Secrets of a Shy Socialite by Wendy S. Marcus

could be negotiated, time frames agreed to, her heart protected. And her body wouldn’t matter.
    * * *
    “Wait.” Justin made it to the door before she could open it. “I do want to marry you.”
    “Why?” she asked, her blue eyes challenging him.
    Because it was the right thing to do. The honorable thing. But from the look on her face he was pretty sure neither answer would satisfy her.
    “Because I’m rich?” she asked. “Because if you marry me, you’ll be rich too?”
    No.
    Before he could expand his no from an instantaneous mental reaction to an actual verbal response she said, “Because I’m pretty?” She grazed her fingers down his chest enticingly. “Because you want my body night after night?”
    Oh, yeah. He liked that idea. He turned them so her back was to the door and pressed his body to hers. “I don’t need your money,” he whispered in her ear. “And maybe five years will turn into ten or twenty or a lifetime.” He kissed down the side of her neck. “We won’t know until we give marriage a try. But no matter what happens between us, I will never desert my daughters.”
    He kissed back up to her ear. “While we’re figuring it all out, sex night after night sounds real good to me.” He brought his hand to her breast. “And trust me.” He caressed until he felt the tight bud of her nipple through her bra and blouse. “I’ll make you feel so good so often you won’t have time to be miserable.”
    He moved his lips to hers. Kissed her, tasted her, wanted more of her. “You have the most amazing breasts.” He explored their supple fullness with both hands.
    She pushed him away. “And what if I didn’t?” she snapped, straightening her clothes. “What if I didn’t have amazing breasts? What if my body repulsed you?”
    She wasn’t making any sense. “But it doesn’t. It’s perfect. I love your body. I want your body.” Any man who swung toward heterosexual would want her body.
    At that last thought, an unfamiliar, possessive, mine, mine, mine all mine popped into Justin’s head.
    Jena shoved him.
    “What?”
    “I am more than a pair of breasts.” She had tears in her eyes. And he’d put them there. An odd, uncomfortable pressure settled in his chest.
    She reached for the door.
    He grabbed her hand. “What’s wrong?” How had complimenting her body taken such a wrong turn?
    “I can’t do this,” she said. “Please.” She looked up at him. “I need to get back to work.”
    The aftermath of whatever the hell happened between them in the break room helped Justin recognize yet another difference between Jena and Jaci. The silent treatment. For better or for worse, Jaci put her emotions out there for all to see. In stark contrast to her sister, when something upset Jena, she went quiet. Of course she was too well-mannered to completely ignore him, but her interactions turned brief, coolly polite, and only when necessary.
    She didn’t want to marry him? Fine. He’d tried to do the right thing. She’d turned him down. Done. Pressure off. He could still parent without the hassle of marriage. Even better.
    Jena smiled warmly at an unkempt woman in the waiting area, helped her with her diaper bag and, while accompanying her and a small child to an exam room, chatted like they were old friends. Comfortable. Genuine.
    When she passed by Justin he may as well have been a cobweb for all the attention she paid him. They’d reverted back to high school.
    Except now he couldn’t help noticing her . Long blonde curls restrained in a tight bun, her luscious curves hidden beneath a boxy scrub top, and her face devoid of trendy, high-fashion makeup, she looked nothing like socialite Jena Piermont from the society pages of newspapers and magazines. She looked better. Real.
    Desirable.
    And he had a hankering for the genuine version of Jena.
    Dr. Charmer passed her in the hallway and smiled.
    Justin imagined the satisfying crack of dislocating the jaw attached to that smile with