Thorne's Way

Chapter 1

The shrill whine of the engines increased in volume as the executive jet charged down the runway. With an arrogant-looking lift to its pointed nose, the plane soared into the deep blue of the late afternoon sky.

Unfastening the confining seat belt, Valerie shifted into a more comfortable position in the overstuffed chair. Her hand idly smoothing the velour-covered arm of the chair, she let her eyes roam over the plane’s fantastic interior.

Except for the fact that she knew she was thousands of feet above the ground, she could have been sitting in a small, plush living room. The carpet beneath her feet was deep pile, the color of antique gold. Near the rear of the compartment was a gleaming walnut cabinet that opened into a well-stocked bar. The seven other chairs in the compartment were exactly like the one she sat on, overstuffed loungers in varying shades of brown.

A brief smile tugged the corners of her mouth as her eyes rested on the woman sitting on one of those chairs. At the moment the swivel chair was turned to the side and all Valerie could see was her friend’s profile and the curly cap of her light brown hair. Her head was bent over a small stack of papers on her lap and when her full, red lips moved Valerie heard the soft murmur of her voice, although her words did not register. A much deeper, though equally soft voice came in reply and Valerie’s eyes sought the source of that voice.

The man sitting opposite the curly-haired woman spoke again in that low, soft voice, but as before, the actual content of his words did not reach Valerie. His head was bent also as he studied a paper held in his long-fingered hand. She could see only his profile, not his complete face. But then, she did not have to see his full face. The look of him had been imprinted on her mind at first sight. Glancing away, Valerie closed her eyes and let her mind wander back to that first meeting less than an hour ago.

They had arrived at the airport, she and Janet, flustered and out of breath and five minutes early. The dark blue Mercedes limo had glided smoothly to a stop exactly on time. Before the car’s engine could be shut off, the door to the back seat was flung open and a dark masculine figure became visible. There was a moment’s hesitation, as if the man had paused to say something to the other occupant of the back seat, and then he purposefully exited the car.

The first thing that struck Valerie was the fact that the hair at his temples was almost the exact silver-gray color of his suit. That observation fled, replaced by a series of others as the man straightened to his full height of over six feet.

From the distance that separated them, Valerie’s immediate impression was that he was in his late forties or early fifties. But that impression was contradicted by his athletic physique. His face was lean and dark. The cheeks were high, the jaw and chin thrustingly firm, the nose long and hawkish. His thin, compressed lips were a slashing, straight line in his face. The overall picture was of harsh lines and smooth planes and—when he got close enough for her to see his cold blue-gray eyes—rock hard determination. Oddly at variance with the dark-skinned, hard image, his head was covered with a thick, silky-looking crop of wavy ash-blond hair, gone silver-gray at the sides.

He had not paused as he’d drawn near the two women, but had merely nodded curtly and continued in his long-legged stride toward the gleaming white jet poised on the tarmac, awaiting his convenience.

Pushing the button that lowered her chair into a reclining position, Valerie adjusted her body to fit the contour of the seat. A hint of sharpness in the low, male tone scattered her wandering thoughts. Lifting her eyelids fractionally she centered her violet eyes on the man before her.

With studied indifference she noted how the material of his pants stretched tautly over the long, hard thigh that crossed his left leg. Through her lashes she examined with detachment the broad, long-fingered hand as it was raised to rake through ash-blond waves.

Valerie knew now that her first impression had been erroneous. There had been no contradiction between age and body. It was obvious from the supple way he moved that the man was in his prime—probably not more than forty or forty-one.

Had Valerie been impressionable, or looking for a man, she might have reached the decision that this particular male was the most exciting and interesting-looking specimen she’d ever encountered. And had she done so, she would have been joining a long line of women who had reached the same conclusion. But as she was neither impressionable nor interested, she could sum up her opinion of him in one word—formidable.

Despite her yawning indifference Valerie could imagine the impact he had on most people. For a fleeting moment even her detachment had been pierced when, just before they boarded the plane, a sleek-looking Porsche came to a tire-screeching stop alongside the Mercedes and an elegantly dressed woman jumped out to run, very inelegantly, toward the plane, calling, Darling, wait!

A grimace of extreme annoyance had twisted his mouth and Valerie had, surprisingly, felt a flash of anger when he’d turned his back and entered the plane with a coldly ordered Get rid of her to the uniformed steward.

Stunned by his callousness, Valerie had stared at the empty portal in disbelief until her companion had nudged her forward, advising tersely: Go inside unless you want to witness the histrionics. This one’s an actress and I can just imagine the performance she’ll put on for Parker in her attempt to get on the plane to him.

Parker, of course, being the luckless steward.

Valerie had entered the plane just as the woman had begun her pleading, and not really wanting to feel anything, let alone compassion, she sighed with relief when, after she had stepped into the small plush compartment, the door was closed behind her, shutting off all outside noises.

Her amazement on entering the compartment had wiped all thoughts of the elegant woman from Valerie’s mind. Standing transfixed, she had gazed around, bemused. She had been on private planes before. One had even been jet propelled, but never had she seen anything like the luxury displayed before her now. The abrupt movement of the man as he came to stand in front of her broke her rapt concentration on the lavish appointments of the plane’s interior. Her eyes focused on the large hand extended to her at the same time his cool, deep voice reached her ears.

I gather you are Valerie Jordan?

Stiffening at his clipped, insolent tone, Valerie nodded shortly and answered with a frigid, Yes.

A tiny, icy shiver went tiptoeing down her spine at the way his eyes narrowed on her face.

Jonas Thorne, he snapped curtly, barely touching her fingers before dropping his hand. Your employer.

The emphasis he’d placed on his last statement left little doubt in Valerie’s mind that her coldness annoyed him. What, she asked herself, had he expected? A genuflection? A torrent of gushing thanks for being granted the privilege of her new position? Straightening to her full five feet three inches, she stared into his cold, blue-gray eyes unflinchingly.

"You do want the job, Miss Jordan?" The iciness of his tone sent another chilling tingle down her spine. There was a definite warning woven into that simple question. Even in her indifference Valerie did not miss the message within that warning, and she knew, without a doubt, that he would dump her back onto the tarmac without hesitation if her answer did not please him.

Yes, sir.

Valerie felt no shame in her meekly voiced reply. She was indifferent, not stupid. And to be rejected by him now, through her own perverseness, would be sheer stupidity. She did not like him, but that was unimportant. She did not have to like him. If she found herself, now, standing on the tarmac watching as his plane became a black dot on the horizon, she would be not only without employment, but without a place to live or funds to fall back on, in a country that was not her own. Only a fool was that indifferent.

Apparently her answer suited him, for he turned away with a curtly ordered, You had better sit down and buckle up. We will be taking off shortly.

Now, studying his harsh profile through the inky screen of her long black lashes, Valerie had the uncomfortable feeling that she’d allowed herself to be pushed in the wrong direction. Shifting her gaze, she studied the curly headed ball of energy who had done the pushing.

As if she could feel Valerie’s brooding perusal, Janet Peterson glanced up. The gentle smile that touched Janet’s lips fleetingly told Valerie that her friend thought she was asleep. Valerie made no move to correct Janet’s impression. She knew Janet was concerned about her health—both physical and mental—so she allowed the older woman the satisfaction of believing that she was enjoying the sleep of contentment.

She’s obviously sleeping. The conclusion came from Jonas Thorne in an unconcerned, emotionless tone. Then the tone took on a sardonic inflection as he added, bitingly, You surprise me, Janet. I had no idea you had latent maternal instincts.

Although she remained still, a startlingly strong curl of anger flashed through Valerie’s mind. How dare he attack Janet like that? Janet had done nothing the whole previous week but sing his praises, and here he sat slinging verbal abuse at her. The soft chuckle with which Janet received his insult added shock to Valerie’s anger.

I suppose the instinct is in every woman. It’s just buried deeper in some than in others. Janet replied calmly. Valerie has inspired protective feelings in me from the first day I met her seven years ago. Janet paused, then her voice took on a pleading quality that touched Valerie’s unwilling conscience. I promise you won’t be sorry about this, Jonas.

We’ll see, came the disbelieving retort.

His tone left little doubt in Valerie’s mind that he firmly believed he would be sorry. It was at that moment that Valerie decided to prove him wrong. The decision made, she lowered her lids entirely and allowed her thoughts to drift back over the events that had led to her present unenviable position.

Etienne.

Just thinking his name caused pain. Swallowing a moan, Valerie let an image of him form in her mind. At five feet nine inches, he had been only six inches taller than she, and yet she had looked up to him as to a god. Etienne, with his Gallic darkness of skin, hair and eyes, and the classic, aesthetically beautiful face.

Was it possible it was only a little over a year since she had glanced up from her typewriter on hearing someone enter the office, to encounter his dark eyes fastened on her? Even now she could feel the thrill that had twisted pleasurably in her midsection. He had literally stolen her breath and heart with that one warm, caressing glance.

Valerie had known, without conceit, that she was very good at her job as private secretary to the manager of the Paris office of J.T. Electronics. Yet, caught by Etienne’s warm-eyed glance, she had sounded like an inarticulate, inexperienced fledgling.

Can I—uh, may I help you, sir? she’d stuttered, a warm stain flushing her creamy cheeks.

"Yes, you may, mignon."

The smile he had bestowed on her had scattered her senses. His charmingly accented voice melted her spine. You may help me enormously by saying you’ll have dinner with me this evening.

That had been the beginning. She had said yes, of course. In her awe of him she could not have refused him anything. She had gone out with him every night for a week and by the end of that week she was hopelessly in love.

Etienne was everything she had ever dreamed of and never hoped to find. Intelligent, urbane and charming—he was all these. But what captured Valerie’s heart was the deep streak of tenderness he was unafraid of displaying. He proposed to her six weeks after their first meeting. She had accepted at once, unable to believe her good fortune. But the most amazing thing of all was Etienne’s fervently confessed adoration of her.

Valerie had been in France for six years, having requested a transfer to the Paris office of J.T. Electronics soon after her twentieth birthday. Young and eager to taste life, she had availed herself of every opportunity to meet new people and see as much as possible of the country.

Small, delicately boned and wafer thin, she realized without vanity that she was not unattractive. What Valerie had never seen in her mirrored image was the elusively haunting beauty of her small, heart-shaped face, a quality that instilled envy in most women, and the urge to protect in all men. She knew, of course, that her pale-skinned face, large violet eyes, and long, wavy black hair were appealing to men. But she innocently had no idea of exactly how appealing she was. And the fact that she was, so obviously, innocent tripled her appeal. And so, in the years she’d spent in Paris before she met Etienne, Valerie had had no lack of male companionship.

Valerie was not a prude. She was, in a word, fastidious, and she had remained innocent for one reason only. She simply could not engage in indiscriminate sex, and, until Etienne, she had not been aroused enough, either physically or emotionally, to take the final step into full womanhood.

For months she was gloriously happy. It had been early February when they met, and as spring came to breathe new life into Paris, Valerie blossomed in the warmth of Etienne’s love. Declaring he could not possibly endure a long engagement, he set the wedding day for the end of May.

Breathless and starry-eyed, Valerie had blinked back tears of happiness as Etienne slipped an exquisitely beautiful ruby-stoned engagement ring on her small finger. She had not been able to keep the tears from rolling down her cheeks when he lifted his handsome head and declared reverently that he would love her forever.

For Valerie and Etienne, forever was to be a very short time.

Blissfully unaware of what the future held, Valerie delighted in the spring weeks they spent together. The weekend after he’d proposed Etienne drove her to his parents’ home some miles outside of Paris. The French countryside was bursting with new life, as were the parklike grounds that enclosed the very old, very lovely château that was her beloved’s birthplace.

Madame and Monsieur DeBron greeted Valerie like a long-lost daughter, and Etienne’s older brother Jean-Paul teased her from the beginning as outrageously as he would have teased a much loved younger sister.

In a state of rosy-hued euphoria, Valerie soared on cloud nine as Etienne introduced her to his friends and favorite places. Never had she enjoyed the sights and sounds of Paris more. Never had she thrilled so deeply to its history and antiquities.

Although Etienne had whispered lovingly that he wished to wait until the wedding night to savor the fullness of their love, in a moment of overwhelming passion, he broke his own self-imposed time limit.

They had had a rare evening alone together and after a leisurely dinner had returned to Valerie’s tiny apartment for a good-night drink. For a half hour or so they relaxed on her low sofa with good brandy and quiet conversation. It was the first time in weeks that they had been alone together in the evening, as their many friends had feted them nightly with dinners and prewedding parties.

Do you know, I have missed you very much? Etienne had said as he placed his empty glass on her small coffee table.

Missed me? Valerie had laughed. But, darling, we’ve been together every evening.

Yes, together, but not alone. A rueful smile curved his perfectly formed lips. And, on bringing you home I have had to be satisfied with a quick good-night kiss. His lips turned up into an enticing smile and he held his arms out to her. Come, let me hold you a moment before I must leave.

Valerie didn’t need further coaxing. She had been longing for the feel of his arms and the touch of his lips on hers.

Etienne’s kiss began as a tender exploration, but, as Valerie parted her lips with a sigh, she heard him groan and then his kiss deepened with hunger.

Oh, my precious life, he’d groaned in husky English as he dropped tiny kisses over her face. These last weeks have been torment for me, being so close to you yet unable to hold you, touch you, kiss you properly.

They were the last words he’d said to her in English that night. As each successive kiss became more urgent with desire, he whispered age-old words of love, made excitingly new to Valerie, in his own tongue.

Not once had it even occurred to Valerie to try to stop him. When he had lifted her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom she had curled her arms around his neck and murmured, Yes, yes, against his heated skin.

Caressing the silkiness of her body with reverent sweetness, Etienne had tenderly prepared her for their lovemaking. Very, very gently he led her into the knowledge of physical pleasures. Inside the safety of his lightly stroking hands and his whispered words of adoration, Valerie had felt not one moment of fear. When it was over, and she lay within the glow of his love, and the circle of his arms, Valerie’s heart was filled to overflowing with happiness and contentment.

Six days later, after yet another prewedding party, that happiness was shattered. Her world came crashing about her head as a drunken driver sent his vehicle skidding across a rain-wet road to crash head-on into Etienne’s car.

Telling herself there had to be some sort of mistake, Valerie had rushed to the hospital where Etienne was being treated. Some seven hours later Valerie stood staring at the still, pale face of the man on the bed and felt hope trickle out of her life like sands from an hourglass.

Reality seemed to recede as she glanced around in a desperate effort to maintain some point of contact with the real world. But there was no reality for her in the people around her—Etienne’s parents, his brother, the doctor in charge of the case—or in the room itself, or even in the knowledge that the room was in a small private hospital several miles outside Paris. Indeed, even the magical word Paris, which she had learned to love during the last six years of her life, held no concrete reality.

No, for Valerie, at 6:15 on a stormy May morning, the only reality existed in that still pale man lying on the sterile-looking bed. Recognizing in that man the lover she’d laughed and danced with only ten hours earlier was a task she was finding next to impossible.

In her imagination the form on the bed changed. For fleeting seconds he became again the smilingly gallant man who had toasted her, his fiancée, such a short time before. After the