Midnight Kiss (8 page)

“You are brilliant as well as beautiful. Now we only have one other thing to worry about.”

“What?”

“Whether we’re going to make out like teenagers on the couch, the floor or the bed after we have breakfast.”

She threw her arms around him. “You should send me away! I’m full of contradictions and flaws! I’m as much to blame for that nightmare of a wedding day as Glen is!”

He grinned only briefly before covering her mouth in a fabulous, hot, wet, long kiss. And after that he said, “Look. The sun’s coming up on a new day. A new year. A new life. Let’s eat something and get started on the making out.”

“You’re not afraid to take a chance on me?” Sunny asked him.

“You know what I’m looking forward to the most?
I can’t wait to see if we fall in love. And I like our chances. Scared?”

She shook her head. “Not at all.”

“Then come in here and let’s see if we can’t turn the worst day of your life into the best one.”

Jean Brashear

For Ercel, whose midnight kisses still thrill me

Austin, Texas

“S
PILL, GIRL
.
Who was last night’s victim?” Fiona Sinclair asked.

“What makes you think there was one?” Jordan Parrish responded to her best friend.

Fiona rolled her eyes. “Because you date like a guy, trolling the waters, snagging the juicy ones and playing with them till you’re bored, then throwing them back in. And when’s the last time you didn’t go out on a Friday night?”

“Fee…” Marly Preston, the third member of Girls’ Night, eased between them, a fresh wine bottle in hand. “Don’t badger Jordan. You’ll hurt her feelings. More wine?”

“Shark lawyers don’t have feelings, sweetie.” Fiona grinned at Jordan. Jordan stuck out her tongue in response. She and Fiona always played rough, and kindhearted Marly always worried.

“Anyway, how are we old married ladies supposed to live vicariously through her if she plays her cards close to the vest?” Fiona asked. “We depend on you, Jordan.”

“It’s her business,” Marly protested, “and she doesn’t have to share the details of her sex life…unless she
wants to?” Her eyebrows rose at the end of the sentence, along with her voice.

Jordan couldn’t help laughing. Even after five kids, Earth Mother Marly still possessed an innocent air that life couldn’t seem to erase. The room around them reflected her nurturing tendencies: bright splashes of color, soft cushions she’d upholstered, candles made by hand, needlework and thriving plants everywhere.

“Nobody worth mentioning,” Jordan sighed. “I’m thinking of taking a break.”

Fiona snorted.

“You don’t think I will?”

“Seriously?” Fiona finished the last of her wine and held out the glass for Marly to refill. “No.”

“I know someone you need to meet,” Marly piped up. “There’s this amazing carpenter who works for David, Will Masterson. He’s—”

Jordan flashed her palm. “Stop right there. No matchmaking. You promised.” She rested her head on one fist. “If only real men were like the ones you write in your romance novels, Fee.”

“You’d never let them be the alpha male, shark girl.”

“Stop teasing her, Fee.” Marly turned to Jordan. “There are plenty of good men.”

“Yeah, right. When’s the last time
you
dated, Mrs. I-Married-My-High-School-Sweetheart?”

Marly refused to rise to the bait. “Yes, well, this guy Will’s special. You’ll meet him at Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, brother…” Jordan groaned. “If he’s so great, what’s he doing at your annual gathering of lost souls?”

“You’ll be there,” Fiona pointed out.

Jordan made a face at her, then returned her attention to Marly. “Look, I know you mean well. You and David are still so gooey in love, even after five kids, it’s sickening. You think everyone should be like you, but not everyone can pull off your miracle. You’re the one who’s special.”

“I’m only a housewife.”

“Are you kidding me? You run rings around both of us. I mean, look at you—you cook like a dream, raise five amazing children, you tend a huge garden, you sew, upholster furniture—look around you. This place is gorgeous, and you did all of it.”

“But my kids are growing up and won’t need me as much soon. You’re a successful lawyer who meets all kinds of fascinating people and parties every night. Fee has a family
and
a career.”

Fiona sat up straight, worry on her features. “Want to talk about it?”

Marly shook her head. “No, I’m fine. I’m just saying—”

The back door to the kitchen opened, spilling noise inside. Jordan glanced at her watch. David had taken the kids out for the evening, but it was now Sam’s bedtime. Time for them to go.

Sam streaked into the room and threw himself into his mother’s arms. Marly hugged him tightly, while over her little boy’s shoulder she glanced at her husband. David’s smile seemed a little forced.

Jordan traded glances with Fiona. Usually you could feel the energy and love in the air between those two, but tonight Marly had sounded almost…dissatisfied.

A shiver ran through Jordan. Her faith in the institution of marriage was minimal at best. Her parents had
delighted in making her the rope in their constant tug of war, and the best day of her life had been when they’d parted just before she turned eight. Not that they didn’t still use her as a weapon, but they’d moved to opposite coasts and now that she was grown, she could dodge them fairly easily most of the time.

If Marly and David were having trouble…what hope was there for anyone else? Which was why Jordan would never, ever try married life herself. She was a realist.

Some people were meant for the vine-covered cottage, the puppies and kittens and babies.

She was not one of them.

Other people got married because they couldn’t stand being alone.

She was fine on her own. She liked living on the edge, keeping her options open. Staying light on her feet.

No shackles for her.

And definitely no illusions.

W
ILL
M
ASTERSON AROSE
with the chickens, as usual.

Literally. His rooster was a walking alarm clock.

The far east Austin neighborhood where he lived was an old one with large lots and a country feel to it. Plenty of room for his big garden, his chicken coop and the woodworking shop he’d made from a detached garage that had—like the house—been close to falling down when he’d bought the place for a song.

And one day, it would be perfect for a whole pack of children.

His family still hoped he’d return to Ireland, settle down with a nice country girl and raise a large family,
as most of his siblings were doing. He’d had the same intention once, that after a few months of traveling across the United States, a place with which he’d been fascinated while growing up, he’d return home.

That had been seven years ago. He’d recently applied for citizenship in this big, rowdy country that suited him like a second skin. He missed his family, yes, but he’d found home. Not
the
woman yet, no, but that would come in time. Will continued to work on the house in which he and she would raise babies—and he could picture her, perfectly. She’d have curves, real ones, that gave a man a handful of woman to love. She’d bake bread, sew, garden with him, appreciate the simple life and be a good partner to him. No, he wasn’t a throwback as some of his friends accused—he would appreciate and support her career if she had one, could teach her to bake bread if she didn’t know how or make it himself as he currently did. They would share values, however, and that would make all the difference—any rough edges could be smoothed out.

He was looking for a Marly, really. David Preston, the builder for whom he subcontracted trim carpentry, was married to the woman of Will’s dreams, the perfect mother and wife who had created a refuge where David could retreat at the end of a long day.

Too bad she was taken, he thought, smiling. Marly swore she was going to find the right woman for him, and he’d gladly accepted her help. Will believed in his heart the woman of his dreams was out there somewhere.

He simply had to be patient.

And he was nothing if not a patient man.

J
ORDAN ARRIVED AT THE
Preston home on Thanksgiving Day with wine and chocolates in hand. She left the cooking to Marly. “So where’s the paragon?”

“Out there,” responded the Preston’s eldest daughter, Christy. She pointed Jordan to a window in the kitchen overlooking the front porch.

So this was Will Masterson, huh? However much Jordan disliked Marly organizing her love life, she had to admit that the man had a beautiful baritone voice.

He wasn’t half-bad-looking, either, at least from his strong profile. Though seated, he was clearly an imposing man, built like a lumberjack. Jordan leaned against the sill and watched his big hands finger the guitar strings with surprising agility. Notes of astonishing richness and depth emerged from the guitar, intertwining with his voice and that of the second Preston daughter Sarah’s in a melody so haunting that all activity around the house had stopped.

Jordan listened, instantly caught up in the spell, and was astounded to feel her eyes fill. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried, but not to respond to the pain and longing in this music would require a heart made of stone.

He looked up suddenly and caught her gaze.

She quickly looked away.

When the last notes died off, there was a long hush of respect for something extraordinary. Then from all quarters burst enthusiastic applause.

Will nodded and smiled, then his gaze returned the window.

Jordan retreated from view.

Just then, Sam skidded out on the porch. “Wow! Can you teach me to do that? Only not something so girly?”

Everyone broke up with laughter, including Will.

“Like this, you mean?” Will launched into a rousing tune filled with war and bloodshed and enough battles to thrill a little boy’s urge for mayhem and set everyone’s toes tapping.

Jordan smiled as she turned to help Marly.

“I told you he was amazing,” her friend said. “He’s restoring an old house, he builds furniture like an artisan, gardens, cooks—”

“Then you take him.
So
not my type.”

“Maybe your type needs changing.”

“How about we talk about Girls’ Night instead?” Jordan retorted. “So what was up with you?”

Marly’s mouth went tight. “Nothing. Would you get me some ice from the utility porch?”

Jordan’s eyes widened at her friend’s icy tone. Suddenly she wished she hadn’t come. She always counted on Marly’s warm nature and usually felt right at home with her family, but today…everything felt wrong. And having the big Irishman lurking… Holidays gave her the willies at the best of times. This wasn’t one of them.

As she yanked on the stubborn latch of the ice chest,
Jordan broke a nail down to the quick. She swore darkly and sucked on her finger.

“Is that any way for a lady to talk?”

Jordan whirled around, face-to-handsome-face with the last man on earth she wanted to be near. “I’m no lady. Anyway, you shouldn’t sneak up on people.”

“I had no mind to scare you. Would you be needing some help?”

“I’m doing fine, thank you.” She dropped her injured finger to her side.

“So I see. Let me take a look at that.” He stepped forward, extending his hand. “I’m Will Masterson.”

She stuck her own hand behind her back. “I know who you are. Marly’s playing matchmaker again, you do realize.”

“Me? With you?” His eyes rounded.

“You don’t have to sound so insulted. You’re not my type, either, just so you know.”

“Certain of that already?”

“You’re not?”

“You’re one to make snap judgments, are you?”

She shrugged. “Saves time.”

He flashed a bright smile. “And clearly you’d like me to go away. Are you always so prickly or is it Marly’s intentions that have put the burr up your lovely behind?”

“It’s my behind, and I’ll thank you not to be watching it.”

A lovely low rumble shook him. “Now, I’m thinking any man with eyes could not possibly accommodate that demand, begging your pardon. It’s a very fine derriere, and I suspect you know that.”

His blue eyes twinkled with amusement that only
irritated her more. “Well then, why don’t you open this big ole ice chest for li’l ole me?” She batted her lashes. “Marly needs more ice inside.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled with his rumbling laughter, his cheeks denting with dimples. He leaned past her and picked up the chest as though it weighed nothing. “Why, of course, darlin’,” he answered in falsetto. “Just tell this poor dumb mick where you’d be wanting it.” The gleam in his eyes said he knew her game but he was too good-natured to mind.

Jordan narrowed her gaze, then stuck her nose in the air and sauntered inside. She’d make it through the meal, then she was history.

Marly, what the devil were you thinking?

W
ILL SURVEYED
the group numbering nearly thirty scattered around the huge dining table and assorted card tables strung into one long banquet. He rose from his seat, wineglass in hand. “To Marly, who brings new meaning to the words
domestic goddess.
”

“Hear, hear,” replied David. “Best of all,
my
domestic goddess.” He bent to his wife and gave her a lingering kiss. Marly blushed and looked away.

“Get a room, you two. There are innocent children present,” Jordan teased from her place beside Will.

The eldest Preston boy, fifteen-year-old Davy, stared at Jordan adoringly. He and twelve-year-old Joseph seemed to think the lady lawyer was hot. Will couldn’t disagree—if, that is, one had a self-destructive bent. She was a skinny, bad-tempered siren, and if for a moment as she’d watched him sing, he’d thought he’d seen something in her…

He had more regard for himself, that fine derriere notwithstanding.

“They do that stuff all the time, Jordan—you know that,” Sam piped up. “We just ignore them.”

The assembled group rang with laughter.

“Do you have Thanksgiving in Ireland, Will?” asked Sarah.

“No, darlin’, we lack the essential ingredients—Pilgrims and the native tribes. A pity, I’m thinking. I have to admit that my first experience with Thanksgiving was a revelation, though never have I had these foods prepared more deliciously than today.”

Jordan stirred. “I agree, but I have no idea why you put yourself through this, Marly. You cook for three days, and in forty-five minutes, it’s demolished. What’s the point?”

Marly shrugged. “A woman’s lot in life.”

“Not this woman,” Jordan muttered.

Will glanced to see if Marly had heard. “Must you?” he asked Jordan, keeping his voice low.

“What?”

“Your cynicism is misplaced here.”

She arched one eyebrow. “Marly’s used to it.”

“You do her no service.”

“Where do you get off, telling me what I can and can’t say to my friend?” she whispered furiously.

“Some friend you are, but we’ll discuss this later.” They were beginning to draw attention.

“We won’t speak at all, if I have any say.” Jordan turned to the middle Preston son, Joseph, on her other side. The boy was clearly smitten with her.

She said not another word to Will as the meal wound down. He was inclined to be grateful. Her short spiky
black hair was as sharp as her attitude, and she was rude to boot.

She was surely wrong about Marly’s intentions. Marly wouldn’t do such a thing to him. Jordan couldn’t be further from the woman of his dreams.

A
FEW HOURS LATER
, however, the woman was still on Will’s mind as he returned home after a long day. He had worked at the jobsite before going to the Preston home because there was trim to run, and he’d wanted the space and quiet to do it properly. There was a peace to be found in measuring and cutting, fitting pieces together in a joint so smooth and sweet that no one would be able to spot it easily.

He should be tired and ready for bed, but he wasn’t. His thoughts kept returning to the prickly lady lawyer, who hadn’t hung around long after the meal. He didn’t know why he should be sparing her one second’s consideration.

Except that he couldn’t seem to stop remembering his first sight of her as she watched him sing.

She’d had her heart in her eyes, he’d have sworn it. No matter what a harridan she’d been afterward—aggravating, supercilious, insulting. In those first brief seconds, he’d thought he’d spotted something quite different.

He’d almost have said the woman was lonely.

At the time, however, he hadn’t been aware of how out of character such vulnerability would be, how difficult she actually was.

But then there was her behavior with the Preston children. Around them, everything about her softened. Her claws retracted and she could be almost…sweet.

The contrasts made him want to dig deeper.

And here he’d said he had no self-destructive instincts. He shook his head as he unlocked his workshop. A warm, furry shape appeared beside him, the scarred head bumping the side of his knee.

“Good evening, my friend,” Will greeted Finn, the half-blind border collie he’d found on another jobsite a few months back. He dug his fingers into the now-silky hair that had once been matted and full of burrs, his fingers kneading the old dog’s neck and shoulders.

Finn groaned and leaned into him.

Will sank to his haunches and sent the dog into ecstasy, his tail thumping eagerly on the wood floor. At the commotion, another figure appeared in the doorway, Moira, the mama cat who’d once owned this space until he and she had made their peace with one another. She twined her way past Finn and rubbed against his leg. “How are you, darlin’?”

He gave both animals a good stroking—and then he laughed.
My Will, the savior of strays,
his mum called him. He had a radar for a lost cause, a sad case, she claimed. Perhaps so, but if he had one grain of sense in his thick skull, he’d ignore any such notions about Jordan Parrish.

Will rose and walked to his workbench, studying the jewelry box that was his current project, wondering exactly who he was making it for. He didn’t always know until he was finished, but the making of something new was a challenge, a puzzle to be solved.

He would spend an hour or so at the end of this long day focusing only on these pieces of wood that would become something beautiful, and he would cease to care if the lady lawyer was lonely.

He didn’t need the headache.

You’re not my type,
she’d said. Nor was she remotely his own.

Resolutely Will put his hands to work, and after a bit, his mind followed, leaving all thoughts of sad-eyed women behind.

J
ORDAN HAD HIT A COUPLE
of clubs that were open even on Thanksgiving night, had danced until her restless feet hurt. She’d flirted, been propositioned, had considered and dropped several candidates, but in the end, she’d returned to her Sixth Street loft alone.

Now she sat on her second-floor windowsill, one leg propped up, the other dangling over empty air. Looking down, she watched the entertainment district stragglers, wondering if any felt her watching their little dramas unfold. Across the street, a decrepit Ford van crawled away, carrying the house band to a wee-hours breakfast where they’d laugh and talk and divide the night’s take among them.

Someone whistled back behind her, a tune so achy and sad she wanted to beg him to stop.

“Hey, gorgeous,” a graveled voice called right below her.

Jordan looked down.

Guitar strapped across his back, he was young…too young, but wise in the ways of the street, she could see that. Hard times rode the planes of his face, nestled in the long hair drifting over his shoulders. “Whatcha doin’ up there, pretty lady?”

Jordan smiled. “Not much. You?”

He shrugged. “Just gettin’ by.” He pantomimed strumming his guitar. “Playin’ some tunes…takin’ it
as it comes.” He smiled, slow and sweet. “Layin’ down tracks for tomorrow.”

Jordan leaned her cheek against her knee. “That ole tomorrow. She’s not so easy to get to sometimes.”

He chuckled. “You are so right, sweet one.” He pulled his guitar around the front. “Maybe I can help you along.”

Jordan nodded, feeling a pinch in her heart at the kindness of a stranger.

He began strumming, then blended his smooth voice with words she couldn’t make out.

It didn’t matter. The melody spoke for itself. He played about love and longing…about pain and parting and nights when you don’t think you’ll make it until tomorrow.

Then, just when she was about to leap inside and slam the window, he switched to a melody so light, so hopeful that Jordan’s heart lifted, just a little.

Not much. But sometimes, even a little was enough.

She leaned her head back against the frame and closed her eyes, drifting inside the cradle his music had made for her. For moments that felt safely endless, she let him wrap a soft, cozy cocoon of music around her, and her heart rested.

Unlike the way Will’s music had made her feel exposed.

She frowned at the thought of him.

When the last notes trailed off, Jordan bent forward. “Would you…do you want to come up?”

He smiled and let his gaze slide over the length of her. “With legs like those, I won’t say it’s not tempting.”
Then he shook his head. “But that’s not what you need, is it?”

Jordan chewed at her lower lip, then shook her head. “I think I can sleep now. Thank you.”

He slanted a lazy salute. “That’s thanks enough for me.” Turning to go, he looked back one more time. “Sleep tight, pretty lady.” Then he shambled off.

With a lump in her throat, Jordan climbed back inside her loft, closing the window behind her.