by Jessica Bird
She was right. He had been an incredible lover, though not necessarily for the reasons she'd first assumed. The way he'd held her afterward was the best part of the experience.
When she finally got out of bed, she saw his button-down shirt on the floor and picked it up. Lifting the fine cotton to her nose, she breathed in, smelling cedar soap and something more elusive, more distinctly Jack.
She looked around, noting the buttons that had popped off and were dotting the Oriental rug. Getting caught with his ruined shirt in her room by the upstairs maid would send messages neither of them were prepared to deal with. She quickly cleaned up the flooi; showered, and got dressed.
With his shirt tucked under her arm, she walked across the hall. There was no answer when she knocked so she stuck her head into his bedroom and quietly called out his name.
The mahogany antiques and oil paintings she'd expected; what was a surprise was the anonymity of it all. There were no snapshots of him on vacation, no clothes draped on the back of a chair, no books or magazines fanned out on the bedside table. It might as well have been a luxurious hotel room and she was disappointed that the place didn't reveal more about him.
Which was a lot to ask for from a color scheme, she thought wryly, eyeing the deep green walls. Even one as expertly developed as this.
The only thing that was out of order was the bed. The covers had been pulled back and the pillows propped up against the velvet headboard, as if he'd spent time deep in thought.
"May I help you?" Mrs. Walker said loudly.
Callie wheeled around, bracing herself as the woman came down the hall as if the natural order of things had been disturbed.
Mrs. Walker saw the shirt and her eyes narrowed. "Do you require something from my son?"
In a rush of levity, Callie thought, no, she'd had plenty of him last night.
Setting her shoulders, she remembered rule number four for bullies: Ignorance is bliss. There can't be a problem if you refuse to acknowledge that one exists.
Calmly, she went over to the bed and laid the shirt on top of the rumpled covers.
"Have a good day, Mrs. Walker," she murmured as she walked out.
For once, the woman seemed speechless.
As she headed for the kitchen, Callie wished like hell Mrs. Walker's timing hadn't been so good. Or maybe she shouldn't have been so conscientious. If she'd only left the shirt in her room, buried it in a drawer until she could give it back to Jack—
Hell. It was like getting into a car accident because you'd been putting on your seat belt.
Jack was reading the paper and drinking coffee when she walked into the kitchen, and the moment she saw him, she smiled. Dressed in a suit, his blue silk tie hanging from a precise knot, he looked as if he was too civilized to have done half the things he had to her in the night.
But then he looked up at her and his eyes flashed with heat.
"Good morning." His smile was slow and sexy as he put down the Boston Globe. "How did you sleep?"
Callie felt a flush run like a forest fire up into her face. "Well. Very well."
"Come here," he said, softly.
She looked behind her to make sure no one was around and then went to him. As soon as she was in range,, his hands came out and pulled her close. Instinctively, she started to reach for his hair, but she stopped, not wanting to ruffle him.
"No, touch me," he said. "Anywhere."
As she drew her fingers through the thickness, he stared up at her. "I'm sorry we didn't spend more time together this morning, but I thought you might appreciate the discretion."
"Thank you." She dropped her lips to his and kissed him lightly, but he wouldn't let her go. As he deepened the contact with his tongue, she reluctantly pulled back.
His frustration was evident as he let her go. "You make me want to go back upstairs and start the day right. Or better yet, not get out of bed at all."
She was smiling when Thomas came down the back stairs. While he and Jack talked, she fixed herself a little breakfast and thought about the day ahead of her. When she remembered the letter she'd found, she wanted to show it to Jack.
"Do you have a minute before you go?" she asked when he stood up to leave. "I have something I'd like to show you up in the garage."
He grabbed his briefcase and quickly headed for the door. "What a fantastic idea."
She laughed as he hustled her outside and Arthur loped ahead. The morning was cold and her breath came out in a series of puffs as they walked across the driveway.
"By the way, Jack, I think we may have a problem."
"With the painting?"
"No, your mother found me in your room this morning." She glanced over, watching his eyebrows rise. "I was returning your shirt."
"Ah."
"I thought you'd want to know. She didn't look happy,"
"No, I imagine she didn't."
"You don't seem too concerned," she said, opening the door to the garage.
He smiled grimly. "Just remember, my mother is not your problem. And don't worry about it. She's got a bad bark, but she's essentially harmless."
Callie thought back to the, calculation behind the woman's eyes and wasn't so sure.
As they went up the cramped stairs, she was acutely aware of him behind her and found she had little interest in talking about what she'd pulled out of the box of documents.
See, this is why they tell you not to mix business with pleasure, she thought. She was so preoccupied with making love to the man, she'd be lucky to string two coherent sentences together.
And she was disappointed as hell when he walked directly to the painting.
As Jack looked down at the canvas, she turned on the halogen steam light so he could see better. The work she'd been doing in the lower left corner had spread, moving up the side of the canvas.
"You've done quite a bit."
"It's going well. I think I've hit the solvent right on the head. The only thing coming off is the old varnish and I'm happy to say the underlying paint is solid. I'm really looking forward to doing the face."
He straightened. "Now what did you want to show me?"
His eyes were trained on her clothes, and going by the expectation in his face, he was picturing her without them. She smiled and went over to the side table by the couch.
Picking up the letter fragment she said, "I don't want to jump to conclusions but it's tempting to believe Nathaniel wrote these words."
Jack read it, holding the paper carefully by the edges. "I was hoping you'd find something like this."
She frowned, wondering what he meant.
"Come with me."
Chapter 16
Callie followed him back to the house and into his study. She was about to sit down across from the desk when she saw glass shards on the floor.
"What happened here?" She bent down and started picking up some of the bigger pieces. He joined her, getting down on his haunches.
"Evidently, I don't handle introspection well." He gave her a wry smile when she hesitated and met his eyes. "But don't worry, if I go into therapy full time, I'm locking up the china."
"What were you thinking about?'
He fingered some of the broken crystal in his palm. "How different you are."
"Oh." She was hardly encouraged, considering he'd ended up throwing something.
"Did you know that I once had a woman ask me to buy her a car?"
Callie shook her head and went back to picking up the glass. She really didn't want to hear about one of his former lovers. "Doesn't surprise me."
"She wanted it to go shopping in. We were in Italy and she couldn't stomach a rental. It was too close to public transportation for her."
Callie smiled a little though she had a pit in her stomach thinking about him on some romantic getaway. "And let me guess. We're not talking about a Ford Escort, are we?"
He shook his head. "A Ferrari. She wanted a yellow one."
She cocked an eyebrow. "To match her hair, of course. What did you
do?"
"I bought it."
"That must have pleased her." When she heard the disapproval in her own voice, she said, "What I mean is—”
"It did make her happy, but not because she really wanted the car. It was a test, an absurd request to figure out how far I was willing to go." Jack shrugged. " And I showed her exactly where my limits were with pleasure. I knew she'd never forget the car that made no difference to me, especially if I allowed her to use it for a day. I bought the Ferrari, put a big red bow around it, and told her to have a ball. That night, after she got home, I informed her I didn't need to see her again and drove off in it. She called me for months afterward."
Callie got to her feet and emptied her hand in the wastepaper basket. That kind of hardball, on both sides, was way out of her league. "Are you sure it was a test? Maybe she was sincere."
"She used it to go see her other lover. No doubt to try and have him match the competition.''
"Oh."
"My point is, that's something you would never do."
She laughed. "You got that right."
Jack put the shards he was holding into the trash. "This morning I sat in bed and realized I want things from you. Things I've never asked any other woman for."
"Like what?" She held her breath.
"I've had a lot of relationships that looked good from the outside," he paused, smiling coldly, "probably because we were wearing evening clothes most of the time. What went on behind closed doors, though, was just some athletic sex and not much else. Even with Blair, who I respected, there was something missing. With you," his eyes locked on hers, "I know there is more and I want it all. I know you're looking at this as a fling, but I don't want you only in my bed. I want you in my life, too. I want to wake up in the morning and see your face. I want to come home at noontime just because I'm impatient to see you and I know you're here. I want you to trust me. And I want to earn that trust."
He threw his hands up and rolled his eyes before she could speak. "I know, I know. This coming from a man who last night reminded you he wasn't a good bet for a relationship. But I've really thought about this. Hell, I've been thinking about you nonstop for weeks now."
Believing in him and seeing a future with him was enticing. But Callie tried to remind herself that considering him as a casual lover was still the smart thing to do. They had talked a little about feelings and had a wonderful night together, but it was way too early to predict how a relationship between them would turn out.
"It's going to take time, Jack."
"I know. And I'm willing to put in the investment, if you are."
She studied him closely. "I am."
"Good." He kissed her hard on the mouth and then went over to the desk and pulled open a drawer.
"Jack?"
He looked up.
"Just so you know, I'm perfectly fine with public transportation. But that doesn't mean I want you to buy me a bus to prove your affection, okay?"
He was laughing as he took out a long envelope. "It's a deal."
The single sheet of paper he slid free was the same pale brown color as the one she'd discovered but much smaller. "This is a letter fragment I found five years ago when we were cleaning out my father's things."
She came over as Jack read from it aloud. "My dearest heart, surely I wanted to come unto you. It was fear, not a failing of love, that kept me away. To risk all for one look upon your face seems a paltry exchange, but he would find our love as a forsaken betrayal. Your friendship, long as son to father and father to son, would be devastated. And how, thereafter, could you fight under his command? But after Concord we shall meet again at—” He looked up. "That's all there is."
She stared at him, amazed. "May I see it?"
He handed the document to her. The handwriting was different, more curvaceous. A woman's, she thought.
"I saved it," Jack said, "because it was old and curious, but I never thought it had anything to do with Nathaniel. Many members of the family served in the military and fought in conflicts in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. But considering the sheet you found, it makes me think."
"It certainly does." She compared the two and was struck by how the ink had faded in a similar way.
Jack shrugged. "I've read all of Nathaniel's journals. He never mentions a woman until he gets married to Jane Hatte. He does talk about General Rowe, though, the man he fought with against the British at the Battle of Concord. The two were very close and Rowe did have a wife, Sarah."
She looked at him. "So maybe Nathaniel and Sarah had an affair."
"It might explain why Nathaniel didn't marry until much later." He took back the letter and her new find and put them both in the envelope. "Good thing Grace is coming up for the party next week. Maybe she can fill in some of the details."
Callie cleared her throat. "Listen, about Thanksgiving. I'm sure you'll have guests, so I'm going back to the city—”
"But I don't want you to go. Unless you have family to see, stay here."
The words had come out of him fast and hard and she couldn't help but smile.
"Won't you need my room?"
"No. And even if we couldn't put everyone up, I'd send people to a hotel before I'd displace you."
Her grin widened. "What about the holiday dinner?"
"We don't really do the whole turkey thing. Not since my father died. The big event is our annual holiday party the day after. Which you are, of course, invited to."
Callie nodded, pleased. "Okay, M stay for both."
He smiled with satisfaction. "And have dinner with me tonight?"
"I'd love to."
"Good. I've got a tough day of off-site meetings ahead of me, but I promise to be back around six. And I'll be very hungry by then."
As he looked at her from under heavy lids, her body warmed up. Moving with obvious intent, he came around the desk, took her into his arms and kissed her until they were both breathing heavily.
"I'll be thinking of you," Jack said. "All day long."
The feeling was mutual.
Callie spent most of the hours working on the painting, with pictures of Jack floating in and out of her mind. At four o'clock, she took a break and went out to play with Arthur in the yard. She was at the side of the house, throwing his favorite tree branch as far as she could, when a black Town Car pulled into the drive. As Arthur shot after the stick, she watched the limousine stop under the porte cochere. A uniformed driver got out and opened the rear door.
A tall, slender blond woman emerged from the car. Even from across the lawn, it was obvious she was someone important. She was dressed in a black suit and, with her short, stylized hair, she was very chic.
Callie had a fleeting thought that she'd seen the woman somewhere before. Maybe in Stanley's gallery?
The door to the house opened and Mrs. Walker emerged with arms outstretched. As the two embraced, Arthur came back with the stick and dropped it on her foot.
She threw it quickly and turned back, but there wasn't much else to see. The two women had disappeared into the house and the limousine driver was leaning back against the car as if he was used to waiting.
She returned to work, anxious for the two hours to pass so she and Jack could get away from the house. It was curious how ten thousand square feet could still be suffocating and she couldn't wait to be alone with him. She'd decided some necking in that Aston Martin would be a fine way to start and end an evening. Although on that logic, it was too bad the man didn't drive a Volvo station wagon.
Or a minivan.
An hour later she heard the garage door go up and the low growl of Jack's car. She whipped off her breathing mask and ran her fingers through her hair, spreading it out over her shoulders.
When he got to the second floor, she ate up the wide smile on his face.
"I missed you," he said. "How was your day?"
"I've done some great work this afternoon. Take a look at the top of his head. The waves in his hair are rem
arkable." Callie leaned in close to the canvas, pointing out the area with her wooden stick.
Jack came up behind her and she felt his hands settle on her shoulders. When he spoke, his voice was right next to her ear.
^Ih$ye something for you."
She looked up, feeling anticipation thicken her blood. But instead of kissing her, he put a glossy bag with satin handles down on her desk.
She tensed when she saw the Carder name. "What's this?"
"just a small present. Go on. See what's inside."
She took out a sizable red leather box, and when she got it open, she shook her head. Inside was a gold watch.
"Jack, I can't accept this."
"Why not?" He reached over and took the beautiful timepiece out of its satin bed. "You need a watch."
"Yeah, well, not one like this." It had probably cost ten or twenty thousand dollars.
"Try it on."
He slipped it over her hand and on to her wrist. It was heavy and felt altogether foreign.
"Fits perfectly," he said with satisfaction.
"Jack, it's too much."
Impatience flickered across his face. "The thing tells time. That's all you need to worry about."
"But so does a Timex."
Jack frowned. "Why can't I buy you a gift? People give them and receive them all the time. It's the basis of our retail economy as a matter of fact."
She got up from the chair. "You can. But... your version of a gift and the rest of the world's are very different."
"I don't care about the rest of the world."
"Fine. My version of a gift, then." She faced him. "Jack, I've got to be honest with you. I don't have a dime to my name, other than what you're going to
pay me at the end of this job. That place in Chelsea? That's where I live. The Chanel suit? It's a friend of mine's. I'm not from your world. Not even close."
"I know."
She narrowed her eyes.
Of course he would, she thought. He wasn't stupid.
Jack crossed his arms over his chest. "And I know where you're headed with all this, so let me just say, I don't care where you're from. Not in the slightest."
Callie studied his face closely and then looked down at the watch. "I'm not going to change, you realize. No matter what you buy me, I'm never going to be a socialite who's into dresses and shoes and parties. First of all, I hate shopping."
