"I'm saying now." He gave her another slow, wicked grin. "Now."
The word sent a spurt of anxiety through her and her breath caught. As much as she wanted this, dreamt of it the past few days since Jack had roared back into town on his motorcycle, the reality was a lot more intimidating.
"You can't just show up out of the blue. There are rules." At his puzzled stare, she added, "There are supposed to be rules. Every class I've ever taken had rules. For instance, the class always meets at a certain hour, for a certain length of time. There's usually a course syllabus that touches on what each lesson will cover. Then there is the required reading." At his pointed stare, she rushed on, "Not that we could really find a book for this. I mean, we could, but I'd probably have to drive in to Austin to one of those big book stores that has a special interest sec—"
"You're nervous," he cut in, a knowing light in his liquid gray eyes.
"I am not." What was she saying? She was nervous. But it was one thing for her to know it, and quite another for Jack Mission to be aware of her frazzled state. But he was. He stared at her with those observant eyes and saw everything she wanted to conceal. Her insecurity, her anxiety, her fear…
No fear.
She'd promised herself to put aside her fears a long time ago. So what if Jack saw all those things? She wasn't up for the Sex Kitten of the Year award, as he was well aware. No self-respecting sex kitten would need to proposition a man for lessons.
And that's exactly what Paige had done, a telling act in regard to her lust life, or lack of. So it didn't matter if Jack saw her hands tremble, or if he reached out and enfolded her fingers, cradling them against his warm palms for a long moment that actually sent a rush of calm, soothing warmth through her. It didn't matter because she wasn't trying to hide anything.
"We don't have to do this," he told her, his voice as soothing as his touch.
"We do. I do." She shook her head. "I want this." Because she was tired of being a failure, tired of feeling second best, tired of fighting the words that Woodrow had preached for so long – you're not good enough. Once upon a time that might have been true, but no more. She was changing, growing, evolving, and never again would she let anyone make her feel inferior. "I need this."
He didn't say anything. He simply stared at her with those see-everything eyes as if looking for something. "You're sure?" When she nodded, he gave her a sexy grin and reached for her hand. "Then let's get start—"
"But not now," she cut in, suddenly conscious of the glide of sweat near her temple, the way her perspiration-dampened shirt clung to her. She looked a mess. Worse, she smelled like one. "I've been busy with the shelter garage sale all day."
"Looks like you're done now."
"You don't understand. The garage sale was at Clara Petrie's house."
"And?"
"Clara Petrie, as in the Petrie Pack."
"What's the Petrie Pack?"
"The fifteen psycho mutts she adopted from the homeless animal shelter over in Grant County. They're very affectionate."
He wrinkled his nose and leaned in, taking a whiff of her. "Obviously. So how many did you get stuck petting?"
"All fifteen and one even sat on my lap while I rang up customers. I've never been licked so much in my entire life."
"We'll have to change that."
The words slid into her ears, so rich and suggestive and a burst of heat shot through her, making her forget for the space of two heartbeats, that she was hot and smelly and hardly up for a night of hot sex.
Sanity returned when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a nearby mirror. One word … scary.
"Tonight really isn't a good night."
"The garage sale is over, right?"
"Yes, but I still have a ton of things to do. With Deb out, Wally and I are working overtime. Not to mention, Cindy's waiting."
He arched one eyebrow at her. "Cindy?"
"I watch either Cindy or Naomi for an hour every day after work." She motioned to the television behind her where a buff Cindy Crawford did stomach crunches. Her gaze drank in the woman's perfect face and body. If only.
She forced aside the thought. A girl worked with what she had, and while Playboy wasn't about to come knocking on her door any time soon, she wasn't a total loser. She was plain, a little too small in the chest and a little too big in the hips, but she did have nice hair and eyes.
Hair and eyes, she told herself, focusing on the positive. It was all about focus, about ignoring her doubts, being proud of her attributes and correcting her deficits.
Unfortunately, her hips topped the deficit list and her thighs ran a close second.
"I can't miss my exercise video." She drew in a deep breath and wished she hadn't. His gaze riveted on her chest and the way her nipples pressed against her T-shirt. "It's good for the heart," she rushed on, eager to ignore the answering tingle that rippled through her. "It gets the blood pumping."
"Amen to that, darlin'. My blood is definitely pumping."
"Not yours. Mine." She glanced at her watch and tried to force her nervousness aside. "Which is why I really should get back on schedule. I still have to prepare for tomorrow's cooking lesson, then there's the bird to feed and my kitchen to clean and I've got to work on an article for the newspaper and—"
"You're not a very spontaneous person, are you?" he cut in.
"I'm just busy. That's why I write everything down. Otherwise, I'd forget something." And she couldn't do that. She was on her way up and she wasn't about to get sidetracked just because she was every bit as forgetful as Woodrow had always said.
Damn woman. You'd forget you're ever-lovin' head if it wasn't attached.
No more, she told herself for the umpteenth time. She might not have a crackerjack memory, but that was okay. A person just compensated for their shortcomings and all was right with the world.
She turned and walked to the coffee table, grateful for a few moments of distance and some Jack-free air. He smelled too good, felt too warm and when he smiled…
Her heart double-thumped and her fingers fumbled for the day planner.
"Let's see," she said, opening the book. "I've got cooking class on Tuesdays and Thursday evenings."
"Right before the exercise video, I see." The deep voice came from behind her. She half-turned to find him looking over her shoulder, so close his scent wafted through her nostrils and his heat reached out to her. "So what are you cooking tomorrow?"
"Beignets. They're French donuts fried and dipped in powdered sugar."
"Sounds sweet."
"They are."
"You are," he said leaning forward until his breath brushed her lips. "I can still taste you, Paige. I lick my lips and you're there."
"I…" Unconsciously, she licked her own lips and remembered the sweetness of his mouth on hers, the way he'd ate at her, stroked her, devoured her.
"So, are you going to give me a taste?"
"I haven't even made the dough yet."
"Not the donuts. You, darlin'. You." His eyes were mesmerizing, pulling her in, making her forget everything except the sudden heat that pulsed through her body. Her lips trembled, her hands shook and—
Slapppppp. The appointment book sailed to the floor, the sound jerking her back to reality, to her video which played in the background without her.
She snatched up the book and flipped to the right page. "I've got canning and preserving on Monday, Wednesday and Fridays," she blurted. "Then I do a yoga class after that."
"You have a wide variety of interests."
"I'm well-rounded."
"In all the right places." The comment drew her gaze and despite the way her heart thundered, she couldn't help but return his smile. He was every bit as charming as his brother, but with an edge than hinted at something deeper inside him. An intensity that made her heart pump even more than when he smiled.
"I finish up yoga pretty early. We could do it after that."
"On Monday, Wednesdays and Fridays?" At h
er nod, he grinned. "I suppose that could work, but I'm warning you, there might be a lot of homework involved. I'm a stickler when it comes to perfection. If we don't get it right the first time, we have to keep trying. And trying."
"Homework…" The question trailed off as heat rushed to her cheeks and she noted his grin. "Oh." She diverted her gaze and fixed it on the open planner in her hands. "How about eight?"
"Eight," he agreed, closing the door behind him. Suddenly her living room seemed a lot smaller than it ever had before.
"It's not eight," she pointed out as he stepped toward her.
"Not yet."
"But it's not Monday, Wednesday or Friday." Another two steps and he reached her.
"Not yet."
"And you're not leaving."
"Doesn't look like I am. I'm still waiting for a taste." Before she had a chance to breathe, much less think of a comeback, he dipped his head and his lips covered hers.
The kiss started out fierce, his lips hot and wet and intense. His tongue pushed deep and he devoured her, licking and tasting and stealing her breath. Her thoughts scattered, her body trembled and she whimpered, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of this hot, hard, hungry man.
But the moment he heard the sound, the situation changed. His lips softened and slanted. Where he'd set the pace before, he pulled back just enough to let her join in. And then Paige did what she'd been wanting to do since the first moment she'd set eyes on Jack Mission – she kissed him back.
She took things slow at first. Tentative. She slid her tongue into his mouth, explored the interior and drank in his sweet breath, and this time, it was Jack who made the noise. He growled, long and low and deep, and a sense of empowerment rushed through Paige. For a few moments, she could actually believe he was as turned on by the kiss as she was.
Until he pulled away.
"Tomorrow," he whispered and before she could open her eyes, she heard the door slam shut
By the time she managed to get her shaky legs to move, the sound of a motorcycle vibrated in the air. She reached the front window just in time to see his taillight as he whisked off into the night, leaving her alone.
The thought should have sent a rush of relief through her. After all, she was a smelly mess, not to mention she hadn't allowed time for any lessons tonight. She had a million things to do and she was already dead tired. Yes, she should have felt relieved.
She did.
At least that's what she told herself as she stood watching his taillight fade and listening to the pounding of her own frantic heart. The trouble was, it sure fit like loneliness. A feeling Paige knew all too well.
One she had no intention of getting cozy with ever again.
When she gave her heart to a man, it would be to the right one. Someone who wanted a house and kids and forever.
A man completely opposite to restless wanderer Jack Mission.
* * *
What in the name of sweet sanity had he done?
The question echoed through Jack's mind as he revved the engine and sent the bike screaming down the highway, headed toward the Mission Ranch.
He'd meant to kiss her fast and furious, to drink in the taste of her the way he chugged a bottle of tequila when he was of a mind to forget the world and everything in it, with no thought to the hows or whys, just the outcome – pure, fuzzy-headed bliss. That's how sex was for him. An escape. A pleasurable one, of course, but an escape nonetheless.
But there was something about Paige Cassidy that made him want to pull back, to take things slow and easy, to savor the moment and think about everything along the way – how her fingertips felt gliding over his skin, how her tongue swept his bottom lip, how her breasts quivered when her nipples grazed his chest…
Christ, it really was too damned hot here. Otherwise, he wouldn't be having such foolish thoughts. Hell, he never should have done such a foolish thing as to slow his pace in the first place.
But he couldn't help himself. He hadn't had a woman in months. He'd come off the job in New Mexico and straight here with no stops in between. He wasn't used to going long without a little female company, so it was understandable he would want to really enjoy himself, to live and breathe every moment when coming off such a long, barren stretch.
Jack preferred that explanation to the other side of the coin – the fact that she smelled and spoke and looked sweeter than any woman he'd ever cozied up with. He didn't go for sweet. He liked his women a bit more worldly, uninhibited, wild. A woman not afraid to name her poison or her position and have a little fun.
That's what it was all about. Having fun. Living for the moment. Taking what he could get right now because tomorrow didn't offer any guarantees. He'd found that out for himself when he'd lost his first wife.
One day he'd been planning his future, and the next he'd watched his dreams lowered into the ground.
He wasn't going down that path again, which was why he'd stuck to temporary women.
Paige Cassidy, with her dreams of a happily ever after, hardly qualified.
But then he'd always been a man of his word, and he had agreed to give her lessons. He couldn't very well teach her anything by going too fast. Which meant he had to take things slow. In the name of education, of course.
* * *
School's in session.
The phrase echoed through Paige's head the moment she heard her doorbell ring the following night, after the longest day of her entire life.
Long because she'd been sweaty and anxious, her condition in no way caused by a lack of air conditioning – Jack had fixed that problem the day before. No, she'd been hot and bothered because of his promise. Tomorrow.
The doorbell rang again and her heart lurched.
"This is it," she whispered to herself.
She glanced around her bedroom one final time, her gaze falling on the scarred dresser she hadn't had the money to replace and the chipped mirror that hung above. Her video camera sat in the far corner on top of a neatly folded quilt. Her briefcase sat to the left.
The room looked as it always did, with the exception of the dozen or so candles scattered throughout the area, the black satin sheets – rose petals sprinkled across the slick material – and the champagne chilling on the nightstand. The changes were courtesy of Cosmo and the most recent article she'd read on how to inspire sexy thoughts. She drew in a deep breath and her nipples pressed against the black lace of her floor-length peignoir set – straight out of one of Deb's Victoria's Secret catalogues. One rosy tip peeked through the scalloped pattern and she barely resisted the urge to tug her robe closed. She was doing this. Sure, she'd never been a beauty queen. Never had the personality that made people remember her name. She was average. No better, but certainly no less.
Not bad, she told herself yet again as she fought down a wave of insecurity. Yes, she was armed and ready for a night of sex. She told herself that, but it was still four rings later before she finally made it to the door.
"I was starting to think you'd changed your mind," Jack said when she opened the front door to find him standing there wearing a plaid work shirt and worn jeans that cupped his crotch and clung to his muscular thighs.
His hair was windblown and she had the sudden urge to run her fingers through it, just to see if it felt as soft as it looked.
Her fingers tightened on the doorknob. He was the teacher and she was the student He led and she followed.
The notion sent a wave of nervous excitement through her. "I haven't changed my mind."
"Good, because…" The words faded as she opened the door more and he got a full glimpse of what she was wearing. His eyes darkened and something flared deep in the depths. Something Paige would have mistaken for passion if she hadn't known better. She'd never stirred passion in any man, much less a man like Jack.
"I've got everything ready." She turned and started for the bedroom.
"Everything?" he asked as he came up behind her. "What's all this?" He glanced at the candle-lit bedroom.
"Sex." As the word left her mouth, heat crept up her neck. "I mean, it's supposed to set the mood for sex, to make me seem sexy."
He stared at her long and hard. "Darlin', it's not about what color your sheets are or how much electricity you can save that makes a woman sexy. Sex appeal comes from inside."
"Please don't say that." She turned and blinked back a wave of tears. "Sex appeal can be learned." That's what Paige wanted to think, what she needed to think because, otherwise, she would always be that shy girl who'd worn oversized T-shirts to bed every night rather than slinky lingerie. She would always be the ignorant virgin who'd cried on her wedding night from the pain and the disappointed look in her husband's eyes. She would always be naive, clueless Paige who hadn't been able to do anything right.
"It is inside," he said coming up behind her, so close she could feel the heat from his body. Close, but not touching.
"Meaning you either have it or you don't." She shook her head, noting the strange tingling in her body. He drew that response from her, and at nothing more than his nearness. Because Jack Mission had sex appeal. He stirred women's senses without even trying, wearing nothing more than faded jeans and a work shirt. "I don't have it. I've never had it."
"It's inside all of us. It's our essence."
"I don't have any essence," she said forlornly.
"You don't know you have it, darlin'. Not yet."
She turned and stared up at him. "You really think so?"
"I know so. That's why you asked me for lessons, isn't it? Because you think I know what I'm doing?" She nodded. "Then trust me on this." He took her hands in his. "First off, you need to relax. You're too tense." He opened her hand and massaged her palm.
The touch sent shivers through Paige, followed by a strange sense of warmth that crept through her, easing the fear and worry that knotted her stomach. "That's good," he soothed. "Now you can get started."
A moment of hesitancy went through her at his words, but then she managed to fight her fear back down. She lifted her hand to the top button of her nightgown.
"Hold on." He caught her before she slid the button free. "You're going too fast, darlin'."
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