‘He wouldn’t be Jackson if he passed up the chance.’
It was a lucky escape, she’d told herself. She might have become seriously attracted to Jackson but fate had saved her.
He’d brought Karen to the wedding as his guest. She was beautiful, Freya had thought enviously. Others had thought so too, because at the reception another man hadn’t been able to take his eyes from her. He’d hovered, annoying Karen, until Jackson had taken a firm grip on him and said something that had made him back off. Freya hadn’t heard the words but she’d seen Jackson’s face, and there had been a look of menace that had stunned her. All the charm had gone from him.
It had been over in a moment. The man had fled and Jackson had reverted to his usual pleasant self. But Freya had never forgotten what she had glimpsed. She knew that if anyone had looked at her like that she would have been terrified.
She’d expected to hear that Jackson was engaged to Karen, but nothing had happened. And why should she care? she wondered. She’d been briefly attracted to him, but rescue had come in time and it was no big deal. They’d settled for a friendship in which they teased, challenged and infuriated each other. What might have been was safely in the past.
There was still a sense of irony that of all men it should be Jackson who had come to her rescue now, taking her into his home, offering her his shoulder to cry on. But irony had always been part of their relationship.
Early in her mother’s marriage she’d joined Amos and Janine at their home in Monte Carlo. A heart attack had left him vulnerable, and Janine had asked her to pay a long visit.
‘He won’t hear of a nurse being there night and day,’ she’d said. ‘But he’ll have to let my daughter visit us, won’t he?’
She’d made the visit reluctantly. Nothing about Amos appealed to her, especially the stories of his several wives and affairs. But Amos had taken a liking to his stepdaughter and begun plotting to marry her to one of his sons. Freya had been far from flattered.
‘Was he mad when he thought of that?’ she’d demanded of her mother. ‘There isn’t one of them I’d ever dream of—ye gods and little fishes!’
As soon as Amos’s health had improved she’d left Monte Carlo, returning to England and her nursing career.
Amos had failed to marry her to Darius, Marcel, Travis or Leonid. That left only Jackson. Their friendship was strong enough for him to ‘reject’ her theatrically, as he’d just done. Since she felt the same there was no problem.
She’d be as mad to marry him as he’d be to marry her. Though there was no denying he was a nice enough guy—at least he was if you overlooked a few things—but he was a bit too set on having his own way. He must get that from Amos, although he’d never admit it. But he had been good to her today.
She pulled on the pyjamas he’d offered her and lay down on the bed, certain that she would be unable to sleep, but the strain of the day caught up with her suddenly and she could do nothing but close her eyes.
* * *
Jackson spent the next couple of hours quietly, so as not to disturb Freya. There was research that needed to be done for his next documentary, but somehow it was hard to imagine himself continuing to work with Dan. Professionally they had both benefited from working together, which made their relationship cordial without being an outright friendship.
He considered calling his father but decided against it. After what he’d learned this afternoon he was afraid he might speak his mind too bluntly. He had things to say to Amos about his behaviour, but he’d rather say them face to face.
The old man’s determination to make Freya his daughter-in-law had been a source of comedy and irritation in equal measure to his five sons. Their amusement had been good-natured, helped by the fact that Freya was no keener on the idea than they were.
If anything it had seemed to put the brothers and Freya off each other. There was no denying that Jackson found her a nice, attractive girl, but he’d never really thought of Freya that way, and nor had his brothers. She’d been Amos’s ‘tool’—an instrument for his bullying. He briefly wondered whether Freya had ever fancied any of them.
No way. Unless—
A faint memory came back to him: the evening in the Chinese restaurant. They had laughed and exchanged significant glances as couples did at the start, when their attraction was in the flickering, questioning stage. But the pressure from Amos had begun soon afterwards and he’d backed off, sensing with relief that Freya was doing the same. After that each had known the other was out of bounds.
But if Amos’s clumsiness hadn’t come between them what would have happened? Until now he’d never really wondered.
Quietly he went to the bedroom door and opened it just a crack. From inside he could hear the sound of soft breathing. He opened it a little further, enough to catch a faint glimpse of her lying on the bed.
Freya wasn’t the only woman who’d slept in that bed. It was large enough for two people, and he used it for what he thought of as ‘entertaining’. Many women had lain there, skimpily dressed or undressed. They’d looked at him through half-closed eyes, pretending to sleep while actually studying him, planning their next move.
But Freya’s form was totally concealed by his pyjamas. Her eyes were closed and the faint sounds she made told him that she was sunk in the sleep of exhaustion. She looked like a vulnerable child. He was heart-stricken. And he was floundering, baffled about how to cope. It was a new experience—one that alarmed him.
Quietly he closed the door and went to switch on the television. Almost at once he heard the words ‘Dan Connor’.
The screen was focussed on a film première. There were the stars, walking along the red carpet, and there was a luscious young female clutching the arm of her escort. Dan Connor.
‘There’s someone we didn’t expect to see,’ declared the presenter. ‘Dan Connor, television bigshot. He should have got married today, but—hey, Dan, what happened?’
‘Life happened,’ Dan declared, grinning in a way that made Jackson want to commit murder. ‘Apart from that—no comment.’ He leered at the girl on his arm. ‘Shall we go in?’
Jackson clenched his hands, silently calling Dan every name he could think of. He moved quickly to turn the set off, but it was too late. A faint sound made him look to see Freya standing in the doorway.
‘So that’s who she is,’ Freya said quietly.
‘No. Freya, you’re wrong. I’ll swear he’s not in love with her. He must have just grabbed the first girl he met so that he could get his face onto the news. That’s a PR stunt you’re witnessing. You’ve had a lucky escape.’
She smiled at him, calm and seemingly untroubled.
‘You may be right. He replaced me easily, didn’t he? At any rate it’s all over now. As far as I’m concerned Dan never existed. Goodnight.’
She retreated into the bedroom, leaving Jackson wishing he could believe that she was really recovering so easily. But his heart told him she was only putting on a brave face.
Before going to bed he listened outside her door and heard something that made him clench his hands in agony. From inside came the sound of gasping sobs, telling all too clearly of the grief Freya could only release when she was alone.
Unable to endure it, he opened the door, ready to go in, take her in his arms and comfort her. But wisdom held him back. She wouldn’t be glad of his comfort. She would hate it, wanting no curious eyes.
He backed out and closed the door, knowing that he wasn’t wanted.
* * *
Freya awoke early the next morning. Briefly she wondered where she was, then remembered and groaned. Creeping out of the room, she