by Anne Oliver
‘God,’ a voice rasped from the bed.
She took some satisfaction at seeing him wince. ‘No, just Cleo, I’m afraid, with your not-so-early wake-up call.’
‘I didn’t order any wake-up call,’ he mumbled.
‘Rise and shine, we’ve got work to do.’
He started to roll over, then stopped. ‘Hey, I’m naked here.’
‘Well, you’re conscious, at least. Downstairs, ten minutes, if you want breakfast.’
She flicked the switch on the radio and racked up the volume on a heavy-metal station on her way out. If he swore, she didn’t hear.
When he made his appearance twenty minutes later, it didn’t look as if he’d be big on conversation this morning. His face was drawn and slightly green, accentuating his stubble, but he’d taken a shower, leaving his hair damp and smelling fresh and spicy. He was wearing long shorts and a ratty T-shirt he must have unearthed from his six-year-old supplies. He walked carefully, as if measuring his steps.
‘No breakfast,’ he said in a downright pitiful voice as he filled a mug with water at the sink.
‘Oh?’ When he scowled at her, she pointed to the fridge. ‘Tomato juice is good for hangovers.’
‘Don’t need it,’ he growled, zapping the mug in the microwave, then dunking a teabag in.
‘Glad to hear it, because we’ve got work to do.’ She pushed up. ‘Bring your tea and come with me.’
Moments later they stood on the lawn where Cleo had marked out the circle.
Jack was silent a moment, his expression blank. ‘A garden? Or are you planning a pond?’ And what do you need my approval for? his expression said.
She could almost feel his head pounding as he shaded his eyes from the morning glare. ‘A memorial garden with a sundial,’ she explained. ‘Our mutual project.’
His dark brows lowered, his mouth turned down. Yesterday she might have laid a hand on his shoulder, but this morning was an entirely different matter. Instead, she stuck her hands on her hips. ‘You have a better idea?’
‘You have to know how to make a sundial,’ he said with an arrogant wave of his mug. ‘You need to find north, know the latitude, you can’t just—’
‘Done already.’ Annoyed that he assumed she hadn’t done her research, she crossed her arms over her breasts. ‘All you have to do is help with the garden.’
‘Hmmph.’ He squinted as he surveyed the circle.
‘I know your shoulder’s still healing. I can dig—’
‘I’m not an invalid.’ He rotated his shoulder. The muscles bulged like coiled rope in his forearm as he flexed his hand.
‘Good.’ He was standing too close. Scowling. Looking dangerously dishevelled, smelling of soap and man. ‘I’ll get the hose and soften the ground.’
She swung away, intent on putting some distance between them, but he grabbed her arm with one firm hand, tossing his mug on the grass with the other.
‘Not so fast.’ Strong fingers closed around her wrist. Useless to try to pull away. ‘We need to clear the air first.’
She looked up into dark, whiskey-coloured eyes. ‘Clear the air?’ The air she could feel pulsing thick and charged between them?
‘I shouldn’t have kissed you like that.’
‘Like what?’ Like a man kisses a woman?
‘In that condition. I wasn’t at my best when I got home last night.’
‘That’s too bad.’ She couldn’t help the inward sigh. How would his best feel? Not that she was going to find out. Remember the Rule. Playing it light, she patted his T-shirt, concentrated on its wash-worn softness and tried not to think about the hard chest beneath. Then she grinned and said, ‘I wasn’t at my best either.’
Something dangerous speared into his eyes. She could almost feel the heat. Her stomach muscles curled. She tried to step away, but his hold was like a steel band. ‘Play grown-up games the way you did six years ago and live with the consequences.’
A flush crept up her neck at the memory. ‘I’m old enough to play grown-ups now, Jack. And have been for some time.’ She meant old enough, but by Jack’s glowering expression he was stuck on the playing grown-ups bit.
His jaw clenched, and his grip on her wrist tightened. ‘You want to be real careful about airing your conquests to me, Cleo.’ Beneath the holier-than-thou attitude she remembered so well, his eyes smouldered with that same hot spark she’d witnessed last night.
In daylight with the sun catching the red-gold strands in his dark hair, with the sound of birds and breeze, it was no less potent. But she saw something darker flicker in their depths now.
Lord in heaven...could he be jealous? She almost laughed aloud. Jealous of her non-existent love life. But her pulse picked up as the flicker in his eyes intensified to an all out blaze, and a fine tremor shivered through her limbs. ‘Women don’t make conquests,’ she retorted, maintaining her calm. ‘We’re far too evolved.’
‘The way you went about it at my twenty-first you could’ve fooled me.’
Because his rejection had forced her to do something she’d never done before: come on to a guy. ‘I’ve seen you in action too, remember.’ Memories she wanted to forget. Snapshots of nudes and Jack, a hidden photo in her drawer she wished she’d never seen.
‘That was a long time ago. It’s a new day and I’m sober.’ He was rubbing a callused thumb lightly over the pulse in her wrist now and watching her with such tenderness, she wanted to sigh.
Suddenly his lips were a whisper away from hers, his breath warm and smelling of tea. Her mouth dried up; her knees went weak. He pulled her closer, dropped her now-limp hand to slide his thumb across her lower lip, leaving tingles of sensation. A hot shiver rippled down her spine. Nearby, a lawnmower droned and the smell of fresh-cut grass lay on the morning air.
‘Jack...’ She let out a shaky breath as his mouth skimmed a lazy path along her jaw. Coherent thought spiralled away on the breeze. Her eyes drifted closed at the stunning sensation of his lips on her skin. The warmth dancing on her eyelids faded as Jack’s head blocked the sun. Anticipation quivered through her.
His lips moved to her neck, he released her arm, leaving both his hands free to caress up and down her spine. The world tilted on its axis and then... No more Jack. She heard a sharp sigh as he stepped back. She let her own sigh out slowly. Raggedly.
‘Hell,’ he swore softly and turned away.
Her fingers fumbled as she straightened the cap on her head. ‘You kissed me last night, Jack. You might have been under the influence, but you wanted me.’
He paced away, dragged a hand over his head, then swung to her. ‘Cleo...’ There was something horribly, ominously final in that one word. He started back, stopping when he was an arm’s length away. She saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed.
Yes, he wanted her. But he didn’t love her. Not the way she wanted him to love her. Could she settle for that?
She’d waited a long time for him to open his eyes and look her way. Tears gathered at the back of her throat. She tugged the bill of her cap down further so that it shaded her eyes. She didn’t want to see him, didn’t want him seeing her humiliation.
He moved closer, placed impersonal hands on her shoulders. ‘I don’t want to start something I can’t finish. You mean too much to me, Goldilocks. I’m not a permanent kind of guy; I only came back to finalise Dad’s affairs.’
She knew that, she’d always known it.
You mean too much to me.
Desperate not to let him see how much it hurt, she shrugged beneath his hands but they stayed firm and uncompromising, the way his six-foot height towered over her. ‘That’s right, Jack. Don’t let a little lust over a home-town girl get in the way of life’s priorities.’
His eyes darkened. ‘Don’t cheapen what we have, or who you are.’
‘What do we have?’
Hesitation. A muscle tightened in his jaw. ‘I don’t know.’
She shoved at his hands and this time he let them fall to his sides. Anger exploded out of her. ‘You haven’t been paying attention, Jack.’
‘Oh, I’ve been paying attention. You’ve made it plain that you disapprove of my choices and the way I live my life. I have to think about this...for both of us. That kiss last night—’
‘What kiss?’ she hurled back. ‘And I do my own thinking.’ This time it was she who stepped away. ‘When I decide what’s right—for me—I’ll let you know.’
* * *
‘Another day with no one but Jocular Jack for company and I’d’ve gone crazy.’ Cleo faced Jeanne across the café’s red-and-white-checked table cloth and stirred her coffee. ‘Thank God for you, Jeanne. Our Sunday-morning brunches are a life-saver.’
Jeanne smiled. ‘Is Jack giving you a hard time?’
‘Try any time.’
Jeanne’s smile faded. ‘Oh.’
‘He’s been back over a week and I still don’t know the real Jack Devlin.’
‘Does anyone ever know the real anyone?’ Jeanne bit into her apple Danish. ‘It’s bound to take some adjusting. He’s been gone a while.’
‘I guess.’ Frowning, Cleo lifted her cup to her lips. They’d stuck to their agreement and worked on the sundial thing. They’d dug dirt together, positioned the dial, planted petunias. Talked in monosyllabic sentences.
So much for getting reacquainted.
‘I take it your feelings haven’t changed,’ Jeanne said.
When Cleo could only shake her head, Jeanne reached over and patted her hand. ‘Go ahead, let it all out. You’re talking to Auntie Jeannie here.’
‘It’s embarrassing. Humiliating, even.’
‘Why, for God’s sake?’
‘Well...’ She swallowed, unsure how or even whether to go on. ‘I look at the two of you. You’re great together.’
‘Of course. He’s a friend, but—’
‘He hugged you. Kissed you.’ And practically stuck his tongue down your throat.
Jeanne nodded. ‘A natural enough way to greet a friend you haven’t seen in six years.’
‘He didn’t hug me like that.’ She couldn’t help it; her lip curled. ‘All spontaneous and smiley.’
‘Oh, Cleo, don’t be mad at him. Jack and I have always been close.’
‘That’s just it—you two are so natural and easy with each other.’
‘Yes. We’re comfortable together. But there are no sparks,’ Jeanne said gently. ‘We’re like brother and sister. Whereas you two... You strike so many sparks off each other, it gives me the hots. You were a kid when he saw you last. Even then I saw the way he looked at you, but he was way too nice a guy to take advantage of your youth and innocence.’
‘So what, now I’m old and experienced?’ Cleo shook her head. ‘And he still hasn’t taken advantage of me.’ She was older of course, but experienced...hardly. Not when her love life had been on hold since Jack had left.
‘He’s still getting to know the grown-up version,’ Jeanne said, skimming a spoonful of froth off her cappuccino.
Cleo propped her chin on her hands. The memory of just how well he’d been ‘getting to know’ her passed in front of her eyes. ‘He kissed me the other night. Drunk as a skunk, but he kissed me.’ And she could still feel the press of that hard male body against hers.
Jeanne leaned forward, spoon poised halfway to her mouth, her expression bright and interested. ‘Well...?’
‘Then he apologised.’
Jeanne made a sound that was part sympathy, part amusement. ‘Poor Jack.’
‘Poor Jack?’
Jeanne-the-traitor smiled. ‘What happened then?’
‘Nothing. Oh, I slapped him.’ At Jeanne’s incredulous expression, Cleo waved her hand. ‘For the apology. We talked around it a bit the next day. We ar-gued. No more kissing, no more talking. Said he wants to think about it for both of us. Like I’ve got no say in the matter.’ Anger prickled her skin just remembering it. ‘Can you beat that?’
‘I can’t, but you can.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you.’ Jeanne fixed Cleo with a straight look. ‘Nothing’s stopping you taking the initiative, is it?’
Cleo frowned, considering the notion. ‘I guess not.’
But could Cleo Honeywell the homebody really measure up to Jack’s ideal of a desirable woman? Did she want to know? Could she live with the answer? Only one way to find out.
Jeanne’s nail tapping on the table cut into her thoughts. ‘If you want him, do something about it. Leave him in no doubt about what you want. Then leave the rest to him.’
* * *
Cleo had never turned down a dare. She stood at the base of the trellis attached to the wall outside Jack’s bedroom, chewing on her lower lip and toying with the zip on her black figure-hugging jumpsuit. Her new black lace bra and panties from Bedroom Secrets itched something fierce.
Lucky for her no one had ever asked for the impossible or even slightly dangerous.
Until now.
Now she was asking for it for herself. For Jack. For what they could have together if only he’d let it happen. She knew she was risking a broken heart... A quick glance up had her amending that to maybe a broken neck? She figured it was worth it.
The moon was on her side for once, spilling light through the frangipani branches, clearly outlining her own personal stairway to heaven. She plucked a frangipani blossom and tucked it in her hair. Checked her watch by moonlight. Jack’s room had been in darkness for fifteen minutes.
She wanted to give him time to be relaxed and receptive to her. Over the past few days she’d watched that self-contained, remote Jack take over. It was up to her to bring out the Jack she’d only glimpsed in the past two weeks.
The fun-and-games Jack who’d scaled this very trellis on that first morning, that sensitive guy who’d comforted and talked with her in Gerry’s room after the fiasco with the will.
The drunk, dishevelled and definitely dangerous man who’d pushed her up against a wall and put his mouth on hers. The memory sent an instant shard of heat searing a path to her lower abdomen.
Since Jack obviously wasn’t going to, she would take that next step towards intimacy herself. An intimacy that went so much deeper than the sexual act. A bond, she knew, that could never be broken, no matter where in the world he went, no matter how hard he tried to deny it.
Nerves pinched her skin and fluttered in her tummy as she contemplated the climb. ‘Okay, Jack,’ she murmured, placing a bare foot on the first rung and gripping it with her toes. ‘Ready or not, here I come.’
EIGHT
Cleo swung up onto the first rung. Her pulse raced, a nervous excitement jittered up and down her spine. She climbed steadily upward, concentrating on not looking down. She’d seen Jack do it with an injured shoulder, how hard could it be?
But her palms were damp, her heart seemed to have lodged in her throat. Branches tapped lightly at the ground-floor window. Somewhere she could hear party music, the thump of bass on the air in time with blood pounding in her head. Just a few more feet...
Uh-oh. Wrong window. Of the two windows in his room, contrary Jack had left the wrong one open... Don’t look down.
She looked down.
Her head spun nastily. No way could she go back the way she’d come. The white-knuckled fingers of one hand clung to the trellis while she pried one hand off to tap at the pane. ‘Jack.’ Her voice came out barely above a whisper. She was afraid if she raised it, somehow she’d be flung from the wall and land in a heap below. A broken heap. She gritted her teeth and tried again. ‘Jack.’ Louder. Her whole body was taut as wire, aching with the tens
ion of holding on.
A face appeared. Thank God. She almost wept with relief. ‘What the hell?’ it shouted.
So much for a dramatic entrance. ‘It’s me, Jack. Open up.’
The window shot up with a sharp riff and Jack leaned out, peering at her over the window ledge. ‘God, are you crazy?’
Not just a face. A body. A very naked body from what she could see. ‘Just help me in, Jack.’ Calm voice. Calm, in control voice. Not-so-calm pulse.
Two strong arms reached out, lifting her bodily through the opening as if she weighed no more than the shadows surrounding her.
‘Thanks.’ Her valiant attempt to appear nonchalant failed miserably as her legs turned to jelly. She clutched those, strong safe arms while her chest ached and her lungs burned from holding her breath.
‘What in hell do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded in a dangerously low voice.
The bright slash of moonlight carved an equally dangerous expression on his face; his arms, shoulders, chest could have been painted with it. His eyes glittered, smoke and silver in the dimness.
‘I wanted to see you...’ Wrong choice of words. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Her gaze kind of slid downwards. And stuck. An instinctive feminine awe speared through her body. Her blood turned to quicksilver in her veins. It looked...he was...magnificent. And growing more magnificent even as she watched.
‘Congratulations,’ he said tautly, his voice thick. ‘I think we could say you’ve achieved that.’
He tilted her chin with a thumb and finger till she had no choice but to look into those dangerous eyes and not at the action taking place below.
‘Listen, and listen good, Cleo. Don’t you ever try anything like that again.’ He tightened his grip on her chin. ‘Understood?’
‘No, not understood.’ She batted his hand away. ‘You give yourself permission to take risks and I’m not supposed to? And don’t give me any of that chauvinistic crap because I’ll refuse to discuss it.’
His lips firmed into a blade-thin line. ‘Okay. Have it your way. For now.’
