An Irresistible Bachelor (26 page)

He threw his hands up and rolled his eyes before she could speak. “I know, I know. This coming from a man who last night reminded you he wasn't a good bet for a relationship. But I've really thought about this. Hell, I've been thinking about you nonstop for weeks now.”

Believing in him and seeing a future with him was enticing. But Callie tried to remind herself that considering him as a casual lover was still the smart thing to do. They had talked a little about feelings and had a wonderful night together, but it was way too early to predict how a relationship between them would turn out.

“It's going to take time, Jack.”

“I know. And I'm willing to put in the investment, if you are.”

She studied him closely. “I am.”

“Good.” He kissed her hard on the mouth and then went over to the desk and pulled open a drawer.

“Jack?”

He looked up.

“Just so you know, I'm perfectly fine with public transportation. But that doesn't mean I want you to buy me a bus to prove your affection, okay?”

He was laughing as he took out a long envelope. “It's a deal.”

The single sheet of paper he slid free was the same pale brown color as the one she'd discovered but much smaller. “This is a letter fragment I found five years ago when we were cleaning out my father's things.”

She came over as Jack read from it aloud. “ ‘My dearest heart, surely I wanted to come unto you. It was fear, not a failing of love, that kept me away. To risk all for one look upon your face seems a paltry exchange, but he would find our love as a forsaken betrayal. Your friendship, long as son to father and father to son, would be devastated. And how, thereafter, could you fight under his command? But after Concord we shall meet again at—' ” He looked up. “That's all there is.”

She stared at him, amazed. “May I see it?”

He handed the document to her. The handwriting was different, more curvaceous. A woman's, she thought.

“I saved it,” Jack said, “because it was old and curious, but I never thought it had anything to do with Nathaniel. Many members of the family served in the military and fought in conflicts in the late-eighteenth and early-nineteenth centuries. But considering the sheet you found, it makes me think.”

“It certainly does.” She compared the two and was struck by how the ink had faded in a similar way.

Jack shrugged. “I've read all of Nathaniel's journals. He never mentions a woman until he gets married to Jane Hatte. He does talk about General Rowe, though, the man he fought with against the British at the Battle of Concord. The two were very close and Rowe did have a wife, Sarah.”

She looked at him. “So maybe Nathaniel and Sarah had an affair.”

“It might explain why Nathaniel didn't marry until much later.” He took back the letter and her new find and put them both in the envelope. “Good thing Grace is coming up for the party next week. Maybe she can fill in some of the details.”

Callie cleared her throat. “Listen, about Thanksgiving. I'm sure you'll have guests, so I'm going back to the city—”

“But I don't want you to go. Unless you have family to see, stay here.”

The words had come out of him fast and hard, and she couldn't help but smile.

“Won't you need my room?”

“No. And even if we couldn't put everyone up, I'd send people to a hotel before I'd displace you.”

Her grin widened. “What about the holiday dinner?”

“We don't really do the whole turkey thing. Not since my father died. The big event is our annual holiday party the day after. Which you are, of course, invited to.”

Callie nodded, pleased. “Okay, I'll stay for both.”

He smiled with satisfaction. “And have dinner with me tonight?”

“I'd love to.”

“Good. I've got a tough day of off-site meetings ahead of me, but I promise to be back around six. And I'll be very hungry by then.”

As he looked at her from under heavy lids, her body warmed up. Moving with obvious intent, he came around the desk, took her into his arms, and kissed her until they were both breathing heavily.

“I'll be thinking of you,” Jack said. “All day long.”

The feeling was mutual.

Callie spent most of the hours working on the painting, with pictures of Jack floating in and out of her mind. At four o'clock, she took a break and went out to play with Arthur in the yard. She was at the side of the house, throwing his favorite tree branch as far as she could, when a black Town Car pulled into the drive. As Arthur shot after the stick, she watched the limousine stop under the porte cochere. A uniformed driver got out and opened the rear door.

A tall, slender blond woman emerged from the car. Even from across the lawn, it was obvious she was someone important. She was dressed in a black suit and, with her short, stylized hair, she was very chic.

Callie had a fleeting thought that she'd seen the woman somewhere before. Maybe in Stanley's gallery?

The door to the house opened and Mrs. Walker emerged with arms outstretched. As the two embraced, Arthur came back with the stick and dropped it on her foot.

She threw it quickly and turned back, but there wasn't much else to see. The two women had disappeared into the house and the limousine driver was leaning back against the car as if he was used to waiting.

She returned to work, anxious for the two hours to pass so she and Jack could get away from the house. It was curious how ten thousand square feet could still be suffocating, and she couldn't wait to be alone with him. She'd decided some necking in that Aston Martin would be a fine way to start and end an evening. Although on that logic, it was too bad the man didn't drive a Volvo station wagon.

Or a minivan.

An hour later she heard the garage door go up and the low growl of Jack's car. She whipped off her breathing mask and ran her fingers through her hair, spreading it out over her shoulders.

When he got to the second floor, she ate up the wide smile on his face.

“I missed you,” he said. “How was your day?”

“I've done some great work this afternoon. Take a look at the top of his head. The waves in his hair are remarkable.” Callie leaned in close to the canvas, pointing out the area with her wooden stick.

Jack came up behind her and she felt his hands settle on her shoulders. When he spoke, his voice was right next to her ear.

“I have something for you.”

She looked up, feeling anticipation thicken her blood. But instead of kissing her, he put a glossy bag with satin handles down on her desk.

She tensed when she saw the Cartier name. “What's this?”

“Just a small present. Go on. See what's inside.”

She took out a sizable red leather box, and when she got it open, she shook her head. Inside was a gold watch.

“Jack, I can't accept this.”

“Why not?” He reached over and took the beautiful timepiece out of its satin bed. “You need a watch.”

“Yeah, well, not one like this.” It had probably cost ten or twenty thousand dollars.

“Try it on.”

He slipped it over her hand and onto her wrist. It was heavy and felt altogether foreign.

“Fits perfectly,” he said with satisfaction.

“Jack, it's too much.”

Impatience flickered across his face. “The thing tells time. That's all you need to worry about.”

“But so does a Timex.”

Jack frowned. “Why can't I buy you a gift? People give them and receive them all the time. It's the basis of our retail economy, as a matter of fact.”

She got up from the chair. “You can. But . . . your version of a
gift
and the rest of the world's are very different.”

“I don't care about the rest of the world.”

“Fine.
My
version of a gift, then.” She faced him. “Jack, I've got to be honest with you. I don't have a dime to my name, other than what you're going to pay me at the end of this job. That place in Chelsea? That's where I live. The Chanel suit? It's a friend of mine's. I'm not from your world. Not even close.”

“I know.”

She narrowed her eyes.

Of course he would, she thought. He wasn't stupid.

Jack crossed his arms over his chest. “And I know where you're headed with all this, so let me just say, I don't care where you're from. Not in the slightest.”

Callie studied his face closely and then looked down at the watch. “I'm not going to change, you realize. No matter what you buy me, I'm never going to be a socialite who's into dresses and shoes and parties. First of all, I hate shopping.”

“So don't shop.”

“And I have ridiculously wide feet so those
Sex and the City
–type shoes would never fit me anyway.”

“Which means you're stable on an incline. A tremendous virtue,” he said with a straight face.

She rolled her eyes. “And I hate big crowds. To be honest, I'm on the benevolent side of antisocial. I don't mind people, but I'd prefer not to have a lot of them around.”

“So there'll be no going to Times Square to see the ball drop? Oh, the disappointment.”

The expression of horror on his face had her laughing. “I can't believe you don't care.”

“Well, I'm a little shook up there's no
New Year's Rockin' Eve
with Dick Clark in our future, but there's always TV.”

Jack was smiling as he reached out and pulled her against him. He dropped a kiss on her mouth.

“I like you just as you come.” He nodded down at her wrist. “If you really hate the watch, I'll take it back, provided you promise to eat lunch every day. But it is a gift from me to you and I hope you'll at least try it out.”

She put her arms around his shoulders. “Fine, I'll give it a go. And thank you.”

Jack nuzzled the sensitive skin of her neck. “God, you smell good. What is that perfume?”

“Eau de isopropanol.”

He pulled back. “What the hell is that?”

“The solvent I'm using to remove the oxidized soft resin varnish from your painting.”

“Oh, right. I thought I recognized it.” He took her earlobe gently between his teeth. “Now, how about we say hello again?”

In a flash, they were on the couch. With impatient hands, clothes were thrown on the floor, shoes kicked off. As he settled between her legs, he hesitated, his eyes heated but worried.

“Are you sure you . . . Is this going to be okay?” he asked.

His awkward concern made her smile.

“There's only one way to find out,” she murmured, moving her hips against his.

He slid inside of her, slowly, carefully—in spite of the passion she could feel in his body. She shuddered with pleasure. He was heavy on top of her and she liked the feel of his weight. When he began to move, she held on and carried the rhythm in her own hips until she heard him call her name in a hoarse cry. As his arms contracted around her, she let herself go over the edge with him.

Later, when her breath was no longer coming out in pants and her heart wasn't racing so much, she opened her eyes. Jack had shifted and his body was stretched out next to hers, taking up the lion's share of the couch. His face was relaxed with contentment, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

“How do you feel? Okay?” he asked, his voice full of gravel.

“A lot more than okay.”

“I didn't want to hurt you.”

“I'm tougher than I look.”

He dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “And you don't look like a wimp either.”

Her stomach let out a growl.

“You ready to eat?” When she nodded, he sat up and handed her the sweater she'd been wearing. “I thought we'd go to this diner in town that's all the rage right now.”

Hell, she didn't care if they went to McDonald's and ate with plastic sporks.

Cradling her sweater against her chest, she was content to lie back and watch him move. As he picked up his shirt and pulled it on, the wide expanse of his back flexed and she noted the marks she'd left on his skin the night before.

“What are you looking at?” he asked in a low drawl.

“I seem to have done some aesthetic damage to your back.”

Jack reached over and pulled her to her feet, drawing her against him. “And you can work on the front of me later on tonight.”

His lips came down for a quick kiss that soon hardened with passion.

“Maybe we should put off dinner for a little while,” he growled. His hands slid over her hips and she felt him, hard and ready, as his body curved around her. “God, I'm insatiable when it comes to you.”

And what a wonderful word that was, Callie thought, dropping her sweater as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He pushed her over against the closet doors and lifted her up, suspending her from the floor with his arms. When she wrapped her legs around his hips, he thrust inside of her again and their bodies took over. The surging movement was frantic and she cried out as waves of energy coursed through her.

When the quaking was over, she uncurled her legs and felt her feet touch ground.

“My God,” Jack muttered, putting his palms against the doors and leaning into them. His breath was coming out roughly.

Moving a hand to her hair, he smoothed the thick weight back from her face and kissed her on the forehead. His arms, which had held her up with such strength, were gentle as they cradled her.

“Callie.” His breath was soft against her skin.