Mysterious by Fayrene Preston Page A

around them the room was dark except for the fire in front of them. Intimacy crept over them, mellowing resistance and wariness.
    "Tell me what you were like when you were a little girl," he urged.
    "You’re really interested?"
    "I really am."
    "Well, let me think. I had a happy childhood. Richard was just a couple of years older. We were close, and he indulged me outrageously."
    "I bet you were easy to indulge."
    The dimple finally appeared in her left cheek. Jerome couldn’t stop staring at it.
    "Thank you, but I’m sure I was quite spoiled. I remember I used to play dress-up and Richard would play with me. My mother gave me an old lace dress of hers. It was white and I thought it was the most beautiful dress in the whole world. I’d put it on, along with a pair of her high-heeled shoes, and go clomping around the house, pretending I was a princess."
    "And what would Richard do?"
    "Ah, well, he was my prince."
    She laughed and Jerome caught his breath. The firelight softly lit her face, heightening a beauty at once flawless, exquisite, and passionate. The thought that he had experienced only a small portion of that passion tormented him.
    "We had this big Persian cat," she continued. "We would pretend he was the dragon, and Richard would sword-fight that cat up and down the hall until my mother was ready to scream."
    "I bet the cat wasn’t so pleased either."
    "He sure wasn’t." She chuckled, reminiscing. "He had a rotten sense of humor. He’d hiss and spit all during the fight, not at all impressed with his role as the dragon." Jennifer was quiet for a minute. "Richard was a wonderful brother. I really don’t know what I’m going to do without him." She paused. "I just wish I could have been there when he needed me."
    With a brief touch of his finger Jerome turned her face to his. "Jennifer, you can’t blame yourself. If you had been there, you would have been killed too."
    "You’re right. But that doesn’t make it any easier for me. I’ll mourn Richard the rest of my life." She sighed heavily. "That’s enough. Let’s talk about you for a change. I want to know all about you."
    Without even moving, he seemed to withdraw from her. "My childhood wasn’t as carefree as yours."
    Gently she laid her hand on his sleeve. "Tell me, Jerome. Please. You never say a word about yourself."
    He shook his head. "It’s not pretty."
    "I want to know."
    He took a drink of his chocolate and thought about how few times he had told anyone what he was about to tell Jennifer. Actually only two people knew: Sami and Morgan. He hated thinking about his past, and worse, he hated talking about it. It was like giving pieces of himself away. Yet here he was, about to tell her everything.
    He began. "I never knew who my father was. Of my mother I don’t remember that much . . . except that she was always drunk and that I was pretty much on my own, right from the earliest age. I think my recollections are deliberately vague about her. Because she was an alcoholic, there was always a distance between her and me. All I remember is a pale, emaciated woman."
    He made his childhood sound so matter-of-fact, Jennifer thought, but she could imagine the scared little boy he must have been back then. She wished there was some way to ease his hurt, but she knew that kind of hurt was way too deep. It would take forever, if then. "In spite of everything, your mother must have loved you, Jerome."
    To her dismay, his expression hardened. "If I’ve learned one thing in my life, it’s that being a mother doesn’t come naturally to every woman. Just because a woman has a child doesn’t mean she’ll automatically love it. Oh, she said she did, or at least I think she said she did. I can’t remember. To tell you the truth, I’ve blocked a lot of it out. It just hurt too much."
    "I’m sure she did the best she could."
    "I don’t know. But what I do know is that she up and left me."
    "Left you?" Jennifer couldn’t keep the shock out of her voice.