"Jennifer?"
For a second, she had a crazy urge to hide so that if he did walk in, he wouldn't see her. And she wouldn't have to tell him what she came to say. But she'd put it off too long. It was time to come clean. That promise she'd made herself before the gala about her life being different one way or the other? Now was the time to make that a reality.
"I'm coming," she answered, wetting her dry lips as she crossed to the door. She swung it wide as she stepped back.
A jumble of all sorts of emotions welled up inside her at the sight of him. Dressed in a soft chambray shirt tucked into the slim waistband of his well-worn jeans that covered the tops of his scuffed boots, his hair tousled as if from his fingers raking through the silky strands, he looked...
He looked like the man she was so desperately in love with. Damn him.
"Is it Monday already?" he drawled, running a slow glance over the length of her body and back again to settle on her eyes. He took a step toward her.
Jen stepped back. "Marsh, please don't." She raised a palm to halt his progress.
As if she could.
Walking to her, he pulled her into his arms, bent his head and crushed her mouth with his.
Jen was a goner and she knew it...but she had to try, didn't she? She had to stop him long enough to state her position.
"Marsh...I can't," she began.
"Yes, you can," he murmured, barely moving his lips from hers. "And very well, too."
To prove his point, he proceded to show her his idea of her position, which was flat on her back, him on top of her, right there in the middle of the living room floor.
Within moments boots, jeans and underwear were gone. Although she protested, her protests were weak, and so was she-weak with her need for him.
His mouth devoured hers, his hands gripping her hips-she fully expected him to ram into her. Then, something incredible happened. Instead of taking her with the passionate force she'd become accustomed to, Marsh entered her body with exquisite gentleness, slowly, as if savoring every movement until he was fully, deeply inside her, filling the emptiness she'd been denying she felt.
"Home."
His voice was so low, Jen wasn't certain she'd heard him correctly.
He began to move and within seconds she was moaning, moving with his increased thrusts, craving more and more of him, enough to last her a lifetime.
It was more intense than ever before, her release wildly shattering. Tears filling her eyes, she drew deep breaths, reminding herself of what she had to do.
They lay side by side, naked from the waist down. As her breathing returned to normal, Jen steeled herself to speak.
Marsh beat her to it. "I really didn't think it was possible to reach such intense sexual pleasure, the absolute zenith of orgasms."
The tears, stinging hot, overflowed Jen's eyes to roll down her temples into her hair. "Marsh." Her nails dug into the plush nap of the carpet. "I came here today to get my stuff...to tell you I can't stay with you, that I..."
Feeling him grow still beside her, she broke off.
"What?" His voice was soft but rough-edged. "Say it, Jennifer. Say whatever it is you have to say."
Ignoring the spill of tears on her face, she turned her head to look at him, and immediately wished she hadn't.
His silvery eyes glittering, he held her misty gaze. Were there tears in his eyes? She couldn't tell, because he got to his feet fast, in one fluid movement. Scooping his clothes and boots from the floor, he turned and strode to the door.
"I'm going to clean up," he said, his voice tight. "We'll talk about this when I get back." Not bothering to wait for a reply, he walked out, leaving the door wide-open behind him.
Rising, Jen was not nearly as fluid as Marsh had been.
She was still shaking with the aftershocks of the intensity of pleasure rippling through her body, and the pain in her heart.
She had come here determined to break off the untenable relationship she had been sharing with Marsh. Instead, she had betrayed herself by surrendering at his first kiss.
Gathering her clothing and boots while trying to pull her composure together, Jen headed for the bathroom. Positive Marsh would not be gone for long, she pulled her clothes back on and tried to get herself together.
Jen was brushing her hair when Marsh strolled back into the apartment and without hesitation opened the bathroom door and stood there, simply watching her.
Jen considered a protest then rejected the idea...it would simply be a waste of her breath. Setting aside the brush, she walked past him into the living room. Turning, she stood tall, placed her hands on her hips and stared back at him in open defiance.
"So. You're going to run, from me and what we've got together?" His voice roughened. "What we've just shared together?"
"Sex," Jen retorted, wincing inside at his accusation that she was going to run. Again. But this was different, she insisted in silent despair. This was for the rest of her life, not just to escape an uncomfortable situation. She wanted to stay so much, too much, but...
The sound of his voice scattered her jumbled thoughts.
"Fantastic sex," he corrected her, his voice beginning to sound strained. "But we've got more than that and you know it."
Jen was shaking her head before he'd finished. "It's not enough, Marsh."
"What the hell more do you want?" he said. "We enjoy the same things. We enjoy each other. You said you love it here at the house. What else is there?"
Jen sighed and drew a quick breath before calmly answering. "Love."
She watched Marsh take in what she'd said, and she saw something cross his face. For a moment, she allowed herself to hope, but his words made it clear that she was foolish to do so.
"We could make it work," he said, his tone strange, unfamiliar. "It's been done before, a marriage without love."
Jen's spine stiffened. So she was right. He didn't love her. He didn't love her at all.
"I don't believe I could do it," she said, forcing herself to continue on. "When I marry, I want to spend my days and nights working and sleeping beside a man I'm in love with, knowing he loves me, too."
She waited, hoping against hope that she'd been wrong, that he would tell her that he loved her more than she could know. But that's not what he said.
"I see." Shaking his head, his expression blank, he turned and walked to the door, pausing to glance back at her. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me." That said, he pulled open the door and walked out of the room.
And out of her life.
The realization was crushing. Standing rigidly still, afraid if she moved she would fall apart, Jen gasped for air, hurting so badly she wanted to drop to the floor and sob until the pain eased.
But she didn't drop to the floor, nor issue one sob. She brushed away tears with an impatient swipe of her hand.
She loved him, deeply, passionately, but she had no intentions of falling apart for him. She wasn't the type for drama-she was the type that carried on under difficult conditions.
She'd survive, Jen assured herself, beginning to gather her things together. A large shopping bag she had brought with her from home contained the shirt belonging to Marsh. Sighing, she reached into the bag to stroke the material. Tempted to take it with her, she pulled her hand back.
"You're a fool, Marshall Grainger," she muttered. "We could have built a wonderful, loving relationship and made beautiful children together."
Though soft, the sound of her own voice startled her. The word children rang in her mind. Once again she felt the sting of tears in her eyes. She shook her head. It's over, she told herself. Get on with your life.
* * *
The explanation Jen offered her parents for her return home was that she missed her friends and the activities in Dallas. Of course, it was far from the truth. Although Jen dearly loved her friends, they were often in touch, and Jen had never wanted to be involved with any activity in the city.
To her mother's vocal dismay, Jen was at heart a homebody. She stayed in, spending her time with Tony and Ida, cooking and keeping the house neat. A pang twisted in her chest as she recalled working in Marsh's beautiful home.
Jen spent time on her computer perusing help-wanted sites. But she wasn't looking for work. She was looking for possible postings by Marsh.
None appeared, which Jen found rather strange. Perhaps he had decided to advertise in local newspapers, she thought.
Thanksgiving came and went. Her parents went, too, setting out on a monthlong cruise. Jen threw herself into her long-held tradition of decorating the large house for Christmas with Tony and Ida. Only at weak moments did she wonder if Marsh ever bothered to decorate his house for the coming holiday.