. An electrified quicksand for him.

“Have you talked to anyone about it? Professionally?”

“Yeah. But it didn’t do any good. It just happens that way sometimes. More often with women, I’m told.”

“It’s probably just because you haven’t been on a date in so long,” he blurted, thinking of all the women he’d been with since he’d met her.

Brad liked sex. A lot. And he made no apology for that. The idea of being unable to experience those sensations…

“It’s not like I don’t get invitations,” Jane said dryly. “I don’t date because I’m not the least bit interested in the men who ask me out.”

“You should meet more men, different men.” His mind tried to fight its way out of the thickness encasing him. “I’ve got a couple of friends from law school. I could…”

He shouldn’t have been relieved when Jane shook her head, preventing him from having to finish the offer. But he was.

“I know fine men, Brad. Successful, fun, funny men. Smart, introspective men. Older men. Younger men. Good-looking. Great-looking. Okay-looking…”

“And nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Maybe you’re wired the other way,” he suggested, hardly recognizing the tinny sound to his voice. Yeah, let her be gay. That would make him a hell of a lot more comfortable.

It would safeguard their friendship forever. Unless they both fell in love with the same woman.

“I’m not a lesbian.” Funny how four words could weigh a man down and lift him up all at the same time. “I think, with as much time as I spend around women, I’d know if they pushed my buttons. They don’t.”

Brad’s throat was too dry to speak. So he sat there, hands resting nonchalantly on his knees, wondering what the hell was the matter with him. He talked to a lot of women about sex—those he was having it with, and some he wasn’t. He was completely comfortable with the topic.

“I was perfectly normal,” Jane continued as though now that her demon had been unleashed, she felt better letting it all out. And he understood fully the old saying about being careful what you asked for.

He’d pushed her to open up to him, egotistically certain that he was the one who should be there for her in her time of need.

“And you…felt things.” Some masochistic part of his soul made him ask. He didn’t want to picture Jane with another man. Didn’t want to picture her naked. Or sexual in any way. She was Jane. His Jane. Asexual.

Which was exactly what she was telling him. The asexual part.

And that wasn’t right. This beautiful, warm woman asexual?

“Oh, yeah. So much it made me his slave.” Jane’s eyes widened as she spoke, and Brad knew he would never forget the stricken expression that came over her face. “And when James betrayed me, when he kept telling me that his infidelity was my fault, I…”

She stopped and Brad waited, focusing on the slight breeze that had passed over their picnic site.

“I haven’t been the least bit interested in sex since,” she finally said. “He killed it, Brad. And it’s kind of hard to have a truly intimate relationship without that.”

“I’m sure it’s not dead, sweetie,” Brad said now, grasping for anything that would keep his head above the sand. “You know the drill better than most. After any kind of mistreatment, these things take time. And the right person. The feelings are in there.”

“I don’t think so.” Jane’s eyes were clouded again. “It’s been five years since my divorce.”

“Jane, don’t do this to yourself. Relax. I’m sure you’re fine.”

“Am I?” Clearly skeptical, she looked him up and down. “Take you for example,” she said. “You’re gorgeous. What woman in her right mind wouldn’t see you and at least entertain a thought…feel some kind of attraction…”

What did a guy say to that?

“We… I’ve… It’s been two years. We’re together all the time. And I’ve never once…”

Good thing Brad’s ego could afford the hit. Good, too, that relief eased some of the unintentional sting from her words.

“Maybe I’m not your type. And as for other men, you just haven’t been open to it,” he told her. “You’ve blocked that part of yourself. When you’re ready…it’ll be there.”

“I wish I believed that. But after all this time, I just don’t.”

She sounded so…insecure. So lacking in worth. As though she had nothing of value to offer. So unlike the woman who’d, over the past two years, become the first person he called when he had news. The first person he thought of when the electricity went out, when he heard sirens and hoped no one was hurt, when he woke on Christmas morning.

Sex didn’t define a person’s value anyway. But Brad didn’t say so. He knew it would be pointless. He knew from all the work he’d done with abused women that women had a tendency to intermingle personal worth with sexual attractiveness.

“You’re wrong.” His words were forceful. They needed to be. “Unless you don’t do anything about it,” he said, concerned for her. “If you shut yourself off, if you believe you’ll never have those feelings again, you might not.”

“I haven’t shut myself off. I’ve…tried. With partners. And by myself. I even bought a toy off the Internet.”

Jane’s face turned red, but she didn’t look away. She was sitting there, staring at him, completely open, and believing every word she said. Dictating her own life sentence.

Brad couldn’t let that happen. Not to Jane. And he knew he could help her. Just like that.

“Then you haven’t tried hard enough,” he told her. He wasn’t going to let her give up on herself.

“I have. I—”

“Listen.” He cut her off. “I’m going to do something, and when I’m done, you’ll know that you’re all right. And then we’re going to forget it ever happened. Okay?”

She watched him with her eyes wide. And while he stopped breathing, she nodded.

“We will never mention this…interlude. We will never repeat it.”

She nodded again.

He could do this. No problem. He was the perfect choice because he wouldn’t take advantage of her.

Brad was confident until he really looked at the woman sitting next to him. Her dark brown eyes. Perfect skin. Breasts that were so much more than they should be if he was going to not be attracted to them. Why had he never noticed them before?

His fingers brushed her face, her neck, slowly gliding over the softness.

“What are you doing?” Jane stared at him, but didn’t pull back. If she had he would have stopped.

“I’m going to show you what you can feel.” He was strangely unembarrassed by the hoarseness in his voice.

His body was hard and straining against his zipper. He knew how to ignore it.

“Are you game?”

“You’re wasting your time.” The near whisper sounded like a challenge to him.

“I don’t think so.”

“Brad?”

“Shh.” He traced her lips with the pad of his thumb and they parted.

This wouldn’t take long. The rational thought comforted him. One kiss should do it.

He leaned in, touched his lips to hers and lost himself to the burst of fire that shot clear down to his feet.

Brad had had enough women to appreciate when the sex was hot.

And yet when he felt Jane’s lips against his he experienced a jolt so shocking, he felt like a first-timer.

Her eyes were still open, so he deepened the kiss, taking her lips fully with his. And when she didn’t moan with need, he pushed a little further, opening her lips with his tongue.

She tasted of salt and strawberry. And something unknown, but very, very good. He played with her tongue. Teasing it. Exploring.

Alone.

She didn’t resist, but she didn’t join him, either.

Brad pulled away, not sure what he was going to do, and got a glimpse of Jane’s face. Her eyes were almost closed, her features more relaxed than he’d ever seen them.

And yet not. Her mouth was slightly open. Waiting.

She might not be there yet, but she was getting there.

He kissed her again. And when her tongue still remained uninvolved, Brad moved his hand under the hem of her T-shirt, sliding his hand slowly up along the slender curve of her waist, lightly brushing the side of her breast. He thought she jerked a bit at his touch, but he couldn’t be sure.

He couldn’t stop, either. Not until he’d slid a finger inside her bra. Touched her nipple, made it hard and…

It was already hard.

So they were done. He’d aroused her.

He kissed her once more, just to seal the deal with a response from her tongue.

It still didn’t dance with him and he doubted himself. He knew a lot about women. He knew, for instance, that arousal wasn’t the only reason nipples hardened.

And he knew that there was one sure way to tell if a woman was turned on. Brad reached for the button on Jane’s jeans with only one thought in mind. Turn her on and get out.

He had to hand it to her. She was trying as hard as he was. She lifted her body, giving him easier access. And when it became obvious that it wasn’t enough, she lifted her butt off the blanket and let him pull the pants down to her ankles. He took her panties, too, just for the sake of getting the task done quickly.

And when he started to salivate at the sight of her, he ignored the sensation. He had a job to do for his friend.

This wasn’t about him or his needs. His body wasn’t involved. Wasn’t going to do anything. At least not now and never with Jane.

He was simply helping his friend.

At his urging, she spread her legs and his fingers went to work, knowing exactly what to do.

He found his mark on the first try. And discovered that she was already wet.

He could stop.

As soon as he made certain that Jane knew, without a doubt, what she was capable of feeling.

He didn’t look at her face. Couldn’t meet her eyes. He just focused on making her feel good.

And as soon as she’d climaxed, he’d get up and walk away. Let her put herself back together.

That’s what he intended. That’s what he told himself was going to happen.

It didn’t.