Against the Storm1 (19 page)

E
verything was ready. The dining table was set with the white linen cloth Ashley had purchased at Bed Bath & Beyond when she discovered Maggie didn’t have one. She had also purchased four place settings of white porcelain dishes, the kind the chefs used on TV. Thankfully, Maggie had decent flatware and a set of expensive crystal wineglasses.

“I saw them and I just had to have them,” her sister had said with a smile and a shrug. “I have no idea why, but wine always tastes better in a pretty, long-stemmed glass.”

Which, oddly enough, seemed true. Jason was bringing the wine, so the rest of Ashley’s money went to buying the actual food. Except for the small bouquet of mixed spring flowers she had bought at the grocery store and arranged in a clear glass vase she had found beneath the kitchen sink.

Supper was simmering on the stove, the chicken, tomatoes and spices bubbling in the skillet. The pasta was finished and covered to keep warm, the arugula salad crisp and chilled, just waiting for her to add her
special oil-and-vinegar dressing. The lemon mousse was in the fridge.

She turned at the knock on the door, took a moment to catch her breath and slow her pounding heart. She smoothed the long skirt of the white piqué, sleeveless summer dress she was wearing with a pair of strappy silver sandals, and headed for the door.

When she opened it, Jason Sommerset stood before her. For several seconds she just stared. He looked like a movie star, only more masculine, and for an instant she considered just closing the door and pretending she wasn’t there.

“Can I come in?” he asked, a smile of amusement on his lips.

“Oh, yes, of course. I just…I haven’t dated in a really long time and… Well, to tell you the truth, I was never any good at it.”

His smile widened. “Then we’ll pretend this isn’t a date, just two friends getting to know each other.”

She felt a little of her tension ease, returned the smile. “Okay.”

Jason handed her the bouquet she had only just noticed. She took it with a trembling hand. “Pink roses. They’re gorgeous, Jason. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He walked past her into the house and set the bottles of wine he had brought on the kitchen counter. “I didn’t know if you liked red or white so I brought both.”

“Either is great with me, although red would probably go better with dinner.”

She carried the flowers to the breakfast bar. They were neatly arranged in a pretty pink vase, so she wouldn’t have to stop cooking to take care of them. She had never been given roses before. It made her
feel feminine and kind of soft inside. She wondered if he had chosen them especially for her or if roses were what he usually brought a woman.

He turned toward the stove, sniffed the air. “Oh, boy, that smells delicious.”

She grinned. “Chicken cacciatore with prosciutto tortellini gratinato. Lemon mousse with raspberries for dessert.”

His blond eyebrows went up. “I guess you really do like to cook.”

“I really do. Eventually, I’m hoping to get into a culinary school. I want to be a chef.”

“Wow, I’m impressed.”

“Too soon yet to be impressed, but maybe someday…”

“Definitely. You’ll do it. I can see the determination in your eyes.”

Something warmed inside her. He was taking her seriously, something few of the men she’d known had ever done. They talked while he opened the bottle of red, a French wine—a Rothschild Bordeaux, the label said, expensive she was sure. Ashley got the pair of Maggie’s good glasses she had put on the table, and he poured wine into each.

“Where’s your little guy tonight?” Jason asked, handing her one of the glasses.

“He’s staying with the lady next door, Mrs. Epstein. Robbie really likes her. So do I.”

“That’s great. You know you didn’t have to get a sitter. I wouldn’t have minded if he had been here with us.”

Ashley glanced at him, a little surprised. Ziggy had no patience with kids. Even if he’d stuck around, he would have been a terrible father.

The delicious aroma of simmering chicken, tomatoes and herbs filled the air. Jason lifted his glass. “To new friends.”

She lifted her own. “New friends.” They clinked the glasses together and each took a sip. She was no wine connoisseur, but it really tasted good.

“I like it,” she said. “I don’t know much about wine but I need to learn if I want to be a proper chef.”

“I could teach you the basics,” Jason offered. “For instance, this is a French Bordeaux. That means it’s from the Bordeaux region. The date, 1999, is the year it was released for sale.”

He told her a little about the white wine he had brought, which was a California chardonnay from the Napa Valley. “The truth is, almost all the modern French wines come from California stock. The original vines were destroyed by the Phylloxera virus in the early 1900s. Healthy vine stock had to be imported back to Europe.”

Ashley smiled at the interesting little tidbit. It was nice to talk to someone who treated her as if she had a brain. “That’s cool. I had no idea. I bet the French do their best to keep it a secret.”

“I’m sure they do.”

She smiled again. “You know they’re starting to make wine in Texas. I don’t know if it’s any good.”

He grinned. “Hey, if it’s from Texas, it’s got to be good, right?”

She laughed. So Jason thought like a true Texan, not just some jet-set rich boy. He continued to surprise her. She liked that about him.

“Are you hungry yet?” she asked. “The chicken looks like it’s ready.”

“Oh, yeah.” He helped her carry the chilled salad
plates from the fridge to the dining table, returned and retrieved their wine, while Ashley dished up the supper she had prepared, plating it prettily as she had seen chefs do on TV.

Jason held her chair as she sat down, then took his seat across the rectangular table.

“Everything looks great,” he said, surveying the colorful spring bouquet and the elegant place settings she had taken such care to arrange. “You’ve done a beautiful job, Ashley. I feel like I’m eating in a gourmet restaurant.”

She felt a rush of pride. “I hope the food is up to your expectations.”

Jason surveyed the steaming plate in front of him, a hungry look in his eyes. He decided to try the salad. “This is really good. What’s that spice in the dressing? I don’t quite recognize it.”

“Curry powder. It just gives the oil and vinegar and other spices a little extra zing.”

Jason lifted his glass, then set it back down without taking a sip. Instead, his eyes remained on her face. “I almost called today and canceled our dinner. I got some bad news earlier. I wasn’t sure I would be very good company.”

She had noticed he seemed slightly distracted. “What happened?”

“You know my dad died. I mentioned it when I was here before, and it was in all the papers.”

She nodded. “I saw it on TV. After you left the day you were here, Trace told us you didn’t believe it was suicide, and neither did he.”

Jason swallowed, the muscles in his suntanned throat going up and down. “The coroner’s report came in today. They found small amounts of a drug in my
dad’s system. Something called ketamine, a tranquilizer they use to sedate animals. That bastard married to my sister drugged him and murdered him and made it look like he killed himself.”

Ashley’s heart went out to Jason. Believing a trusted member of the family was responsible made his father’s death even more painful. “Are you sure he’s the one who did it?”

“He was stealing company money. He did it, all right. If he wasn’t in jail, I swear, I’d kill him.” Jason glanced away, his jaw tight. When he looked at her again, he seemed so haggard, so defeated, that Ashley reached out and put her hand over his where it rested on the table.

“I don’t think your father would want that, Jason, not for the son he loved. He would want justice. That’s something you can make sure he gets.”

She caught a quick flash of moisture in Jason’s eyes, then it was gone. He turned his hand over, laced his fingers with hers.

“That’s what Trace said. No matter how long it takes, I’ll make sure my dad gets the justice he deserves, and Parker Barrington spends the rest of his life in prison.”

He didn’t let go of her hand, just gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m really glad I came. You’re not like the other girls I know. I think you really care about people. Most of them only care about how they look and how much money I spend on them.”

Ashley eased her hand from his, then missed the warmth. “I’m glad you came, too.” She smiled. “And I have a feeling my chicken cacciatore is going to make you feel even better.”

Jason laughed, and she thought it sounded a little lighter than it had before.

“I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in ages. Even
when my mom was still alive and we had a chef, we mostly ate catch as catch can.”

Ashley could hardly image a life like that.

“But next time it’s my treat,” he insisted. “If you still don’t want to go out, we’ll go to the store together and I’ll buy the groceries.”

Ashley looked at Jason and soft heat curled in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t lust. It was scarier than that. Jason wanted to see her again. They had more in common than she had believed.

She hadn’t thought past tonight, but she wanted to see him, too.

Now she just hoped he liked the chicken cacciatore.

Trace opened the door and stepped back, welcoming Maggie into his house. He was dressed in dark blue jeans and a crisp white shirt, his black boots polished to a sheen. His hat was missing, his dark hair neatly combed, and he looked gorgeous.

A little thrill of excitement slipped through her. He was so damned sexy, so damned male.

“You look good enough to eat,” he drawled, his golden-brown eyes going over the yellow sundress she wore. It was printed with miniature peach daisies that matched her lipstick, and his gaze settled on her mouth. Bending his head, he kissed her, a brief melding of lips as he led her into the house and closed the door.

His mouth found hers again, long enough to stir the heat beginning to curl low in her stomach.

“Peaches,” he whispered, the flavor of her lipstick. “Darlin’, you taste as good as you look.” He moved closer, sank his fingers into her hair and tipped her head back, holding her in place as he ravished her lips.

She could taste his desire for her, thick and strong,
feel the heat of his skin, the mounting tension in his body.

He started to pull away, save making love for later, but her heart was pounding, her insides quivering. Going up on her toes, she slid her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down for another kiss. It turned deep and erotic and left no doubt as to what she wanted. When she opened for him, his tongue slid inside to tangle with hers, and arousal trembled through her. She heard Trace groan, and his whole body tightened.

“If we don’t stop now,” he whispered, kissing the side of her neck, “we aren’t going to make it through supper.”

Maggie made a soft little purring sound, let her head fall back as he rained kisses over her neck and shoulders.

“You started this, cowboy. Now food is the last thing on my mind.”

He growled low in his throat and captured her mouth in another burning kiss. She hadn’t expected the evening to go quite this way, but at the feel of all those hard muscles pressing against her and the heavy, demanding length of his erection, all she could think of was making love. She wanted more of his burning kisses, wanted him to touch her, do the things he had done the last time they had been intimate.

His mouth claimed hers as he backed her up against the living room wall—thank God, the curtains were closed—slipped down the straps of her sundress and peeled off the top.

For several long moments he just stood there, his gaze hot and fierce as he drank her in. Then he bent and took the fullness of her breast into his mouth, and Maggie swayed against him. Her nipples were diamond
hard, and beneath the fly of his jeans, so was he. She clung to his neck, slid her fingers into the hair at his nape, marveling at the silky texture. She arched her back, giving him better access to her breasts, and he didn’t waste time accepting her invitation.

Her stomach contracted. She loved the feel of his mouth against her skin, the rasp of his strong white teeth on her nipple. Maggie closed her eyes as he shoved her skirt up above her waist and reached for her, skimmed a hand over the flat spot beneath her naval. She was wearing only a pair of white thong panties. She gasped as he caught hold of the narrow strap between her legs and ripped it away, tossing the scrap of white satin over his shoulder.

“I’ll buy you some new ones,” he murmured, his mouth coming down over hers again.

Maggie whimpered as heat scorched through her. She caught the front of his white Western shirt and jerked it open, the snaps popping as she bared his chest and ran her hands over the bands of muscle, which bunched wherever she touched.

Heat scorched through her, so strong her legs felt weak. Trace kissed her again, long and hot and deep. Her hands shook as she unfastened his silver buckle, then tugged his zipper down.

“I want you,” she whispered. “You make me crazy.”

His jaw clenched as if he was in pain. “Jesus God, lady.”

She was in a fog of lust when he found her center and began to stroke her. Heat and pleasure rolled through her, need and sweet desire. She held on as he lifted her, wrapped her legs around his waist, freed himself and drove deep inside her.

Maggie moaned. He was big and hard, and every
time he moved, pleasure swept through her. He took her with long, heavy thrusts that had her trembling, making little mewling sounds in her throat. She tightened around him, knew she was going to come.

With a wild, keening cry, she spoke his name and collapsed against his shoulder. When she looked up at him, she caught the gleam of male satisfaction in his eyes.

“Better hang on, darlin’. We aren’t done yet.”

Oh, my God
. Maggie’s eyes widened as he started all over again, slowing his rhythm as he regained control, giving her time to catch fire again.

They came together in a blaze of heat and passion like nothing she had experienced before, the pleasure so deep and sweetly erotic she felt the sting of tears.