An Irresistible Bachelor (27 page)

Before she closed her eyes to savor the moment, she saw his beautiful suit jacket crumpled on the floor, his pants hanging off the open Rubbermaid container, his tie wadded up and sticking out of the couch.

Those fine trappings of wealth meant nothing to her. It was Jack she wanted. Jack naked and trembling from passion. Jack's voice stripped of all culture and refinement, her name leaving his lips in nothing more than a guttural burst.

She leaned into him, holding on tight. She wanted Jack Walker, the man. Not the business legend. Not the newest star of his prestigious family.

When he pulled back, he said, “You amaze me.”

His fingers brushed against her cheek and then lifted her chin so he could kiss her. His lips were as soft as his eyes.

“We should probably go,” she said. “Why don't I meet you back at the house? I have to shut down Nathaniel's beauty spa and I'd like to change.”

He placed a lingering kiss against her lips and then put on his pants. After tucking his shirttails in with sharp movements, he pulled his jacket on and casually slung his blue tie around his neck.

But he didn't leave right away. He just stared at her, a slight smile playing over his lips.

“Come here,” she said, motioning to him. “Your hair looks like it's been blown dry by a box fan.”

He came up to her and put his head down, standing patiently while she fixed him up.

“And we should put the tie on properly. You'll look less ravished that way.” With a seductive smile, she turned up his collar, slid the silk into place, and quickly executed a pretty good Windsor knot. She nodded at the result. “You're almost perfect. But there's nothing we're going to be able to do about the wrinkles in your suit and shirt.”

Jack reached for her, his arms going all the way around her body. “I can't seem to let you go.”

“Which is perfectly fine with me.”

When he finally left, it took her ten minutes to close up shop and head for the house. As she stepped out into the brisk night air, she felt so alive she wanted to laugh out loud. The world seemed to have expanded and she was able to find possibilities and excitement in everything, even the darkened sky. There were things to look forward to, plans she could make, places she suddenly wanted to go.

All with Jack, of course.

She pictured the two of them heading upstate and staying at some B and B in the wintertime. There would be a fireplace in their room and a big bed with lots of blankets and pillows. They would make love for days straight as the snow fell outside.

When she opened the back door, she was smiling.

She jerked to a halt.

Jack and the blond woman were staring at each other over the island in the kitchen. On the slab of granite between them was a large diamond ring.

Their heads snapped around to her.

“So you're Callie,” the woman said softly. “You're the one.”

LOOKING BACK and forth between them, Callie put it all together. It was the blonde from the Plaza Hotel hallway. The scarf and earrings that had been in Jack's suite were hers.

Callie fought a sudden urge to be sick.

“I'm Blair Stanford,” the woman said, sticking out her hand and narrowing her eyes.

Probably because she was remembering their brief passing, too.

Callie awkwardly returned the gesture, shooting a glance at Jack. He met her eyes and shook his head as if he regretted the situation she'd been put in.

“I wish I could say I was pleased to meet you,” Blair said, with more honesty than hostility. “This has been a disappointment, as you can imagine.”

Callie didn't know how to respond, and as she looked away, her eyes flickered down to the diamond. It had a diameter the size of a nickel.

“I think I'll just go upstairs,” she murmured.

“That's not necessary,” Blair said. “Jack and I were just making our good-bye official.”

She picked up a Vuitton handbag and nodded stiffly at Callie. Then she looked at Jack and said, “Take care of yourself. I know you always do.”

“I'll walk you to the door.”

“That's not necessary. Actually, I'd prefer you didn't.” She paused on her way out of the room, glancing at Callie. “Be careful, darling. He's a wonderful man on many fronts, so there's a big hole to fill when he leaves.”

Callie looked away, thinking the woman was undoubtedly right.

The sound of the front door being opened and closed was followed by a long silence.

She shifted her eyes to Jack. His head was down and he was gripping the edge of the countertop.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

His chest rose and fell. “Yeah.”

She waited for him to say something more. When he didn't, she murmured, “You want to hold off on dinner?”

He looked up. “Maybe. I don't know that I'd be good company right now.”

Her heart skipped a beat as she wondered whether he was having second thoughts. But maybe it was just the awkwardness of Blair showing up. “I understand.”

He came over and kissed her briefly. “Thank you.”

After he left, she glanced over at the ring and tried to imagine wearing the thing. She couldn't picture it on her finger.

Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He certainly hadn't mentioned marriage to her.

She groaned. Marriage? They'd made love three times and already she was thinking about altars? She had to be out of her mind. Weekend escapes were one thing. And even then, she might have been pushing it a little.

She forced herself to consider how long they'd known each other and didn't like the answer. It was a matter of weeks, not months. They had a long, long way to go before she should be thinking more than a couple days ahead.

 

Jack went into his study and tried to pretend that settling in with the bourbon was not becoming a routine. After a couple of swallows, he pushed the glass and the decanter away, feeling too much like his father. What he wanted was a little peace, not a coping mechanism with nasty consequences.

But when his mother appeared in the doorway, he reached for the glass again. She was wearing a formal dress and a lot of pearls and he took the outfit as a good sign she was leaving.

Which couldn't happen fast enough for him considering the displeasure on her face.

“Where did Blair run off to? And why was this”—she held up the diamond—“in the kitchen?”

Damn it, he should have pocketed the ring when he'd had the chance.

“The engagement is off.”

“Whatever for?” she demanded.

“That's none of your business.”

Mercedes began shaking her head. “Jack, no. Don't do this. Don't fall for some marginal girl, especially when you could be with someone like Blair. The sacrifices just aren't necessary.”

He refilled his glass. “I can assure you, being with Callie is no sacrifice for me. At all.”

His mother's face tightened. “Maybe in the privacy of your own home. But what about in the outside world? You need someone who understands the kind of life you lead. Blair can support you—”

“And you think Callie can't? My lifestyle isn't rocket science. I see the same five hundred people, at the same parties, year after year. I could do it with my eyes closed and so could anyone with half a brain.”

“That's a considerable simplification and you know it. Listen to me, Jack, I know how hard it was for your father and me—”

Jack didn't bother to keep the boredom out of his voice. “My father worshipped you and you've had a great time playing grande dame for the past forty years. So don't try and pretend it was all a chore, okay?”

She took a deep breath. “There's no reason to talk to me like that.”

“Was there anything else you had to say, Mother?” As soon as the words came out, he regretted the invitation. Of course there was going to be more.

“Jack, you simply cannot do this. Especially if you are going to run for governor.” As his eyebrows lifted, she explained, “Gray Bennett's mother called and told me that he's been here in Boston, meeting with you. It's obvious what you're planning.”

“Ah, the Smith College alumni network at its best.”

Mercedes came up to the desk with her particular brand of urgency, clearly prepared to force her will on him. Even though she'd never swayed him, she was always willing to try.

Man, his father hadn't stood a chance once she'd picked him out of the crowd, Jack thought.

“You know I've always hoped you'd run,” she said, “and not just at the state level. Can't you see what elected office would do for you? The power it would give you? The respect? Don't you want all that?”

“I already have power, so a lot of people respect me,” he said drily. “And I have a feeling that you're quite interested in being the mother of the governor, aren't you? But you're not impressing me with your logic. I fail to see how marrying Blair when I don't love her would land me in the governor's seat any more than being with Callie would prevent it.”

The tone of his mother's voice hardened. “Don't think your love life isn't going to play a role in the election. God knows, your past is going to be hard enough to live down. You shouldn't compound the problem by losing someone like Blair just because you want to sleep with a member of the lower classes.”

“That's enough,” he said sharply, bringing the glass down hard on the desk.

His mother was not deterred.

“Jackson, I cannot let you make a mistake like this. There are ways of fixing these things.”

He narrowed his eyes on her. “It's rather noble of you to try and save me from myself, but bear this in mind. If you want to keep living here, you will back the hell off and stay out of my life. Do we have an understanding?”

Her thin brows shot up into her forehead.

“But you must see that it can never work between you and that . . . Callie,” she said, gesturing aimlessly with a jeweled hand.

“I'm sorry. Didn't we just agree you wouldn't interfere? Or are you moving?”

Mercedes stared at him, looking almost helpless. He could imagine her frustration, to be so close to her dreams, and yet unable to control his actions.

“Jack, I'm your mother—”

“That doesn't mean you're running the show around here. Shut the door on your way out, will you?” As she continued to stare at him, he cocked an eyebrow. “Now.”

When he was alone, he finished his drink and then went to look for Callie.

Even if he was out of sorts, there was nowhere else he wanted to be but with her.

 

A week later, Callie returned to the house following a productive afternoon with the portrait. After having worked her way around the outside of the painting, she was now far enough in so that she was cleaning Nathaniel's face. Even with the dirt and grime, he had been handsome, if rather dour, but revealed in all his glory, he was resplendent. His eyes were a dark mahogany, his cheeks a gentle pink, his hair thick with a multitude of browns. Copley had brought out the best in his subject, but she suspected that there had been a lot to work with. And with the old varnish gone, his brooding expression was less intense.

As she opened the back door, the resounding silence in the kitchen reminded her it was Thomas's day off. This meant Mrs. Walker would be out to dinner, and Callie grinned. Although she and Jack had plans to go to the movies and have dinner somewhere, maybe they should just stay home. It seemed a damn shame to waste the privacy.

She glanced at her new watch. She was getting used to it and it did serve the purpose of telling her when it was lunchtime. More than anything, though, she liked it because it made her think of Jack.

Sitting down at the table, she started to leaf through the paper, stroking Arthur's ear with her free hand.

An hour later, she looked at the watch again and started pacing around the kitchen. Jack was never late, and he'd told her he'd be home an hour and a half ago. She was wondering whether she should try him at the office when the phone rang.

Even though she wasn't in the habit of answering calls at the house, she picked up the receiver, hoping it was him.

“Hello?”

“Callie, it's Jack. I need your help.”

In the background, she heard muffled voices and the sound of something shrill. Were those alarms?

“What happened?” she asked, her hand coming up to her forehead.

“I totaled my car.”

Her lungs immediately stopped functioning.

Calm, stay calm, she told herself. At least he can still pick up the phone.

“Oh, God. Are you—”

“I'm fine except I broke my damn arm. Can you come pick me up? I'm at Beth Israel.”

“Where? And what's around here to drive?”

“Take the other Jag.”

He told her where the keys were and gave her directions to the medical center. As she flew out the door, she was imagining all kinds of what-ifs with horrid consequences. The way he drove, he could have done a lot more damage to himself than just ending up with a cast on his arm.

“The other Jag” was a convertible, and, as luck would have it, a stick shift. As she hiccuped down the driveway, she was hoping that enough of the transmission system would be left by the time she got to Boston to get them home again. The trip was interminable. She was a reluctant driver under the best of circumstances, and stress didn't improve her skills. Behind the wheel of a powerhouse engine, working the clutch and accelerator with all the finesse of a student driver, she was no Jeff Gordon.