No. Think, she railed at herself. Back away. Now.
While you still have a modicum of resistance in your mind, if not your body.
The sound of the rushing water ceased. Jen went stiff. In the moments it took him to towel off and walk back into the bedroom, she had made her decision and closed her eyes, as if closing him out of her life as well as her view.
She could not go on this way, loving him heart and soul, knowing all the while he did not love her. Eventually, it would kill something inside of her, something that made up who she was.
"Ready?"
Jen opened her eyes. Marsh was smiling at her. His smile went through her like a knife. Dragging up an ounce of fortitude from deep inside, she managed to return his smile without breaking down.
"Yes." The mere whisper was all she could manage.
They left the penthouse together after Marsh found her a shirt and a pair of shorts that practically came down to her knees. Fortunately, he didn't touch her as they walked to his car. Had he so much as touched her elbow, she was afraid she'd fall apart.
They rode in silence to her parents' home some miles out of the city. The ride seemed to take forever. Jen already had her door key in hand when Marsh steered the car up the driveway and to a smooth stop next to the broad sweep of steps to the porch.
She was ready with her hand on the door release, prepared to bolt and run. But Marsh touched her arm. It was a light touch that felt to Jen as though it scorched her arm to the bone.
"I'm going straight back to the house from here," he said, a slight frown drawing his eyebrows together. "Are you driving back today or waiting until tomorrow morning?"
Jen wet her lips. She had to tell him she wouldn't be going back to his house, that she couldn't bear being with him, loving him and knowing he didn't love her. She should have told him before they left the condo, but she simply couldn't, not then. And she didn't think she could now, either.
"Probably tomorrow morning," she said, lying through her teeth. "Less traffic then."
His silvery gaze probed hers for a moment. Then he removed his hand from her arm. "Okay."
"Goodbye, Marsh." The words hurt like fire in her mouth. She pushed the door open, slammed it shut and took off running, unable to look back for fear that she'd go straight back to him and tell him that yes, she would spend the rest of her life with him.
Even if he didn't love her.
Eleven
Where the hell is she?
Marsh frowned at the recurring question stabbing at his mind, unconscious of his fingertips smoothing the silky material of the shawl Jennifer had left in his car when he had dropped her off on Sunday afternoon.
Or more accurately, when she had practically run away from him after he had dropped her off Sunday afternoon.
There was something going on with her, something she wasn't telling him. But the more pressing issue at the moment was, where the hell was she?
If she had left her parents' home Monday morning, or even later in the day, she would have been back at the house before dark. It was now Wednesday evening, and there had been no sight or sound of Jen.
If something had happened to her-an accident, or illness-Marsh was certain he would have heard about it by now. He had called her cell phone only to receive a request to leave a message. Cursing, he had disconnected. He didn't want to talk to voice mail, he wanted to talk to Jen. Swallowing his pride, he had called her parents' phone, only to be informed by the housekeeper that the family was not at home.
Marsh got that message loud and clear. The family, including Jen, would not be accepting calls from him. So, no, there had been no accident, nor was she ill. And she didn't wish to speak to him.
Maybe it was time to face the fact that Jen was not coming back.
You damn dumb ass, Marsh condemned himself. He had pushed her too hard in his bid to convince her to marry him. And now he ached for her like he had never ached for anyone, ever-not just for the nearly unbelievable pleasure he had achieved with her, but for simply being with her, being near her, conversing, laughing, even arguing.
He began to pace the length of his large office, memories swirling of their time together.
Jen humming as she went about her work.
Jen laughing as they raced the horses.
Jen deftly cooking up a meal fit for a king...for him.
Coming to a dead stop, Marsh closed his eyes. Because he had wrapped himself in bitterness and convinced himself he didn't believe in love, he had carelessly thrown away the most precious gift ever offered to him.
Suddenly, as if he had been smacked upside his head, Marsh leapt from his chair.
He was in love with her.
He was in love with her.
What was wrong with him? How could it have taken him so damn long to come to that conclusion?
He had to talk to her, tell her, beg if necessary. She had to know how he felt. That would change everything.
Wouldn't it?
But what if she hadn't come back because she didn't-or couldn't-love him?
He suddenly remembered why he didn't believe in love. Or rather, why he didn't actually want anything to do with love. Because it made people crazy. It made them do weird things. And people who claimed to love other people didn't necessarily treat them the way they should be treated. He knew about that firsthand.
Get over it, he told himself. This was his chance. Jen was his opportunity. She was the one. If he blew this, then it wouldn't matter one way or the other whether he believed in loved because he would never get a chance to try ever again.
He had to tell her. And he had do it as soon as possible.
A soft tearing sound caught Marsh's attention. Frowning, he glanced down at his hand, his long fingers tangled in her shawl. He had ripped the fine fabric.
Cursing himself, Marsh set the shawl aside before he could do more damage to it. There was an elderly woman in San Antonio he knew who was sheer magic with a needle. She would mend it so perfectly, Jen would never see the tear.
Glad for something positive to do-as he sure as hell hadn't accomplished much by mentally beating himself up for being an unconscious moron-Marsh picked up his phone and dialed the woman's number.
Minutes later, Marsh roared through the gates of the property heading for San Antonio, the carefully folded shawl on the seat next to him.
He was going to fix it. He was going to fix everything.
* * *
Jen drove through the gates to Marsh's house. As always, she hit the horn and waved to greet the security guard parked in the all-wheel vehicle nearly hidden beneath the lone tree at the top of the knoll.
Jen was nervous. Although throughout the past couple of days she had repeatedly vowed to herself, and aloud to her empty room, that she would not return to Marsh, here she was, feeling much too at home for her mental comfort.
Pulling to a stop at the garage, Jen knew at once Marsh wasn't home because his truck was gone.
What if he had driven to Dallas to coax her back to the house-and to him?
Jen stopped dead in her tracks, caught between a burst of laughter and a cry of despair. As if the confident and arrogant Marshall Grainger would ever conceive of crawling, or even boldly striding, to any woman to beg her to return to him.
The mere thought was ludicrous. At any rate, it didn't matter. She had no intention of remaining at the house. She had returned only to turn down Marsh's offer, then immediately head back to Dallas as soon as she had collected her personal belongings. She had planned to tell him face-to-face, and even admit to him that the reason she couldn't marry him was because she loved him, and knew that he'd never love her.
Maybe it was better that he wasn't there. It was definitely safer for her. In truth, she ached to see him, but she feared what she would do if she did. Whatever it was, it would probably lead to her being in a loveless marriage, and that would tear her apart inside. No, it was better this way.
Heaving a sigh, Jen went straight to the apartment. As the temperature had again climbed into the sixties after dropping into the low fifties for two days, the apartment smelled stale and felt stuffy.
Crossing to a living room window, she flipped back the lock and opened it just as Marsh's truck growled to a stop next to her once-again-dusty Cadillac.
A thrill went through her as she saw his long legs stretch out from the cab and reach to the ground. A frown creased his brow as he stared at her car.
Jen stepped back from the window as he turned to glance up before striding to the garage entrance. Knowing he was headed for her apartment, she stood, quivering inside, gathering her composure to project a show of confidence.
He knocked on the door. Jen was stunned for a moment. Fully expecting him to walk in as if he owned the place-which in fact he did-she stared at the door, her mind frozen.