An Irresistible Bachelor (16 page)

He put the pan to the side and came over. His kitchen whites were spotless, she noted, except for the dish towel that hung from his belt and had a couple of red smudges on it.

As they shook hands, she noticed that he had a tattoo of an anchor on the inside of his forearm. A seaman, she thought.

“So what are we eating, chef?” Jack asked, going over to the cupboards and taking out a pile of dishes. He proceeded to set the low-slung oak table that was in front of a bay window.

“My marinara sauce. For a cold night like tonight, it's just what you need before hitting the sack.”

Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “Bless your heart. I'm starved.”

“Yeah, it's your mother we can't get to eat around here.” As Arthur came over to Thomas and looked up at him, the man laughed. “But this one, we can't get to stop with the munching. Can we?”

The dog waved his tail and licked his chops.

“So what are your plans for tonight?” Jack asked as he pulled out some linen napkins.

“Got a date with the sweet Angelina.”

Jack laughed. “She's still around?”

“Son, you don't turn down a woman like that. She's got special skills with her—” Thomas paused and glanced at Callie. “Er—she's a great conversationalist.”

Callie grinned as the man took off his apron and tossed it into a hamper in the corner. “I'm heading up to shower and then I'm going out. Don't wait up.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Jack replied.

“Nice to meet you, Callie.”

She waved. “Same here.”

When the lights dimmed, she looked up in surprise. Jack came over, lit the candles on the table, and offered her some wine. She decided to hold off on the alcohol until his friend arrived. Suddenly, the intimate atmosphere seemed a little overwhelming and she wanted to keep sharp.

This was not about her and Jack, she reminded herself as they sat down. He had a fiancée and she was waiting to be introduced to his friend. This was absolutely
not
about the two of them.

“You're really going to like Gray,” Jack said. What followed was a long list of the man's attributes, including some anecdotes about Jack's college days that had her listening more for clues about Jack than anything about his friend.

“And I told him all about you.”

“What did you say?”

“That you are smart and—” He cleared his throat. “And that you're beautiful.”

She slowly lifted her eyes to his face. He was staring at the deep red wine in his glass, swirling it around so it caught the light.

“So, how are you and Nathaniel getting along?” he asked brusquely.

“Fine.” She was more than happy to talk about work. “It's taken me a while to finish the overview, but it's important to be precise during the documentation part of the project. I took pictures of him today and I'll start working on the canvas tomorrow.”

There was a brief silence and then she asked, “What was your day like?”

Jack smiled and started to remove his cuff links. She heard one hit the table with a solid sound.

“Not all that good.” He took off the other one and started rolling up his sleeves. The backs of his arms were covered with fine, dark hair and she had to look away. “The blood brothers are still driving me nuts, I think interest rates are going to go up, and my assistant gave notice because she's going to start business school in January. On the other hand, one of my main competitors got indicted for fraud. How's that for a day? The best thing that happened was I got to picture someone I dislike in horizontal stripes. Oh, but my brother's coming for a visit soon.”

She fiddled with the silverware in front of her, turning the knife over and over. “Really? Tell me more about him.”

“We're twins.” He laughed as she glanced up. “I didn't mean that. Well, we look nothing alike if that makes any sense. He's a hell of a cook, as I mentioned. Thomas taught him the basics and then, after he graduated from Harvard, he went to CIA.”

“He was a spy, too?”

“Culinary Institute of America.”

“Ah.” She smiled. “You two must be close. Or at least I've heard that about twins.”

“We are, even though we don't have a lot in common.” Jack's voice took on a hard edge. “Although our father didn't like either one of us, so that's something.”

Callie frowned, trying to imagine how a parent couldn't be proud of everything Jack had accomplished. Ten billion dollars was a lot of money for one man to be able to throw around. “But why?”

He shrugged. “I was too aggressive. Nate was too laid-back. In retrospect, I think my father got along better with women his whole life. He probably would have been easier on daughters.”

The phone rang and Jack reached over to the wall. When he hung up, he looked out of joint.

“Gray's not coming. He said to tell you he was sorry and that he's looking forward to meeting you.”

“Oh.”

Jack frowned for moment, but then went over to the stove, where he put some pasta into two bowls and ladled on the sauce. After he'd served her and sat down with his own food, she thought it all looked too good to be true. The candlelight. The steaming bowls of pasta.

Him.

“Wine?” he asked.

Yes, she could certainly use a drink right about now. “Please. But white, if you don't mind. My head doesn't like red.”

Jack went over to a wine refrigerator and pulled out a bottle. As he opened it at the table, her eyes lingered on his hands, tracing the thick veins that ran down his arms and into his fingers. She thought of what he'd looked like after returning from his run. All sweat and muscle.

“Is it hot in here?” she asked abruptly.

“You want me to open the window?”

She shook her head as he poured. When he was seated, he raised his glass in a toast.

“To Nathaniel.”

“To Nathaniel.” Their glasses met. And then their eyes did.

Looking across the candles at him, she thought the scene felt very different from their usual routine.

She quickly took a drink and focused on her glass. “Good Lord. What kind of wine is this?”

He said something in French and followed the grand title with the year she'd gotten her learner's permit to drive a car.

“It's, ah—very nice.” And no doubt the best wine she'd ever had.

As she tried the pasta, she let out a small moan of appreciation.

Jack looked up. “I feel the same way. The man's a genius.”

“How long have you known him?”

“He's been here since the seventies. He could be a chef in any first-class restaurant, but he works best by himself. But what about you?” He switched the subject deftly. “Do you have any siblings?”

Callie swallowed a mouthful that had turned flavorless. She bought herself some time by drinking a little wine.

“I have a half sister,” she said quietly.

“Are you close?”

“Ah—it's complicated. But I like her very much.”

He nodded and let the subject drop, only to bring up something that completely wiped out her appetite.

“What about your parents? What are they like?” He was twirling pasta around his fork casually, but she wasn't fooled. He was waiting for her answer.

“They're both dead.”

He lowered his fork. “I'm sorry.”

She shrugged. In the dim light, she was stupidly tempted to talk. About her mother, at least. But then she eyed the empty place setting, where his friend should have been, and reminded herself that an accident of fate had put them alone together. This was not some magical beginning for them.

“Thanks, but I'm doing okay.”

“So who do you go to when you need help?” he asked. “Who's there for you?”

She took a good long drink. “I, ah—I don't know how to answer that.”

“You could try a proper noun,” he chided gently.

She smiled, thinking when he got playful like that, he was pretty damn near irresistible.

“I try to keep to myself,” she said.

He frowned and tilted his head to one side. “What kind of men do you go for?”

She looked at him in surprise. “What kind of—God, I don't know.”

“Come on, there must be a set of characteristics you find attractive. Looks, humor, money—”

“Definitely not money.”

He smiled and picked up his glass. “So that takes me out of the running.”

“You're out of the running because you have a fiancée.” As soon as the words were out, she wanted to curse. “What I mean is—”

Jack took a fast drink. “I know, I know.”

There was a long silence.

“So back to your men. What's your type?”

Callie shook her head at his persistence. “I don't have a type.”

“Everyone does.”

“So what's yours?” she countered quickly.

“Touché. But how about you go first this time?”

When she just smiled and stayed silent, he laughed.

“Don't tell me you can't take what you dish out?” As she remained quiet, he said, “Fine. Why don't you tell me what you think my kind of woman is? But remember, charity begins at home and you're under my roof.”

She hesitated. “Are we talking about the new, improved, socially responsible Jack Walker? Or the playboy whose pants have been known to run through hotel lobbies without him?”

He laughed. “For both our sakes, let's keep it current.”

“Okay.” She took a long drink from her glass and was surprised when she emptied it. “I'm sure you'd want someone who shares your background and values, who's beautiful, socially adept. I can't imagine you'd waste time with a dummy, so she'd have to be smart. And I think it would make it easier for you if your mother approved, although I doubt you'd make that a condition.”

His eyebrows rose and she got the impression she'd nailed the answer.

“May I have some more wine?” she asked quickly.

His lips lifted. “Of course. If you answer my question.”

“I just did.”

He smiled. “I still want to talk about your men.”

Well, that was going to be one short conversation, she thought wryly.

Shifting in her chair, she noted that he seemed content to wait her out.

“My wine first,” she prompted, tipping her glass forward.

He poured and then looked at her directly. “So?”

She shrugged. “There's nothing to tell.”

“Or nothing you want to share.”

“The end result is the same, isn't it?”

“You are so damn elusive,” he muttered. “Getting information from you is like pulling an oak out of the ground with a shoestring.”

She had to smile. “Interesting way of putting it.”

“You frustrate the hell out of me.”

“So maybe you should give up.”

He shook his head, looking at her through his dense eyelashes. The hazel in his eyes burned. “Sorry, Callie. I'm not that kind of a man.”

She pushed her wine away abruptly and stood up. “It would probably be better for us both if you were.”

When she made a move to go past him, he reached for her hand. His grip was warm. Urgent. “Don't go.”

She knew if she looked into his eyes, she'd be lost, so she stared at one of the candles, watching the flame undulate slowly. The air seemed to have suddenly thickened and her lungs felt tight.

“I really wish you hadn't kissed me,” she murmured.

The bold statement was followed by an absurd urge to smack her palm over her mouth.

“Tell me,” he said softly, “are you looking for another apology for what I did? Or is it because you can't quite get how it felt out of your mind?”

Through the candlelight, his voice drifted up to her, embracing her.

She tried to take a deep breath. Her heart couldn't seem to decide between beating triple time or stopping altogether.

“Callie?”

Warily, she looked into his eyes. Crazy things started to swirl in her mind, like images of herself leaning down toward him.

She watched his gaze go to her lips. As his eyes darkened to a near black, she had the sense that he was as conflicted as she was.

Callie shook her head, trying to get her hand back. When he didn't let go, she stopped and asked, “What are we doing here?”

“I wish to hell I knew.”

And then he got to his feet and pulled her to him.

Putting his hands on either side of her face, he bent his head and she closed her eyes, lifting her mouth for his kiss even as she told herself it was wrong.

He already had a woman. A fiancée. This was all wrong.

Still, when the kiss didn't come, she was bitterly disappointed.

She lifted her lids. He was poised, inches from her lips, his eyes burning. But he came no closer.

Riding a wave of insanity, she grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down so she could kiss him. He resisted for a split second and then crushed her to him so they were hip to hip, chest to chest. His mouth was hungry on hers, his tongue sliding between her lips, his hands digging into her hair. She moaned and leaned into him, feeling the length of his body against hers, so solid and strong.

“God help me,” Jack groaned while he pulled her shirt free and slid his hands onto her bare skin. “You feel too good.”

He pressed her up against something, maybe the wall, his hands coming around to her stomach as he kissed her neck. His lower body was grafted onto hers, the hardness of him pressing into her, and she only wanted him closer. Naked. Inside of her. She held on to his shoulders with all her strength as he slowly moved his palms upward to her breasts. He spanned them with his hands, cradling the sides in his palms, but he didn't actually touch them. She strained against him, wanting more.