No Regrets. JoAnn Ross
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he’d been fantasizing about unzipping the froth of gilt-threaded ivory chiffon, then running his lips down her delicate spine, kissing each vertebra in turn, something in his wife’s tone garnered Reece’s unwilling attention.
“Are you all right?” He knew she’d had an appointment with her gynecologist. “You told me that your exam went well.”
“I’m fine.” That was the truth, so far as it went. Yet another thing they’d have to discuss tonight, Lena thought. “Really,” she insisted when she viewed something that looked amazingly like fear in his eyes. “But we really do need to talk. I was hoping we could go downstairs to our room.”
Reece had been hoping the same thing. The irony was that when he’d booked the suite, he’d had a much more romantic scenario than talking in mind. “Whatever you want, darling.”
It was what he always said. But as they walked hand in hand across the dance floor, Lena wondered if Reece would still want her. Once he’d heard her story.
* * *
Tessa watched the attractive couple leave the ballroom. Although it was more than obvious that they were madly in love, something told her that the reason for their early departure was not a midnight tryst, but something far more serious. She’d watched their discussion, witnessed the concern, followed by resolve move across the man’s handsome features.
“I’m beginning to feel ignored,” Jason murmured in her ear. “You’ve been watching that guy all night.”
“I’m sorry.” She smiled up at him. “Actually, I’ve been watching his date. She looks so familiar.” Of course that couldn’t be, Tessa had been telling herself. After all, she’d only been in Los Angeles a week. “Do you know either of them?”
“I’ve never seen them before in my life.” He watched the sway of the woman’s hips in the full short skirt and knew he’d remember those long, wraparound legs.
“Perhaps she’s an actress.” She was certainly attractive enough, Tessa thought. Her dark auburn hair glowed like autumn leaves highlighted by a benevolent sun and her green eyes tilted upward, catlike, at the corners. Perhaps the woman had been a bit player in some movie or television program she’d seen.
“She’s good-looking enough to get work,” Jason agreed. He drew his head back and gave her a long assessing look. “But you are, without a doubt, the most ravishingly beautiful woman here tonight.”
The way he was looking down at her, as if she was a raw piece of clay he’d molded to his own personal preference, made her feel a bit uneasy. However, Tessa couldn’t deny that the analogy definitely fit. Not only had he chosen her dress, he’d selected her jewelry—borrowed from Fred Hayman—her hairstyle and even her makeup, which had been applied by a woman who was alleged to have done Susan Sarandon’s makeup in the movie The Witches of Eastwick.
The dramatic makeover had not been in vain. From the looks she’d been getting all night, it was obvious his creation had met with instant approval.
“Hey, kid,” a voice behind her said, “how about giving me an opportunity to show Tessa which brother inherited the dancing talent?”
Jason grinned down at Tessa. “Whatever you do, don’t flatter him. His head’s already big enough.” Without asking if she wanted to change partners, he handed her over to his brother, leaving Tessa feeling once again like a piece of property.
* * *
It was a night made for romance. The glass wall in the hotel room provided a dazzling view of the city lights. A late-afternoon rain had washed away the smog, and the stars shone like diamonds in the midnight black sky.
“Would you like some champagne?” Reece had ordered a bottle of Dom Pérignon and caviar to be waiting when they arrived back at the suite. A splendid bouquet of long-stemmed red roses had been delivered, as well.
The story Lena was determined to tell Reese wasn’t exactly a cause for celebration and she debated turning down the offer of champagne. Then decided that a little bottled courage might be in order, after all.
“Thank you. That sounds wonderful.”
Although the words fit the occasion, her expression reminded Reece of a condemned prisoner on the way to the electric chair. The fear he’d felt earlier rose again. Again he tamped it back down and concentrated on opening the wine. The cork came out of the dark green bottle with a discreet pop and a hiss of vapor.
“You do that very well,” Lena murmured. She looked at Reece, so handsome in his custom-tailored tux, marveled not for the first time at the easy sophistication of this man she’d married, and wondered why he hadn’t chosen a sleek, elegant woman from his own world for his wife.
“It’s all in the wrist.” He had no idea if that was the case. But he felt the need to say something to ease the strain building between them. He poured the sparkling wine into the flutes, then handed one to her.
“To the best wife any man could ever wish for,” he said, lifting his glass in a toast.
“To the best husband,” she corrected quietly.
Reece wished to hell she’d smiled when she’d said that. “How about a compromise? To us. And a New Year filled with love and laughter.”
Reece swore inwardly when he watched the suspicious sheen of moisture suddenly appear in her eyes.
“To us.” It was little more than a whisper. Lena took a sip. Although the sparkling wine danced like laughter on her tongue, her mood remained bleak. When the suffocating silence settled over them again, she began nervously rubbing a crimson rose petal between her thumb and index finger, releasing the blossom’s sweet fragrance.
Never having been one for game playing, Reece decided that as much as he wanted to let Lena take her time with whatever it was she wanted to say, he’d go nuts if they didn’t just cut to the chase.
“Is this about your visit to Dr. Carstairs?”
“No.” She abandoned plucking petals from the roses and began running her finger nervously up the crystal stem of the champagne flute. “Yes.” She shook her head. “No.”
Reece forced a smile he was a very long way from feeling. Happy goddamn New Year. He wondered what magic it would take to make his wife happy.
“Which is it, sweetheart?” Not wanting to make things worse than they already appeared to be, he managed, just barely, to keep his building frustration from his voice.
Her bare shoulders slumped. “Dr. Carstairs only confirmed what all the other doctors have already told me. That there’s no way I can ever conceive a child.”
She’d already shared the unhappy news with Molly, who’d assured her that her infertility, possibly due to a sexually transmitted pelvic infection acquired before her marriage, had not been punishment from God for her promiscuous behavior. But still, having been brought up under the stern guidance of the St. Joseph nuns, Lena couldn’t help wondering.
“I always wanted children,” she murmured, looking out over the city, wondering how many people were sitting home alone, wishing they had someone—anyone—to love them. New Year’s, she knew from personal experience, could be one of the loneliest nights of the year. That thought reminded her of all the strangers she’d gone to bed with, just to avoid being alone. “I always dreamed of becoming the mother I never had.”
“I know how important having a child is to you, sweetheart,” Reece said carefully, feeling as if he were making his way across a deadly conversational minefield. “But I’ve never felt any great need to perpetuate the Longworth name. And we could adopt.”
“I suppose that’s one possibility.”
She sighed and sat down in the suede chair across the room. Although he longed to take her in his arms, Reece took the fact that she’d chosen not to sit next to him on the sofa as a sign she needed