Unwrapped (17 page)

“I wish,” Jac said. “I'm talking more about his frat house with its motorcycle, pool table, and pit bull.”

“What did you expect? Your husband is very alpha.”

The word
husband
made her pause before she continued. “So alpha that he left his wife on their honeymoon to go to work. No doubt because Bailey refused to tell him about Aunt Frances's will and instead informed him that I was flat broke.”

“She told him that before he married you, so I don't think that had anything to do with it. Maybe after your puking session at the courthouse, Patrick just thought you needed some rest.”

She flung her arm over her eyes. “I don't want rest. I want another orgasm!”

Gerald laughed. “Then let him know.”

“Just blurt it out during dinner?”

Gerald released an exasperated sound. “I was thinking of something a little more subtle. Like wear one of his shirts without any underwear—men like Patrick love that. It's a possessive thing.” He moved his mouth away from the phone. “Give it a rest, Bailey.” He returned to Jac. “Listen, I've got to go. Your sister has decided to have an argument about discrimination with one of the security guys. I'll talk with you later.”

Once Gerald hung up, Jac thought about what he'd said. Maybe Patrick was just thinking she needed rest. Maybe all he needed was a little seduction. Kicking off her shoes, she reached for the remote and turned on the television. After surfing through the channels, she giggled with delight when she found the movie
Pretty Woman
. It was just the inspiration she needed.

If anyone could do seduction, it was Julia as a hooker.

I
t had been a long day, and by six o'clock Patrick was dead on his feet. It hadn't helped that he had spent a sleepless night thinking about his upcoming marriage or that, at four in the morning, he'd finally given up on sleep and gone for a long run on the icy streets of Denver to clear his head. Exercise hadn't helped. He still felt like he was walking around in a fog. Only now it was a married fog.

He didn't blame Jacqueline for his predicament. He blamed fate. It was fate that had brought her to the cabin on Halloween night. Fate that had made the condom bust. Fate that had turned a content single man into a miserable married one.

“Fate can be your friend or your enemy. I guess it all depends on your viewpoint.”

Patrick lifted his gaze from the blueprints he'd been staring at, but not seeing, and turned to find the little old street bum standing in the shadow of the overhead steel beams. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, and his eyes twinkled merrily. The coat he wore didn't seem warm enough for the weather, but at least someone had given him a hard hat. It sat at a jaunty angle on top of his thick white hair.

Since there was no way the old guy could've read his mind, Patrick figured that he'd been thinking out loud. Which showed exactly how tired he was.

“So I'm assuming you're here for a job.” Patrick picked up his cup of coffee and was thoroughly disappointed when it turned up empty. “Jimmy's already left for the day. But if you come back tomorrow, I'm sure he can find you something.”

The man stepped closer. “Actually, I'm not here for a job. I already have one that takes up all of my time.”

As far as Patrick was concerned, begging didn't qualify as a job. But since the man had to be close to Wheezie's age, if not a little older, Patrick refrained from pointing that out and pulled out his wallet.

The old guy held up a hand. “Thank you, but I didn't come for money either.” He paused for only a second before adding, “I came for you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. The other day I forgot to ask you what you wanted for Christmas.”

Patrick realized why the man was living on the streets. He was a few cards short of a deck. Which made Patrick pull even more money out of his wallet. “Here. Try not to spend it on booze.”

The man's whiskers lifted in a smile. “I'm not much of a drinker. Although occasionally I do like a hot toddy.” He ignored the money Patrick held out. “It's a simple question, Patrick. What do you want?”

There was something in his blue eyes—a familiarity and kindness that had Patrick answering truthfully. “My own life.”

Instead of questioning him, the old guy nodded as if he understood perfectly before looking around at the skeleton frame of the building. “Sometimes when you're born into things, it's hard to grow out of them.”

“I don't want to grow away from my family. I just want to grow. To have the experience my father had of starting a business from scratch.” He looked around. “Nothing this big—but something that is mine from start to finish.” He shook his head. “But now with the baby on the way…” He let the sentence trail off.

It was a truth Patrick had been avoiding, but he couldn't ignore it anymore. How could he possibly start a new business with a wife and baby to take care of? And he didn't doubt for a second that, once Jonesy found out, the offer would be off the table. Jonesy didn't want a family man. He wanted a builder who would concentrate solely on building his sports bars.

Suddenly too tired to continue the conversation, he held out the money. “Look, I need to finish up and get home. Please take this. Do you have a warm place to sleep tonight?”

The old guy hesitated for only a second before taking the money and pocketing it. “Don't worry about me. I love the cold weather.” He leaned over and picked up the candy-striped thermos that had hit Jacqueline in the head. “But I will take my thermos. It keeps my hot cocoa nice and toasty.”

Patrick's forehead knotted as he stared up at the steel girders. “But how did it get—” He cut off when he glanced over and saw that the man was gone.

Patrick spent the entire drive home thinking about the little old bum and his thermos. The only explanation he could come up with was that the man had somehow gotten on the lift and ridden to one of the top floors. While it was a relief that one of M&M's employees hadn't been negligent after all, it also made Patrick realize that he needed to stiffen up security around the lifts.

But all thoughts of security and the street bum dissolved when he pulled into the back parking lot of his condo. Instead of opening the garage, he sat right outside staring up at the glowing windows. He had always thought of his home as a refuge from the outside world, a place where he could drink a cold ale, shoot a game or two of pool, and then fall asleep on his pillow-top mattress. No more. Now it held a woman. A woman he couldn't even begin to understand.

Unfortunately, Patrick never reneged on an agreement. Resigned to his fate, he pushed the opener and slowly pulled into the garage. When he stepped inside the condo, he expected to be greeted by his herd of pets. Instead he was greeted by the succulent scent of food. Since he had eaten little breakfast and skipped lunch, he was starving and could only hope that Jacqueline had ordered some takeout for him.

“Where are the dogs—” His words fizzled when he came up the stairs and saw Jacqueline standing at the stove surrounded by a circle of sitting cats and dogs. Her designer dress had been replaced with one of his flannel shirts, the tails hanging over her curvy bottom. Her legs and feet were bare. Her hot pink toenails stark against the solid oak floor. Steam rose up from the multiple pans that simmered and boiled on the burners, encircling a head of auburn waves.

When she saw him, her eyes softened, and she smiled. Not the fake, superior smile she normally wore, but a warm smile that caused her entire face to light up. While he stood stock-still, she wove through the animals and placed a kiss on his lips. As far as kisses went, it was nothing more than a quick brush. Yet it left a residual heat that went straight to the crotch of his jeans.

“How was your day at work, dear?” she asked, her voice tinged with a soft Southern drawl. When he didn't answer, she walked to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of Scottish ale. She pulled a bottle opener from her shirt pocket and opened it before placing it in his hand. The feel of the cold bottle brought him out of his daze.

“That's my shirt.” It was one of the stupidest things he'd ever said, but the scent of food and woman had woven a spell around his brain as much as it had around his dogs and cats.

She smoothed the shirt over the gentle slope of her hips. “I didn't think you'd mind.”

He cleared his throat. “Just don't get anything on it.”

“If I do, I guess I'll have to take it off.” She moved back over to the stove, while the visual of her cooking naked made the crotch of Patrick's jeans even tighter. He took a deep pull of ale and tried to act like he wasn't on fire.

“So what did you do to win them over?” He tipped the bottle at Gomer, who had yet to even notice Patrick. His canine eyes followed Jacqueline's every move with a glassiness that was duplicated by his friends.

“Just gave them treats like you told me to.” She lifted a lid off the large pot and a wonderful smell filled the air. “I hope you like pot roast. I thought it was the manly type of food a big construction worker like yourself would enjoy.”

Patrick did love pot roast, but at the moment, it didn't appeal to him as much as the woman cooking it. There was something about this domestic Jacqueline that made his heart thump crazily and his mouth go dry. He took another drink. “I thought you didn't cook.”

She dipped a spoon in the pot. Holding a hand beneath it, she walked over and stopped in front of him. “I didn't tell you that. That's just what you assumed.” She held the spoon to his mouth. “Be careful. It's hot.” The word
hot
came out in a puff as she blew on the gravy before slipping the spoon between his lips. “Is it yummy?” she breathed.

It was yummy, but no yummier than the moist mouth that was only inches from his. The desire for her body quickly outdistanced the desire for food. He reached for her, but she stepped away.

“Why don't you change out of your work clothes while I get dinner on the table?”

Table
?
He glanced behind him. Sure enough, she had turned his desk into a table with a sheet for a tablecloth and the candle his mother had given him for a centerpiece.

“Where the hell is my computer?” he asked, right before the aroma of fresh-baked bread assailed his nostrils. He turned to the delectable sight of golden-topped rolls being pulled from the oven.

“Don't worry,” she said, “I put it in the bedroom so you can be more comfortable while you work.” She pulled one fluffy bun from the rest and smeared it with a liberal amount of butter, then held it out to him. “Now these are my Granny Lou's special recipe. She could cook like nobody's business.”

The warm, yeasty bread melted on his tongue, and he closed his eyes in ecstasy. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had bread straight from the oven. It reminded him of his Aunt Wheezie and the cold winter days of his childhood.

The brush of warm skin against his bottom lip caused his eyes to open. He found Jacqueline licking her finger. “Mmm”—the sound came from deep within her chest—“that is good.” Then before he could replace her finger with something else—like his tongue—she placed a hand on his chest and pushed him from the room. “If you don't hurry, your dinner will get cold.”

Dazed and confused, Patrick climbed the stairs to the third level. It was only after he stepped beneath the shower spray of hot water that his brain began to function again. What the hell did she think she was doing? He didn't want his computer in his bedroom reminding him of all the work he needed to get done. He wanted it back out in the dining room with his dart board. His dart board. What had she done with his dart board?

He quickly finished showering and pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of sweats with every intention of finding out. But when he reached the dining room, dinner was waiting. And the sight of the tender roast beef, fluffy potatoes and tiny little carrots all swimming in rich gravy wiped out all thought of dart boards. He sat down and dug into his dinner with a relish he hadn't felt in years. He used to go over to his parents' for this type of comfort food. But since his mother had started working at the domestic violence shelter, she'd stopped cooking big meals. Until this moment he hadn't realized how much he'd missed them. Paying little attention to Jacqueline or the dogs and cats that encircled his feet, he ate his way through two helpings. Finally he leaned back in the chair and sighed with contentment. Now that his stomach was full, he needed to get some things straight.

“I want my computer back on the desk.”

Carrying a bowl, she sat down on the barstool next to him. “What do you have against tables?”

“Nothing. But I like my house the way it is—or the way it was.”

“Bite?” She spooned up brownie and ice cream dripping in chocolate syrup. When he shook his head, she took the bite.

Patrick didn't care for sweets, but if the dessert was as good as she made it look, he might have to reconsider. As soon as her lips closed around the spoon, her eyes closed and her head tipped back, displaying the soft skin of her throat. She seemed to suck more than she chewed, as if trying to get every last bit of flavor from the dessert. A pink tongue flicked out to catch a dollop of wayward chocolate, and her lips pressed together as that little sigh/moan she made during sex escaped her throat. Then she opened her eyes and smiled at him before scooping up another bite and starting the entire process all over again. After she finished the second bite, Patrick's dick could've hammered three-inch nails.

“Don't you want some?” she asked, her blue eyes dreamy and her full lips glossy with chocolate.

“Oh, I want some,” he rasped out, before coming out of his chair so quickly he knocked it over. But he didn't care. He wanted his wife, and he wanted her now.

Lifting her from the barstool, he kissed her the way he'd wanted to since he'd found her in the kitchen—with a deep, tongue-tangling kiss meant to take her breath away and leave her as horny as he felt. However, her sweet mouth and exploring tongue ended up taking his breath away, forcing him to pull back as he fumbled with the buttons on her shirt.

When he couldn't seem to get his fingers to work, he gave up and, in one yank, sent all the buttons flying. Jacqueline's eyebrows lifted for a fraction of a second before she shrugged and the shirt slipped off her shoulders to reveal creamy breasts swelling over a pink lacy bra. The scoops of tempting flesh rivaled any culinary treat he'd been offered that evening, and he pushed down the satin straps and dipped his head to one breast.

Jacqueline moaned and slid her fingers through his hair as he pulled one pretty nipple into his mouth. While he feasted on her breast, he caressed his way down to her lace panties, his fingers trailing along the edge of the waistband before dipping inside. She was hot, wet, and more than ready. But before he could even test her inner sweetness, her hand slipped between them and released him from his sweatpants.

The feel of her fist around his rock-hard cock almost brought him to his knees. He released her breast and moaned as her other hand joined the first, cradling his testicles with soft caressing squeezes as she stroked him from base to moist tip. He endured the torture until every cell in his body clamored for release. Then he covered her hands and halted their play. Even then, climax was only seconds away.

Possibly milliseconds.

Realizing he'd never make it to the bedroom, Patrick moved her away from the desk and, with one swipe, cleared off the dishes. After he picked her up and set her down on the sheet, she glanced at the mess on the wood floor and smiled.