by Leanne Banks
She felt another chill run through her-all the way to her feet.
It was temporary, she told herself as a doorman allowed her into the exclusive nightclub charity party. A band played in a back room while servers floated through the space with trays of champagne and food. A barrage of children’s paintings and baskets loaded with giveaways were arranged on tables for a silent auction. Lori’s friend Chloe was chairing a fund drive for children’s art programs. Lori had promised to attend, and she always tried to keep her promises.
In the back of her mind, she imagined Jackson James frowning in disapproval at her. He didn’t want her to spend a dime until she was married.
Lori made a face and wrote a bid for one of the children’s paintings. “It’s for a good cause,” she murmured.
Someone jostled her from behind, and her pen went flying.
“Bloody hell, do watch where you’re going,” a male voice said in a British accent. “Excuse me, Miss.”
The sound was so different from the Texas twang she was accustomed to hearing that it immediately caught her attention. She glanced around to find a tall man with floppy brown hair accepting a napkin and an apology from a server. He mopped at his damp jacket.
“Good start,” he muttered. “Spend the rest of the night smelling like a wino.” He glanced up at her. “Did he get any on you?”
She patted her hands over her black dress and shook her head. “No. I think you got the worst of it. Sorry,” she said, feeling pity for him. He looked so frazzled. Cute in a lost-puppy-dog sort of way.
“Par for the day. I should have gone to bed after that flight from London, but I promised a relative I would attend this function for her.”
“Would you like some champagne to drink? Would that help a little?” she asked, waving at a waiter.
“A bottle of scotch would be better,” he muttered. “But thank you. Champagne will be fine. What is this party for, anyway? My stepmother told me, but I forgot.”
“Development of the arts for children.”
He narrowed his eyes at the painting she’d just bid on. “Good cause. Definitely needs development,” he said and tossed back the champagne in two gulps.
Lori frowned. “That’s not very nice. A child painted it. You shouldn’t expect perfection. Unless you’re a snob,” she added.
Chagrin crossed his face. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have come tonight. I’ve been sent to do something I don’t want to do. It’s put me in a bad mood.” He glanced at the painting again. “You like it?” he asked doubtfully.
“I like the colors. They’re bright and cheerful.”
“Where the devil would you hang it?”
Lori couldn’t help smiling at the question. “My decorator would hang it in the closet,” she admitted. “I would put it somewhere prominent. The foyer,” she fantasized.
Mr. England smiled at her, his eyes glinting. “Ah, you’re a rebel underneath it all. Kindred spirit. So am I.” He dipped his hand. “Geoffrey Taylor. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
What lovely manners, she thought and shook his hand. “My pleasure. I’m Lori Jean-”
“Lori Jean!” a feminine voice shrieked, interrupting her. Looking over her shoulder, Lori saw a blur of her friend Chloe, dressed in a garish combination of chartreuse and orange, just before Chloe enveloped her in a huge embrace. “I’m so glad you came. What do you think? Is it fabulous? Do you think I’ll raise any money?”
Lori smiled at Chloe’s enthusiasm. Chloe was one of the few people with whom Lori felt totally comfortable. She wore her motives and her heart on her sleeve and didn’t fit in with the die-hard society types. Everyone except Lori had been surprised when a leading heart surgeon had swept her off her feet.
“You’ve done a beautiful job, and I know you’re going to raise money, because I already see three pictures I’m bidding on.”
“Oh, perfect! Let me get you some more champagne so you’ll pay exorbitant prices and drive the demand through the roof.”
Lori laughed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Geoffrey watching her curiously. “Oh, excuse me. I should have introduced you. Chloe Braunstein is the hostess of this lovely party. This is Geoffrey-I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your last name.”
“Taylor, Geoffrey Taylor. I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Braunstein. My stepmother, Charlene, asked me to attend on her behalf.”
Chloe’s eyes widened. “You’re the duke! Or the duke’s son,” she said, waving her hand. “I’m not sure how all that works. Love the accent. My stepmother is friends with Charlene. When she told us you would attend, we were all excited. Please have some more champagne. Bid astronomical amounts on a drawing or two.” She waved her hand toward a waiter. “More champagne here. Do you mind if I steal him away for a few minutes?” she asked Lori. “Alison Crandall will have a cow when she learns I have a duke at my event. She’s such a snob.” She turned back to Geoffrey. “You don’t mind if I briefly exploit your title, do you?”
He looked momentarily speechless, then shot Lori an uncertain look.
“You did say you were a rebel at heart,” Lori reminded him.
“So I did.”
“And it’s for a good cause,” Chloe said.
He gave a short nod. “In that case, I’m at your service.”
Lori snickered as Chloe ushered Geoffrey away. Poor thing, she thought. He would become the prize steer of the evening. Taking another sip of her champagne, she meandered around the room, enjoying the children’s art. She placed bids on three pieces that grabbed her and was writing a bid for another when a large male hand closed over hers.
Lori’s heart stopped. Oh, no, not him. She cringed, closing her eyes, wishing she were anywhere but here. Wishing Jackson hadn’t found her.
“I thought we agreed you were going to rein in your spending until you take care of your inheritance.”
Lori took a deep breath, inhaling his masculine scent, and wiggled her fingers as a broad hint for him to let go of her. “My spending is relatively reined,” she said. “I haven’t bid on every piece of art I’ve seen.”
“Four,” he said. “And you offered six figures for one of them. You should change your bid.”
Horrified, Lori turned, noting that he wore yet another dark jacket that didn’t fit him properly. “Absolutely not. That would be like welshing. I couldn’t do that to Chloe. Besides, it’s for a good cause.”
“Welshing?” he echoed, lifting that dark fussy eyebrow at her again. “What about your agreement to meet with me tonight to review your candidates? What do you call your failure to show up for that?”
Lori barely resisted the urge to squirm beneath his penetrating gaze. “I forgot about a previous engagement,” she said, trying to effect an air of importance and suspecting she wasn’t succeeding.
“Spending money you don’t have yet,” he said.
Her discomfort rising a mile a minute, she lowered her voice and stepped closer. “People are starting to stare. Could we conduct this conversation somewhere else?”
He ground his teeth. “Fine,” he said and grabbed her arm. “I’ll find a place.”
Lori raced to keep up with his long stride as he led her out of the main room and down a hallway. He opened a door and pulled her inside a utility closet. Flicking on a switch, he closed the door. “Is this private enough for you?”
Chapter Eight
“Lust is not a bad thing. It just means you’re alive.”
– SUNNY COLLINS
Lori’s heart hammered in her chest. She stepped backward and her foot ran into a bucket. Jackson immediately put his hands on her shoulders and steadied her. She took another deep breath and felt oddly dizzy. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” she said.
“Me, neither,” he muttered. “I didn’t think I would have to be chasing you down in some nightclub and tying your hands to keep you from writing checks for money you don’t have.”
“You weren’t very nice about it.”
He s
hot her an incredulous look. “How do you think I felt when your housekeeper told me you’d gone to a charity event instead of meeting with me? I’ve been waiting for days for your sisters to leave. If you’re really going to carry out your insane plan, then we need to get moving. At the rate you’re spending, you’re going to end up in a tent by the end of summer. And you don’t strike me as the type that loves camping.”
“Oh, you’re exaggerating.”
“Not by much,” he said grimly.
“You and I would get along much better if you would be a little more flexible,” she told him.
“Somebody has to hold the line,” he said with a growl in his voice. “I’m the unlucky guy.”
She could tell he didn’t enjoy his position any more than she was happy with hers. Lori sighed. “Are you nicer to your other clients? Can’t you be just a little nicer to me?”
“My other clients haven’t made any complaints, but I haven’t had to be as firm with any of them. The problem with being nice to you, Lori, is you are the proverbial example for give-her-an-inch-and-she’ll-take-you-for-a-hundred-miles.”
“Another exaggeration,” she said.
“Six figures for a finger painting,” he reminded her. “Six figures.”
“All right, all right,” she said. “I guess you should tell me about the prospects for the job as my husband.”
“Do you want to hear about it now or at your home?”
“Go ahead,” she said with a shrug. “I need to get my head turned back around to this idea. I may as well start now.”
He paused, studying her. “Second thoughts?”
She didn’t want to admit it, but he was clearly the kind of man who could smell any weakness a mile away. “Yes, and there will be more, but it doesn’t change my situation and it doesn’t change my decision,” she added quickly before he could interject anything. “I’m going to do this.”
“You have other options,” he said.
“This is the best plan. It’s just being around Delilah and Katie and hearing them talk about how much they love their husbands. And my little nieces and nephew, they’re so sweet, and-” A lump of emotion crowded her throat and she bit her lip. “And I need to stop thinking about it, because I’m on a different track. There.”
“Lori, are you sure?”
She met his gaze and felt his strength bolster her. Strange, she thought, that a person who annoyed her and frustrated her could make her feel more certain. “I’m sure,” she said and smiled. “Tell me about my future husband.”
He paused, and she saw a sliver of something almost like respect deepen his eyes. It was gone so quickly she wondered if she had imagined it.
“Bachelor number three,” he began.
“Let’s start with a fresh page. The first ones didn’t count.”
“These do,” he said firmly. “Bachelor number one is Dr. Frank Liebowitz. He’s a little older, but he has an excellent reputation and excellent communication skills. He would like to have money for research.”
It was weird, but Jackson approved of this guy just a little too much. “Why isn’t he married?”
“His wife passed away. He’s a widower,” he said.
“Oh,” she said, feeling sorry for the doctor she’d never met. “What kind of doctor is he?”
“A-” Jackson cleared his throat. “A psychiatrist.”
A shrink, Lori thought, noticing the way Jackson ’s eye twitched. “Not very subtle.”
“This isn’t a bad idea. Maybe he could do double duty. Help you with some of your-issues,” Jackson said and cleared his throat.
“As if I want someone around twenty-four seven putting me under a microscope, examining my every move, word, and thought. Wouldn’t you just love that, too?”
“This isn’t about me. He’s a respectable man. Worth your consideration,” Jackson said in a rock-hard voice.
“Tell me about the rest,” she said, inwardly fuming. He wasn’t joking when he said he thought she was nuts. He really believed it. Even though she knew her plan was unusual, she wanted to feel as if she and Jackson were a team. Knowing he really thought she was insane bothered her so much she barely heard him list the other prospects.
“And the last one is an English duke, if you’re into titles at all. He’s a financial loser, and I think he could be the most expensive of all of them. That’s why I put him last. He’s got these old mansions that need a bunch of repairs. From the list of repairs, it looks to me like they should ditch the current buildings and start over. Plus he’s got a stepmother who needs to be sent off for a twelve-step program for her shopping habits. Geoffrey Taylor can be a last resort.”
Lori brightened. “Geoffrey Taylor. Did you say Geoffrey Taylor? I met him! And I liked him. Somewhat,” she added, remembering he’d been a grouch at first.
“You did?” Jackson asked, surprise crossing his face.
Lori nodded. “I did. He was appealing in a lost, out-of-his-element way. He needed a haircut, but…”
Jackson was looking at her with a stunned expression. “You actually liked him?”
“I like a lot of people,” she said, miffed at his implication that she didn’t like people.
“So you might be interested in marrying this guy?”
Her stomach clenched. “I don’t know. I have to see how Kenny responds to him.”
“How’d he smell?”
“I’m not sure. I think a waiter had just spilled champagne on him, but I didn’t notice anything that bothered me.”
“You didn’t find anything objectionable about him?”
She shrugged. “I liked that he had a sense of humor. I think a sense of humor is going to be important for this situation.”
Jackson gave a growl-like laugh. “That’s an understatement. A great sense of humor or medication,” he said. “Maybe both.”
His sarcasm poked at her. “Do you have to be so insulting? You act as if I’m the worst person in the world a man could be stuck with for six years. Did you ever think that maybe you have the problem?” she asked, daring to poke his hard chest with her finger. “Maybe you’re not a people person. Plenty of people enjoy my company. You may not, but plenty of people actually think I’m charming. Plenty of people actually like me.”
He grabbed her finger and held it still. “You don’t get it. I feel sorry for the guy who agrees to do this because he’s gonna spend every day of his six-year sentence being close enough to smell you and touch you, but he won’t be taking you to bed. And if he’s a normal heterosexual man, being that close to you and not having you will drive him insane.”
Was that heat in his gaze? Lori wondered, feeling her pulse race. She felt an odd warmth flare across her skin, starting at her toes and moving up to her cheeks. She tried to take a deep breath, but her lungs would allow only a puny shallow one.
She cleared her throat. “The way you say that makes me think you almost find me somewhat attractive.”
“That would be wrong,” he said. “I don’t find you somewhat attractive. Despite the fact that you think I have computer wire for veins, I’m like the rest of my gender. I know you’re a knockout. I wouldn’t be male if I didn’t wonder what it would be like to take you to bed. The big difference between me and the other guys is if I got sexually involved with you, I could lose everything. Baby-blue eyes with the too-generous pocketbook, you could blow me away in bed, but I’ve been protecting my rear for long enough to know I need to protect it more than ever now.”
Lori didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. “I didn’t ask you to go to bed with me.”
“Not in so many words, but there’s something there.”
She looked at him in surprise. “Pardon me?”
“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking back. You’re curious about me.”
“I-I-I-” she sputtered, embarrassed beyond words.
“It’s no big deal,” he said in what she guessed was his effort to reassure her. �
��We’re both curious. We’re both attracted. It doesn’t matter as long as we don’t act on it.”
The air in the closet suddenly felt thick and humid. Her mind shifted with rapid-fire speed to a vision of Jackson pulling off the jacket, whose seams strained from the breadth of his shoulders. His tanned skin revealed he spent some of his off-time in the sun. She could easily imagine the sculpted muscles of his chest and a six-pack abdomen. He would accept no less for himself, not out of vanity, but for strength.
She wondered where his tan line started-just below his belly button or lower. His strength and size were overwhelming to her. More than one thing about Jackson suggested he was just this side of civilized.
She wondered what that meant about his lovemaking.
He gave a swift, short oath. “It’s not gonna help matters if you keep looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” she asked and tried to pull her curiosity away from what kind of man he was out of his clothes.
“Like you’re curious about my body and how it would feel. How I would feel naked against your naked skin. How I would take you.”
Turned on, embarrassed, and not sure which sensation was more unwelcome, she closed her eyes. “This conversation is crazy.”
“Crazy, but necessary,” he said. “As long as you and I admit we’re both tempted, then we can both avoid temptation.”
“I’m not admitting anything,” she retorted. “I would have to be a masochist to be attracted to a man who thinks I’m a twerp.”
“Keep telling yourself that, baby girl, and we’ll be just fine.”
The first sign of a serious problem was the jammed-full voice mail on the cell phone Jackson had dedicated to the Lori marriage project. He’d turned the damn thing off late last night to charge, and it was only 6:30 a.m.
Not a good sign, he thought as he finished drying off from his shower. He listened to the first message.
“Greg Staunton here. I’m calling to be considered as a candidate for Lori Granger’s husband. I’m an entrepreneur and was very successful until the market caved in on the dotcoms. I’m willing to submit a blood test and-”
