“So your name is Venus? Really?” Hannah asked Julianne a few days later, then she giggled. “That’s weird.”
“I’ve taken a lot of teasing.” Julianne held her pose, seated in a chair in front of the tower window while Hannah sketched her portrait.
“Why are you calling yourself Julianne?”
“It’s my new identity. I didn’t change my last name because Johnson is common enough to protect me.”
Hannah stopped drawing, her interest piqued. “Protect you from what?”
“From having to testify against my brother. He’s in jail.”
“For what?”
“Extortion, among other things.”
“Extortion?” Her expression was one of shock and curiosity. “Did you run away?”
“Kind of. I gave a deposition, but the prosecutor thought my testimony wouldn’t be necessary. I didn’t really know much about Nico’s business.” Julianne rolled her head. “I’m cramping.”
“Why didn’t you say so? Take a break.” Hannah set aside her pad and pen. “I don’t understand why you had to run away.”
“Because my brother isn’t the only person involved. He’s part of a…group.”
“A mob?” Hannah’s eyes widened.
Julianne shrugged. She didn’t know what to call it. “Anyway, they would want to make sure I don’t testify, because they know I wouldn’t lie. So we decided I shouldn’t be where they could find me and take me or something.”
“You mean they would kill you?”
“No.” She didn’t know that for sure. It seemed too extreme, however. “But they would keep me hidden. I can’t go through that again. Plus I’m sick and tired of someone telling me what to do.”
“But now you have Zach to protect you.”
Julianne clenched her teeth. She’d almost slipped up. Hannah didn’t know their marriage wasn’t going to be forever. Julianne had gotten so comfortable with his sister that she hadn’t been thinking about her plan and how she would leave as soon as she could. The reminder had come at the right time.
“Yes, I have Zach now,” she said, then stood. “Can we finish later? Mr. Moody is taking me to Orcas to do some Christmas shopping. Want to come?”
Hannah hesitated, which Julianne took as a good sign. “No, thanks.”
“Only five days to Christmas.”
“I’m done with my shopping.”
“Will you help decorate the tree?”
“We’re having a tree?”
Julianne had just assumed so. “You don’t usually?”
“Not since—Not for a couple of years.”
What had Hannah been about to say? Not since she’d barricaded herself in her room?
“Where do you put your presents?” Julianne asked.
“Everyone comes to my room. We don’t do much to celebrate. Julianne?”
She had started for the door but stopped and turned around. “What?”
“You never mention your parents.”
Julianne looked past Hannah at the view out her window. “My father died ten years ago. My mother abandoned us when I was little.” It never got easier to say.
“She left you? I didn’t know mothers…did that.”
Julianne couldn’t come up with a quick response. She hated her mother for leaving her with her father, for thinking only of herself. “I don’t care anymore.”
“Well, I’m sorry. At least I had Zach.”
Julianne’s throat burned at the sympathy in Hannah’s voice. “I’m sorry about your parents, too.”
Hannah took a step toward Julianne, stopped, then came the rest of the way and hugged Julianne. It was the first time she’d initiated a hug. Julianne came close to crying.
They moved apart awkwardly.
“So,” Hannah said, not making eye contact. “Being married and all—is kissing wonderful?”
Julianne laughed at the unexpected question. “No complaints here. You’ve never tried it, not even in high school?”
“I was homeschooled. No way to meet boys.”
“You have some catching up to do.” Julianne said the words as casually as possible, as if it would be easy for Hannah to make her way in the world, when it wouldn’t be. Even though it was what Julianne wanted to do, it wasn’t going to be easy for her, either. Especially now that she’d seen how people suffered sometimes just to get through life. “I’ll come see you when I get back.”
She closed the door behind her. She’d been afraid a few times in her life, but not paralyzed by fear like Hannah.
Could Julianne lure Hannah out of her room? Into life? Was it too lofty a goal for someone who hardly had any life skills herself?
It would make Zach happy, and she wanted to do that.
Now, exactly how could she accomplish such a miracle?
Zach waited in his bedroom for Julianne to come say goodbye before she left for Orcas with Mr. Moody. She didn’t, which surprised him. It also surprised him that it mattered so much.
She’d gotten under his skin. He didn’t like it.
He was even envious—he refused to use the word jealous—of the amount of time Hannah spent with her. He should be happy that they were becoming friends. He was happy about that.
He’d felt guilty for years about having to leave Hannah behind when he left home. He couldn’t take her to college with him, since she was only eleven, but also their grandparents had become more caring since the kidnapping and Marsh’s death. When Hannah turned eighteen, Zach had asked her to live with him, but she’d turned him down, out of fear, he guessed—until he’d found the Prom, where she wouldn’t have to go out in the world unless she chose to. She’d had no qualms about leaving home then, except for the trip itself. He’d rented a private plane to bring them to Anacordes, then she’d had her first—and last—boat ride to get to the island. She had barely said a word the whole trip, her fear at being out of her comfort zone evident and sad.
When her own trust fund matured in another two years, she wouldn’t even be in the position of having to find a job to support herself. Financially he never had to work another day in his life, either, but the satisfaction he’d found from his work had kept him going, giving him little time to dwell on the past. His sister had too much time to dwell.
How could he get her off the island to experience life? After years and years of analysis, she still couldn’t fend for herself. He knew he was enabling her, as her psychiatrist called it, by allowing her to stay in the tower, but what choice did he have? Throw her to the wolves?
He leaned against the wall next to a window and stared outside, wondering if it would rain. It would ruin Julianne’s shopping trip, an excursion she’d been happy about. So happy she hadn’t tracked him down to kiss him goodbye…
Zach shoved away from the wall. He was dwelling on Julianne because for once he had no work to do. He had two teams tracking the two victims whose pictures hung on his office wall. There was nothing more he could do. He went to his office anyway and realized there was something he could do.
He settled in at the computer, made a few phone calls, then met Julianne and Mr. Moody at the side door when they returned. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to take her in his arms and kiss her hello.
“I guess you missed me,” she said, eyeing Mr. Moody, who was unloading packages from the Jeep.
He started to say he had when he noticed what stuck out the back of the Jeep. “You bought a Christmas tree.”
“A little one.”
He estimated it was at least eight feet tall. “I’m not sure our old lights still work. We don’t have many ornaments either.”
“So Mr. Moody told me. I bought lights. And we can make more decorations.”
He couldn’t picture himself sitting around the dining room table stringing popcorn and cranberries. “We meaning you and Hannah?”
“And you,” she said with a grin, then pulled out more packages from the car after Mr. Moody went into the house. “A family affair, as Christmas should be.”
“I’ll supervise.”
“And string the lights.”
“I can do that.” Her contagious enthusiasm boosted his spirits, that and what he planned to do next. “I have to leave town in a couple of days.”
She stood with her arms full of bags. “Why?”
“Something I have to do. I’ll be back for Christmas.”
She stared at him. “You’ll be safe?”
“Always.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Not everything is within your control.”
“You’re right. In fact rarely is anything within my control. But this particular time, it is.”
Mr. Moody returned, and Julianne went into the house. Zach helped unload the tree, then held it while the older man sawed an inch off the trunk base. Because Julianne had disappeared he helped set the tree in the base, then worked on the lights. It took him two hours and ten strands. He’d just plugged in the lights when Julianne came downstairs for dinner.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, slipping an arm around his waist and leaning into him.
He kissed her head, ran his hand down her hair. “I’d forgotten what it was like to celebrate Christmas.” Christmas with his grandparents had been formal and showy, their guest list for parties from among San Francisco’s elite. He barely remembered the ones with his parents, even though he’d been twelve when they died. He only recalled being happy and surprised. He’d taken it for granted. And the only one they’d celebrated at the castle had been strained and awkward, as if none of them knew how to celebrate the holiday.
Wanting to stop the old family memories he kissed Julianne then, and she responded with an honesty that made him uneasy, considering the circumstances of their marriage. Then he forgot all about his reasons and deepened the kiss. She went up on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around his neck. Soft, throaty sounds of need rose from her. She tightened her hold. He ran his hands down her sides, cupped her waist, pulled her close. Urgency rose up in him.
He scooped her into his arms, headed for the staircase. “Hold dinner,” he said to Mrs. Moody as she came into the hallway at the same time, carrying a tray. He felt Julianne tuck her face against his neck, as if embarrassed.
“Yes, sir.” Laughter tinged Mrs. Moody’s words.
He couldn’t wait to get his wife in bed. She’d gotten more daring every night, her touch more confident, her desire more apparent. He kicked the bedroom door shut but didn’t put her down until he reached the bed. He dropped her there, followed her down, blanketing her. Her legs wrapped around him, her hips arched to meet his. She sucked in a breath as he slipped his hands under her rear, then she released a long, low moan as he moved against her. He thought she was about to climax from the movement alone when she pushed at his shoulders.
“Roll over.” Her voice registered husky and full of need. He did as she asked, gladly.
“I want to be in charge, okay?” she asked, her face flushed.
As if he would turn that down? “I’m yours,” he answered.
She undressed him, her hands shaking, which filled him as much with tenderness as desire. She undressed herself, her hands shaking even more. Then she dragged her hands down his chest, his stomach, his abdomen, and beyond. Her fingers danced over him, feathery and fluttery, tickling and arousing. She bent over him, tasted him with her warm, wet tongue, something she hadn’t done before…and he was lost. The innocence of her exploration turned him inside out. She took him in her hot, searching mouth…and he was found. Her desire to please him, her need to explore, her obvious pleasure at pleasuring him brought him a satisfaction he had never known.
He grabbed her head, keeping her there until he couldn’t hold off it another second. He tried to stop her.
“Just enjoy it,” she whispered, barely stopping.
He didn’t need any convincing. Sensation coiled through and around him, sneaking under his skin, making slow, slithery moves downward, downward. He yielded to its power, gloried in its release. He went blind and deaf. There was only the feel of her mouth and hands, the vibration of her throaty moans transferring to his body, the scent of her perfume, distinctively Julianne…
Seconds, minutes or maybe hours later he settled against the mattress and opened his eyes. She was sitting on her heels watching him. Her eyes were suspiciously bright, her expression solemn. She was asking if she’d done okay without saying the words.
He pulled her into his arms. “That was amazing.”
“Really?”
“Cross my heart.” He began a tender assault on her, payback. He took his time, enjoying the heat of her kisses, the lushness of her breasts, the tautness of her nipples. Her skin was soft, smooth, kissable. He knelt between her legs, draping them over his thighs, and explored her. She never once opened her eyes.
“Tell me what you like,” he ordered quietly.
“Everything.” She raised her hips as he dragged his fingertips down her. “I like everything.”
“This?” He bent down, ran his tongue along the same path.
She squirmed. “Yes.”
He slipped a finger inside her. “This?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“How about this?” He settled his mouth on her.
Only a garbled response reached his ears before she was arching high and calling his name, her body rigid for several long seconds, then she started to drift. He took her up again. She climaxed a second time, longer and louder. He rose above her, plunged into her, found paradise. He didn’t try to be gentle. He couldn’t be gentle. He wanted her, all of her. She dug her fingernails into his flesh, tipped back her head and matched his rhythm. She peaked. A moment later, he joined her.
It was only after they lay sprawled for several minutes, unable to move, barely able to breathe, that it struck him what he’d done.
He hadn’t used a condom.