Reunion for the First Time (19 page)

And she’s sleeping with that shithead?

Although it was illogical, he was crushed that she chose to spend Thanksgiving with him and more appalled that she’d sleep with Prescott instead of with him. Made him regret any pangs of conscience he had suffered about following through on his attraction to her.

She had lied to Charlie about being too busy packing to come to dinner, too. Apparently, she was busy all right. The more he thought about it, the more infuriated he became.

****

When Lizzie got home from her trip, she immediately checked her answering machine. She was actually starting to like the contraption. Punching the message button over and over going through the stream of recordings, she stopped when Jack’s baritone voice delighted her. Even his voice triggered something mysterious and delicious inside her. No question, she was going to accept the date. She had a lot to ask Jack a.k.a. JP Hamilton.

Ever since Wallace insinuated that Jack had business motives for seeing her, she had done some deep thinking about time spent with Jack. She admitted that if he were guilty as charged, it was more for sins of omission than outright lies. She honestly couldn’t remember his mentioning his profession, but she was sure he never discussed his competitive involvement with Wallace.

When she was with Jack, her head was muddled, first with nerves over seeing Wallace again, then with her own reaction to Jack’s touch. Those slow, melting kisses and God, those muscles. Lizzie sighed. She’d figure out whether his interest in her was genuine, or if he was playing some kind of ego games with Wallace using her as his pawn. Dread that Jack was dishonest like Wallace weighed on her, a nauseating constriction in her stomach.

She called Jack’s cell phone number and got his voicemail. “Hi, Jack. I’d love to go to dinner with you tomorrow night. I’ll be running around all day. How about we meet at 7:30 at the Melting Pot on Dearborn? I’ll make reservations. No need to call if this is okay. See you then. Bye.”

Bet your ass, I’ll go to dinner with you.
I will not be lied to again.

****

Arriving at the restaurant a calculated fifteen minutes early, Lizzie wanted the luxury to sip some wine and nibble on an appetizer fondue while she waited for Jack. She had a lot of questions for him, but she didn’t want to rush into an inquisition. She’d be calm and composed and rational, despite the fact that thoughts of Jack were ever irrational.

Unnerved when the hostess told her that her party was already seated, she followed her to the table where Jack was sitting. Was he glowering at her from across the room? Unblinking, Jack stared with no animation in his features whatsoever. No warm expression on his face to greet her, no sexy dimpling of his cheeks in a smile for her.

She strode to his table as she glowered right back at him.

****

Jack had been on slow simmer for days. Of course, Beth had a history with Prescott. Hell, he had aided and abetted the big reunion, hadn’t he?

Then why was he so pissed she was in bed with the guy?

She looked terrific walking in his direction. The dim light in the restaurant seemed to shine only on her, playing on the highlights in her long brown hair and reflecting green sparks in her eyes. His nerve endings sizzled, and Jack still wanted to act on the attraction. He had never had a problem with casual sex or nonexclusive relationships. Hell, story of his life. But deep inside he knew he couldn’t be casual with Beth or share her with the likes of Prescott…or any other man.

“Hello,” she greeted him as she sat across from him.

He’d take it slow, be cool, and be logical.

He couldn’t wait. “Why the hell did you lie to my brother about Thanksgiving?”

“Are you JP Hamilton?” Beth fired her question at the same time and he almost missed what she said.

Jack reacted first. “What? Of course not. JP Hamilton is the name of my company.”

“What do you mean I lied to your brother? I did no such thing. Why didn’t you tell me you’re JP Hamilton?”

He grabbed the beer a waiter brought him and took a big swig out of the bottle before he set it on the table with a thud.

“Nicholas Hamilton was my grandfather. Before he died, he requested we change his firm’s name to JP Clark Associates, and I balked. He wanted to leave the business to me, but I wanted to carry on his name. So, JP Hamilton it was. How many years have you known Charlie? I thought you knew all about my business. Why else would you have taken all those pictures of my buildings and sold Charlie on publishing them?”

She looked uncertain. “I thought you were a construction worker.” She gulped her wine. “You designed those buildings? Why are
you
accusing
me
of lying?”

“Are you
slow?
Were you or were you not alone on Thanksgiving?”

“Slow?” She pitched toward him, her butt a few inches off the wooden booth and then plopped back down her eyes blazing.

Taking a sip of wine she repositioned the glass on the table with exaggerated care. “I had no idea you were the architect. All those years I’ve known Charlie, Mari hounded me to go out with you. I figured you were
slow
if you couldn’t get your own dates.”

Jack huffed, “I thought the same thing about you. You didn’t answer my question. Were you alone on Thanksgiving like you told my brother?

“Yes. Well, no. First, yes, and then later, no. Why the hell didn’t you tell me you’re in competition with Wallace?” She sat back, lips pursed and rigid in her seat.

“I did…hell, maybe I told Charlie, what the hell difference does it make?”

This had to be one of the most frustrating conversations he’d ever had. “Why were you with Wally on Thanksgiving instead of me?”

A split second after he blurted out the question, Jack wished he could take it back.

****

She gaped at him.
He’s jealous.
A thrill of pleasure shimmied up her spine. But, wait a minute.

“
How do you know I was with Wally…I mean Wallace on Thanksgiving? I didn’t plan it. He just showed up. I was in my pajamas watching the parade.”

He arched one eyebrow and his eyes darkened. She almost laughed with sheer pleasure at how gorgeously riled she got him without trying. “They were an old baggy pair of flannels. Your Grandma Viv wears less to church on Sunday. You haven’t answered my question, Jack. How do you know I was with him?”

“I was in Boston on Monday working on ground breaking plans for The Freedom Center. I had lunch with the mayor, and Wally was with a group of men at the same restaurant. He wouldn’t let me get out of the place before he told me what a great old time the two of you had on Thanksgiving Day.”

“Wallace told you. Huh.” She leaned back, the hard cool wood of the booth against her shoulders, stunned that Wallace would bring that horrible incident up.

“He also insinuated that I won the contract instead of him because of you.”

“Well that’s just ridiculous.” Her mind spun trying to analyze Wallace’s intentions.

“Of course it’s ridiculous. But he threw this crap out to the mayor within earshot of who knows how many eavesdroppers at a power broker club. I have my reputation to think of.”

“As I do mine,” she retorted sharply. “I wouldn’t hurt your reputation. Or Wallace’s…”

****

“I get the picture.” Her words stung. He guzzled the rest of the beer and asked for another, sitting across from her mute and unsociable like a married couple that had had one too many arguments and was only out together for the food. Not his idea of a Saturday night.

“Excuse me Jack, but I’ve developed a headache and I think I’ll leave.” She rubbed her temple with her right hand.

He was relieved that she was the first to say it. How could this go so terribly wrong? This was why he didn’t get involved with women.

“No problem. Let me settle the bill, and I’ll see you home.”

“No need.” She moved to slide out of the booth.

Maybe he could make this right. Forget asshole Wally and his ego games. A light touch of his hand on her arm stopped her.

Beth looked deeply into his eyes. A jolt passed through him when he saw, reflected there, how his touch affected her. He couldn’t deny that he was affected just as much.

“Ready to leave?” Jack gazed into the depths of emerald eyes.

“Yes,” she whispered still moving away from him.

The current of desire shook him. In the cab, her nearness and her rose garden scent undid him. He reached for her like a man possessed and covered her mouth with his.

Her arms slid softly around his neck, and she leaned into the kiss, searching his mouth with her lips and tongue. Drawing apart to pretend some discretion, he could only sit, waiting until he could have more. Can’t this car move any faster?

When the car stopped, he threw money over the seat to the cabbie and ushered her through the revolving door at her building.

Inside the elevator, her breasts pressed against his arm, and he shifted to pull her over, soft breasts against his chest as he jabbed the floor button and the doors closed. His hands swam under her coat and over her silky skin. His fingers teased under her sweater and skimmed smooth flesh and lacy underwear.

The pressure in his groin blanked his mind until he knew only the fierce need to taste her, take her. Locked together in a dizzying ascent that didn’t stop when the elevator did, he lifted her into his arms and swept her to the door of her condo.

“I need to get my keys.”

He kissed and nibbled her neck before he set her down. Shaking, she worked the lock and opened the door. Nudging her inside, he kicked the door closed and pressed her against the wall in the darkness, Marty skittering around his legs.

“Good girl, Marty.” Beth reached down and scratched the dog’s head, the friction from the movement driving him crazy. “Go play with your toys.”

Jack let go of Beth long enough to pull off their coats and fling them on the floor. Hands gripped and stroked, digging under clothing, pushing it away, off, getting to the satin softness of her.

She sucked in her breath as his hands brushed over her breasts, then plunged inside her bra. Off, off, he wanted to feel her skin against his. When he practically ripped off her bra, he could see her pink nipples harden. He shed his shirt and bent his head to taste her.

Her breath caught and she whimpered, “No.” Her body stiffened. He heard the soft sounds a woman makes when she cries.

He jerked his head up, did he hear right? He wasn’t mistaken. Her eyes pooled with tears.

Jack forgot his own discomfort from being fully aroused. She didn’t want this, didn’t want him. Only Wally.

He picked up his shirt and put it on.

Dragging his hand through his hair, he uttered, “This was a mistake.”

“Yes.” She faced him and swiped her eyes with a fist.

Her cheeks flushed, her lipstick smeared and her hair all mussed, she looked sensational. It took a will of steel not to hold her in his arms and kiss the tears away. But he had never misunderstood the word “no” from a woman. Especially from this one, who obviously preferred pillow talk with only one man.

Her gaze never left his face. The short distance between them could have been miles. Mute, tears streaming, her eyes were wide with…panic?

He had never put that look on any woman’s face and would never do it again.

“I won’t bother you anymore.”

She nodded. Didn’t make a move to stop him.

“Goodbye.” Appalled with his own behavior, he shrugged into his coat and left.

Chapter Seventeen

Jack. Lizzie thought of nothing else all week while she roamed the streets of New Orleans with a magazine reporter, documenting the gradual progress of the city’s rebirth and the placement of evacuees after the holocaust of Hurricane Katrina.

Jack’s mark would be on the new, New Orleans. Lizzie learned that a number of architects had donated their time and talents to rebuild the city since Katrina had ripped through and submerged it. JP Hamilton Associates led the pro bono effort. His JP Hamilton.

He’d left his mark on Lizzie, too. She didn’t wonder anymore how his hands on her body might thrill her or where his kisses would take her, she knew. It was a terrifying place where every sensation was magnified until she thought she’d explode, lose herself irretrievably.

Now she regretted stopping him from making love to her and pushing him out of her life. The fact that she could stop him when his desire raged convinced her that he didn’t want her for sex. She didn’t know what he wanted.

Useless to think about him anyway. He hadn’t called since he left her two weeks ago, half undressed and spinning. He never would.

“I won’t bother you again.” Jack, you’re bothering me out of my mind.

Lately the scene of botched relationships with men, her peaceful little condo wasn’t quite the haven it had once been for her. Men. She was through with Wallace and apparently Jack was through with her. If only she could have trusted Jack that night, not to use her, hurt her like Wallace had and would if she had let him back in her life. She ached to bring back that moment, immerse herself in what would surely be delicious sex with Jack.

But, what then? Tears welled and her vision clouded.

“I know,” came a male voice.

She jumped at the reporter’s gentle touch on her shoulder.

He looked at her, eyes full of compassion. “All this devastation is heart breaking, isn’t it? But you have to give these people credit. There’s a wonderful spirit here.”

“Uh, yes. Yes there is.” She composed herself and got back to work.

****

Lizzie primped for the charity ball on the night before Christmas Eve. The season excited her—a glittering time when the city was radiant with fairy lights, and the reflections of decorated buildings streaked the Chicago River in puddles of holiday colors.

The JPH Building, visible from Lizzie’s living room, wore a necklace of red and green lights. She had always loved that building; in fact, had photographed it for the soon to be launched coffee table book, never knowing the man who was responsible for its creation.

When Charlie had called after she returned from New Orleans to invite her to the event she had planned to go to with Jack, she had been flustered and confused. It had only taken a moment for her to realize that, of course, Jack had withdrawn his invitation.