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Chapter Three
Jonas didn’t make any attempt to test her, not even approaching Bridget while she was in Jim’s company. The setting of the sun made it too cold out even for hardy Vermonters and the party was forced to continue inside.
The open-plan layout of the living room and dining room meant it was impossible for Bridget to avoid Jonas indefinitely. When she saw him wandering toward the sofa where she and Jim were seated, she braced herself for the inevitable conversation. Unfortunately, Bob chose that moment to refill his beer glass, leaving a chair vacant beside the sofa.
“Mind if I sit down?” By the time the entire question was spoken, Jonas was already sitting in the empty chair.
“I don’t,” Bridget lied, trying to sound casual, “but Bob might when he comes back. He was sitting there.”
“I’ll fight with him over it.” Jonas smiled lazily, the glittering light in his eyes mocking her denial before sliding to Jim. His arm was draped over the back of the sofa near Bridget’s shoulders.
“Have you met Jim Spencer?” An introduction seemed necessary. “He teaches at the college.”
“And survives the summers doing road construction,” Jim inserted before Bridget could say any more. He offered a hand to Jonas. “Saw you outside. Nice to meet you.”
“Same here.” Jonas nodded in apparent friendliness.
But Bridget saw the assessing gleam that measured his opponent, a suggestion of male rivalry in the look. Muscles flexed in his tanned forearm as Jonas briefly gripped Jim’s hand. Then he leaned back, relaxing in the chair. Yet Bridget guessed that he was no more relaxed than she was, her nerves jumping, alert to every move he made or didn’t make.
A sound system was playing in the far corner of the room. The couples had scattered into clusters in various parts of the room, milling around in changing groups, laughing and talking, enjoying themselves as Bridget wished she could.
“Bob’s parties haven’t changed since we went to them together, right, Bridget?” Jonas seemed to casually toss out the observation.
Bridget tensed. She hadn’t mentioned anything to Jim about Jonas. Prior to the party, she hadn’t known he would be here. Once he’d surprised her in the kitchen, she hadn’t wanted to call attention to the fact that she had an old boyfriend present.
“You two used to know each other?” The possibility hadn’t seemed to occur to Jim until that moment.
Her gaze ricocheted from his curious look and was encountered and caught by the cynically amused light in Jonas’s eyes. The hard line of his mouth twitched slightly.
“Bridget and I knew each other very well,” Jonas answered.
Her cheeks flamed at his dry, suggestive tone, the heat spreading through every inch of her body. Jim’s arm slid down to her shoulders, firmly staking the claim he hadn’t thought necessary at first.
“That was a long time ago, Jonas,” she breathed in resentment, flashing him an angry look.
“So you said before,” he returned with a glint of skepticism that said time had no bearing on the matter.
Considering the havoc he was raising with her senses, Bridget was afraid he was right and she didn’t want him to be. His gaze flicked to the empty glass in her hand.
“Would you like me to refill that for you?” Jonas offered.
“Yes, please,” Bridget answered. She would have said anything to have him gone.
“I’ll get it for you.” Jim reached for the glass she had started to hand to Jonas. His air was definitely possessive, making it clear that he took care of Bridget’s needs, not Jonas.
Shrugging, Jonas seemed to accept Jim’s claim and didn’t argue. Bridget couldn’t protest. Only when Jim was walking away did she notice the satisfied curve to his mouth that indicated Jonas had guessed what Jim’s reaction would be. He had been left alone with her the way he had planned. Bridget felt suddenly vulnerable.
“Afraid?” Jonas challenged in a treacherously low voice.
“Of what?” Her hazel eyes were deliberately blank and innocent.
“Of being alone with me,” he explained.
“Don’t be silly, Jonas,” she said, angered that he could sense her reaction.
His jaw tightened, a mask stealing over his face to make his expression unreadable. He lowered his gaze to the amber liquid in the glass in his hand.
“Why didn’t you tell me your husband was dead, Bridget?” he demanded.
