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Unconsciously, she turned the plain gold band on her finger, a nervous, protective reaction to his sudden change of the subject.
“I assumed you knew,” she answered truthfully. “Everyone here does.”
“I didn’t know until Bob mentioned it.” There was an impatient snap to his answer, followed by an equally sharp glance. “You seem so matter-of-fact about it.”
“Brian has been dead a long time. Life goes on,” Bridget defended herself, bridling at his implied censure.
“Why do you still wear a wedding ring?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Again he let his gaze concentrate on the beer in his glass. “Did you love him?”
“That really doesn’t deserve an answer,” she hissed in pain and anger, nearly choking from the tightness in her throat, “not if you think I would let a man father my child without loving him.”
Jonas glanced at her but seemed otherwise unaffected by her indignant outburst. If anything, he seemed a little dubious.
“Oh. I suppose you loved him as much as you claimed to love me.” Although it was spoken smoothly, there was a sarcastic bite to the statement.
“No,” Bridget retorted in kind. “I didn’t make the same mistake twice.”
“Where did you meet this Brian—” Jonas waited for her to fill in the blank.
“O’Shea, Brian O’Shea,” she obliged and hesitated. There was no reason not to answer his question. Anyone in the room could tell him the story. “After you—left, mother thought I should get away for a while, so I went to stay with her sister in Pittsburgh. Brian was her husband’s nephew.”
“Ah, yes, your mother.” His tone was cold. “I suppose she approved of Brian.”
“Yes. He was a good man, gentle and understanding, two things I needed very desperately at the time.” Without realizing it, Bridget got up, unable to continue the conversation.
Fluidly, Jonas rose to stop her, his fingers circling her wrist. “I figured you were hurt when I left,” he admitted, “but it couldn’t have meant all that much.”
Didn’t it? Look at my heart,she wanted to cry. But Bridget kept silent, preferring to let him believe that she had gotten over him whether it was true or not.
“So what happened? How did—Brian die?” He almost growled the other man’s name.
“In a car crash. Instantly.” Her words were clipped and to the point.
“And you went running home to mama,” Jonas concluded.
“Within a few months, yes.” Her chin lifted to a proud angle, but she didn’t let her gaze rise to meet his. “It isn’t easy to cope when you’re young and alone and have a small child. And I was homesick for Vermont. I didn’t like the city.”
“And what about Jim? What is he to you?” His fingers tightened ever so slightly around her wrist, then relaxed.
“Does it matter?” Bridget protested, darting him an angry look.
“It shouldn’t but it does.” He let her go as if he regretted admitting it. At the wary light in her eyes, he gave a little groan and swore beneath his breath. “And I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“You’re right about that. My entire life is none of your business.”
“Got it. No more questions. Pretend we’re strangers then. Let’s dance.”
“No.”
But he was already propelling her to an empty space in the living room and turning her into his arms. Bridget couldn’t object without creating a scene. Besides, if she protested too strongly Jonas might suspect how vulnerable she still was where he was concerned.
The firm hand at the back of her waist forced her to dance close to him, the muscular hardness of his thighs brushing against hers. Bridget stared at the open collar of his shirt, fighting the dizzying sensation of being in his arms again.
Her hand rested lightly on his shoulder as she tried not to feel the warmth of his flesh burning through the white of his shirt. His hand began to roam slowly over her lower back and spine, melting her resistance. His touch felt so familiar … and it felt so good to be near him. It felt right. When Jonas bent his head, she had to close her eyes as his breath stirred the hair along her neck.
