An Irresistible Bachelor (9 page)

Christ, he wished he could take that little zinger back.

“Come on, Arthur,” he said, going to the door.

The dog looked over at Callie and then back at him with a discerning eye.

“Here, boy,” Jack said, patting his thigh.

The dog lowered his butt to the floor and Jack measured the defection with a grin. “He likes you.”

“I like him.”

Callie looked down at the dog with nothing but warmth in her face. There was no not-so-subtle caution. No closure. Just a small, secret smile meant only for Arthur.

No wonder the beast had fallen in love with her, Jack thought. Man or dog would be enchanted with such a look.

“Good night, then,” he said.

“Good night.” She was still smiling at Arthur as he shut the door.

Standing in the hallway, he hung his head and looked down at his wing tips. He should not be interested in another woman's smile.

Hell, he shouldn't even be
noticing
another woman's smile.

He shook his head. At least he hadn't had any more of those dreams. Since Callie had agreed to come to Boston, his subconscious had stopped running the Playboy Channel.

But it was a damn shame his memory was so good.

The sound of the front door being shut brought his head up. It had to be his mother, home from the symphony. As he headed downstairs, his mouth was set in a grim line.

She was just taking off her coat when she saw him.

“Jackson, darling, how was your day? I saw the Carradines—”

“Why the hell did you put her in the staff quarters?”

His mother's eyes rounded in surprise. “You mean the conservationist? Darling, she's here to work, isn't she? She's not a guest.”

“She's here at my invitation. She's staying in the Red Room.”

Mercedes paused as she measured him and then resumed putting her coat away. “As you wish. It was never my intention to upset you.”

“You didn't upset me—you insulted my guest and pissed me off.”

Jack turned to go back upstairs, thinking it was better for them both that he get away from her. He really didn't appreciate her games and he was feeling particularly protective of Callie.

Probably because she'd handled his mother's affront with such grace.

“Jackson, don't be angry,” Mercedes called up after him. “How was I to know? I mean, she doesn't exactly look like a guest of ours, does she?”

Jack paused and glanced over his shoulder. “She is a guest of
mine.
Staying in
my
house. So she's going to be treated properly.”

His mother lost a bit of her bravado. “Jack, I had no idea she was so important.”

He turned and kept going, not trusting himself to respond.

After his father died, it had seemed a little much to kick her out of the house she'd lived in for some forty years. At the time he'd also figured keeping her at Buona Fortuna would save him the cost of funding yet another household. With no money of her own, and no skills to offer in the workplace, she couldn't support herself, and it wasn't as if she could sponge off her other son. Nate wasn't making the kind of income that could maintain the lifestyle she'd become accustomed to. Jack was her meal ticket and all three of them knew it.

He shook his head. She was a perfect example of where beauty and brains could take a person. Unlike Nathaniel Six, she hadn't come from wealth. For all her haughty airs, his mother had started her life in the fishing town of Gloucester, the fourth child out of six in a family of Portuguese fishermen. Her one goal was to get out into the big world, so at fifteen, she'd changed her name from Myrna to Mercedes and vowed to find her destiny somewhere far away from her roots. When she was accepted to Smith College on a scholarship, she'd been ready to make her mark.

Or put her mark on an eligible man, as was the case.

Jack's father had fit the bill nicely, coming from much wealth and being of the Walker name and legacy. They'd met through friends when Nathaniel Six came over from Harvard one fine, spring weekend of his senior year. Her beauty caught his eye and her aggressive nature had ensured he didn't have the opportunity to stray. Three months later, she dropped out of college and they were married discreetly at the Episcopal church in Osterville on Cape Cod.

It had proven to be a good match, Jack supposed. His father hadn't been bothered in the slightest by her background. In fact, he'd been more than happy to have her on his arm while he taught her what she didn't know. And, like the outstanding student she was, Mercedes soaked up the lessons in better living and then exceeded all expectations. By her thirties, she'd firmly established herself in Boston's social set. In her forties and fifties, she joined the right nonprofit boards and became respected for her civic contributions. Now, in her early seventies, she was held in esteem by the WASP establishment, courted by climbers, and generally regarded as the arbiter of taste when it came to judging which holiday parties were worth going to.

Her ascent was something she was no doubt proud of, but it was only a victory of appearances. Though her determination had carried her to heights of wealth and social power she hadn't dared dream of as a child, nothing could change the fact that she'd been born into the working class. Jack had always thought it was a truth she despaired of even though no one else seemed to think twice about her modest beginnings, at least not in her immediate family. In fact, Nathaniel Six had regarded the wife he'd transformed into the toast of Boston society as a badge of honor.

Frankly, Jack didn't know how she'd withstood all those years of condescending affection.

The trade-off, though, was one hell of a lifestyle.

As he went down to his bedroom, he was convinced that Mercedes and Callie had a humble start in common. It made him wonder why, assuming Callie could have used the money, she'd turned him down twice before accepting his generous job offer.

He paused outside of her door. While he was trying to see through the wood, his mother's voice drifted down the hall.

“What are you doing?”

He wanted to snap at her to leave him the hell alone. Instead, he went over to his own door and said smoothly, “I thought we already said good night.”

“Jackson.”

“What?”

“She's not your kind, Jackson.”

He shot a glare down the hall. Mercedes was standing under the light at the head of the stairs, her face drawn in dramatic shadows, her cheeks hollow, her lips painted red with the lipstick she always wore.

When he didn't reply, she spoke with urgency. “You must always remember. You carry the Walker legacy.”

“You don't need to remind me of that. Not when I'm cutting all the checks to keep it alive.”

He was opening his door as she came down the hall at him. “I heard about Blair tonight. Why didn't you tell me yourself?”

Jack crossed his arms over his chest, trying to think whom she could have heard it from. They hadn't kept the engagement a secret, but there had been no wide announcement, either.

“It really isn't relevant,” he said.

“You're getting married. Of course it's relevant.” Her eyes started to light up with an enthusiasm that exhausted him. “When is the date?”

Ah, yes, the precise question he wanted to avoid. He told himself this was because he didn't want his mother meddling in his and Blair's affairs, but the image of Callie flashed in his mind and wouldn't leave.

“We haven't decided.”

Mercedes frowned. “Have you made announcement arrangements yet? What about the papers?”

“I haven't contacted them.”

She smiled. “Well, no worry. I'll call tomorrow—”

“No, you won't.”

“Jackson, this is—”

“None of your business, Mother.”

She rolled her shoulders back and arched her elegant brows. “Well.”

Jack smiled grimly while the silence stretched between them.

If she wanted to wait for him to give her free rein with the planning, she'd be sleeping out in the hall, he thought.

Mercedes's chin rose. “No announcement, no date. Why did you bother to ask her to marry you?”

As he refused to entertain the question, he watched a subtle triumph flare in his mother's eyes and thought her accuracy for finding vulnerable points was a gift. For her, at any rate. He supposed that everyone needed a hobby and his mother's favorite one was exposing people's weaknesses.

Though why the hell she couldn't take up knitting like every other seventy-year-old was a crying shame. After all, she'd still get to use needles.

“Sleep well, Mother,” he said, stepping into his room.

“Please, Jack.” The aggression drained from her face, revealing an impotency she must have despised feeling. “I only want to help.”

“Then let us handle it. We'll let you know if we need you.” He shut the door firmly.

CALLIE CAME awake with a jerk. She had the eerie sense she was being watched, and when she rolled over, she ran into a furry face and a lolling pink tongue.

“What the—”

Bolting upright, it took her a moment to remember where she was and that Arthur had stayed with her during the night. His tail wagged shyly, as if he was dismayed and a little hurt by her reaction.

She leaned forward and put her hands under his ears. “Sorry, Artie. I'm not used to waking up next to a man.”

His tail went back and forth with a wider sweep as he rose on his hind legs and put the upper half of himself on the bed. As she rubbed his chest, she looked out the windows. By the pale gray in the sky, she guessed it was probably around seven.

“I imagine you want to go out.” She didn't have a lot of experience with dogs, but figured his visit to the bed wasn't just a social call.

She was pulling on her jeans when she heard a knock at the door.

When she opened it and Jack was on the other side, she had her second jolt of the morning. He looked sexy as hell. His hair was still damp, the dark waves thick and shiny, and he had on a black sweater and blue jeans. The casual clothes looked good on him.

But what wouldn't, she thought, eyeing the span of his chest.

He smiled and leaned against the doorframe. “Good morning.”

“Yes?” she said, aware that she was staring and unable to help it.

“I've come for my dog.”

“Ah—he's right here.” Obligingly, Arthur appeared in the doorway.

“Did he keep you awake? He chases groundhogs in his dreams a lot.”

Callie shook her head and tried not to smile, thinking if she felt more comfortable with the man, she might have asked how he knew they were groundhogs. “I sleep through anything.”

“Good trait to have.”

The conversation stalled and she began to fidget while he continued to look at her. She racked her brain for a way to get him to move along. She was quite sure there were more amusing things for Jack Walker the great to do, none of which would involve her standing awkwardly in a doorway, trying to make small talk with him.

“Why don't you meet me downstairs,” he said finally. “We'll head for the garage and you can set up your workshop.”

“The sooner, the better,” she said under her breath.

Both his brows rose. “Are you always so focused?”

“I just want to get this job over with,” she blurted. “What I mean is, I don't want to waste any time here.” She shook her head. “Rather, I really—”

“Should I take your rush to get out of here personally? I wonder.” He straightened from his casual pose with a half smile. “Come on, Arthur.”

Callie watched him and the dog go down the hall.

She had to admit, she liked the way he moved. What she wasn't quite so fond of was his habit of staring at her. She couldn't begin to imagine what he found so fascinating.

Although the larger problem, she supposed, was her response. The warm feeling that came over her skin and sank into her bones was disconcerting.

Mostly because she wouldn't mind getting used to it.

Shutting the door, Callie knew she shouldn't deny the truth. She was attracted to Jack in spite of his past with women and all his money. Part of it was physical, of course, but after last night there was more. His indignant response when he saw where his mother had put her showed that her comfort and her pride mattered to him. His sensitivity had been unexpected and the fact that he'd wanted to take care of her had been . . . appreciated even as she'd made a point to prove her independence to him.

She shook her head and reminded herself whom she was dealing with.

An exhibition of good manners didn't mean he'd turned into Prince Charming. Ruthless men could still be polite. After all, her father had possessed the manners of English royalty and still managed to cheat on his wife for decades. Romanticizing Jack Walker was not in her best interests. If she really wanted to take care of herself, she'd work long hours and get out of his house as quickly as she could.

So yes, the man certainly could take her desire to get his project done fast personally.

After showering, she grabbed her toolbox and went downstairs, unsure of exactly where she was supposed to meet Jack. She listened and heard a voice down at the far end of the house. Following the sound, she eventually found him in his study.

He was standing behind a large desk, facing a set of French doors that were hung with maroon velvet drapes. The room was paneled in a dark wood and had a spectacular domed ceiling on which a scene of cherubim and clouds had been painted. Across from the desk, there was a black marble wet bar and a bank of TV screens that were silently projecting MSNBC, CNN, and CNBC.