A Bride for Jackson Powers (Desire, 1273) (7 page)

She said, “Maybe chicken again.”

It was the strangest thing. Hetty couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something was different. Tonight they sat across the table, dining together on a room-service dinner, neither of them listening to the all-news station Jax had turned on when he’d first come in.

They’d done more or less the same thing last night, but then they’d both been exhausted, travel-stained and worried.

Tonight was different. It could have been the hot
bath, or the sip or two of wine—she hated to waste anything that cost so much. Whatever the cause, for reasons she couldn’t begin to understand, Hetty was acutely aware of her body in a way she hadn’t been since the early days of her marriage.

“Did you find everything you needed today?” He broke off half a roll and topped it with butter.

“Mercy, more than enough. Wait’ll you see the bills.”

“Have some more wine.”

“No, thank you. I thought about getting a stroller and a playpen, but decided I’d better ask you first.”

Jax topped off her wineglass, which had hardly been touched, then watched as she sipped it. She tilted her head as if surprised, then sipped again. “You know, it’s not at all bad once you get used to it. The only other wine I’ve ever tasted was sickly sweet.”

“Buy whatever you need. Lina can tell you where I have accounts.”

“I spent an enormous amount today, I hope you don’t mind. And you need to know in case you ever have to buy diapers again that they come in two different styles. Girls and boys.”

“You’re kidding.” He said it flatly, replacing the wine bottle in the cooler. “Pink and blue, you mean?”

“Well, there’s that, but it’s—they’re padded in different places. You see—well, I don’t know how much you know about anatomy,” she said, and then slapped a hand over her face.

“About as much as the average forty-year-old, I guess,” he said blandly.

“What I meant was—oh, for heaven’s sake, just buy the pink ones!”

Then he was laughing, and Hetty was, too, and she blamed it on the wine and on the hot bath and on the romance she’d been reading. Blamed it on everything except the truth.

That she was wildly attracted to the man, and seeing him again and again under the most intimate circumstances made it almost impossible to keep her imagination in check.

“Okay, pink diapers, stroller, playpen—whatever she needs. Did you get yourself some pretty things? A warm coat and a pair of boots, I hope.”

“I got everything I need, and thank you very much. Did you have any luck finding a house? Because you must know this place is costing you an arm and a leg, and if you’ve already got an apartment in town, then you could move us into something smaller and cheaper and then you can—”

“Hetty.”

She broke off. “What?”

“You’re chattering.”

He was staring at her. He’d been staring at her for several minutes. It was making her nervous, because she was trying so hard not to stare at him.

The man was devastating. So what if his features were just short of perfection, the sum total was every bit as intoxicating as the wine she was drinking on practically an empty stomach.

“You didn’t eat your chicken.”

“I wasn’t as hungry as I thought.”

“Is that what’s making you so edgy?”

She was tempted to tell him the truth. Scrambling for a reasonable excuse, she said, “New shoes.”

“Oh. You’re talking too much because you bought some new shoes, is that it?”

“I’m talking too much because I have a blister on my left heel and because you make me nervous, and because—”

“Hetty,” he said in a voice as soft as midnight fog.

“What?” she practically snarled.

“Give me your foot.”

“I’m not giving you anything! I’ve already given you far too much.” His eyebrows rose at that, and she hastened to explain, only making matters worse. “I mean, you know my whole life history, and I don’t know anything at all about you except that your great-great-grandfather was a sea captain who gave up the sea and adopted a baby girl.”

“Give me your foot.”

“Jax, you might as well know I’m not really as glamorous as I look, it’s the clothes.” She plucked at the bulky bathrobe. “Not this, but my other things. You know what I mean. I bought all these glamorous new things for my cruise because I didn’t have anything the least bit suitable, and—well—underneath, I’m really just plain old Hetty Reynolds, who’s never been anywhere or done anything the least bit exciting.”

He’d pretty well figured that out all by himself. He
resisted the urge to haul her into his arms and hold her until both of them came to their senses, because, glamorous or not, there was something about the woman that brought out a protective streak he hadn’t known he possessed.

“I know,” he said gently, warming her with his eyes.

“And I’m not used to staying in hotels. If you want to know the truth, I’ve never stayed in one before in my life. Motels, yes, but they don’t have room service, much less all these little goodies. All this is—” She waved her arms, and Jax reached under the table, captured one of her feet and lifted it onto his knee.

“D’you know what killed Calvin Coolidge?”

She goggled at him. There was no other way to describe it.

“Blister on his foot. Infection set in, and next thing you know, he was gone.”

“You’re making that up.”

“Now why would I do a thing like that?”

With his hard, dry palms stroking her foot, she could hardly remember the question, much less think of an answer.

“To educate you?” His fingers massaged her ticklish arch.

“Ah, mmm…”

“To entertain you?”

“Oh, well…”

“Hetty, if I wanted to entertain you, I could think of a number of better ways. Hmm. Skin’s not broken.
Your heel’s pink, though. We’ll have to get you a bandage.”

He folded the flap of her robe back over her knee, replaced her foot on the floor and reached for her hand. As if mesmerized, she let him pull her to her feet and draw her into his arms.

It had to be the wine, she thought distractedly.

Not true. It’s the man.

The kiss began gently, almost as if he was afraid of frightening her. By the time Jax took her chin between thumb and forefinger and tilted her face for a better advantage, Hetty had surrendered to the inevitable. They had been heading toward this moment for days, ever since he had kissed her at the airport.

Thinking about it.

Trying so hard
not
to think about it.

He tasted of wine and chocolate and something far more delicious, far more intoxicating. It never occurred to her to hold back. Whatever mysterious forces had led her here, to this man, this moment, they were beyond her power to resist. Far from resisting, she eagerly embraced whatever fate had in store for her.

His hand moved down her back, curved over her bottom and pressed her against his fierce arousal. Needing desperately to be even closer, to put out the fire that was blazing out of control, she pressed back, moving against him.

They both heard the whimper at the same time. Jax lifted his head, his eyes oddly unfocused.

“Sunny,” she whispered.

“Probably just the rain.”

Whatever it was, it was enough to put out the fire, or at least dampen it enough for Hetty to come to her senses. If she backed out now, she would always wonder what she’d missed, but wondering was better than regretting. Come tomorrow or next week or even the week after, he would buy her a ticket home and that would be the end of that.

“Hetty?”

The question lay unspoken between them.

“No. I don’t think so. Jax, our worlds are so different. You’re far more experienced than I ever will be. Gus was my only lover, and I knew him practically all my life.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

“It means that I can’t afford to be in love with you, and if we make love, I might lose my perspective, and you see, I have to go home. I have to live with myself the rest of my life, and I’d as soon not make any more mistakes than I already have.”

He didn’t give away a single clue as to what he was thinking. It must be a lawyer thing, she told herself. She had no way of knowing if he was disappointed or relieved or merely bored.

“Yes, well—I’m glad we agree,” she said gruffly in response to his silence. “Now I’d better go see if Sunny’s kicked off her covers yet. And, uh, thank you for the supper. And the clothes. I—well, I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.”

A
s it turned out, Hetty didn’t see Jax until nearly eight the following evening. She was watching cable news when he let himself in, carrying his briefcase and a dark suit in a dry cleaner’s bag. “I’ll be going out pretty soon, so if you haven’t eaten yet, order whatever you like for dinner. Why not try the seafood for a change?”

Dying of curiosity—she would never admit to disappointment—she nodded and said with admirable composure, “I think I’ll have something light tonight. There’s a good movie on TV at nine and I think Sunny might sleep through. She’s certainly old enough.”

She tried her best to concentrate on what was being
said about the explosive situation in the Middle East, but it was no good. She heard keys and change hit the dresser in the next room. Heard the soft thud of a shoe falling to the carpeted floor, then another one. A few moments later she heard the shower running. For the next several minutes she stared unseeingly at the moving figures on the TV screen while her imagination ran wild.

Some twenty minutes later Jax emerged, smelling of soap and a subtle, masculine scent, looking like an advertisement in one of those glossy fashion magazines.

“You look nice,” she remarked. “Have a good time.”

“Thanks, I’ll try,” he said as he removed a small, flat, silver-wrapped box from his briefcase and slipped it into his pocket. “Call Lina if you need to reach me, she’ll know where I am.”

She nodded, turning back to the TV as if she were really interested in whatever it was they were advertising. Lawn tractors. She didn’t even have a lawn.

She didn’t have a life, either, but she fully intended to get herself one. First a job, then an affordable apartment within walking distance of her old home. Because she did have a family, whether or not they were ready to accept her.

Jax obviously had a life. He had friends, social obligations, probably a whole string of gorgeous women panting after him. Just because he’d picked her up at an airport and brought her home with him like a stray
cat—just because he’d kissed her a few times, didn’t mean anything.

Besides, he really wasn’t all that special, she told herself. None of his features was perfect. For one thing, his jaw was too strong. His nose was arched in a way that could only be called proud. His mouth was too wide, his eyes too deep-set, his—

Face it. The sum total of all his imperfections was nothing short of devastating. And unfortunately, Hetty admitted dolefully, she was in real danger of being devastated.

In a fashionable French restaurant across town, long, square-tipped fingers drummed on the table. For the third time since Faye had excused herself from the table to go powder her nose, Jax glanced at his watch. Once again he asked himself the same three questions he’d been silently asking all night.

What did I ever see in this woman?

How am I going to get out of this mess without hurting her feelings?

What is Hetty doing at this very moment?

By now she was probably wearing that oversize bathrobe, curled up in the rose-colored chair, watching her movie. Or maybe asleep with a book on her lap.

Unbidden, her image drifted before his imagination and lingered there like a half-remembered dream until the shrill sound of Faye’s laughter reached him from several tables away. He flinched. His head ached.
Lately he’d been wondering if he needed reading glasses.

Welcome to middle age, he thought wryly. What went next, his hair? His joints? His prostate?

Across the room Faye leaned over to show off her new bracelet and, incidentally, a large slice of cleavage, to a well-dressed party of four at another table. He probably should’ve given her something nicer for her birthday, even though he intended to break things off as soon as he tactfully could. A box of candy would’ve been safer, but then, she’d have been disappointed after all the hints she’d dropped. Maybe a fountain pen set? Or a book?

Jax would be the first to admit that for a guy who’d graduated from law school third in his class, his I.Q. was about equal to his collar size when it came to women. It was going to take some pretty fancy maneuvering to extract himself from this particular relationship with no damage to Faye’s ego.

“Hi, love, sorry to be gone so long, but I saw Harry and Reid and just had to say hello. They invited us to join their table, but I told them maybe later. They’re drinking Dom Perignon.”

“Would you like to join their party?”

“Would you?” Twisting in her chair, she wiggled her fingers at the party of three men and a woman, then turned back. “Is there any more champagne?”

More wine was the last thing she needed at this point. Fortunately—or unfortunately—she was one of those women who could drink and never pay the
price. Tomorrow she’d be back in court bright and early, both her mind and her legal fangs razor sharp.

It made him feel old. “It’s pretty late. I expect you’re tired,” he said diplomatically, swallowing a yawn. It was one of his more useful social skills.

“It’s barely midnight. I thought we might go dancing, but of course, if you’re not up to it…”

She was fresh out of law school. He felt older than granite. “You’re the birthday girl.”

So he drove them to her favorite club and they danced. On a dance floor he was adequate, no more, but he held her and moved to the music, pretending to an enthusiasm he no longer felt. If he ever had.

“I adore my bracelet. How did you know I love diamonds?”

Only because she’d mentioned it a few dozen times since he’d offered her a birthday dinner. “I don’t know, just a lucky guess, I suppose.”

Between dances, Faye hit the champagne. The bubbly, as she called it. Jax cringed every time she said the word. By the time they were ready to leave, his head was throbbing, and Faye was teetering on her skyscraper heels. She suggested a nightcap, her euphemism for sex. Most of their outings had ended that way for the past few months. But she was too tipsy, and he was too sober, and so he made his excuses and left, feeling both relieved and irritated for no reason he could put his finger on.

It was nearly 2:00 a.m. when he let himself into the suite. He could have gone to his own apartment
as easily. This time of night he could have made it in under twenty minutes, but for reasons he dared not examine too closely, he chose to return to the hotel, letting himself inside quietly in deference to the late hour.

Hetty was asleep in a chair, the
Virginian Pilot
scattered around her feet, half a cup of curdled chocolate on the table beside her. Face scrubbed, hair tousled, she looked about fifteen instead of the thirty-seven he knew her to be.

Topcoat over his arm, tie dangling loosely about his neck, Jax stood for several minutes and stared. Exactly when, he wondered, not for the first time, had his life gone on the skids? When he’d first met Carolyn at the San Diego conference? When she’d called with the news that he was a father? When he’d gazed down for the first time at the small, solemn face of his own daughter?

Or when he’d turned around in the middle of a mob scene in a Chicago airport and found himself staring into a pair of calm, clear, rainwater-gray eyes?

Hetty.

If he’d had a grain of sense he would have avoided her like the plague, but at the time he’d needed her. And she had needed him. One thing had led to another, and now, whether or not he wanted it, she was a part of his life. An increasingly important part of it.

Stroking his shadowed jaw, he wondered if she was here solely because of his daughter or because she’d had no other choice, and he wondered if he’d played any part in her decision.

Better not to know. Safer not to know, he told himself.

Jax had nursed a single glass of champagne all evening, partly because he never drank and drove, but mostly because he hadn’t felt like celebrating. After a hectic week he was running on fumes, which probably explained why his thoughts had a tendency to veer off onto paths best left unexplored.

The hotel felt airless compared to the cold, sea-scented air outside. He needed to get her out of here, into someplace more comfortable. Someplace more permanent.

Moving quietly, he tossed his topcoat on the sofa, shed his jacket and tie and removed his cuff links.

Hetty never stirred. Watching her, he felt a warmth begin to generate in the middle of his gut. He wasn’t one of those people Streisand had sung about—the ones who needed people. Never had been.

Yet he couldn’t deny feeling a sense of satisfaction in knowing she’d waited up for him. It was a first. To his knowledge no one had ever given a damn whether he came home or not.

As if sensing his presence, she stirred, yawned and sat up. Seeing him, she smiled, and if he wanted to pretend there was a degree of relief or welcome in her smile, what difference could it make?

“Sunny give you any trouble tonight?” He kept his voice low, just above a whisper.

“Not really. Just when I was convinced she was ready to sleep through the night, she woke up wanting to play. I guess it’s because everything is still so new
to her, she doesn’t feel secure yet. I just settled her down again a few minutes ago.”

“Oh.”

So she wasn’t waiting up for him. Dammit, that was
not
disappointment he felt, it was heartburn! French cooking never had agreed with him.

Neither did complicated relationships with the opposite sex, he reminded himself. And with Hetty, any relationship at all would be complex. For all her lack of sophistication, she was not a simple woman.

Giving her time to get herself to bed, he went into his own room and changed into a pair of khakis, a sweatshirt and a pair of paint-stained deck shoes, all the while thinking about the woman in the next room.

As illogical as it was, he couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman as much as he wanted Hetty Reynolds. It didn’t make sense. He’d known far prettier women who hadn’t affected him at all.

Besides, he’d already slept with her, if sleeping together on a hard, public floor, feeling her softness, her surprising strength and inhaling the arousing scent of her skin unadorned by any fancy perfume counted for anything.

Holding her in his arms with Sunny beside them in her carrier had been a memorable experience, one he was having trouble putting behind him. Evidently it had set off some kind of allergic reaction, because lately, all it took was a smile, a word, a touch, and he was primed and ready. If this was a midlife crisis, it was a damned awkward one.

Jax knew himself too well. He was genetically in
capable of forming a permanent bond. Ever since he’d realized at the age of six that his mother wasn’t coming back for him, the belief had taken root in his mind and grown there. Nothing had happened since then to change his mind. From the great-uncle who had grudgingly seen to his education, to his first love—she’d been seventeen to his fourteen—to any of the women since then with whom he’d formed temporary alliances.

He was not a family man. Adjusting to being a father was going to be enough of a challenge without adding to the complications. He was determined to be a father, and a damned good one, but he knew better than to risk trying to be anything more.

Hetty deserved more than he could offer. Judging from the few things she’d said, her marriage had been a good one. The stepfamily and in-laws had been a drag, but he knew her well enough by now to believe she wouldn’t have seen them that way. When it came to nurturing a family, she was a natural.

When it came to nurturing anything more personal than a law firm, he was a nonstarter.

Silently he entered the living room, half expecting her to be gone. She was still there, her face flushed with sleep, her eyes glowing with that soft, unfocused look of the newly awakened.

“Go to bed,” he said gruffly.

“I’m waiting to see if she’s going to tune up again.”

“Go to bed, if she wakes up I’ll take care of her.”

“There’s coffee made if you want some,” she mur
mured. One cheek was flushed where it had rested on her arm. Her hair stood up like a rooster’s comb. She looked so warm, so sweet, so damned sexy, Jax had to remind himself all over again that while some men could handle a serious relationship with a woman, others were better off not trying.

He was of the latter persuasion.

“Go to bed, Hetty. I’ll have a cup of coffee and then turn in.”

She stretched one more time and yawned. “Mmm, I reckon I’d better. She’ll be up with the chickens.”

“I doubt it. It’s been years since anyone saw a live chicken in downtown Norfolk.”

She smiled at him, and he felt his defenses begin to crumble all over again. “Well…I guess I’d better say good-night.” She seemed reluctant to go. He almost made the mistake of asking if she’d like a late-night snack when she said, “Jax, you look awfully tired.”

“Yeah, I’m really bushed. I left a call for seven. I’ll have breakfast downstairs so I won’t wake you.”

“I’ll probably be up.”

“Sleep as late as you can,” he said, unwilling to let her go, calling himself every kind of fool for prolonging the agony. Pretty soon just looking at her wouldn’t be enough, he would need to touch her, to hold her.

And then holding her would no longer be enough.

“Go to bed, Hetty,” he growled.

Hetty had just fallen asleep when the alarm went off. It took her half a minute to realize what it was.
Not an alarm clock, but a steady clang, clang, clang.

Someone was shaking her awake. Clad only in a pair of briefs, Jax turned and scooped the baby out of her crib, grabbed a blanket off the bed and one from the crib and yelled, “Come on!”

Once she realized what was happening, Hetty wasted no time. Holding Sunny in one arm, Jax steered them out into the hall where the clamor was even more deafening.

All up and down the hallway, people were emerging from doorways, looking frightened, puzzled. They quickly became a mob and rushed toward the elevators, but Jax yelled, “Take the stairs!” Such was the authority he projected, even wearing only his briefs, that the swarm veered toward the stairwell, sweeping Hetty in their wake. One of the first things Jax had done when they’d checked into the room was study the diagram on the back of the door and show her where the nearest exit was. “Count the doors between our rooms and the exit,” he’d told her, and she had, and then promptly forgotten the count.