Chapter 15
Callie felt Jack come down over her and she ran her hands across the smooth skin of his back. As he kissed her neck, she knew she was making the right decision. She wanted Jack, he wanted her. Teenage fantasies of a perfect love had no place in the real world. All anyone ever had was the here and now.
And what she had was Jack nearly naked and touching her with hands that trembled.
He kissed a path down to her breasts and his hands went to her panties. Impatiently, she lifted her hips, thinking how good it would feel to have nothing between them. He slid the fabric down her legs, and as soon as she was free of the wisp of silk, he started to stroke the inside of her thigh.
"I need you," he said hoarsely. "OhmyGod—”
She felt his mouth, warm and wet, over her belly button and the shock of his kiss was covered by a rush of heat as she felt his fingers brushing up against her core. A low sound of satisfaction came out of him and she reached for his face, needing his kiss.
When he pulled back, she let out a protest but he was only taking off his pants. They hit the floor, were followed by his boxers, and then his naked body was over her. The hard, blunt feel of him against her center made her arch beneath him and she was instantly frustrated when he stopped kissing her and pulled back.
"I can't hold on, I can't... Tell me to go to hell right now or I'm going to ..." The veins in his neck were straining and his wide shoulders were rigid with tension. He was keeping himself in check. Barely.
For a split second, Callie felt some fear. This was it.
She looked into his eyes. She could say the word and they would go no further. She could wake up tomorrow morning without having known a slice of heaven. She could wake up alone. Still a virgin.
But life was too damn short to live in the shadows. So she reached up and touched his face, urging him down to her mouth.
"Make love to me," she whispered.
She felt him sag with relief and then he was kissing her again as he positioned himself over her. With one great surge, he drove into her body.
A sharp pain made her grimace, but the sting was followed by a feeling unlike anything she'd ever experienced. She let out a murmur of pleasure and then realized Jack had frozen in place.
She didn't like the look on his face. His eyes were wide with shock as he focused somewhere on the wall behind her head.
"Jack?" she said softly.
He looked down with a disarming blankness. She almost didn't recognize him and staring at a stranger was disturbing, considering he was still inside of her.
"Are you okay?" he asked in a hollow voice.
After she nodded, he withdrew from her body slowly and carefully wrapped the duvet cover around her. Then he sat on the edge of the bed.
"Tell me that you aren't... that you weren't..."
"A virgin?" She focused on the hands that were braced on his knees. "Well, yes."
He shot her a sideways look. "And you didn't think to mention it?"
"I wasn't thinking much at the time."
His head started moving from side to side. "Jesus..."
"Why is it different because it happens to be the first time? You would have been ... fine with it if I'd had another man before you, right?"
He laughed harshly. "Christ, I can't believe I'm actually going to say this, but I'm glad you haven't been with anyone else." He stopped shaking his head. "I just wish I'd known. I would have done things very differently."
"I, ah, I thought you were doing just fine."
There was a long period of silence. She started to grow cold as she pictured him pulling on his clothes and bolting from the room like that guy in college had.
But Jack wouldn't do that, she told herself. Surely, he wouldn't.
He looked at her again. "You should have something that's worth remembering."
"I don't know, Jack. You were pretty unforgettable." She deliberately kept her tone light, not wanting to hint at the desperation she'd feel if he up and left her. Unsatisfied. Alone.
His eyes measured her gravely. She could tell he was wondering if he really had hurt her.
He cleared his throat. "I'd like to try this all over again."
She smiled and reached for him.
Moving cautiously, as if she might be broken, he shifted closer to her. He reached out and brushed his knuckle down the skin of her cheek and then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His hand traveled down her jaw to her chin and he brushed the pad of his thumb over her lower lip while tilting up her face. There was a gentleness about him, a concern, that tempered the need that had returned to his face.
When he kissed her, his mouth was light on her lips, soft to the point of frustration. He refused to deepen the contact. Even though she wanted more, and twisted to get closer to him, he stayed just out of reach. His hands began to stroke her neck and her collarbone and then under her breasts and a sensual languor came over her as his lips followed.
No matter how hard she tried, he remained elusive, pleasuring her with his hands and his mouth without letting her return the favor. Even when she let out a ragged complaint, he refused to bring his body against hers. She kept grabbing at his arms to pull him down, but he hovered above her skin, kissing her breasts and then her stomach as he stroked her thighs. The torture was deliriously frustrating and the pressure in her body kept growing and growing until she scored his skin with her nails as she held on to him.
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 laid 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 on to 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 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 flooi; 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."