Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jennifer couldn’t believe their romantic weekend in New York had been tossed into disarray because of a murder. Well, that’s not true. She could believe it. She just couldn’t believe it. 

But all that madness was in the past, and she was curled up beside Jonathan in a horse drawn carriage being pulled through Central Park. It was a chivalrous and slightly dated choice, but the sweet romance of it all turned her insides to warm honey. 

Jonathan was her gorgeous prince, her brave knight in shining armor, and he would do anything - anything at all - to make her happy. 

With Jennifer tucked up to his side, Jonathan was on top of the world. He had a certain fondness for carriages and every time they rode in one he was reminded of the carriage in London. They were newly engaged and not-so-newly attracted to each other. She’d touched his thigh and his whole body quivered, but he’d asked Max to take them the long way around. 

He’d taken his time on that ride, kissing and touching her, stoking their desire so that when they arrived at the Ritz, they were tripping over themselves to make it up to the room. 

Her eyes were rich honey amber. Her hair was bright, copper he thought, a beacon that drew him in. Her skin was velvet and her curves were so, so very soft. 

He might not have known his name, or where he’d been, but he knew one thing.

He wanted her. 

When she touched him, it was as though she could read his mind. She knew what would please him better than he knew himself. He wanted to please her. He wanted to be the man she was missing, to erase the sorrow from her face and replace it with ecstasy. 

Jennifer’s mind was a jumble, confused by the conflicting emotions. It felt…wrong somehow, to be making love with her husband. Because he wasn’t her husband. 

And yet. He was.

He sighed into her mouth when she ran her toes up his calf, like he always did. 

He groaned and chuckled when he hefted her breast in his palm, his mouth closing over the nipple through her nightdress. 

Every sensation was identical - his scent, his weight, the press of him between her thighs. 

It was all exactly the same, but different. 

“I love you,” He moaned when he came. As always.

Jennifer felt silly, really, for being jealous. Of course she didn’t doubt Jonathan’s faithfulness.

Still, Dominique had been a version of her. Different and yet the same. It stood to reason that if Jonathan was attracted to her (a fact she knew to be wholly true) then he must have been attracted to Dominique.

Attracted enough to kiss her. Enough to kiss her and convince Althea of his sincerity.

She recognized his teasing tone, his devilish little grin as he tried to cajole her out of her strange mood and she had no intention of caving.

Then he touched her.

Jonathan’s wife was sophisticated, educated, kind, and so fucking sexy.

She could also be a little bit silly, thinking he could enjoy kissing Dominique or compare her kisses to that of Jennifer.

Of course, she had no way to know that he had been living those few days so terrified of not seeing Jennifer again, he couldn’t focus on anything else.

Certainly not a woman who looked a bit like Jennifer but the resemblance ended there.

Jennifer Edwards Hart was his soulmate, if he believed in such things.

His head could never be turned, because his heart belonged to her.

Jonathan watched Jennifer wriggle in her discomfort. She was no stranger to the occasional proposition. She was gorgeous and kind and that combination was intoxicating for most men (and the occasional woman). He should know. 

This was their first proposition as a couple, though, and he had to admit he was sort of flattered.

Flattered, but entirely uninterested in ‘wrestling’ with anybody besides Jennifer. 

He had to swallow back a chuckle when Jennifer declined their kind invitation without actually declining it. Instead she gave a witty rejoinder so as not to embarrass the doctor and Ruby. 

Jonathan could only grin.

As invitations went, “boys against girls” in a wrestling match (a euphemism if ever she’d heard one) was one of the more exotic ones. She had to give them credit for their imagination.

You’d think landing in a wheelchair would have turned Dr. Cobb off the sport. 

He was looking at Jennifer as though she was a delectable dessert just waiting to be enjoyed.

Jonathan was watching her in amusement and she decided she’d be putting her husband in the Argentinian back-breaker when they got home. 

And failing that, she’d just wrap her thighs around his head until he yielded. 

What were you doing with your hand in his pocket, Mrs Hart?” Jennifer stuttered, unable to come up with a response. 

Stanley waved her off, finally realizing how that sounded, and that was that. 

Except now she couldn’t stop thinking about why she’d had her hand in Jonathan’s pocket. 

How she’d been so worked up, she’d grasped for him through the thin material of his slacks. How he’d shifted into her grasp and moaned into her hair.

How the cool metal had tickled the back of her hand and she’d withdrawn the bug, confused and irritated by the small interruption. 

It had taken Jonathan a few extra seconds to realize what his wife had been holding - the small bug she’d drawn from his pocket.

It wasn’t his fault - all of his blood had flown south at the first touch of her fingers. He should have been more concerned about the listening device, but he’d simply tossed it out into the hallway and closed the bedroom door. 

“Jon–” He swallowed Jennifer’s objection and maneuvered her backwards towards the bed, urging her hand back to his crotch. 

“We’ll worry about it later,” He had said, desperation making his words low and strangled.

Jennifer was his goddess. 

She glowed in her white dress, the gems sparkling along her collar accentuating her elegant neck. 

With her hair pulled back, the emphasis was on her eyes, boundless and bright and god. Jonathan’s hands itched to take down her hair, to wrap the strands around his fingers and bend her back to feast on her throat. 

He settled for pulling her close to steal a kiss. 

She would outshine even the pharaohs at this shindig. The envy of every woman and the desire of every man. 

And he would be the one to bring her home. 

Perhaps the cufflinks were a little much. Although on Jonathan, they would look as stylish as anything. He just had that way about him. 

She didn’t want to smudge her makeup, and she would chastise him severely if he mussed her hair. Even so, she stepped into his arms for a kiss. He was devilishly handsome in his tux and when he gave her that silly line about neglecting her studies…

Max’s interruption was as timely as ever and she had to chuckle as she stepped out of her husband’s arms. 

She’d let him muss her all he wanted… later.

Jennifer was still reclined in Jonathan’s arms, her wine gone and her words loose. 

“Did I ever tell you that London wasn’t the first time I saw you?” She asked, setting her glass aside. Jonathan’s startled look made her chuckle. “The Los Angeles to Honolulu race.”

He looked out over the water, his brow furrowed, thinking back. 

“I won that race.” 

“Mmmhmm,” She nodded. “And Elliot Manning lost. He was furious - called you every name in the book. And some even I’d never heard before.”

She’d spent hours trying to cajole Elliot out of his foul mood. To no avail.

Jonathan thought back to the adrenaline rush of winning such a prestigious race. He’d gone to shake Elliot’s hand and for a moment thought the other man wouldn’t meet him. 

“You were here with Elliot?” She’d never mentioned him before, not even when they’d exchanged histories. She told him all about Andy, but not Elliot. 

“I was. But I flew home early.” There was more there, he thought, but she didn’t elaborate. “And then six months later, we met in London.”

“And fell in love.” 

Her smile was as blinding as the sunset over the water. “And fell in love.”

Jonathan really, really needed to rethink his decision to keep a telephone in the bedroom. There was no way he needed to be so accessible that he couldn’t even have a little bit of Sunday afternoon delight with his favorite redhead. 

Bored by Jennifer’s split attention, Jonathan decided to challenge himself. He wanted to see if he could get her to make one of those sounds. One of those heady, erotic sounds she only made when she was consumed with lust. 

Could he make her whimper into the phone, or could he make her hang up before it dared happen?

Jennifer couldn’t really pay attention to the woman on the phone asking after Max. Not when Jonathan was nibbling at her earlobe, breathing heavily into her ear. His erection was unmistakable between them and Jennifer nearly dropped the handset when Jonathan flattened his tongue against her throat and licked all the way up to the ticklish spot behind her ear. 

He was all around her and her thoughts were muzzy. The woman - Pearl? - said something about being married to Max when Jonathan’s hands slid up her inner thigh.

They definitely had to get rid of this stupid bedside telephone. 

Soon.

Normally, Jennifer wouldn’t object to Jonathan wandering around in nothing but his robe and house shoes. Matter of fact, she enjoyed the easy access most of the time. But he’d already slid his hand into the admittedly low neck of her dress once to palm her breast. If he tried it again, they’d most certainly be late.

She knew he was only half-heartedly seducing her. He grumbled about having to attend the opera but he knew she’d make it up to him. It was all a part of the intricate dance of these evenings.

They would both enjoy themselves. Immensely.

Jonathan didn’t hate the opera. He usually napped very well until intermission when he would follow Jennifer out for a glass of wine and a bit of fresh air. She would gush over the music, her eyes bright with musical euphoria. Just before the lights would dim for the second half, she’d lean over and whisper her plan for later. How she wanted him to take her. She’d hold his hand through the end of the performance, rubbing her fingers over his until his scalp tingled.

Sometimes they made it all the way home. Jonathan did not hate the opera.

Jonathan’s eyes had widened when she took off the satin jacket and tossed it at him. She was supposed to go in first and she grinned at his low whistle of appreciation. 

“Let’s go back home.” He said, voice strangled as he followed the line of her chain to the shadowy valley between her breasts. 

“You’re going to have to work for this.” She bumped the car door closed with her hip. She crossed the parking lot feeling his eyes on her, so she put an extra swivel to her hips.

She’d give him a little something to think about.

 Jennifer was a walking sin.

His skin prickled as he watched her cross the lot. He wasn’t prone to fits of jealousy, but she’d left her ring in his safe-keeping. She was terrifyingly fair game. A man craned to watch Jennifer’s tight ass as she passed, and Jonathan’s fingers flexed into a fist. 

At the door she turned back and blew him a kiss.

Thoughts of Stanley were replaced by the fantasy of tempting her into a bathroom stall and pumping his fingers into her molten heat until she quivered against him.

But that would have to wait. Until later. 

“And don’t forget the backseat of my 1968 Jaguar.”

He wouldn’t. Not ever. 

He wouldn’t forget the bright mischief in her eyes after she pushed him into the backseat, or the way his thoughts hung when her lush lips closed over him for the first time. 

She stole his breath with her fearlessness and the searingly erotic sounds of pleasure she made. 

He saw God in the backseat of that Jag, when he’d come so hard into her mouth (and so fast. Embarrassingly fast) he’s pretty sure he blacked out and only regained consciousness when she finished buttoning his fly. 

Jennifer chuckled. “I’m sorry I asked.”

She hadn’t thought about that afternoon in years. Although she had to admit it was pretty memorable stuff. Especially when Max had scared ten years off their lives. He’d knocked on the window not long after Jennifer pulled her head out of Jonathan’s lap, triumphant. Her self-satisfaction dissolved at the thought of being caught by the older man. She and Jonathan resolved to do better in the future, promising they would keep their antics primarily to the bedroom. They resolved, but weren’t always successful.

The kitchen, couch, pool, and bar could attest to that.

It amazed Jennifer how quickly the passion between them could flare into something uncontrollable. One moment they were discussing redecoration and the next he was walking her back towards the desk, his hands undoing the belt of her robe. 

“The bed,” he said by way of explanation, dropping the samurai mask behind him, “is too full of souvenirs to be useful.”

She didn’t bother to ask “for what”, since he was already hefting her onto the desk and dropping to his knees between her thighs. 

Whatever thoughts she had of redecoration were lost, which was probably his intention all along.

Jennifer was bare under her robe, and the thought had been so distracting that Jonathan let himself get carried away. 

They’d only arrived back from Japan the day before and slept thirteen hours before unpacking. If he were counting (and he didn’t say he wasn’t), that meant it had been nearly 72 hours since he’d last made love to his wife. 

An untenable situation if ever there was one. 

The red silk parted, revealing acres of pale skin and Jonathan was so overwhelmed he buried his face in the apex of her thighs and groaned his pleasure. 

He was home.

"Did I ever compliment you on your perfect timing?”

“Yes,” Jennifer wrapped her arms tight around his neck, pressing close. “But never in public.”

Which wasn’t entirely true. There was the time they’d been anchored in Avalon and thought themselves to be alone. It was only once they were sweaty and panting that the sounds of a party on a nearby boat caught their attention.

Then there was Cabo San Lucas, in the surf at sunset. Jennifer slipped her hands into his swim trunks, not relenting until he moaned into her neck. Not exactly public, but not exactly private either.

There was a flush up the back of Jonathan’s neck as they started home. Jennifer hadn’t meant to allude to anything with her words, but knew as soon as they were out of her mouth exactly what he was thinking. 

It always happened like this once the danger had passed. Adrenaline still coursed through them, searching for an outlet. 

More often than not, the outlet found them naked and tangled together on the nearest surface.

She fidgeted the entire ride home, shifting in her seat until Jonathan’s palm cupped her knee and squeezed in sympathy.

Hopefully they’d make it upstairs.

Jennifer was looking forward to returning to her own identity. Being the Countess was exhausting, as was warding off the doctor’s advances while simultaneously lusting over her own personal steward. 

Sneaking around to be together wasn’t usual for them, so Jonathan’s late night visits to her cabin were illicit and delicious. 

He would slip into bed with her, hands immediately finding her sleep-warmed skin and drawing her against him, cursing quietly to find her naked beneath the covers. 

“Ease of access,” She murmured, smiling into his kiss. 

“What’s your pleasure?” He panted, pushing her thighs wide and settling between.

“You.”

It amazed Jonathan how many times he had been propositioned in his short employment on the ship. Lonely widows and wives, all seeking out his undivided attention. He would grin cheerily and attend to their various tasks, all the while craning his neck to catch a glimpse of his wife. 

She sparkled on the arm of the doctor, and the man was lucky Jonathan didn’t actually intend to set him on fire. 

Instead he settled between Jennifer’s thighs, inhaling deeply of her intoxicating scent before burying his mouth against her. 

“Jesus,” Jennifer gasped from above, grinding herself against his lips. 

Jonathan crumpled to the floor, hoping his performance was believable. Jennifer clutched his arm, kneeling over him. He could feel her staring at him, feel the tension in her fingers. 

They discussed this at length, and her eyes sparkled with tears as they planned his “murder”. After his second joke about her being his sole beneficiary fell flat, he decided to take her to bed and remind her that he was very much alive. 

He kissed away the wetness on her cheeks and promised her it would be all right. 

She didn’t let go of him all through the night. 

Jennifer knew it was all play-acting. And she knew once they were safe, Jonathan would open his eyes and flash that devastating grin. He would reincarnate as Fritz and they would smoke out the killer like they always did. 

But this moment, staring down at his unmoving body, was what she had feared more than anything. She couldn’t be convincing as his widow because if this moment were real, her life would be ending as surely as his. The very notion turned her blood to ice.

The very notion was a grief she wouldn’t entertain prematurely, not even for him.

Jennifer felt numb. Diane wasn’t the first, third or even tenth dead body Jennifer had seen. But she was the very first person that Jennifer watched die. She was just on the other side of the door. Surely she could have done something…

Jonathan sat beside her on the couch, moving incrementally closer, his concern palpable between them.  

Not for the first time, Jonathan assured her there wasn’t anything she could have done to help Diane and Jennifer knew it was true. The reality of it made her feel helpless and she hated so very much to feel helpless.

Jonathan was extremely concerned. Jennifer was exhausted. She was curled in on herself, arms crossed over her middle. He recognized the defensive posture and wanted to get her home and safely tucked in their bed.

Jennifer might feel misplaced guilt over being so close to a murder, but Jonathan could only feel gratitude. However selfish it might be, he’d rather it have been anyone other than Jennifer. His life would have ended if Jennifer had tried to intervene and instead gotten herself stabbed, and the very thought of finding her crumpled in her own blood froze the blood in his veins.

In Jonathan’s estimations, there had been far too many close calls involving his wife’s safety recently. It had been a stupid decision for him to leave her alone in the hospital in the first place. He tried not to be overprotective once, and Jennifer witnessed yet another murder. 

He had, for a moment, thought perhaps it had been the concussion…but the pure determination on his wife’s face told him he had to believe her. She counted on him to believe her. 

So, rather than abandon her to the winds of fate once more, he climbed into the bed beside her.

If Jonathan had not agreed to stay with her, Jennifer wasn’t sure she would last another night in the hospital. She didn’t like hospitals - they reminded her too much of death and loss. She knew if she pitched too much of a fit, Jonathan would have hired a nurse to come to Willow Pond for the night to keep an eye on her. 

But that would have been extravagant and ridiculous, and Jennifer tried not to be either of those things. 

The comfort of Jonathan’s lips against her, his hands wrapped around her waist, ensured she would sleep very well.

“Will you take it easy, you’re going to melt my ice cubes.” Jennifer laughed. After all, that was sort of the idea. 

She hated to see Jonathan injured, no matter how impressive he looked chasing down the bad guys. Her heart had lodged in her throat at his spectacular tumble and she was so grateful that all he had to show for it was a bump. 

The last time he came home with a head injury, he spent a few days with amnesia. That was something Jennifer had no intention of repeating.

Even if the sex was absolutely mind blowing. 

Jonathan’s skull really didn’t hurt all that bad, but he wasn’t about to rob Jennifer of the chance to take care of him. All joking aside, he’d seen the flash of terror in her eyes as he’d struggled to his feet. The room blinked into darkness and the ice pack disappeared from his head, Jennifer’s hands making quick work of his pajama top. 

He swore he saw fireworks in the darkness when she traced his nipple with a cube of ice between her teeth before closing her mouth over the sensitized flesh.

Ice to fire.

 Jonathan smothered a rough curse.

What headache? Jonathan swiveled his eyes from the road to look over his wife. She kept her gaze trained out the windshield, but he could see the flicker of impish glee flash over her features. 

She waited until he made the deal. 

Jonathan flew with a lot of talented and loyal men over the years. But there was no better wingman in life or love than his wife. 

She really was very clever and he really did hate Butterfield’s parties. 

“But the most important thing of all, is that I don’t have a headache anymore.”

Jonathan stepped on the gas. 

She’d waited until the men finished their drinks and shook hands to seal the deal. 

There was fatigue in Jonathan’s eyes, beneath the satisfaction of a deal well made, and Jennifer knew that was her cue. 

There were endless dinner parties and business meetings to attend, but that didn’t mean they had to stay to the bitter end. 

Jonathan was both amused and appreciative of her efforts to get them both out of a rather boring evening and anticipation simmered.

So of course they came home to a ransacked house, a tied up Max, and Freeway in the cabinet.

Again.