An Irresistible Bachelor (25 page)

And then he kissed where she had never been kissed before.

A blast of white heat shot through her and it was only after the waves had stopped racking her body that he lay on top of her. This time as he slid inside, she felt only a sweet rush of pleasure.

“Callie,” he said roughly, “are you okay?”

It sounded as if he were talking through gritted teeth and his body was shuddering. She could feel it shake over her. Inside of her.

“You feel so good,” she said against his neck.

Jack didn't move. Running her hands over the tense muscles of his back and shoulders, she was struck by a sudden thought that he was going to leave again.

“Are you . . . Is it okay for you?” she asked.

His head dropped onto her shoulder. “Good God. Yes.”

She shifted under him and heard him groan at the friction of their bodies.

And then he gripped her hard and began to move inside of her. As his thrusts gained power, they carried her with him into a frenzy of heat. She let out a hoarse cry as light exploded inside of her again and she heard a guttural sound escaping from him as his body quaked.

In the stillness that followed, she felt him relax against her, though he was breathing heavily.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Callie nodded, not trusting her voice.

She was glad she had waited for him.

As a tear left one of her eyes, she was grateful for the darkness. She didn't want to have to explain herself. It would have been too hard to make him understand how good it had felt. How good he had been to her.

Jack shifted his weight so he was lying next to her and she looked away, catching the glow coming through the stained-glass window. She felt him stroke her cheek and then stop when he ran over the path of her tears.

“Callie, what's wrong?” he asked urgently.

The choked noise she made was supposed to have been a confident
nothing.

He tilted her head to him. “Tell me what's going on.”

She sniffled and brushed her tears away. “I'm just a little emotional, that's all.”

“Did I hurt you?” His voice was deep and male, velvety in the darkness. Full of concern.

Not yet, she thought to herself. And God, she hoped he didn't.

“Callie?”

As he brushed away another tear, she said, “I don't want to fall in love with you.”

“Good Lord, I should be so fortunate. . . .” His voice drifted off. “You know I never want to hurt you, right?”

She nodded.

“And I'm going to do my best.”

She started to worry about what would happen between them, but then she stopped herself. The present. She had the present. He was with her now, holding her tightly. Thoughts of what lay ahead would only ruin what they had at the moment. Closing her eyes resolutely, she moved in close so that her head rested in the crook of his arm.

He soothed her with a gentle caress and she eventually gave herself up to sleep.

It was early the next morning when she felt him rise from the bed. In the gray light of dawn, she watched him slip on his trousers, his head tilting down as he zipped up the fly and buttoned them. When he turned and caught her eyeing him, he smiled.

“I have to go, but may I kiss you good morning?” That silky tone was back in his voice.

“Please.”

Jack sat on the bed next to her and leaned forward. She raised her mouth for his kiss, but he reached forward for her hand. Uncurling her fist, he pressed his lips to the tender skin of her palm.

“Good morning, Callie,” he said. He wrapped her fingers into a ball again and squeezed. And then he kissed her softly on the mouth and walked out of her room.

 

When Callie woke up again and stretched, she felt a tightness in her body that was unfamiliar and not at all unpleasant. She lay on her back, looking up into the canopy over the bed and thinking about Jack. Images of what they'd done in the night were impossible to resist.

She was right. He had been an incredible lover, though not necessarily for the reasons she'd first assumed. The way he'd held her afterward was the best part of the experience.

When she finally got out of bed, she saw his button-down shirt on the floor and picked it up. Lifting the fine cotton to her nose, she breathed in, smelling cedar soap and something more elusive, more distinctly Jack.

She looked around, noting the buttons that had popped off and were dotting the Oriental rug. Getting caught with his ruined shirt in her room by the upstairs maid would send messages neither of them were prepared to deal with. She quickly cleaned up the floor, showered, and got dressed.

With his shirt tucked under her arm, she walked across the hall. There was no answer when she knocked, so she stuck her head into his bedroom and quietly called out his name.

The mahogany antiques and oil paintings she'd expected; what was a surprise was the anonymity of it all. There were no snapshots of him on vacation, no clothes draped on the back of a chair, no books or magazines fanned out on the bedside table. It might as well have been a luxurious hotel room, and she was disappointed that the place didn't reveal more about him.

Which was a lot to ask for from a color scheme, she thought wryly, eyeing the deep green walls. Even one as expertly developed as this.

The only thing that was out of order was the bed. The covers had been pulled back and the pillows propped up against the velvet headboard, as if he'd spent time deep in thought.

“May I help you?” Mrs. Walker said loudly.

Callie wheeled around, bracing herself as the woman came down the hall as if the natural order of things had been disturbed.

Mrs. Walker saw the shirt and her eyes narrowed. “Do you require something from my son?”

In a rush of levity, Callie thought, no, she'd had plenty of him last night.

Setting her shoulders, she remembered rule number four for bullies: Ignorance is bliss. There can't be a problem if you refuse to acknowledge that one exists.

Calmly, she went over to the bed and laid the shirt on top of the rumpled covers.

“Have a good day, Mrs. Walker,” she murmured as she walked out.

For once, the woman seemed speechless.

As she headed for the kitchen, Callie wished like hell Mrs. Walker's timing hadn't been so good. Or maybe she shouldn't have been so conscientious. If she'd only left the shirt in her room, buried it in a drawer until she could give it back to Jack—

Hell. It was like getting into a car accident because you'd been putting on your seat belt.

Jack was reading the paper and drinking coffee when she walked into the kitchen, and the moment she saw him, she smiled. Dressed in a suit, his blue silk tie hanging from a precise knot, he looked as if he was too civilized to have done half the things he had to her in the night.

But then he looked up at her and his eyes flashed with heat.

“Good morning.” His smile was slow and sexy as he put down the
Boston Globe.
“How did you sleep?”

Callie felt a flush run like a forest fire up into her face. “Well. Very well.”

“Come here,” he said, softly.

She looked behind her to make sure no one was around and then went to him. As soon as she was in range, his hands came out and pulled her close. Instinctively, she started to reach for his hair, but she stopped, not wanting to ruffle him.

“No, touch me,” he said. “Anywhere.”

As she drew her fingers through the thickness, he stared up at her. “I'm sorry we didn't spend more time together this morning, but I thought you might appreciate the discretion.”

“Thank you.” She dropped her lips to his and kissed him lightly, but he wouldn't let her go. As he deepened the contact with his tongue, she reluctantly pulled back.

His frustration was evident as he let her go. “You make me want to go back upstairs and start the day right. Or better yet, not get out of bed at all.”

She was smiling when Thomas came down the back stairs. While he and Jack talked, she fixed herself a little breakfast and thought about the day ahead of her. When she remembered the letter she'd found, she wanted to show it to Jack.

“Do you have a minute before you go?” she asked when he stood up to leave. “I have something I'd like to show you up in the garage.”

He grabbed his briefcase and quickly headed for the door. “What a fantastic idea.”

She laughed as he hustled her outside and Arthur loped ahead. The morning was cold and her breath came out in a series of puffs as they walked across the driveway.

“By the way, Jack, I think we may have a problem.”

“With the painting?”

“No, your mother found me in your room this morning.” She glanced over, watching his eyebrows rise. “I was returning your shirt.”

“Ah.”

“I thought you'd want to know. She didn't look happy.”

“No, I imagine she didn't.”

“You don't seem too concerned,” she said, opening the door to the garage.

He smiled grimly. “Just remember, my mother is not your problem. And don't worry about it. She's got a bad bark, but she's essentially harmless.”

Callie thought back to the calculation behind the woman's eyes and wasn't so sure.

As they went up the cramped stairs, she was acutely aware of him behind her and found she had little interest in talking about what she'd pulled out of the box of documents.

See, this is why they tell you not to mix business with pleasure, she thought. She was so preoccupied with making love to the man, she'd be lucky to string two coherent sentences together.

And she was disappointed as hell when he walked directly to the painting.

As Jack looked down at the canvas, she turned on the halogen steam light so he could see better. The work she'd been doing in the lower left corner had spread, moving up the side of the canvas.

“You've done quite a bit.”

“It's going well. I think I've hit the solvent right on the head. The only thing coming off is the old varnish and I'm happy to say the underlying paint is solid. I'm really looking forward to doing the face.”

He straightened. “Now, what did you want to show me?”

His eyes were trained on her clothes, and going by the expectation in his face, he was picturing her without them. She smiled and went over to the side table by the couch.

Picking up the letter fragment she said, “I don't want to jump to conclusions but it's tempting to believe Nathaniel wrote these words.”

Jack read it, holding the paper carefully by the edges. “I was hoping you'd find something like this.”

She frowned, wondering what he meant.

“Come with me.”

CALLIE FOLLOWED him back to the house and into his study. She was about to sit down across from the desk when she saw glass shards on the floor.

“What happened here?” She bent down and started picking up some of the bigger pieces. He joined her, getting down on his haunches.

“Evidently, I don't handle introspection well.” He gave her a wry smile when she hesitated and met his eyes. “But don't worry. If I go into therapy full-time, I'm locking up the china.”

“What were you thinking about?”

He fingered some of the broken crystal in his palm. “How different you are.”

“Oh.” She was hardly encouraged, considering he'd ended up throwing something.

“Did you know that I once had a woman ask me to buy her a car?”

Callie shook her head and went back to picking up the glass. She really didn't want to hear about one of his former lovers. “Doesn't surprise me.”

“She wanted it to go shopping in. We were in Italy and she couldn't stomach a rental. It was too close to public transportation for her.”

Callie smiled a little though she had a pit in her stomach thinking about him on some romantic getaway. “And let me guess. We're not talking about a Ford Escort, are we?”

He shook his head. “A Ferrari. She wanted a yellow one.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “To match her hair, of course. What did you do?”

“I bought it.”

“That must have pleased her.” When she heard the disapproval in her own voice, she said, “What I mean is—”

“It did make her happy, but not because she really wanted the car. It was a test, an absurd request to figure out how far I was willing to go.” Jack shrugged. “And I showed her exactly where my limits were with pleasure. I knew she'd never forget the car that made no difference to me, especially if I allowed her to use it for a day. I bought the Ferrari, put a big red bow around it, and told her to have a ball. That night, after she got home, I informed her I didn't need to see her again and drove off in it. She called me for months afterward.”

Callie got to her feet and emptied her hand in the wastepaper basket. That kind of hardball, on both sides, was way out of her league. “Are you sure it was a test? Maybe she was sincere.”

“She used it to go see her other lover. No doubt to try and have him match the competition.”

“Oh.”

“My point is, that's something you would never do.”

She laughed. “You got that right.”

Jack put the shards he was holding into the trash. “This morning I sat in bed and realized I want things from you. Things I've never asked any other woman for.”

“Like what?” She held her breath.

“I've had a lot of relationships that looked good from the outside,” he paused, smiling coldly, “probably because we were wearing evening clothes most of the time. What went on behind closed doors, though, was just some athletic sex and not much else. Even with Blair, who I respected, there was something missing. With you”—his eyes locked on hers—“I know there is more and I want it all. I know you're looking at this as a fling, but I don't want you only in my bed. I want you in my life, too. I want to wake up in the morning and see your face. I want to come home at noontime just because I'm impatient to see you and I know you're here. I want you to trust me. And I want to earn that trust.”