by Janzen, Tara
“Umm . . .” She closed her eyes for a quick second, trying to think. But it was impossible to think when he was moving in on her. “Ten . . . or—or twelve,” she said breathlessly. Her eyes popped open in the nick of time to keep him from kissing her and completely undermining her good intentions. “Maybe twenty, or twenty-five, or fifty. I don’t know. I never thought of it in those terms.”
Her head was tilted up to keep him in sight, and he wondered if she knew her neck was one of his favorite erogenous zones.
“Well, let’s think about it for a minute,” he said, letting his natural drawl smooth out the thought and slow down the words. “We’ve already got sex, chocolate, art, and marriage. Seems like a pretty good start. And let’s go with your first estimation, ten things. Now I’m going to add quality construction to make five, since we both have shown uncommon interest in quality construction. That leaves five things to go. I think we can come up with five things.” In five minutes or less, he figured. Then they could get on to the first two things, something chocolate for dessert after dinner, and some kind of sex for dessert after chocolate. He had a lot of ideas.
“It’s not that simple, Jack. It can’t be. Relationships take time, nurturing, structure, a support network of values and interests, a—”
“How long did you know your husband before you married him?” he interrupted, then winced. Lord, he hated bringing the guy up.
“Two months.”
“Case closed.” And that would be the last time he reminded her that she’d loved someone before she loved him, he silently added, because he knew she loved him. She’d erased his doubts on Sunday. All he had to do was erase hers.
“But—”
“Five things,” he said, holding up his hand with fingers spread. “Give me a chance. I know I can do this.”
* * *
And he would have, that very night, if she hadn’t come up with her own set of restrictions. All things of common interest had to be matters of consequence. She would let him get away with quality construction, but nothing else in a similar vein would count. They’d both agreed, after a couple of bites of her mother’s chocolate cheesecake, that chocolate didn’t suffer from the same lack of importance. Lila accepted all compliments on dinner and dessert with hardly a trace of guilt, but balked at adding Italian food to the list. It was obvious, she’d said, that between the two of them, they’d eat anything that didn’t eat them first.
Then she’d gotten serious, painfully serious.
“Given the combustibility of our reaction to each other, I think it best if we refrain from . . . refrain from . . .” Words had failed her, but Jack got the point.
“Sex,” he said, filling in the blank. Then he wished he’d tried something else first, just in case.
“Yes,” she said, blowing out his last hope. “If you want to give this relationship a chance, I think we should try keeping company for a while.”
“Keeping company?” He thought he knew what the term meant, but a little clarification couldn’t hurt.
“Yes. See each other occasionally. Date, if you will.”
“I will.”
“Talk about things, get to know each other.”
He nodded at every suggestion she made, trying to be agreeable, but he already knew things about her that made it impossible to sleep at night: how she felt in his arms, warm, soft, supple, sleek; the taste of her on his lips; the scent of her .
He was back at her door the next night. If they were going to keep company, he’d decided not to waste time by waiting for the weekend. She’d ended the previous evening without so much as a kiss. He was determined to do better that night. Besides, he’d come up with another item for her list.
She opened the door, and his jaw went slack. He didn’t believe she had a cruel streak, but neither could he believe what she was wearing. Or rather, what she wasn’t wearing.
“You’re early,” she said, her voice slightly breathless. Big clips pinned her hair in lush disarray on top of her head. Moisture dampened her throat and the bared slope of one shoulder. A short robe of black silk splashed with white camellias clung to her breasts and her hips, barely holding on, barely covering.
“Or late,” he muttered, letting his gaze roam at will, letting his memory conjure up the indelible image hidden by the scrap of silk.
“Come in, please, before we both freeze to death.”
He didn’t want to disappoint her, but truthfully, he was in no danger of freezing to death.
“Oh, Jack. They’re beautiful.” Her eyes lit up when she saw the flowers he’d brought. He thought they ran a poor second to the camellias caressing the creamy softness of her skin.
“Tiger lilies,” he said, closing the door behind him.
“Thank you.” She gathered the huge bouquet into her arms and padded into the kitchen, with Jack just far enough behind to catch every sweet sway of her hips.
When she reached up into a cupboard to get a large glass vase, he vowed to bring her flowers every night. Then he grinned and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief. He used to think he was a classy guy, a man of integrity, but she brought out his primitive side, his primal masculine instincts. Instincts of capture and conquering, of baring her body to his gaze and taking her. He ought to be shot as a reprobate.
But no one was going to shoot anybody, and he wasn’t about to strip her clothes off at this point, so he looked his fill and enjoyed the heightened awareness of his senses, the waywardness of his imagination, and the initial stirrings of arousal. He was a man in love.
“It’ll take me only a minute to finish getting ready,” she said, running water in the vase and casting him a glance over her shoulder. She quickly pulled the silk collar up, and it just as quickly slipped back down.
“No hurry,” he assured her, not even trying to resist the urge to touch her. With a sure hand he arranged the robe over her shoulder and felt the unmistakable warmth of her response. “I thought we’d try the Mexican place in the alley over behind the bank.”
“I’ve been there. It’s great.” She bent her head over the tiger lilies in mock concentration as she cut the end off the stem of each flower.
“Yeah,” he said softly, letting his hand drift down her arm. “Really great.”
What did he think she was made of? Lila wondered. Steel? Well, she wasn’t, and she couldn’t take much more.
Whirling around, she confronted him. “You’re cheating again.”
A smile eased across his face, and his gaze fixed deliberately on the opening of her robe. “So are you. Not that I mind.”
She wasn’t mad. She was too breathless to be mad. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”
Clutching her robe together, she practically ran out of the kitchen, his words echoing behind her. “I think we better count cheating, Lila. That’s a pretty important thing to know about each other.” Jack grinned to himself. He was batting a thousand. He’d gotten the list up to six things, and he hadn’t even sprung the item he’d spent half the night lying awake to dream up.
* * *
“Another margarita, please,” Lila said to the hovering waitress, and wondered for the millionth time if she’d overdressed for Mexican food. Her dress was slinky with tiny green and black checks, a sarong-style skirt, and a self belt. Everybody else in the place was wearing jeans.
Jack sat quietly until the waitress left, helping himself to salsa and chips while she finished delivering their dinner. He’d felt only the tiniest twinge of guilt as Lila had read the menu to him. She’d done it so professionally, her Spanish accent equal to her French. He’d already decided to take her out for Chinese to see what happened.
“And more sour cream, please,” she continued, adding to her order.
“I’ll have another beer.”
“And a side of guacamole.”
“Maybe we should go into the restaurant business together,” he said. “That would make seven.”
Lila shifted her attention to
him, and the waitress slipped away while there was a lull in the barrage of requests.
“I’m disqualifying number six,” she whispered, leaning across the table. “I was not deliberately trying to seduce you. You were early.”
“You knew it was me,” he countered. “You could have put a blanket over your head.”
“I was fixing my hair,” she insisted. “And if I hadn’t known for sure it was you, I wouldn’t have answered the door at all.”
“You’re shy. I’m shy too. That makes eight.”
“Six.”
“We’ll compromise. Seven.”
“Fine.” She sat back with a small huff, knowing she’d never win the battle.
“We’re capable of negotiating to a satisfactory conclusion. That makes nine.”
“Eight.”
“Okay.” He grinned. “See how easy it is.”
She shook her head, then leveled him with her steady gaze. “You are not shy. Seven.”
“I’m not shy with you,” he corrected her. “But you should have seen me on my last blind date. It was a disaster, bona fide, guaranteed.”
“Blind date?” she questioned, one silky brow arching.
“Yeah. Smitty set me up with a friend of his cousin’s. She was a real nice lady, but . . .” He left the word hanging in air, his gaze suddenly turning thoughtful.
“But?” Lila prompted, curious as all get out and not even attempting to hide it.
He remained silent for another moment, then said softly, “But she wasn’t you, Lila. I’d met you only an hour before I picked her up, and it was already too late. I was already in over my head. I was already in love. I know that sounds crazy, but I think sometimes it happens that way. One minute your life is rolling along like it always does, and the next, someone looks at you with moonlight in her hair and magic happens. Your heartbeat quickens, your energy focuses, the rest of the world drops out of sight, until there’s only the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen standing before you and a compulsion older than man to take her and make her yours. I don’t claim to understand it, but I have to believe it, because it happened to me once, last September, under the cottonwood trees in your driveway.”
Lila listened, enraptured, her jealousy melting away.
“Oh, Jack,” she whispered, reaching across the table for his hand.
“I like my job,” he said, holding her fingers in the warmth of his palm, his thumb caressing her skin. Do you like yours?”
“Yes.”
“Nine.”
“Nine,” she said simultaneously.
The flourish of a cocktail napkin drew their attention to the waitress.
“Fresh drinks,” she said with a bright smile. “Is everything okay?”
Lila’s gaze dropped to her plate of untouched food, and Jack said, “Can you wrap all of this to go?”
“Uh . . . sure,” the waitress replied.
“Great,” Lila said, scooting away from the table.
“Could you add something chocolate for dessert to the order?” Jack asked while he shrugged into his jacket. “We’ll meet you at the cashier’s desk.”
“Uh . . . sure,” the waitress repeated, though she looked less than one hundred percent positive.
“Great,” he said with a megawatt smile.
They held hands all the way home, except when he needed to shift gears, but his hand always came back to her’s.
He wanted to say something like Don’t let me rush you into anything. Or I’ll stay up all night long and come up with stuff to put on your list, if you like, but it won’t make any difference. No difference at all in how I feel.
But all he did was hold her hand and try not to smile himself right off the map.
Twelve
They carried their dinner into her kitchen, their hands full. Jack was cruising on “full speed ahead,” but Lila had turned into all thumbs and nerves. She barely made it to the counter before her packages slipped away from her.
“Oops.” She lunged for the paper cup full of guacamole, inadvertently spilling it into her hand and across the top of another package. “Darn,” she cussed under her breath, and licked one finger off while reaching for a paper towel.
She didn’t get close to the roll. Warm masculine hands wrapped around both of her wrists, and while he helped himself to a long lick of guacamole, he took her other hand and pressed it to his abdomen.
His eyes burned down into hers, and his tongue did crazy things to the sensitive skin of her palm, making it impossible to catch her breath.
“Spicy,” he murmured between licks, and she could only nod. He released her other hand and pulled his shirt out of his pants until her fingers nested in soft hair and on hot skin.
He wasn’t shy, she thought. No shy person could ever do what he was doing to her, a fact confirmed in her mind when he sucked her finger into his mouth and sent a flood of heat pouring down her body. She wanted to kiss him so badly she ached.
“Jack.” His name whispered from her lips and her eyes closed on a sigh.
He didn’t disappoint her. His mouth came down on hers, gentle but insistent, and all-consuming. This was no mere kiss, but a prelude to loving like they’d shared on Sunday. With each stroke of his tongue he reminded her of every sweet thrill to come, of every nuance to be anticipated and enjoyed.
Her hands explored his chest, reveling in the feel of him, in the memories his body brought back. She moaned into his mouth and started a chain reaction of sensual magic. His hands dropped to her hips, and her dress slowly bunched up under his fingers.
“I missed you,” he murmured between sultry, drugging kisses.
“You saw me last night,” she eventually responded, unbuttoning his shirt with unsteady hands. She stretched up on tiptoe to savor more fully the taste and heat of his mouth, the skill of his methods. She hadn’t known anyone could put so much into a kiss.
“I’ve missed you since Sunday,” he broke off long enough to say, then seared a path down to the pulse point of her throat while his hand slipped down one thigh and then up the other.
“Gracious,” she gasped .
He swung her up into his arms, then carried her out of the kitchen and down the hall.
“The food—” she started.
“Will keep,” he finished, stepping sideways through her bedroom door.
He’d seen the room a few times on his way back and forth from the bathroom, but he’d never lingered overlong in the hall. It was better to be invited.
Draperies of heavy lace covered the tall windows. Flowered wallpaper in shades of rose, mauve, and lavender gave the room a special feminine intimacy and warmth. Jack liked being there, in the inner sanctum where she dreamed her private dreams. He liked the scent of her perfume in the air. He looked at the bed and grinned. He liked knowing she’d tried on half a dozen outfits before she’d decided on the slinky green dress.
“You’re sweet,” he whispered in her ear, and stole a kiss, teasing her skin right where he knew he’d get the maximum effect.
“You’re shameless,” she whispered back, arching her neck to give him greater access.
“No. I’m in love.”
“Me too.”
His mouth stilled on her skin, and he slowly lifted his head, a questioning look in his eyes. Lila met his gaze steadily, knowing she’d already stepped over the line. What had she found in this man? she wondered. He held her with care, not only in his arms, but in his heart. He’d been gentle and kind and seductive . . . so wonderfully seductive, slipping into her life and her heart with barely a ripple, as if they’d been made for each other and had only been waiting for the right time, for a harvest moon on a crisp autumn night, to fill the air with magic. He was the good man she needed.
“That makes ten, Lila,” he told her.
“That makes ten,” she said with a warm smile, then pulled his mouth down to hers.
* * *
“He’s gorgeous!” Didi exclaimed, grabbing Lila’s arm. “Aren’t you just
full of surprises? Jack Hudson. Who would have guessed your dyslexic Jack Hudson was the same Jack Hudson my husband has been talking about all these months? His diamond in the rough. His ‘some guy out on a farm east of here doing incredible stuff with steel.’ ” Didi paused for a rare breath, and her gaze zeroed back in on the two men talking by the huge sculpture on display in the towering lobby. “Who would have thought he looked like that?”
“It’s not a farm,” Lila corrected her friend, a little unnerved by all the attention Jack was receiving from the female part of the party. With Didi’s husband , Kevin , acting as his broker, Jack had sold his phoenix sculpture to an international manufacturing firm based in Denver. He’d had the most amazing reaction to it, too, one Lila was still trying to figure out. “And what do you mean, looks like that?” she asked. “He looks like everybody else, perfectly ordinary.”
“Sure, honey.” Didi laughed. “He’s just got ordinary down in a very sexy, extraordinary way. You should have told me.”
“Why?” she asked absently, her gaze still fixed on Jack.
“Because I’ve been worrying about you for too long not to be informed of every turnabout in your love life. You keep too much to yourself.”
Lila frowned as she watched a ravishing redhead sidle up to Jack and actually touch his arm. “What is she doing?”
“Jealousy. I like that.”
“I’m serious, Didi. What does she think she’s doing?”
“Only what every woman in the room wants to do, honey. She’s making her play.”
“And what am I supposed to do about it?” A tightness crept into her voice, eliciting a pair of raised eyebrows from her friend.
“Well, the Lila I used to know probably wouldn’t have done anything except suffer in silence, but I’ve got a feeling the new Lila is a woman of action.” Didi finished that sentence without an audience.
Lila made a beeline for Jack, Kevin, the sculpture, and the redhead. The white dinner jacket with black slacks was too much. She’d known it the minute he’d slipped the suit on. No sane woman could resist him in a white dinner jacket.
