“Daisy Rose,” Sylvie murmured, more to herself than in acknowledgment of his question.
Jefferson could hear affection in every syllable. There was something incredibly appealing to him about a woman who so obviously loved her child.
Without fully realizing it, he felt a bond growing between them. “She’s as beautiful as her mother.”
Sylvie looked up and flashed a smile at him as she placed the photograph back on her desk. “Did you say your daughter was a teenager?” she asked.
“Emily’s sixteen going on forty,” Jefferson said. And some days, too much of a handful for him, he added silently. “Enjoy your years with her,” he advised. “They go by too fast.” He nodded at the photograph she’d just replaced. “At three, you can still tell them what to do.”
Sylvie laughed. There were days when Daisy Rose made her think of a pint-size little old lady. An opinionated little old lady.
“Obviously, you’ve never met my Daisy Rose.” She took the napkins from the tray and placed one on his side of the desk. Sympathy nudged her. They were both paddling canoes through the same churning waters. “Not easy being a single parent, is it?”
No, he thought, it wasn’t, although he suspected that Sylvie might have an easier time of it than he did, since her child was the same sex as her. And from what he gathered, she had a good support system in place, surrounded by her family the way she was. He’d had Donna’s mother Sophie for emergencies, but for the most part, he’d had only himself to rely on. There had been times when he was sure he wasn’t going to make it. But somehow, he always managed, due, in no small part, to the fact that Emily was a great kid.
As he watched Sylvie set out their dinner, he found himself wondering about her. There’d been nothing on the form to indicate she’d been married. All it had said was that she was single.
Was she widowed, like him? Was she still nursing a wound that refused to heal? Empathy flooded through him. “When did you lose Daisy Rose’s father?”
Setting the tray aside, she looked up, a flicker of humor in her expression. “I never had him.” Because she had a feeling he stood on ceremony, she picked up his plate and offered the sandwich to him.
Jefferson hardly noticed the sandwich with its thick cuts of ham. Sylvie had all of his attention as he took the plate she handed him. “Excuse me?”
Sylvie laughed, shaking her head. “You have just got to be the politest man I have ever met,” she commented. Then, in case he thought she was dodging the question, she explained, “Daisy Rose’s father and I were never married.”
Like someone venturing over a fence, then seeing a sign clearly marked “Do Not Trespass,” Jefferson swiftly, if not smoothly, retreated. “Oh, sorry. None of my business.”
Most men would have pried, feeling they deserved answers because they were investing their time in a woman. That he didn’t impressed her.
“No,” she agreed, “it isn’t.” And then she grinned. “But I’ll tell you anyway.”
He waited, curious, while she took a bite of the sandwich and finished chewing and swallowing.
“He was a rock musician—on his way down, actually, when I met him. Shane Alexander of Lynx.” She looked at him to see if the name meant anything and thought she saw a flicker of recognition. “He could be very charming when he wanted to, of course, and I know I should have been a little smarter than I was, but I fell for his act, which was, sadly, all it was. Just an act.” But she was too grateful to have Daisy Rose to lament the past. “Man didn’t have much going for him upstairs, but he sure did know how to rock my world in the lovemaking department.” About to take another bite of her sandwich, she saw that Jefferson had stopped eating. “Am I embarrassing you, Jefferson?”
Yes, she was. But it annoyed him that he was so transparent. He had a poker face when it came to arguing cases in a boardroom or the courtroom, but for some reason, he couldn’t get it to function outside his professional life. Her remark just underscored how different he and this sprite of a woman were.
Jefferson shrugged. “You’re just being honest.”
Sylvie had always been in tune with what people thought. Sometimes it was only after the fact, which was why she’d been on the receiving end of heartache so often, but she could usually read people pretty well. And Jefferson had just avoided answering her. “That’s not what I asked.”
“I’m not accustomed to people being so honest,” he hedged. “I’m a lawyer,” he reminded her, the corner of his mouth twitching just enough to make her wonder if he was putting her on.
Amusement filtered through her. She really did like this man, she thought. And she was attracted to him. She made a mental note to find a way to repay her sisters without coming straight out and saying thank you. If she did that, they’d be impossible to live with.
“Don’t lawyers tell the truth?”
“Certain versions of it,” he allowed. He popped the tab of the soda can and foam fizzled onto the lid.
Sylvie finished her sandwich, then said, “I didn’t realize there were several versions of the truth.”
“There are several versions of everything,” he assured her.
And right now, Jefferson thought, the truth was that Sylvie was making the food he was eating stick in his throat as if it had been doused in glue.
The hunger he’d felt had passed, now that he’d eaten the sandwich, but it was replaced with another type of hunger, one he had not fed for a very long time. One he had been fairly convinced had died years ago due to lack of attention.
Jefferson had never been interested in sex just for the sake of sex, even as an adolescent. First he had to feel something for the person he was with. His mind had to be invited to the banquet before his more basic interests could attend.
“Oh, really?”
She moved aside her empty plate and smiled seductively at him, enjoying his reaction. Enjoying her own reaction to him. Sylvie moved closer, aware of the heat coming from his body. Drawn by it.
“So if I said something like, ‘I feel very attracted to you right at this moment, Jefferson,’ that could be interpreted in several different ways?”
He couldn’t take his eyes from her. Couldn’t move if he’d wanted to. And he wasn’t all that sure that he did want to, even though he had a feeling he was about to get hit by something with the force of a runaway train.
“Yes,” he heard himself say.
A smile crept into her eyes, feathering out to the rest of her features. “Give me one interpretation.”
He could feel her breasts against his chest as she took in a breath. Could feel a need unfurling within him. “I can’t.”
Her amusement made it hard for her to keep a straight face. Her desire made it equally hard not to just throw herself into his arms and see what happened. “Why not?”
He took a breath, seeking to steady himself. He succeeded. Outwardly. “Because my mind has stopped functioning.”
The admission delighted her. “Why, Jefferson, I think that must be one of the nicest compliments I’ve ever been given.”
“Wasn’t meant as a compliment,” he responded. “It’s the truth.”
Sylvie had been with her share of men, and for the most part, they were given to fabrications, even if they weren’t all smooth talkers. This man was a whole new experience for her.
“Haven’t had much practice at flattering women, have you, Jefferson?”
Like a man in a dream, Jefferson saw himself placing his hands on the soft, inviting swell of her hips. It just seemed like the natural thing to do, if only to assure himself that she was real and he wasn’t having some strange, enticing dream.
“No.”
Sylvie felt a shiver travel up her spine in response. Who would have thought that honesty could be so sexy?
“Good, I like that,” she murmured. “No bad habits to unlearn. Nothing for me to try to decipher.”
He could feel her breath, sweet, enticing, whispering along his face as she spoke. His stomac
h had tightened and he knew without a doubt he wanted her.
But women, for the most part, were a mystery to him. He didn’t want to be guilty of misreading the signs, of acting on things that he only imagined were true.
When in doubt, ask. In the long run, it was simpler that way. “Sylvie?”
If he didn’t make a move soon, Sylvie thought, she was going to jump him. A woman could only be so strong. “Yes?”
“Are you coming on to me?”
She could have laughed. The man was an innocent. And yet so damn virile it set her teeth on edge.
“As hard as I can.” Sylvie pressed her lips together as she looked up at him. She could feel her body priming. Yearning. “How am I doing?” she whispered.
Had he been holding anything, other than her, he would have snapped it in two. Meltdown, he thought, was close at hand. “You are a difficult woman to resist,” he confessed.
She raised her chin slightly, her eyes never leaving his. “Then I have a suggestion.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, he grinned. “Don’t resist?”
And then Sylvie laughed. He found the sound hopelessly exotic.
“You read my mind,” she said.
He pulled her closer. So close that their heartbeats mingled. She cocked her head, an amused, slightly quizzical expression on her face. He wondered if it was just a facade. If beneath everything, she felt as shaken by what was happening as he did.
“I have to take some initiative here,” he told her.
How charmingly old-fashioned, she thought. Despite the Boston address, this man’s roots were definitely those of a Southern gentleman caller of yesteryear.
“Men don’t have to anymore,” she told him.
“Some things,” he told her, bringing his mouth down to hers, “don’t have to change.”
The moment his lips touched hers, she knew. It hadn’t been a fluke, Sylvie thought. That lightning she’d felt coursing through her veins earlier this evening when she’d kissed him hadn’t just happened because of the moment. It had happened because of the man.
And he had only grown more appealing as the evening progressed.
She supposed that he was the kind of man people described as the “strong, silent type.” He would have fit right in to the era of the quiet hero who came riding into town, trying to keep to himself but forced to take charge and save the day because no one else would step up.
He was definitely stepping up.
Excitement pulsed through her as she leaned her body into his. Delicious sensations assaulted her, warming her limbs. Sylvie wrapped her arms around his neck, savoring the very taste of him.
He made her head spin.
She’d teased him about his lack of romantic entanglements, but the truth was, she’d been auditioning for the part of vestal virgin herself recently. She’d been too busy raising Daisy Rose, running the art gallery at the hotel and forging alliances with local artists to even have a fleeting relationship with any man, much less one of substance.
But this man was a man of substance. There was just something about him—the way he talked about his daughter, or asked about hers—that told her, Here is a man who is not afraid of the word forever. A man to rely on.
There was a bonfire going on within her now, the flames rising higher and higher. For a man of substance, he could certainly kiss. Contact had instantly aroused all the appetites dormant within her. All the hungers, the desires, the passions that had been safely tucked away ever since she’d become a mother suddenly surged to the surface.
She hung on for dear life. Exhilarated. And more than a little scared.
The deep kiss gave way to more frantic ones. Quick, fleeting kisses that aroused, teased, promised. As his mouth roamed her eyes, her cheeks, the hollow of her throat, Sylvie felt as if someone had lit a Roman candle inside of her. It threatened to go off.
And then she felt his fingers gently coaxing her dress from her shoulders. She had to steel herself to keep the shiver of anticipation banked down. For reasons she couldn’t begin to fathom, it almost felt as if this was the first time for her. The first time she’d ever made love.
Eagerly, she began to tug at Jefferson’s clothing. She fought the urge to rip it off his body with her teeth. As it was, she was shaking inside as she undid buttons, pulled his shirt out of his pants and made short work of the latter. She had been right. The clothing he wore in no way hinted at the muscular body beneath. He was sculpted.
Her heart hammered. She could almost feel it vibrating in her body as desperation to touch him flowed through her. She wanted to touch him and be touched by him. To have his hands claim what she had already given to him.
Her breathing had grown audible. Funny how such a simple sound like that could set him off, Jefferson thought. He felt as if his knees were buckling even as strength surged through him and he slipped off her bra and panties.
There was no way, when the evening began, that he had thought it would end like this. Here with Sylvie. Bedding the woman wasn’t what he’d had in mind.
Now it was the only thing he had in mind.
That, and making certain that he pleasured her. Because that was all tied up with his own sense of satisfaction. Making it enjoyable for her would make it enjoyable for him. He’d spent his adult life making certain that whenever he and Donna made love, her pleasure came before his own. It was just the way he was wired.
But things had changed since he was married. And he had a feeling that the woman he was with was far more experienced in the ways of pleasure, both receiving and giving, than he was.
Was he going to disappoint her?
He didn’t know, but he did know that this was no time for self-doubt.
He went with his instincts, exploring her body as if he’d just entered a sacred place.
Slowly he caressed her, moving his hands gently along her curves as if one wrong move would cause her to break. With each pass of his hands, the heat between them soared to sizzling, and as his mouth explored her soft skin, Jefferson felt desire threatening his control. Carefully, slowly, he eased her over to the sofa and lay down beside her.
A small sound escaped her lips. He stopped, looking at her, afraid he might have hurt her.
“It’s cold,” she explained breathlessly. “The leather. Against my back.”
He grinned. “I’ll see what I can do to fix that.” He slid his hands beneath her and drew her closer.
Sylvie twisted beneath him, stealing his breath away. All the systems that he’d thought had been cut off were up and running and about to fire on all cylinders.
Linking his hands with hers, Jefferson nudged her thighs apart with his and then slipped into her. Her legs locked themselves around his torso, and he felt oddly at peace even as a frantic energy seized him. He was completely filled with the sight, the taste, the feel of her. Filled with wanting.
He wasn’t thinking anymore, wasn’t asking himself if he’d lost his mind. He might have, but in losing it, he’d found something else.
As the urgency continued to build, he struggled to keep up with it, so that it wouldn’t overwhelm him.
Sylvie’s breathing was coming in snatches, telling him she was right there with him. She dug her nails into his back as she arched, desperate to achieve that final, fantastic surge.
With one last powerful thrust, Jefferson brought them both to a cresting release. He felt her cry out his name against his mouth and savored the taste of her breath.
And then he held her close to him, because he needed to revel in this moment—when he’d rediscovered himself as a man.
Even as their bodies cooled and their breathing slowed, Jefferson held Sylvie close to him. Feeling her heart beat beside his was somehow comforting.
He’d missed this.
Missed the intimacy, the upward surge, the final, breathtaking moment of mindlessness when the two of them existed as one.
He tried to hang on to that feeling for as long as he possibly could.
/>
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SYLVIE RAISED HER HEAD, her soft, flame-colored hair lightly sweeping across his chest, causing ripples along his skin and widening whirlpools deep inside his belly. Jefferson could feel his gut reflexively tighten against the onslaught, but it was too late. He’d already been captured.
Wow.
That was the only word that Jefferson, eloquent to a fault, could think of to encompass what had just happened here between them. To him.
Wow.
A smile played along his lips as he threaded his fingers through her hair. The sensuous, silky feel of it wove its way through him. Making him want. Again.
He was far from a novice when it came to lovemaking, but everything about this felt brand new.
Unaware of the effect she was having on him, Sylvie cocked her head, straining to listen. Was that her imagination, or had she just heard a noise coming from the first floor of the gallery?
“What is it?” Jefferson asked, lightly skimming his thumb along her bottom lip.
Sylvie struggled to focus. “Do you hear something?”
Taking her seriously, Jefferson paused for a second, listening. All he heard was her…breathing. He smiled, shaking his head.
Other than the distant murmur of voices from the street, it was as dead as a tomb inside the gallery. Except, Jefferson thought, amending the analogy slightly, he’d never felt so alive. Thanks to her.
“Just the pounding of my heart,” he told her.
His answer made her laugh and feel warm inside. It had been a long time since she’d felt that way. A long time. The noise she thought she’d heard was gone, if it had ever existed.
Probably just her imagination, she decided. The same imagination that had felt the earth move a few minutes ago.
“That must be it,” she told him as she spread her hand over his chest. She could feel his heart beating beneath her palm. It was a soothing sensation. Sylvie leaned her head on top of her hand, her eyes on his. “They’re right,” she declared softly, without preamble.
The Setup Page 12
