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Authors: Carolyn McSparren

Mr. Miracle (Harlequin Super Romance) (17 page)

BOOK: Mr. Miracle (Harlequin Super Romance)
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“First one? You’re planning on doing this again?” Vic asked.
“If it works out, I don’t see why we can’t have a dozen!” Angie spread her free arm and twirled around.
Kevin stared at her with something approaching dismay. She stopped in midtwirl and laughed at him. “Oh, Kev, I’m not serious! No more than six. I promise.”
“And what about the horses?” Vic asked. “Are you going to sell Trust Fund?”
“Absolutely not. We’ll get a nanny. Maybe Melba Hannaford now that Pat’s outgrown her. She was a super nanny to that child. And I’m going to breed my mare, Boop, again if I can find a suitable stallion.” She held Vic at arm’s length. “We’ll also need to go hunting for a small pony. The child will be ready for lead-line classes in a year.”
Kevin groaned.
“As for the stallion,” Jamey began, “I can think of one at ValleyCrest you might be interested in.”
Vic quelled him with a look. “Don’t you dare.”
“What?” Angie asked. “You mean breed her to Mr. Miracle.”
“Of course not,” Vic said.
“I think it’s an absolutely super idea!” Angie screamed. “The foal will be huge! How soon do you want to try? I mean, we need to move Boop back to ValleyCrest from home so we can wean this year’s foal and get Boop back in training. And she’s already started her cycle. Oh, Vic, let’s do it!”
“Angie, you don’t make that sort of decision at a party under the influence of champagne and caviar and an impending baby,” Vic said. She was looking daggers at Jamey, who smiled blandly in return. “Besides, that stallion’s never been bred to our knowledge. He doesn’t know his job and he’s big enough to really hurt Boop if he’s savage.”
“He’s just a precious lamb when Jamey’s around.”
“I don’t know how much Mike intends to charge as a stud fee, either.”
“Can’t be all that much with no history behind him. Oh, Vic, we have to do this, don’t we, Kev, honey?”
Kevin sighed in resignation. Jamey suspected he spent a good deal of time resigning himself to what Angie wanted.
“We’ll talk,” Vic said, then grabbed Jamey’s arm and dragged him away. “I intend to kill you the minute we get out of here,” she said between her teeth.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” he said with feigned innocence.
“No idea my foot.” She said, and grabbed a champagne flute from a passing waiter. “Just for that, you drive home. I’m going to get soused and fool around.”
She sailed off down the hall toward the back of the house. Jamey could hear a band coming from that direction and followed her at a more sedate pace.
Across the back of the house, a glassed-in loggia had been cleared to create a dance floor with small tables around the perimeter. A jazz combo played dance music at the far end.
Jamey’s spirits perked up. He was a good dancer, and the thought of holding Vic in his arms was heady. But he found she’d already been taken. However, the moment he stepped into the room, one of the largely interchangeable matrons he’d met latched on to him and dragged him onto the floor.
Having grown up in an environment where men asked women to dance except in what was called “the Ladies excuse me,” Jamey had to succumb to being handed from female to female like a parcel. Most of the women were very good dancers, although his feet suffered the occasional stomp from someone who’d had too much champagne.
He also had his ear blown into, his palm tickled, his wrist stroked, a couple of wet kisses that probably left lipstick imprints on his cheek and a number of startlingly risqué suggestions, several of which included a rent-free apartment and use of an entire stableful of fine horses.
If he was the hit of the party with the ladies, he didn’t think their husbands were equally impressed. As the women got drunker, he caught more angry looks. He didn’t much blame them, although if their wives were unhappy enough to proposition near strangers, the husbands were definitely spending too much time at the office.
He managed to elude the grasp of the fox-hunting lady and escape to the kitchen, where a smiling woman in a white uniform offered him a shrimp puff hot from the oven. “Better blow on that, honey,” she said, and handed him a glass of water from the kitchen tap. “You hiding out?”
“Is it that obvious?”
The woman laughed. “Sure is.” She picked up the corner of her apron and rubbed his cheek, then showed him the scarlet smudge. “They don’t mean anything by it, most of them. You’re fresh meat, honey, and tasty at that. They like making their husbands jealous.”
He felt his face suffuse with red. “If I don’t get out of here soon, one of those husbands is going to slug me. Have you seen Victoria Jamerson?”
The woman nodded. “She hid out awhile back here, too. Avoiding Mr. Connaway. That man is determined to get her to marry him.” The woman shook her head. “As if she’d be that big a fool.”
Jamey was speechless.
“She went out that way, toward the front of the house.”
“Thanks.” He found Patterson still manning the front door. “Patterson, have you seen Mrs. Jamerson?”
“Upstairs, sir, possibly in the library at the front of the house. That’s where the coffee is laid out.”
Jamey nodded and took the stairs two at a time. The door to the library stood ajar. He heard Vic’s voice, then Connaway’s rumble.
“It’s a wonderful offer, Vach, but no.”
“One weekend, Vic. I’ll change your mind. One night with me in New York...”
“No thanks, Vach. I have to go.”
“To find that trailer trash you dragged along here tonight?” The venom in Connaway’s voice stunned Jamey. “You may think he’s good in bed, but damned if I’m not better.”
“She has no idea how I am in bed, Mr. Connaway,” Jamey said as he pushed the door open. “In any case, she seems to have no desire to compare your skills with mine.”
“What the hell, boy! You add eavesdropping to your other talents?”
Vic stepped between them. “The door was open, Vach, and you’re half-drunk. The party was lovely, but I want to get home before the roads get any worse.”
“Just one minute, Miss Victoria,” Connaway said. “You and me’s having a private discussion here. Don’t need the hired help butting in.”
Jamey took two quick steps into the room. Vach Connaway had twenty years on him, but he also had four inches and forty pounds. Jamey was a guest in the man’s house and the man was drunk. He told himself all this at the same time he felt his hands ball into fists at his sides. He dearly longed to deck Connaway, throw Vic over his shoulder and race away with her as Jock had raced away with Marika. The only thing missing was a horse.
“The first one of you that throws a punch I am going to toss over the balcony railing,” Vic said. “And don’t think I can’t do it. Stop acting like children, the pair of you.” She turned to Vach and extended her hand. “Your parties are always marvelous, Vach. Thank you for inviting us.” And to Jamey, “Please ask Patterson for my coat. It’s time to leave.”
She shoved him out of the room. “Go! I’m right behind you.”
“Victoria!” came Connaway’s voice behind them.
“Keep going,” Vic hissed.
They reached the bottom of the stairs. Patterson stood there, his face empty of expression, his hand holding Vic’s coat. “Mrs. Jamerson,” he said, and opened it for her to put on. “Thought you might want this. Always a pleasure to see you.”
“Thank you, Patterson,” she said, and practically ran for the front door.
“Sir.” Patterson nodded to Jamey. He raised his eyes to the top of the staircase and gave Jamey the ghost of a smile. “I’ve enjoyed meeting you, sir.”
“And I you, Patterson,” Jamey said. He followed Vic and heard the big front door whisper shut behind him.
Vic stood under the shelter of the porch and tossed her keys to one of the young men in ski jackets. They had all pulled their hoods up against the driving sleet. “Botheration! Look at this,” she said.
The truck slid around the curve of the driveway and slid to a shuddering halt at the foot of the porch stairs. “Get in, I’ll drive,” Jamey said.
“You sober?”
“As a judge.”
The trees were already shimmering under a coat of ice. The road in front of Connaway’s house still remained relatively clear, but Jamey felt the car shimmy slightly as they drove over a small bridge. He slowed and concentrated on his driving. As the windshield wipers
thocked
, he said, “I’ll check the horse blankets when we get home. They’re going to need all the warmth they can get tonight.”
“Mm.”
They drove in silence. Jamey wondered how soon Vic would begin to lay into him for his near attack on their host. He didn’t plan on starting the discussion if he could avoid it. They passed a car that had slipped off the road into the median. A man stood beside it with a phone to his ear, and waved them on.
“You
certainly had a good time,” she said at last. He knew that tone. He suspected male children were born knowing that tone.
“My feet will never be the same.”
“Really? I had no idea you were such a good dancer.”
“I kept trying to dance with you. Where did you run off to?”
“You seemed well taken care of in every way. I circulated. I’m not much of a dancer.”
“I’ll teach you.”
“How
sweet
.”
Uh-oh.
He needed all his skill to keep from skidding. If this kept up, by morning there’d be a couple of inches of ice on every surface. Ahead of him he saw already heavily coated branches leaning dangerously close to the top of the truck. This sort of thing didn’t happen in Oban. Plenty of snow, plenty of rain and fog, but he’d never seen ice like this before. He felt the car skid and took his foot off the gas. He’d have to drive the curved road to ValleyCrest without touching his brakes. He slipped the truck into four-wheel drive.
Vic apparently realized the seriousness of the situation. She didn’t say another word until they turned into the ValleyCrest gate. “Thank God,” she whispered.
He wanted to give her one of his “Jamey won’t let you get hurt, lass” statements, but he suspected it would cause more trouble than he could handle at the moment. He knew Vic must be annoyed because he’d insulted Vach, but he also thought she was more than a little jealous. And that lifted his heart.
As he turned in front of the barn, he glanced at his gloved hand on the wheel. The hell with it. Maybe it was time he learned to make love with one hand tied behind his back.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“S
rr IN THE CAR. I’ll check the horses,” Jamey said.
“In that suit?”
“You’re not doing it in that dress, Vic, and definitely not in high heels. I won’t be a minute.”
Vic watched him walk carefully into the barn. The sleet was growing heavier by the minute. Now that the engine wasn’t running, she could hear the crack and pop of the trees as they moved inside their cocoons of ice. If this continued, there’d be trees down before morning. Trees and power lines and telephone lines and every other kind of line down, as well.
Had she replaced the propane cylinders in the camping lanterns she kept for these emergencies? Did the flashlights have new batteries? She wasn’t sure.
There was plenty of feed, plenty of hay. The horses wouldn’t miss a meal. The water buckets were heated, so the horses would have water, but in the morning they’d have to give each horse a warm bran mash to keep tummies happy. And they’d have to be walked or turned loose in the covered arena a few at a time.
There was dog food and cat food and lots of wood for the fireplace stacked beside the garage. The animals would be fine.
As for the humans things were more problematic. People might find themselves eating some very strange combinations. Visits to the grocery store were always being bumped for more important tasks.
At least the contractors wouldn’t show up to work on Mike and Liz’s house. They seemed to use every excuse to avoid working.
She moved restively. Jamey was taking a long time. Surely he’d come get her, high heels or no, if there were something wrong.
He did look handsome tonight in a suit! She’d worn her highest heels because she wanted to be taller than he was. Some kind of a gesture of independence.
And those women had descended on him like cats fighting over a particularly tasty morsel of food. So far as she could tell, he’d handled himself like a perfect gentleman. So why was she so irritated at him? She was the one who’d eluded him, not the other way around.
She’d enjoyed having him walk in on Vach’s weekend proposition. Showed that some other male wanted her. And Vach was both rich and attractive. But these days there was only one man she wanted to be with. Even mucking out stalls took on a glow when Jamey worked beside her.
Their relationship wouldn’t go any farther of course. She couldn’t allow it, and he, too, seemed unwilling to take the next step. There was definitely one heck of a physical attraction between them—more like high-voltage electrical current. When he touched her, she felt as though she’d stepped onto one of those electrical grids that made your hair stand on end.
But there was more than that. She’d never known a man who could draw her anxieties away as though he were draining poison from her system.
It was as if he carried a little circle of ease around with him. Once she stepped inside that circle, she was encompassed in the same aura that kept the stallion from screaming his head off. Sometimes when her muscles ached from too much work and her mind ached from too many contractors, too many clients, too many lessons, she felt as though she wanted to snuggle against him like a kitten beside a warm fire.
He ran out of the barn, shoved the door shut behind him and raced through the sleet to the truck. She had the door open for him before he reached it.
“Thanks, love,” he said as he tumbled in. “Bloody hell! What a night.”
“Everything okay?”
“Fine.” He backed the truck out carefully and drove at a steady pace up the hill to the front of the house. “If we leave this truck sitting out, we’ll have a hell of a coating of ice on it tomorrow.”
“Unfortunately the garage is impassable. Still full of boxes. Maybe I can take tomorrow to do some unpacking. Get a few books on shelves.”
“Happy to help.” He stopped the truck and switched off the engine. “Here, wait until I’ve got the front door open and don’t run up the steps. You’ll break that beautiful neck.”
They waited on the porch while the dogs took care of their evening run—quickly.
“How about some hot cocoa?” Jamey said. “I make a mean cup.”
“Sounds good.” She slipped her high heels off her feet at the front door and massaged her insteps. “Lord, I do hate dressing up.”
“You should do it more often. You’ve a lovely body for a dress.” He dropped his suit jacket on the nearest chair, pulled his tie off, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and headed for the kitchen.
She followed him with her eyes. He said the most astounding things so casually—calling her love and telling her she had a lovely body. He obviously had no idea how his words affected her.
He knew where everything was—the cocoa, sugar, milk. He moved around her kitchen as though it was his own. She stood across the living room in the semidarkness and watched him in the light as though he were on a stage. His forearms were smooth and muscular, and the fingers of his left hand were supple. The black kid glove on his right jarred her each time he used it to measure the sugar or stir the saucepan.
He whistled that strange tune under his breath again. The melody twined around her body and suffused her with the same sort of exhilaration she got from too much champagne. He didn’t even seem to be aware of her, and yet every fiber of her was aware of him.
He turned from the stove, poured two mugs of cocoa, then raised his eyes and smiled at her. “Here, love, just the thing to warm you up on a cold night.” He held the mug out to her. His face seemed to swim in the steam that rose from it. She was afraid that if she took even one step toward him, all her reserve would shatter and she’d rush into his arms.
She squared her shoulders and walked across the floor in her stocking feet.
“With me in shoes and you in bare feet, I top you by a good inch or two,” he said cheerfully. The first indication that he’d noticed her high heels.
He laughed when he saw her blush. “It didn’t bother me. I loved having such a great beauty on my arm. My manhood’s not tied up in my height—or lack of it.”
She had no idea what to reply. She simply stood across the table from him and sipped her chocolate. “This is good,” she said lamely.
“Put it down, lass.”
“I’m not finished.”
“Put it down, anyway.” He set his cup down and moved around the table until he stood within arm’s length of her. “Put it down and come to me. It’s time.”
“I don’t—”
“Yes, you do. You know what I mean. We’ve circled the issue like a couple of jewel thieves carefully ignoring the Hope diamond. The diamond’s there whether we acknowledge it or not.”
“What issue?”
“The issue that I want you badly, so badly I am in severe danger of losing my few wits. And you want me, though you’re terrified to admit it even to yourself.” He gently took the cup from her and caressed her hands.
“Jamey—”
“You trusted me enough to ride a horse for me. Can you not trust me enough to make love?”
She pulled her hands away. “I don’t think I’m much good at making love.”
“Ah, but I am.” He sighed and held up his right hand. “Or I was once upon a time. Why do you think I haven’t crept down the stairs the last few nights and climbed into your bed? It’s because of this...this foul thing. I couldn’t bear to touch you with it. But tonight, somehow I’ll make do with other parts of my anatomy, if you’ll have me.”
She stared at him openmouthed, then reached for his right hand, held his wrist, slowly, gently, peeled the black kid away and dropped the glove on the table. Then she raised his scarred fingers to her lips. She held his palm against her cheek and closed her eyes. “I can think of a million reasons we shouldn’t make love, but this is not one of them.”
“Ah, lass,” he said, and wrapped his other arm around her waist. He pulled her to him and buried his face in her neck. “There’s a million reasons against and only one reason for. We both want it. That’s enough. You smell like champagne and camellias. I want to drown in the scent of you.”
“This is crazy.”
His lips traced the pulse that raced in her throat. “Not so crazy as lying apart on a cold night like this.” He kissed her eyelids and ran his fingers gently down her spine till she shivered in his arms.
“It’s been a long time. I’ll disappoint you and embarrass myself.”
He stopped instantly and stepped back. “We’re not in a contest here, Victoria. Nobody’s giving out grades. You don’t have to please me.” He put his fingers under her chin and raised her face so that he could kiss her gently. “We’ve got the whole long night ahead of us. For once in your life let someone else do the pleasuring. I won’t rush you. I want to savor every moment.”
She hunched her shoulders, backed out of his arms and turned away from him. “I’m no shivering virgin. I know what you’re asking. What you want.”
“What
you
want?”
“All right. Yes.” She turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. “So why am I so scared?”
She thought he’d come to her, take her in his arms, kiss her until she lost the desire to resist him. Instead, he stayed where he was. “I’m asking you to strip off your soul’s armor, love,” he said sadly. “A soul without armor can be wounded.”
“Will you wound me, then?”
“I may wound you deeply. Not because I want to. You may wound me, as well.” He held out his scarred hand to her. “Do you dare to risk it?”
“Your eyes to my eyes?”
“Your hand to my hand.”
She stretched out her hand and wound her fingers through his.
He closed his eyes and let out his breath. “Come on, then.” He led her to her bedroom, stepped inside and fumbled for the light switch.
“Jamey, don’t. I haven’t undressed before a man in a very long time.”
“All right, love, for now.” He turned and slid his arms around her waist. “I’ve touched a fair amount of you already. I know how beautiful you are.” He chuckled softly and sent shivers up her spine. “Besides, what man could resist the only naked lady in the room?”
For all her words, she felt just like a virgin again—seventeen, uncertain of what was expected of her. She’d only slept with one boy before Frank, who had hardly been the world’s greatest lover even when he was young and she was still capable of bearing him children. After her accident, he seemed to lose interest except on rare occasions. Since his death there’d been no one.
How could she take her panty hose off without looking stupid, particularly since she was wearing a pair of white cotton panties under them? The panties would show through and look ridiculous. She didn’t wear lacy bras and thong panties.
And she had her own scars from the half-dozen operations to pin her pelvis back together. If she was actually going to commit this folly, then she definitely needed to do it in the dark.
These thoughts flashed through her mind so quickly that Jamey had barely begun to kiss her again, leaning her against the bedroom wall while his body pressed against her.
The moment his tongue sought hers, she responded, and conscious thought began to fade, supplanted by instinct, desire and simple need.
She did want him, wanted to touch his beautiful body, caress him, learn once more what it meant to be female, to feel a man’s strong hands on her, smell the musky scent of his sweat, feel his erection against her belly and know that she was already wet and throbbing, aching to feel the weight of him above her, within her.
His fingers—she no longer knew nor cared which hand—stroked her breast through the soft wool fabric of her dress and her thin bra. Waves of pleasure shot through her as his thumbs moved back and forth across her swollen nipples. She dug her fingers into the muscles along his spine and slid down his hips to press him against her. He was already aroused and moved against her in a rhythm that she answered instinctively.
He devoured her mouth, and his hand dropped to pull her dress up, then slid under it and up her thigh. She moaned.
“Too fast?” he whispered against her mouth.
“No!”
She tried to reach the zipper at the back of her dress, but he forestalled her. He pulled her with him away from the wall, pulled the zipper down, slid her dress off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor between them. Then he picked her up and carried her to the bed. She wrapped her legs around his thighs and buried her face in his shoulder.
He lay back on the bed with her on top of him. She felt his fingers unhook her bra, pull it off. She leaned on her hands on either side of him while he caressed her breasts, ran his tongue across her nipples and forced gasps from her. Then he rolled her beneath him and his fingers found the waistband of her panty hose. It no longer mattered how they came off so long as they did—quickly. His lips slid down her rib cage. As he slid her panties down her stomach, his lips followed, finding the newly naked skin the moment it was exposed.
And how exposed! As though he’d flayed her alive, leaving a network of nerve endings no longer shielded by flesh.
BOOK: Mr. Miracle (Harlequin Super Romance)
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