A few minutes later, the door opened quietly, yet her eyes flew open. Accustomed to the low light, Summer could easily see Jack move inside, even make out the expression on his face.
She heard the water run in the shower and remembered the tantalizing glimpse she’d had of Jack’s shoulders and back. Irrationally she visualized him in the shower, then shook her head to dispel the alluring image. But it remained despite her efforts. As the minutes passed, she could picture the slope of his back, then imagined those long, muscular legs.
At that moment, Jack padded back into the bedroom.
On those long, muscular legs.
Realizing she was holding her breath, Summer tried to settle her accelerating pulse. Then she felt the sudden dip of the mattress as he settled on the bed. Wondering if her body would remember to breathe on its own, she held herself perfectly still.
It occurred to her that there were hours and hours to pass before morning and she couldn’t spend that time frozen in place.
Just then, Summer felt the mattress shift and could have sworn her heart stopped beating. She knew he was scarcely a hand span away, and her hands itched to travel that distance.
Remembering that the next day would be a busy one, she despaired over the inevitable lack of rest, knowing nothing on the planet could induce her to fall asleep.
Jack swore suddenly, and she nearly bolted upright.
Instead she clutched the blanket, wondering which worried her more—that he was going to suddenly rip it away...or that he wouldn’t.
But the mattress shifted as he stood up and reached for his clothing.
“Are you going somewhere?” she managed to croak.
“Yeah,” he bit out shortly, sounding aggrieved. “For a walk.”
“Did I do something?” she asked timidly. “You already went for a walk earlier.”
“So I did,” he muttered. “By the time we get to D.C., I may have walked to Antarctica and back.”
Startled, Summer sat up slowly and watched him leave, wondering what burr had crawled under his saddle. Suddenly his meaning dawned on her. Evidently sharing a bed wasn’t any easier on him than on her.
She couldn’t fight the smile or the accompanying satisfaction. Thumping her pillow again, Summer realized that she might not get any sleep tonight, but she wouldn’t be the only one. And that was more than worth the lost shuteye.
A waterfall, Summer decided, captured in that state between dreaming and wakefulness. A tropical waterfall that was rushing past jungle vines. Jungle vines that grew on the walls of the bedroom.
Startled, Summer flew upright. Jungle vines on the bedroom walls? She jerked her head toward the bathroom and realized that Jack must be in the shower.
A gentle knock sounded on the bedroom door. Guessing it had to be Rita, Summer smiled at the thought of seeing Danny.
But Rita’s arms were empty. “Morning, Summer. Hope I’m not disturbing you.” She thrust a bottle into Summer’s hands. “I forgot this when I brought Danny back this morning.”
“Thanks,” Summer murmured.
Rita waved and Summer shut the door.
Turning, she looked into Danny’s playpen, expecting that toothy jack-o’-lantern grin. The playpen was empty. Looking around the tiny room, Summer quickly saw that the baby was nowhere in the bedroom.
Fisher and Wilcox!
Panicked, she ran to the bathroom, jerked open the door and rushed inside. Without thinking, she ripped aside the shower curtain.
“Jack! It’s Danny! He’s—”
Jack, holding his son in his arms as they showered, stared at her.
Summer’s gaze traveled the length of Jack’s impressive body. “I thought...I mean when Rita said...and Danny wasn’t in his playpen...and you were in here...”
“In the shower,” Jack added helpfully.
“Yes, in the shower,” she repeated, unable to tear her gaze away.
“With Danny,” he added.
“Yes...with Danny...who’s okay, so I don’t need to be here...so I’ll just...that is...”
Unable to form a coherent sentence, Summer turned on her heel and fled to the bedroom.
“Idiot!” she chastised herself. Blindly she grabbed a T-shirt and shorts, dressing as fast as possible, wanting to disappear before Jack emerged from the bathroom. But she wasn’t done with her one-sided conversation. “You’ve done some stupid stuff in your time, my girl, but this was just classic!”
Opening the door, she nearly fell into the corridor. As it was, she ran smack into Rita.
“Hello again,” Rita greeted her, linking arms with Summer. “I’m making waffles and I’d love for you to join me.”
“Oh, I don’t want to intrude,” Summer protested, thinking only of escaping. “I’m sure you and Bart would like some time alone.”
A shaft of pain crossed the woman’s face. “Bart’s already left this morning.”
Sensing Bart’s early departure wasn’t uncommon, Summer hated to dismiss the woman, but she desperately needed to be gone when Jack emerged. She glanced back at the bedroom. “I don’t know what Jack has planned....”
Rita smiled. “He’s a good man, your Jack.” Her expression grew wistful. “And you’re so lucky to have that beautiful little boy.”
Summer’s heart melted as it went out to this clearly lonely woman. “Waffles, you say?”
“Belgian. With fresh strawberries and whipped cream. Or maple syrup if you prefer. They’re pretty good, if I do say so myself. And lots of fresh coffee, of course.”
Summer pressed a hand to her still whirling head, praying that Jack would skip breakfast “That sounds good. Perhaps I could take the coffee intravenously.”
Rita laughed. “And don’t worry. Jack knows where our kitchen is.”
Summer smiled weakly. “Oh, that’s...good.”
Rita was right. Her waffles were delicious. And Summer felt slightly reinforced after eating.
Until Jack walked in.
Suddenly the waffles in her stomach started a dance of their own.
But he was remarkably calm. Hoisting Danny easily on one hip, Jack greeted them and reached for a mug of coffee.
“I’ve already had my coffee,” Summer managed to say in a fairly normal voice. “Let me take Danny.”
“Sure.” He made the transfer easily, then filled his coffee mug.
Jack was so calm and unruffled, it was as though he were accustomed to women walking in on his showers every day. That thought halted Summer. Perhaps he was.
Rita poured more batter in the waffle iron, and the enticing aroma of baking waffles soon filled the air.
Jack sniffed appreciatively. “Rita, you spoil a man.”
The older woman blushed, then swatted him toward the table. “Go on with you.”
Jack took the chair next to Summer’s. “Not having breakfast?”
“Actually I already ate.” Avoiding his gaze, she concentrated on Rita. “And the waffles were delicious.”
“I like having people to cook for.”
Again Summer wondered what kept Rita tied to Bart. She had never met such an unlikely couple. Summer jiggled Danny on her knee. “How would you like some berries?” she asked the baby. “All mashed up with just a touch of whipped cream.”
“I imagine that would taste good to him,” Rita agreed.
In short time, Summer was spooning the berries into Danny’s eager mouth. “You like that, huh?”
“I’d say so,” Rita commented, sliding a golden waffle onto Jack’s plate.
Danny smeared a glob of strawberries on Summer’s T-shirt. She looked at the stain ruefully. “Sharing, huh?”
Jack laid his fork down. “I can take over.”
Summer shook her head. “I’ll live. Eat your waffle.”
Rita sat down across from Summer. “You’re awfully good with Danny. I guess it’s like he’s your own now.”
Summer exchanged a startled glance with Jack. “Danny’s an easy child to like.”
“
He sure is,” Rita agreed. “In fact, I was thinking I could take him off your hands for a while. I imagine you two would like a little time alone.”
This time, Summer felt the scorch as her gaze met Jack’s. “That won’t—”
“Thanks, Rita,” Jack interrupted “We’d like that.”
Summer bit the inside of her cheek rather than voice her protest since Rita was clearly delighted with Jack’s agreement.
But once they were heading down the hallway toward the bedroom, she stiffened.
Jack didn’t speak until they were inside. Then he turned to her. “You can relax. I don’t think your eyeballs have been permanently scarred from seeing me in the shower.”
“I’m not acting—”
“Yes, you are. So what? You were worried about Danny. You walked into the bathroom.” He shrugged. “No big deal.”
Summer wanted to argue that he was wrong, that his naked image still danced in her mind, but she could scarcely admit that when he’d just said it was nothing. “Fine, but I don’t think we need a baby-sitter all morning for you to tell me that.”
“You’re right. I thought you could use a break. I need to check out the town. It’s been a while since I lived here, and I need to know if there are any changes that could affect us. Would you like to come along?”
Surprised but pleased, she paused. “Okay, but give me time to change. I got ‘berried,’ remember?”
Jack grinned suddenly. “Wait until you’ve been oat-mealed. Then we’ll talk.”
He left, giving her time to regroup. Having spent about two minutes getting ready that morning, she took longer this time, brushing her hair, then applying a light coat of makeup.
Feeling as though she were primping for a date, Summer chose a sundress that she particularly favored and had yet to wear. Realizing she was fussing too much, she finished quickly.
“I want to stay low-key,” Jack said as they strolled into town. “I don’t want anything in our behavior to stand out that would make someone remember us later.”
“Any suggestions?”
“We act like a loving couple on vacation, something that won’t arouse suspicion.”
She couldn’t help wondering how it would be if they were in fact newlyweds. “I guess that would depend on how loving we are.”
Surprised, his brow quirked. “Then again, maybe I’m going about this all wrong. Fisher and Wilcox wouldn’t be looking for smitten honeymooners.”
Summer cleared her throat. “That’s not what I meant,” she protested.
“I was afraid of that,” he replied ruefully.
She couldn’t restrain the smile his words caused. Although their banter was light and Summer enjoyed the icecream cones they’d purchased at the corner drugstore, the seriousness of their mission was never far from her mind.
Later, heading back to the Rusty Anchor, she glanced at her watch. “I hope we haven’t stayed too long. Rita might have had plans.”
“I doubt it,” Jack answered briefly. “Besides, she doesn’t have enough chances to take care of little kids.”
“And clearly she loves them.” Summer hesitated. “Why do you suppose she hooked up with Bart?”
“The bartender I replaced was a talker—said Rita was pregnant so they got married.”
“What happened to the baby?” Summer questioned.
“Miscarriage apparently. And she never had any more.”
For a brief moment, Summer intensely felt the other woman’s pain. “But why do they stay together?”
“She doesn’t believe in divorce,” Jack answered briefly.
“Or happiness apparently.”
Jack shrugged. “How do you define another person’s happiness? Apparently she’s made her peace with the situation.”
“I just wish she had more.”
“Sometimes that’s all you can have,” he replied evenly.
Soberly Summer was reminded of Jack’s situation. She realized that without some acceptance, his situation would be a constant torment.
Evidently uncomfortable with that train of thought, Jack changed the subject. “Do you think I’m recognizable even though I changed my last disguise?”
Summer frowned. “I don’t have a point of reference.”
“Would you be willing to see one?”
“Sure. What did you have in mind?”
“A photograph.”
She nodded, seeing that they had nearly reached the Rusty Anchor.
Once in their room, Jack dug in his leather flight bag, finally removing a partially crumpled photo. “This was the last Jack Delancey, aka Anderson.”
“Delancey? Is that your real name?” She remembered the first time she’d seen him, thinking he looked vividly Irish...and vividly male.
“Yep. So what do you think?”
Summer shifted the picture in her hand, smoothing out the crinkles. “I think I’ll have to study it a bit more.” Critically she looked at the photo, and then at him.
“Whatever it takes,” he replied.
Not thinking of his proximity, she crossed the room, photo in hand. “I have to compare you to the picture.”
He angled his head. “I’m hoping I look pretty different.”
“The hair’s definitely changed enough,” she told him, looking at the dyed light brown hair in the picture, which had now been restored to its original black. Idly she reached out to touch the hair that rested on his collar. “Both the color and the length.”
“Good. That’s why I grew it.”
“And the glasses pretty much hide your eyes,” she continued, thinking it was a crime to disguise his incredible blue eyes.
“How about when I put on sunglasses?” Jack demonstrated. “Does it look like my old disguise?”
Summer shook her head. “No. Black horn-rimmed glasses are a world away from sleek sunglasses.”
He removed the sunglasses. “It’s hard for me to know if the disguise is working. I look in the mirror and just see myself, no matter what I change.”
“The mustache hid most of your lips,” Summer mused, staring at the photo. Then she glanced up to study his cleanshaved face, realizing how close she now stood. She should take a step back she realized, but her feet weren’t listening.
“And your lips are very full,” she murmured, remembering how they’d felt against her own when he’d kissed her for Bart’s benefit. But now there was no audience. Somehow that made his closeness that much more exciting. Did she imagine the responding heat in his eyes as her gaze finally slid from his lips?
“And now they look different?” he questioned.
“Different?” Summer repeated unevenly, wondering how her breath had so quickly and efficiently been stolen.
His fingers found their way to the tendrils of hair that had escaped and now curled beside her cheeks. “Like this is different...so soft...so touchable.”
Her lips formed an “oh,” yet no words emerged.
Jack’s thumb eased over her bottom lip. “Or your lips, so very ripe...”
Summer’s pulse skittered wildly out of control as his fingers journeyed past her chin, gently caressing her neck, then searching and finding the hollow of her throat. Knowing her pulse was signaling an urgent need, she wondered if he could read that code beneath his fingers.
His other hand cupped the back of her neck, drawing her impossibly closer, so that their lips were scarcely a breath apart.
“So very different,” he murmured against her lips, his voice a husky drawl.
Eyelids drifting closed, she felt every nuance of longing when their mouths met Drinking of each other, they unleashed a beguiling taste, an unstoppable yearning. Summer tried to remember why she should be resisting, why this couldn’t be, but her body leaned toward his.
Careening down a path so rapid, so dizzying, Summer caught her breath. “I...we...”
“Shouldn’t be doing this...” he finished for her, his voice still ragged with desire. With an effort, he pulled away from her. “It was a
lapse.”
Her heart quivered.
“That won’t happen again,” he concluded flatly, walking to the door. “I’m going to check on Danny.”
The quiver became a dull ache. Of course, it couldn’t happen again. They were supposed to be alert to danger, on a mission to save their lives. And her part in that was strictly temporary.
Yet, as she stared at the closed door, Summer suddenly wished they were what they pretended to be—a young couple in love with all the chances in the world.
Chapter 6
The Rusty Anchor was busy that night, and Jack was grateful for the distraction. Watching Summer all evening had been akin to torture—his own brand. Sweet, slow and unending.
Having lectured himself the remainder of the day on what an idiot he was, still he couldn’t keep his eyes off Summer. Especially since the locals seemed particularly taken with her charms that night.
The sudden shrill of the phone caught his attention. He turned to grab the receiver, but Bart had already answered the phone. Frowning, Jack realized that Bart had done that a lot lately. He remembered that in the past Bart had always left the phone to the bartender, not wanting to deal with calls from customers’ wives and girlfriends. Strange that now each time it rang, Bart was there in seconds.
Jack shook his head, wondering if he’d grown so paranoid that nothing appeared normal anymore. After all, the Rusty Anchor had been a safe haven before. Jack’s gaze lifted, but what he saw only made his frustration rise.
It seemed that every man in the bar had an eye on Summer. True, he had acknowledged that she looked different now, but did every male on the planet have to notice at the same time?
Laughing and joking, Summer moved from table to table. He would have to tell her to watch the flirting, Jack decided. For her own good, of course.
As Jack reached for more glasses, Summer approached. She was readjusting her skirt, and Jack looked at her in question.
“Someone got a little too friendly,” she explained.
A sudden, unexpected rage erupted. “Who?” Jack demanded, throwing down the towel he held and reaching for the hinged wood panel that separated the bar from the room.
The Hijacked Wife Page 8
