Lost in Love (11 page)

Overwhelmed and confused, she turned her face. “It feels sad to be here, but at the same time I feel like the manor is happy with its new state. I think it’s good that people will enjoy the old house again. I was the only one who was ever happy to come here. My sisters hated it here as much as I considered it home.”

Jackson sighed and rested his head against hers. “I’m sorry it was taken from you, duchess. I’d give it back to you if I could.”

She studied him. “You really would,” she said incredulously. She shook her head. “It’s just as well that Suncrest Park is going to be a resort. I’m happy with things as they are.”

“You sound surprised by that.”

“I am.” She frowned. “Who’d have thought that my mother would be right?”

“You sound surprised by that, too.” He took her hand and played with her fingers. “Don’t you know mothers are always right? At least that’s what my mama assures me.”

“You sound close to your mother.”

“I’m close to both my parents, even if I want to strangle them sometimes.”

She tried to picture what that would look like, but she had no frame of reference. The love in his voice made her wistful for what she’d never experienced.

He rolled onto his side, facing her. “What was your mom right about?”

“Me. Working at the museum. She found the job posting. She inferred that I should do more than spend my life alone in a dreary place.”

“Do you want to be alone?”

Oddly, now she couldn’t imagine anything that didn’t involve him. “I don’t.”

“Then so far our theorem that mothers are always right holds true.” Sobering, he lifted her hand to tuck against his chest. “You’re lucky, Portia, that your mom sees you well enough that she knows what you’re passionate about and encourages you to do it.”

“I’m just not sure why she cares all of the sudden.”

“Does it matter? She obviously loves you.”

“You’re right,” Portia said slowly as she thought about it.

“That’s one statement I could never get tired of hearing.” He winked and then kissed her hand.

On impulse, she scooted off the bed, tugging him to follow her. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” he asked, moving slowly. “I was comfortable right here.”

“I have someplace I want to show you.” She tugged on his hand. “It’s special.”

He smiled. “Well then, sugar, lead the way.”

As she led him up the back stairs, which had been restored and polished, she wondered what she’d find when she reached her destination. She slowed down, unsure she wanted to see her special place changed so.

“Lost your way?” Jackson teased her.

“Just gathering courage.”

He pulled on her hand, making her turn around. Lifting her chin, he stared into her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

The concerned caring in his gaze bolstered her. She gave him a quick kiss—and another less quick one because the first one hadn’t been enough. “Don’t be. We’re almost there.”

She took him up the rest of the stairs, to the attic. The door creaked open, just like it always had, and that made her heart happy.

“You should have told me to wear a girdle,” Jackson said as they squeezed past the boxes and supplies blocking the doorway.

“It wasn’t like this before.”

“What was it like?”

“Like this,” she said, stunned, pointing at the rest of the large attic. She stopped in the middle, shocked that everything was exactly how she’d left it the last time she’d been up there, down to the rug and cushions she’d piled in the window. She walked to it. “This was my spot. I used to sit on the floor there and read.”

Jackson walked up to it. Looking around, he grabbed an old blanket, shook the dust off, and set it on the pile. “Come sit with me, duchess, and tell me what you liked to read.”

Kicking off her shoes, she settled under Jackson’s arm. “My favorite thing to read was the diaries from Catherine Summerhill, the first Countess of Amberlin. I always wanted to be her.”

“Why?”

“Because she was fabulous.” Portia shrugged. “She was beautiful and confident. Bold. She asked for what she wanted and always made sure she got it.”

“It sounds like you inherited her spirit.”

“You think so?” she asked hopefully.

He chuckled. “Duchess, if you were any bolder, we’d probably be arrested for indecent exposure.”

“Really?” She perked up.

“Are you serious? Portia, you do remember that you’re the one who strutted into my office and made a deal to get your tiara back, right?”

She did do that. She smiled, feeling proud of herself—feeling like Catherine would have approved of her finally.

Well—almost. If Catherine had known how much Portia wanted Jackson, she’d have pushed her in his direction and said, “What are you waiting for?”

What, indeed? Not pausing to think, she wiggled out of her sweater and began to unbutton her top.

She felt Jackson’s body stiffen next to her. “Uh, duchess? You getting a hot flash?”

“I definitely feel hot.” The need in his eyes bolstered her. She dropped her blouse, unhooked her skirt as she stood, and let it fall. Kicking it aside, she straddled his legs and sat down on his lap.

His hands ran up her thighs, squeezing her behind and resting on her waist. His gaze roamed over her, greedy and appreciative. “My parents have always told me I’m a devil, but I must have done something right sometime to deserve this.”

“You kissed me in the elevator,” she said, unbuckling his belt.

“Thank God for my good sense.” He cupped the back of her neck and brought her lips to his.

He kissed her the way he’d looked at her—greedily. Sighing, she closed her eyes and pressed closer to him.

“Wait.” He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside before bringing her back against his chest. “Better.”

She nodded. Much better. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she gave herself to the embrace. His kisses were intoxicating. Her head swam more with each nibble and lick until she was sure she was going mad.

Something gave way. It took her a moment to realize it was her bra and that Jackson had unhooked it.

“Off,” he said, pushing the straps from her shoulders.

She shimmied it off and set it aside. “My underwear?”

He looked down between them, tracing the waistband of her garter belt with his fingertip. “Leave this on, but take the panties off. Quick, or I may rip them off.”

She shivered, tempted to let him.

“Oh hell, duchess.” He bunched the lace panties in his fist and pulled.

She felt a tug, and then they shredded from her as though they were made of tissue. She blinked down at herself, amazed. “I didn’t know it’d be that easy.”

He ruffled the triangle of hair he’d exposed before slipping one long finger between the lips of her sex.

They both moaned as he found her wetness. She met his gaze, rocking forward as he teased her. The only sound in the room was her panting breaths.

“I’ve been dying to touch you like this since you flashed me your legs in the elevator,” he said huskily. “I knew you’d feel like this, silky and wet.”

She wanted to ask him how he’d known, because she hadn’t. She’d never felt like this with a man—wanton and loose and so needing. Desirable and powerful.

The feeling went straight to her head. She lifted her arms above her head, arching back as he touched her with his one finger. She smiled when she saw the way he watched her—like he could watch her forever.

With his free hand, he took something from his jean pocket and held it out. “Want to do the honors?”

She glanced down. A condom. She’d never sheathed a man with one, but she was willing. She took it from him and, after a couple fumbling tries, managed to cover him.

Not waiting, she climbed up on his lap. As she began to lower herself onto him, she grabbed his cowboy hat from his head and put it on her own.

He grinned at her, a slow, sexy smile that made her even hotter than she already was. “I like it,” he said, “but can you ride?”

Lightheaded, delirious, giddy, she smiled like she was Catherine Summerhill. “Hold on,
sugar
.”

He laughed, and then he groaned as she began to sway back and forth on him. Muttering a curse, he wrapped his hand in her hair. “You’re going to kill me, duchess.”

“And it’ll be heaven,” she promised.

“Yes, it will.” He began to touch her again, the tip of his finger at just the perfect spot as she rolled her hips.

She closed her eyes, the sensations overwhelming. She felt a wave building inside her, unlike anything she’d ever felt. She gasped when she felt his lips close over her nipple, and when he began to suck, she cried out, the wave getting away from her, crashing down and over her. She fell forward, gripping his shoulders, calling out his name as she came.

His hand tightened almost painfully in her hair as he groaned her name and stiffened under her. She opened her eyes enough to see his eyes squeezed shut, his head thrown back, and a look of pure ecstasy on his face.

She’d done that to him. Feel powerful and womanly, she slumped onto his chest. The hat toppled off her head and onto the floor but she didn’t bother to pick it up. She didn’t want to budge from this spot.

This was the perfect farewell. She hugged Jackson to her, kissing him over his beating heart, grateful that he gave her this gift of one last beautiful memory at Suncrest Park.

When Jackson finally spoke, he said, “I knew you were a cowgirl at heart the moment I laid eyes on you.”

She hadn’t, and at one time she might have been offended to be equated to something so American. But maybe she was more than she’d always thought. And if being a cowgirl meant this …

Well,
yee-haw.



Chapter Fourteen

Jack’s phone rang with the theme of Jaws—his father’s ringtone. Silencing his father’s call, he continued to pretend to listen to the master gardener they’d hired to restore Suncrest’s gardens. The man was telling him about the garden they were in, but Jack heard every fifth word. He didn’t think he could be faulted for being distracted. Distraction had a name, and her name was Portia.

He didn’t know where she was, but he knew where he wanted her to be—back in his bed. After their interlude in the attic, he’d carried her to his room and kept her there the rest of the night.

Waking up with her entwined with him had been better than throwing the championship pass in high school, and that was saying something, because football was sacred as far as he was concerned.

The gardener turned around and pointed at him. “You’re wasting my time if you’re not going to pay attention.”

“Sorry.” Jack smiled pleasantly at the man. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Humph.” The man bent and picked at something on the ground.

“If it helps, it’s pretty clear that you know every leaf on this property.” Jack nodded at the surroundings. “It’s apparent in the way everything is blooming. I’ve seen pictures of this place before you came on, and it looked like something out of horror stories.”

“Wasn’t so bad before,” the man muttered. “Just needed some love.”

“Don’t we all?” A flurry of motion caught the corner of his eye, and he turned in time to see Portia walking down a path. “Where does that path lead?”

The gardener frowned in the direction Jack indicated. “Down by the creek.”

“What’s down there?”

“Water.”

“I’d never have guessed that.” Jack clapped a hand on his shoulder. “No wonder we pay you the big bucks.”

The man snorted, waving him away. “Go on after your lady, then. No sense talking to you when your mind’s trailing after her.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say Portia wasn’t his lady, but he didn’t like the thought of admitting that.
Something to think about later
, he told himself firmly, walking down the path.

The dirt walkway wasn’t long. Narrow and recently cleared back, it ended abruptly by a patch of grass and rocks.

No sign of Portia.

Frowning, he looked around and found a pile of clothing neatly folded on a rock. He stepped closer, his mind going blank at the frilly underwear lying on top.

Something rustled to the left, and then there was a streak of pale backside before a splash and a muffled shriek.

He knew that shriek, having heard variations of it several times last night. Five times to be exact.

Feeling good, he walked to the edge of the water to watch her. Each long, graceful stroke was punctuated by muffled curses, and he couldn’t help grinning. “Cold?” he called out to her.

She stopped and treaded the water, slicking her hair back from her face. Her pearls glistened around her neck. “Freezing.”

He crossed his arms. “What made you jump into a pond in the middle of January?”

“Insanity.” She shook her head. “We used to swim in here all the time in the summer. I was overtaken by the urge to do it one last time.”

He felt a pang of guilt for denying her Suncrest, even though he wasn’t the one who’d bought it from her father. She loved this land and they were using it for commercial gain.

She must have seen his thoughts written on his face, because she shook her head. “Things change. You can’t blame yourself for that. If anything I’m grateful to you for revitalizing this place. And I’m happy Meredith wants to include bits of the family history. It’ll live on much better than if I’d turned into Miss Havisham here.”

“Is Miss Havisham a neighbor?”

She laughed, light and tinkling.

Something in his chest melted. “I love hearing you laugh, even when it’s at my expense,” he said. Then, because he wanted to feel her laughter against his chest, he shrugged out of his coat and let it fall onto the ground.

She stopped laughing and stared with wide eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Joining you.”

“You just called me crazy for being in here.”

“You called you crazy, and I never claimed to be sane.” He shed the rest of his clothes and dove in.

He surfaced, yelling obscenities as Portia laughed. He splashed her and then pulled her into his body. “The least you can do is warm me up.”

“Once you swim around a bit, it doesn’t feel so cold.”