by Robyn Grady
With a wistful smile, she peered out the window at the trees. “We used to vacation here for a week every year. No television or hairdryers or—”
“Electricity?”
A camping lantern sat perched on top of a set of drawers. She flicked a switch and white light filled much of the space. “Ta-dah!”
Loving her bright smile, he moved closer. “Very rustic.” He stopped before her, close enough to absorb the contentment and pride shining in her eyes. “Is there a second bedroom?”
“There is—complete with two sets of bunk beds, meant for kids, not a man of your sizable build.”
His heart gave a running jump. “So, one bed?”
“And a cot.” She nodded toward a corner. A saggy camper bed was tucked away among the shadows.
Oh. “Right.” He scratched a temple. “That might work.” Not.
“Guess we don’t need to draw straws. I get the cot.”
Jack growled as she moved across to inspect it. “Becca, I’m not letting you spend the night on that.”
“Lots of people sleep on benches, in doorways, alleys, under bridges, in subways and behind Dumpsters—”
“Okay, okay.” He’d heard enough. Guess her first point in bringing him here had been made. “I’ll take the cot.”
“You’ll break it.”
“If I do, I’ll reimburse you.” And see a chiropractor, end of discussion. “But it’s a long way from lights-out. What do you have planned until then? Ghost stories around a campfire?”
Jack had a couple up his sleeve. She might even need two strong arms to help with the fright factor.
“A campfire?” she asked. “You mean outside with the bears and rattlesnakes?”
Jack paused. Good point.
“First we make the beds,” she said. “Then a nice relaxing bath to wash off the travelers’ dust.”
An image of the two of them together caressing in a deep, sudsy hot tub faded up in his mind. Pure fantasy. Still, he didn’t want to put a damper on her idea.
He rocked back on his heels. “Sounds good.”
“Great. We’ll need maybe ten buckets’ full.”
“Full of what?”
“Water. We don’t exactly have a bath or a shower. We do, however, have a washtub.”
Jack waited for the punch line.
His grin dropped.
She was serious.
“Aren’t you going to let me know how many people go without adequate plumbing?”
“Don’t need to. You worked it out yourself.”
He grinned. Lesson two: check.
Becca moved to the drawers and found some sheets while he took his place on the other side of the bed. She fluffed out the lower sheet and proceeded to pull the elasticized end under the top corner of the mattress. He did the same on his side of the bed and then tackled the lower corner.
It was a cinch.
As she fluffed out the top sheet, she asked, “Ever made a bed before?”
He scoffed. “I’m sure I have.”
“You’d have a housekeeper now, of course.”
“Weekdays.”
“How long has she worked for you? It’s a woman, yes?”
“Mary’s worked for me maybe four years.”
“Long-time employee?”
“You could say that.”
“So, Mary who?”
“Why do you want to know my housekeeper’s last name?” What did that have to do with her plan to turn him around on the takeover question?
“I’m curious is all.”
As they both stretched the sheet across the middle of the mattress, Jack searched his memory and came up a blank. “It’d be in my phone.”
She moved to the end of the bed. “Uh-huh.”
From across the mattress, Jack narrowed his eyes at her. “You know all your employees’ names off the top of your head?”
“It’s fine, Jack. Honest.”
“Now you’re patronizing me?”
“Is this you being defensive?”
“I’m more than happy with who I am.”
She slipped her side of the sheet under the mattress. “Well, that’s the main thing, isn’t it.”
“Why do I feel as if you just insulted me?” he asked, scooping under his end.
“You’re smart enough to work it out.”
“Just say I’m not.”
She joined him on his side of the bed. “You live such a privileged life, you take for granted clean sheets, and those who change them for you. Lots of children have to do their own laundry. Lots of people would do anything for any kind of bed to sleep on. Want to hear more.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Not right now.”
“Want to learn how to do a hospital corner then?”
Jack moved back to give her room. She bent to collect the dangling edge of the sheet and hold it out from the bed. Then she scooped the linen under the mattress and all the way up. At least he thought that’s what she’d done. Call him a man, but even after the speech, Jack was more interested in the view of her legs and those buns.
Straightening, she turned to him. “Think you can do that?”
He feigned an uncertain look. “I might need help.”
She moved back to her side, and nodded at the to-be-hospital-tucked bottom corner. “Go ahead. Have a go.”
He crossed over and picked up the sheet at the wrong point.
“That’s a little too far along,” she said. “Let the sheet drop and naturally fold and try again.”
He did as she instructed and then grabbed the sheet in a different spot.
“Here,” she said patiently. “Like this.”
She nudged in front of him and bent over again. Jack didn’t see what happened next. He faintly heard some instructions. “...fold the lowest bit...smooth it under...” On autopilot, he moved in. His hand covered hers and they both tucked the sheet in.
“Like that?” he asked, close to her ear.
She didn’t stiffen or jump away, so he closed his eyes and absorbed the moment. When she finally began to straighten, they disengaged and then simply stood there in the light and shadow, his hand holding hers as time ticked on and anticipation soared. When he coiled his arm around the front of her waist, he felt her intake of air. Pressing in behind her more, he imagined her biting her lip as she fought the urge to let nature take its course.
He brushed his lips over her temple, her cheek, all the while soaking up her scent. When he nuzzled her earlobe, he felt her quiver against him...heard her quiet, needful sigh. As he dragged his mouth down the side of her throat, bit by bit she tilted her head.
He nipped down the slope where neck met shoulder while his fingers left hers to skim the front of her dress. Through the cotton, he felt the start of her panties and, lower, the subtle rise of her mound. When she groaned—a low, wanting sound—half his blood supply rushed to a predetermined point.
“Jack...?” she murmured.
He hummed against her skin. “Hmmm?”
“The bed.”
“What about the bed?”
“We were making it.”
He dragged his grin back up to her ear. “I like making it with you.”
When his fingers delved between her thighs, she made a husky noise in her throat that lit a fire in the pit of his belly. As his free hand slid up her side and under her breast, her head rocked back against his chest and her hand gripped his. Her voice was smoky now.
“This isn’t what we’re here for.”
They were here to cut him off from reality and clobber him over the head with how little others had, how in need many of the less fortunate were.
“Okay.” He nipped the side of her throat a little har
der. “I’ll stop.”
When he didn’t remove the hand between her legs, her grip over his tightened, not to drag him away but to hold his hand in place. His other palm dragged up over her breast and oh-so-lightly squeezed. She melted a moment before she pulled both his hands away and spun around. When she opened her mouth to speak, he got in first and lowered his head over hers.
Eight
When Jack pulled her close and his mouth captured hers, any objection Becca might have had dissolved like a teaspoon of sugar in hot water. As the kiss deepened, she reached to wind her arms around his neck. A moment more and she arched all the way in.
She would have denied it earlier, even to herself. The admission would have been incongruous, shameful. Inexcusable. She hadn’t brought Jack here for this...and yet, secretly, Becca Stevens—the woman—had waited for this moment.
Now she couldn’t think past the sensations sizzling through her system. Her breasts felt tender crushed against his chest. Suddenly her insides were filled with an emotion that felt like a swell of liquid fire.
Cupping her jaw, Jack held her mouth to his as he dropped back onto the bed, bringing Becca down along with him. Lips still locked, she tangled one leg around his and knotted her fingers in his clean dark hair while both his palms traced down her sides then slid over the rise of her behind.
Becca arched up and then ground down against him. Through their clothes she felt him already hard and ready. Reaching back, she clapped a hand over his where he was kneading the flesh above one thigh.
When he delved under her dress and down the back of her panties, a giant flash went off through her body. This all felt so new and necessary. So incredibly wrong and wonderfully right. She needed to get naked with Jack. She would die if she couldn’t feel his hot skin on hers. She could barely breathe, the physical longing was so strong. So beautiful and bad and brilliantly intense.
As that first kiss broke down into hungry snatches, she wiggled to help him ditch her underwear. When he grabbed the hem of her dress and started to tug it over her head, she sat up and lifted her arms in the air. Straddled over his hips, her head back and eyes closed, she leaned in as he scooped her breasts out of their lace cups. His palms were big and hot and, dear heaven, just rough enough.
He was alternating between rolling and lightly plucking her nipples when she reached behind to unsnap her bra.
Her mistake was glancing down, seeing herself pretty much naked, thighs spread over a fully clothed man who, less than a week ago, she wouldn’t have spat on let alone enjoyed mindless sex with.
Jack Reed. Number-one enemy...
What the hell am I thinking?
“I can’t do this,” Becca said, sweeping up the dress to cover what she could.
“Don’t worry.” He craned up to nuzzle her throat. “I’ll guide you through.”
“I mean this is a mistake.”
His lips grazed her chin. “No mistake.”
A hand curled around the side of her neck. Next she knew, she was flipped onto her back and Jack was crouching, towering over her, unbuttoning his shirt, shrugging it off. His chest was so broad and bronzed, her fingertips tingled to sample every delicious mound and rung. When he maneuvered out of his pants and boxer shorts, she felt blood rush to her cheeks. This was moving much too fast.
He set a hand down next to her head. As one hot knee prized itself between hers, panic set in and both her hands shot out. She pushed against his pecs as he lowered himself onto her. A questioning look took hold in his eyes before he pulled slowly back and then frowned.
“You want to stop,” he said—not a question, although the set of his mouth said it pained him to have to say it.
“One minute we were making the bed,” she stammered. “The next...”
“You were kissing me.”
“You kissed me!”
His grin flashed white. “You kissed me back.”
She had. And, damn it, she wanted to kiss him again. Hard and deep and dirty. But this was wrong on so many levels, it made her head spin. And even if it were right...
Becca snatched a look down the length of his body and focused on that serious erection. As her heart pounded, she swallowed and then moistened her lips.
“Jack, we don’t have protection.”
“I have condoms.”
“You do?” Wait. He knew this would happen?
“Better to be prepared than sorry,” he pointed out.
Well, sure...except...it just reminded her how prepared Jack had been on so many other occasions. With so many other women.
She shook her head. No. “I can’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“This.” She held her cheeks. “Sex. With you.”
He hesitated and then, exhaling long and hard, he brought her hand to his lips and tenderly kissed the palm. “I can’t say I’m not bitterly disappointed,” he murmured and then proceeded to kiss each fingertip.
Damn, he felt good, looked amazing, smelled divine. But even without the Lassiter complication, this was not a wise choice. Jack was a self-professed player. Sex was nothing more to him than sport. It meant as much as hitting a bull’s-eye with an arrow.
While they’d been at the café, Becca had got away to make that phone call to Evan McCain. Then she’d explained the situation to her assistant. If the interview aired, she wanted everyone to know it was a beat up. But what would the world think if this ever got out?
She wiggled out from beneath him and set both feet on the floor. Avoiding his gaze, she put on her bra and shimmied back into her dress. It seemed that her panties, however, had disappeared. When she stood, she felt giddy...spacey...as if those last few moments had happened to somebody else on a distant planet.
Behind her, the bed squeaked; Jack had found his feet, too.
“I saw a lake when we drove in,” he said as Becca listened to him shake out and then shrug back into his clothes. “I need to cool down and a washtub of water ain’t gonna cut it.”
He skirted around the bed, stood before her and then lifted her chin. His dark gaze was disappointed but also understanding.
“Why don’t you come keep me company?”
Her stomach gave a kick and she found an excuse. “I should unpack...fix up this bed.”
“Becca, I should warn you, if you say bed again in the next thirty seconds, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”
Inside she shouted, BED, BED, BED!
Then she crossed her arms to stop herself from bringing him close.
“You go cool off,” she said. “I’ll be fine here.”
He crossed to the bedroom door. “I’ll find the mutt while I’m gone.”
When she didn’t reply, he kept going, through the main room and out the front door. Becca found her underwear, shoved her panties on and then sat on the side of the bed like a lump.
At the end of three solid minutes, her body was still vibrating—humming and smoldering with unruly heat. The unspent energy was driving her nuts! None of that was about to subside unless, or until, she did something about it.
She thought of the lake’s cool mirrored surface, of swimming until she was too tired to move or so much as think about humping Jack Reed half the night. She made fists of her hands, tried to think rational thoughts. In the end, she grabbed two towels from the closet, her bikini from her bag and ran after Jack to catch up.
* * *
Becca got to the lake in time to see Jack cannonball off the pier and into the water. His clothes were hung on a branch near the bush she decided to hide behind. Waiting at the end of that pier, Chichi yipped, skidded forward and then jumped in, too.
That dog loved the water. Jack appeared to be a strong swimmer, too. He power-stroked a good length before flip-turning to head off in a different direction. H
e swam up to Chichi, who alternated between madly lapping at the water and barking excitedly. Treading water, Jack laughed, a sound that echoed across the lake, through the treetops and then down to wrap around Becca.
The water sure looked good. So did those dynamite arms and shoulders, that brilliant smile and slick dark brown hair. So good, in fact, Becca was forced to admit a truth.
Even if Jack Reed was a villain and these feelings were wrong and the world might shun her if anyone ever found out—there was no way around it. She liked Jack. She liked his smile and his wit. God help her, she liked his kiss.
Behind the bush, she changed into the bikini. When he started off again, swimming freestyle in the opposite direction, she darted down the pier, all the way to the end and, without stopping, dived into the deep.
Spearing through the cold water gave her a jolt, but, man, was it refreshing! Becca held her breath as long as she could. When she surfaced, Jack was right there, waiting not an arm’s length away.
She yelped.
Chichi barked.
And Jack...well, he just grinned.
“How the hell did you do that?” she asked. He’d been at least ten yards away. Then it clicked. “You knew I followed you,” she said, working hard to tread water.
“Bears make less noise.”
“Why didn’t you wait for me?”
“This was more fun.”
Seriously? “Scaring me half out of my wits like that?”
“You weren’t scared.” As he waded closer, cool ripples lapped at her neck and chin. “You wanted to surprise me. I just turned it around.”
He looked so relaxed and one step ahead of the game, she couldn’t give it up that easily.
“I got to thinking that a swim would save filling up the washtub.” When his smile spread, Becca tried to frown. “What’s so funny?”
“You are.” Although he’d be tall enough to stand at this depth, he began to paddle around her, his long, strong arms swerving inches beneath the surface. “Fess up. You wanted to come play.”
He’d waded closer...near enough for Becca to reach out and touch.
“Maybe,” she agreed. “This part of our week together is supposed to be about acknowledging your less complicated side. About seeing the bigger value in simple pleasures and understanding you can help bring them to others.”
