An Irresistible Bachelor (17 page)

With a moan, he stopped kissing her and rested his head on her shoulder, breathing heavily. The sound rushed in her ear, as loud as the screaming in her blood. As he struggled for self-control, she didn't know whether to be grateful or not.

“This isn't right,” he said roughly. “We shouldn't be doing this.”

But then his thumb moved over to her nipple. It was the gentlest of brushing, but it made her want to cry out in triumph and need. She arched back, trying to give him more room, and found herself in full contact with his erection.

Abruptly, he pulled away and put the distance of the kitchen between them. She stared in shock at the retreat, wondering what had made him stop, as shame cut through her sensual fog.

But then his mother walked into the room.

Callie tried to gather up her composure, to look something other than thoroughly kissed and achingly frustrated in front of Mrs. Walker. Heading back to her chair, she surreptitiously pulled down her shirt, glad that the woman tended to ignore her presence.

Thank God Jack had heard the front door open. She sure hadn't.

“Well,” Mercedes said. “Isn't this cozy.”

Callie was grateful for the dim light as she picked up her fork and pushed the cold food in her bowl around. She had no doubt that her face was showing what her body was still feeling, and no mother needed to see that.

Especially not Mercedes Walker.

“You're home early, Mother.” Jack's voice was dry and Callie risked a look at him. His face was utterly composed, as if nothing had happened at all. Considering the hoarse rasp of his voice just moments before, his recovery was downright astounding.

“I wasn't feeling well.”

Callie glanced over at the woman. She looked perfectly fine.

For someone who was thoroughly pissed off but hiding it well.

Mercedes's eyes were shooting messages at Jack and it was pretty clear what the gist of them were. The woman obviously didn't like the intimate atmosphere in the kitchen, didn't approve of her son having quiet dinners with someone other than his fiancée. She no doubt would have fallen over in a dead faint if she'd walked in on them while they were actually kissing.

Then again, Callie would probably have passed out, too.

An awkward silence ensued while Mercedes glared at her son and Jack leaned back casually on the granite counter.

So this was how the upper classes fought, Callie thought. No yelling, no cursing. Just a lot of chilly glances and the rank odor of disapproval filling the room.

“Did you want something?” Jack said smoothly.

Mercedes took off her gloves with sharp movements and pushed them into the pocket of her fur coat. “No.”

“Good night, then.”

“Good night, indeed,” Mercedes snapped before turning on her heel and leaving.

Callie took a deep breath and stared at the remnants of their dinner. The half-eaten food in Jack's bowl. The candles dripping wax. The napkins that were lying on the table.

Such a fine meal, she thought. Or at least it had started out that way.

“You okay?” Jack asked.

She nodded even though she was far from fine. Now that she was thinking more clearly, she had to wonder what would have happened if Mercedes hadn't come home. Would they have ended up in a bedroom somewhere? Was she really that reckless? To lose her virginity to a man with no relationship, no declarations of love? No chance of a future because he was
engaged
to someone else?

Unfortunately, when she remembered what it felt like to be in Jack's arms, Callie thought, yes, maybe she was that rash. And maybe she should thank his mother for being an intrusive pain in the ass.

Jack cleared his throat. “Brace yourself. I'm about to apologize again.”

Callie looked up at him. “This time, you have nothing to be sorry for. I was the—ah . . .”

Aggressor
was probably the right word. God, she wanted to cringe.

Jack shook his head and came over to the table. She thought for a moment he would take her in his arms again, but he only cleared his place setting.

As he went over to the sink, he flipped the lights on and she blinked from the glare. He paused and then slammed his bowl down with force, making her jerk in surprise as pasta jumped out and landed on the counter.

“Damn it, I don't want to . . . want you like I do. What's happening between us . . . It isn't right.”

“I agree,” she said quietly. “We should—Ah, let's just forget about it.”

His face was harsh as he stared at her over his shoulder. “You think that's even possible?”

“Do we really have a choice?”

In the awful silence that followed, she helped him clean off the table. As soon as the job was done, she dropped the napkins on the counter and headed to the door.

“Good night.”

He didn't stop her. “Good night, Callie.”

JACK WADDED up the napkins, threw them into the hamper, and shut off the light. Instead of heading for the stairs, he went out a side door. The last thing he wanted was to get into a bed that was only the width of a hallway away from her.

The cold wind cut through his clothes and he liked the sting of the night as he walked aimlessly across the lawn. Distantly, he heard cars go by, the sound of Route 9 a soft, unceasing hum.

She wanted him to forget? He'd have more luck turning back time.

When a light came on in Callie's bedroom, he stopped and watched the shape of her body as she moved around. When she paused by the window, he stepped deeper into the shadows. She seemed to be scanning the night.

Forgetting her was just not an option.

And he knew playing Peeping Tom was only going to push him further into the clutches of insomnia, so he headed for the garage. Hitting the light switch and climbing up the narrow stairs, he looked at her carefully arranged work space.

Brown jars of liquid were lined up neatly to the left of the painting, as were an assortment of brushes, wooden sticks, and cotton swabs. The microscope, which had been poised over the painting surface, had been put aside and he saw that a breathing mask and some rubber gloves had been brought out. He picked up a notebook and flipped it open. Her notes on the portrait's condition were voluminous, her writing very neat, her statements almost lawyerly in their tone and accuracy. She'd ordered the documentation under headings like “Surface,” “Edgewrap,” “Soakage,” and “Thread Oxidation.” In talking with her about her work, he'd been surprised at how scientific the terminology was. She knew a hell of a lot about chemistry, for instance, and had been able to describe at a molecular level what would happen when the solvent she was going to use hit the old varnish and liquefied it.

She was, he'd learned, incredibly smart.

As well as sexy as hell.

He closed the notebook and put it back.

Damn it. If his mother hadn't come in, he would have taken Callie on the kitchen table. On top of the damn dishes. He'd been so driven to have her, he hadn't cared where they were.

He shook his head. He had to talk to Blair. He could have put one slipup with Callie behind him. Two was a trend he couldn't live with.

It was not going to be easy. No matter how carefully he expressed himself, he was going to hurt a woman who loved him, and that made him feel wretched. He also knew there was a possibility she'd end the engagement, and he wouldn't blame her if she did.

As the deep growl of a car sounded out in the night, he glanced at his watch, surprised Thomas was home so early.

Before Jack turned off the lights, he looked back at the table, picturing Callie bent over the painting, totally absorbed in her work. He thought about her losing track of time and not eating properly and realized there wasn't a clock in the place, not even a digital readout on the stereo.

He lifted his arm and took off the Patek Philippe wristwatch he wore. He'd bought it when the first company he'd ever invested in went public and made him a millionaire a couple of times over. It was gold, with a black alligator band, and he didn't take it off except for when he showered, even though it was waterproof to some ridiculous depth.

He laid it faceup next to her can of brushes, hoping she'd use it until he figured out what kind of clock to install for her. The thing kept perfect time, and with any luck, she'd know when it was lunchtime now.

Jack was just stepping outside as Thomas got out of his car. The Pontiac GTO was the man's pride and joy. Deep purple with lots of chrome, it was the quintessential muscle car.

“You're home early, old man.”

Thomas let out a shout of laughter. “They call her the fair Angelina, not the faithful. Found another backseat she was interested in trying out.”

“Sorry about that.”

Thomas grinned and ambled over. “S'all right. There'll be others.”

They walked into the kitchen together.

“Beer?” Thomas asked, throwing open the fridge.

When Jack nodded, a bottle came flying through the air at him. He caught it, opened it, and sent it back across the counter. Thomas tossed another at him.

“So that conservationist's a looker,” Thomas said after a deep draw.

Jack frowned, twisting his cap off. “Yeah.”

“How're you two getting along?”

“Is that an honest question or a leading statement?” Jack tipped the bottle back, swallowing hard. It was better than cursing.

“Lil' bit of both. Right now, you're prowling around like you're on a short leash with a plate of food just out of reach. So it makes me wonder.”

“You're reading into things.”

“Don't think so.”

Jack was sorely tempted to go with a lie but he knew he wouldn't get away with it. Not with Thomas. The man had known him his whole life.

“It's no damned good.” Jack shook his head. “And the timing is awful. Just when I decide to settle the hell down. I thought I was through chasing women.”

“You're lucky it happened now. Before things got permanent.”

“Is this why you never got married?”

Thomas grinned. “Naw. I never got married because the woman I loved wasn't interested in me.”

“Really?”

“I know. Can you believe it? With all my charm.” Thomas arched his neck to finish the beer. His eyes had a faraway look in them when his head came back to level. “She wouldn't have me. Thought she was too good for me and was probably right.”

“What happened to her?” Jack polished his beer off and put it down.

Thomas shrugged. “What does it matter?”

“Maybe you could have a second chance.”

“There are no second chances, Jack-o'-lantern,” the man said, using the old childhood name. He tossed his beer into the trash. “I'm heading upstairs. Night.”

“Hey, Thomas?”

“Yeah?”

“If Callie doesn't surface around noontime for some eats, bring something up to her, will you?”

Thomas smiled, long and slow. “Sure thing.”

When the man went up to bed, Jack headed to his study and called Blair's cell number. It rang three times and he got voice mail. He tried the Waldorf, where she had been staying, and then remembered she'd moved into the Cosgrove. When the front desk answered and he asked for her, they transferred him immediately, but there was no answer.

He checked his watch. It was 10:30. She was probably still hard at work.

Jack rubbed his hand over tired eyes. It was a good thing she hadn't picked up. He was in a rush to get through the hard conversation and might have been inconsiderate enough to try it over the phone.

Besides, his mind was as clear as silt.

The next morning, Callie left her room quickly. After what had happened the night before, she would rather not run into Jack. Or his mother.

She was surprised to find Thomas in the kitchen, but he explained an early night had meant he'd been up with the sun and in the mood to make bread.

She grabbed a piece of fruit, because it was the only way he would let her go without making her breakfast, and went to the garage. Arthur was excited by the rush, prancing alongside her.

When she got upstairs and sat down in front of the painting, she saw a heavy gold watch set carefully beside her tools.

She picked it up, recognizing it immediately.

“Oh, Jack.”

She'd spent most of the night sitting on the window seat, a satin pillow cradled in her arms, Arthur asleep on the floor next to her. In the quiet hours, she'd attempted to negotiate a compromise between what was good for her and what she wanted. It was like trying to broker peace between warring tribes.