by Tessa Bowen
“I had a beer once…I can’t remember where…”
John rolled his eyes. “Let me guess—a Bavarian getaway with Trevor?”
Her face fell. “Oh, don’t mention him—we’re getting along so well.”
“You’re right—sorry. You like your dinner?”
She smacked her lips happily. “I love it.”
He watched with amusement as she struggled with the cap on her beer. “Hand it over, Slim.” He cracked the cap on the bottle and handed it back to her. “You’re hiding from me again.” he teased, gesturing to her swaddled top half.
“Well, one can’t dine in the nude, can one? I mean, it’s very undignified.”
John guffawed. “I think we left our dignity ten miles back.” His guffaws turned to sniggers when he noticed she had orange cheese powder on the tip of her nose. He dabbed at it with his napkin. “You’re really inhaling that stuff.”
“Well, I haven’t eaten since the year 2000.” She took a long swig of beer and came up for air with a look of wonder. “Oh, that’s so…”
“Fizzy?” he finished for her.
“I was going to say refreshing.” Her eyes bulged when a burp escaped her. She pressed two fingers to her mouth and blinked in astonishment. “Oh, how crude—I’m as bad as Ducky.”
“You remind me a lot of her right now.”
“I don’t suppose I could pass that off as a hiccup, could I?”
“Nope—that was a bona fide belch. Don’t worry—a belch after sex means the woman is pleased.”
The Baroness nudged him in the shoulder with her beer. “Is that so! Well, I’ll be posseting all night then. Oh, but I do miss Ducky.”
“You’ll see her soon.”
“Yes, and I will kiss her full on the lips, I don’t care if she fusses.”
Abigail felt suddenly very sleepy. The empty bowl drooped sideways in her hand, so did the bottle of beer.
He caught the bottle and bowl before she spilled. “Wow, are you drunk on a quarter of a beer?”
“Mmmmmh, I’m not sure.” Her lids grew heavy and her lashes fluttered in slow motion. “I’m not sure I can keep my eyes open much longer.”
“You’re slipping into a carb coma.”
She fell back on the flannel pillows. “I feel quite…blissful.”
“Eating is nice, isn’t it?”
“Very nice—I’ll have to take it up more often.”
He cleared the dishes and stoked the fire then he came back to the bed. He straightened the top of the sleeping bag, folding it snugly around her shoulders. “You shoveled all that in just to please me, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” she yawned.
“Thank you.”
“And thank you for taking such good care of me.”
“Such good care of you?” he responded with disbelief. “I just had sex with you on a shitty table then tossed you into a worn-out sleeping bag, fed you dinner out of a box…”
“I loved our first date,” she sighed, allowing her eyes to close.
“You’re cracked, lady.”
She could hear the smile in his voice. “Perhaps, or maybe I’m just easier to please than you think.” With the last bit of her strength she flipped the edge of the sleeping bag, exposing her half naked form. “Now come to bed.”
“You want to cuddle with Johnny?”
She came awake again. “I mean…it’s not obligatory.”
“How about necessary—it’s cold tonight.”
She exhaled with pleasure when he slid in beside her, pulling her into his embrace.
“You’re like one long heating pad.” She nestled her face into his chest. “I see why Ducky loves resting in your arms,” she murmured dreamily. “It’s sheer joy…”
THE BARONESS WOKE WITH A START IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. “You don’t think Ducky will feel abandoned, do you?”
He stirred, pressing her face back into his chest. “She’s fast asleep,” he assured her thickly. “She doesn’t even know we’re gone.”
John lay awake for a while, thinking how sweet it was that she was so worried about their daughter and going over the strange happenings of the night in his head. It had sure been a doozy of an evening. The woman lying across him had displayed everything from murderous rage to wanton passion. He idly stroked her back as she slept. Who knew ice queens liked to snuggle. She seemed so trusting and soft right now. Had she snuggled with her precious Trevor like this? A sharp jealousy clenched at his chest. He pushed the unpleasant thoughts from his brain and concentrated instead on her feminine scent.
I’ll slip off nestled in a field of fancy flowers…
He roused just after dawn with a mouthful of fragrant hair and a silky ass pressed into his erection. He stifled a groan and rose up on one elbow, peering down at the sleeping beauty next to him. Her lashes rested against her smooth cheek, her hair a web of platinum threads across the pillow. The pale light streaming through the small frosted window panes outlined her fine features. He liked the steady sound of her breathing and the way her lips puffed in her sleep, just like Ducky’s. One shimmering skein fell across her cheek, fluttering with her sighs. When he gently pushed it behind her ear, she stirred. He held his breath as she squinted, adjusting to the light. Then she turned on her back and gazed up at him with hazy eyes.
“Hello,” she murmured.
“You were snoring.”
Her brow crinkled. “I was not—was I?”
“And drooling a little.”
Her hands flapped with female insecurity as she smoothed her rumpled locks and massaged her squished sleep face. She gave her mouth a good wipe with the back of her hand too.
“Don’t start fixing everything,” he teased. “I like a lady who drools in her sleep.”
She leapt into action, rolling toward him and pushing at his chest with her fists.
“You horrid man,” she croaked.
He laughed as he caught her in his arms. She stilled and blinked up at him, obviously shocked by the size of his hard-on. He blinked too, not knowing quite what to do next. He knew what came naturally, but he didn’t want to presume. He didn’t know how she felt about last night—he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it himself. Still, his body moved of its own accord. His hips flexed forward, seeking closer contact with the extravagant amount of naked female flesh pressed to him. She tensed as he ground his cock into her belly. When she caught her lower lip in her teeth and began chewing, he knew she wasn’t into it. That was one of her worry ticks. Or was it one of her desire ticks? He couldn’t quite remember—he was still getting to know her. Obviously his prick wanted to know her—and now. He winced as his hips involuntarily ground against her once more.
“Sorry...” he began.
“Don’t be sorry.”
Their eyes met—electricity crackled between them.
In the next moment they were a flurry of hands and limbs, panting as they tried to help each other remove what was left of their clothes. His boxers got yanked low and he heard the delicate fabric of her panties tear. His cock was now wedged between blessedly wet flesh, there was a wet tongue in his ear too as she straddled him. The zip of the sleeping bag buzzed as it split to make room for their undulating bodies. She sat astride him, a beautiful ice princess on fire—her hair looked like white-hot flames around her, tumbling over her smooth shoulders and perfect breasts. He sat up and gripped her hard around her bare flanks as she started to grind against him. Soaking flesh met with turgid flesh and they both let out a groan.
“Mmmmh, John…” she whimpered. “I want you inside me.”
His head and cock rushed with blood.
“Yes, baby—fuck, yes.”
He knew he sounded like a slavering moron. What man could sound intelligent with a priceless velveteen pussy wrapped around his prick? He was about to go another round with her without performing proper foreplay first. A woman like this deserved better and he knew better, but he was blinded by lust and the feel of her—the scent of her. He palm
ed her naked ass and lifted her over him—he planned on impaling her. She vibrated over him with need, her neck arching as she moaned in anticipation of what was to come.
What came was a loud knock on the door and then an even louder crash as it was pushed open. John snarled as she screeched. He wrapped her protectively in his arms, covering her nakedness as best he could.
“How you two doing in here?” Jeb’s bright voice filled the small room. “Whoa—holy shit, I guess you’re doing good!”
Hank stumbled in behind him, eyes round as saucers.
John struggled with the sleeping bag as she tried to disappear into it. “Get out, you assholes!” he roared. “The lady isn’t dressed!”
The shuffling invaders didn’t move fast enough for his liking, chortling as they shoved each other out the door. He snatched up an enamel camp mug on the side table and hurled it as hard as he could at them.
Abigail nearly fell into a heap on the floor. John cringed as she skittered across the room like a frightened jack rabbit.
“Sorry about those idiots,” he muttered.
“I’m so embarrassed,” she lamented.
“Your things should be dry now,” he told her. “I laid them by the fire last night.”
She was so flustered she couldn’t look at him.
He pulled up his boxers and snatched his own clothes and boots. “We are married you know.”
“Yes, but they saw my bottom.”
He should be angrier on her behalf, but her discombobulation was quite cute, so was her use of the word “bottom”. He was afraid he would start chuckling so he decided to leave the room, lest he make matters worse.
“I’ll see you outside. I’ll be the one wringing my brother’s neck.”
At least Jeb’s blunder had cured him of his pumping erection. He could think again—sort of anyway. Jeb and Hank were sheepish in the truck, a plume of steam funneled out of the tailpipe in the cold morning.
John motioned to the kid. “You can ride in the back—I hope you freeze your ass off. And no more laughing, you asshole fuck heads.”
“Guess you two made up, huh, brother?”
“Yeah, we made up. Now shut it and turn up the heat.”
The Baroness surfaced moments later. Again, he had a hard time not breaking into laughter at her appearance. She had that freshly fucked look, even though their action had been cut short. Between the wild ride and table tumble she’d seen better days, but she was still as pretty as a snowflake.
Her cheeks were rose red as he held the truck door for her. He slid in beside her and slammed the door shut.
“Did you have a nice camp-out, Baroness?” Jeb asked jovially.
“Yes, it was quite pleasant, thank you.”
John shot his brother a threatening look and hooked a shielding arm around her, his fingers dangled absently just above her breast. The gesture had been one of pure instinct. He wasn’t accustomed to showing affection and he almost pulled his arm back, but she curled closer. He wasn’t sure if she sought his warmth or his protection. Maybe both—either way it pleased him. He suppressed yet another smile. The Baroness was riding between two cowboys in the cab of a jacked-up King Cab truck.
When they pulled up in front of the ranch, John couldn’t keep the mischief out of his expression. Not that she’d notice it anyway, the way her head was bent low, eyes glued to the ground. He handed her out of the truck and she faltered on the dismount, falling against him as he steadied her.
“Whoa there, little lady,” he drawled. “That’s a long drop—not used to riding in such big trucks, are you?”
“It’s not that,” she remarked breathlessly. “You make me weak in the knees.”
He grinned down at her. He simply couldn’t help it. Those roses in her cheeks bloomed vibrantly. He guessed she hadn’t meant to spill those words out loud. John had a hard time not kissing her right there in front of everyone. Instead, he tried his hand at being a nice guy.
“I’ll be gone for the rest of the day, just so you know.”
“You’re going away?” she asked with open disappointment.
“Just for a little while,” he assured. “I’ll be back tomorrow night for dinner. Maybe you can try that crisp again.”
That perked her up. “Yes…the crisp.”
“Or I could just scrape last night’s off the wall.”
The nice guy act hadn’t lasted long.
She tugged at his lapels. “You’re a horrid man.”
John let himself laugh, giving her a little push toward the house. He rounded out his teasing with a daring smack to her posterior.
“Oh!” she exclaimed.
“Happy baking, Mrs. Jackson.”
He took great pleasure in seeing her mouth drop open. Her doe eyes went wide in surprise, while he stood there like a smug bastard.
“I…am Mrs. Jackson, aren’t I?”
“Damn straight.”
A loud quack was heard coming from the direction of the house. They both looked toward the entrance to see Margaret at the top of the steps holding a silky-haired package in her arms.
“It’s my baby!” the Baroness exclaimed, clapping her hands with gleeful excitement. “I’m coming, Ducky!”
She took off running and it wasn’t long before those long legs closed the space between her and her daughter. Margaret handed her the squirming bundle and she clutched her baby close, covering her little face with kisses.
John couldn’t remember ever seeing a lovelier sight.
Chapter Sixteen
The nearly thirty-six hours he was gone seemed endless. It was just enough time for Abigail to work herself into an insecure snit. At first, she’d been tickled by Margaret and Jenny’s teasing. Her heart raced as she replayed scenes from their steamy cabin encounter, but as the day wore on she wondered if he’d left her so soon to make a point. Was John Hale Jackson a commitaphobe of the highest order? Had their one heated night of passion been just that—one night? Would she be forced to twist in the wind until the next time his control snapped? She didn’t know how she could last without his touch, knowing it as she did now.
It was late afternoon—nearing dinner time. She fussed in the garden, selecting acorn squash for the side dish (Margaret’s orders), when she saw him pull down the drive. She wanted to run to him, but her feet felt like they were made of lead. Should she wave or call out hello? Would he acknowledge her? Oh, he looked so handsome in his city clothes. Uncertainty gnawed away at her again. Why was he dressed so sharply—another woman? She swallowed hard when he noticed her. He nodded his head at her and handed a package off to Margaret, before heading into the house.
Abigail worried her lip—a nod, was it? She supposed he wasn’t the sort of man to blow kisses. Still, what did a nod mean? Margaret bustled over to where she stood clutching her little squash basket and drooping with doubt.
“Put that down, honey. Johnny got you a present.”
The Baroness’s ears pricked up. “A present?”
Margaret handed her the package and she didn’t waste time ripping apart the simple brown paper. She unfolded a coat made of the finest pale wool, shot through with moss green plaid. It looked just like the coat he wore, but a woman’s style with a more slender body and embellished buttons.
“Oh, it’s a proper pig-feeding coat!”
“Huh?” Margaret said in confusion. “That’s a barn coat, buttercup—every Jackson owns one. They’re your colors—it’s that buff shade you like to wear with green to match your eyes. And look at the collar—he had it monogrammed for you, just like his.”
The Baroness’s eyes swam with tears as she fingered the black stitched letters. “A.J.” she whispered with reverence. “Abigail Jackson…”
“That’s right, honey—you’re a Jackson now.”
She embraced the jacket, clutching it tight to her breasts. “My husband might be the most wonderful man on earth.”
“Guess it made a hit. I have to say, I’m a little surprised. A woman like
you must have been showered with all sorts of gifts in her lifetime. Diamonds and rubies and pearls…”
“Yes, it’s true—but this means more to me than all the rest.”
The Baroness skipped off, forgetting her basket of squash entirely. She couldn’t wait to get in front of a mirror. This time the woman staring back at her would be Abigail Jackson.
The jacket was a fine fit indeed. She admired herself in the glass for a very long time then hung it alongside his in the closet, making sure the two coats were tucked tight together. She floated down the stairs, beaming with pride, but by the time dinner was served, the Baroness wasn’t sure if she was Abigail Jackson or Bozo the Clown. For her husband seemed more intent on his food than on her. He hadn’t even given her a chance to say thank you. Jenny and Margaret’s prattling buzzed in her ears and she answered Jeb and Hank’s questions distractedly. Jay, bless him, was silent as usual.
At last when her crisp was served, he spoke (though not directly to her). He ordered Margaret to give “the lady an extra scoop of ice cream” claiming with a wink, “she needs to keep her strength up”.
Abigail cheeks went pink as she tasted her dessert. It was quite delicious for a first attempt and everyone at the table said so. She was pleased when John had seconds, but devastated when he rose abruptly and told the group he was going upstairs to say goodnight to Ducky. Did that mean he was going to bed as well—and in his own room? Abigail stared down at the melted ice cream swirling into the crumb crust. She felt suddenly very hungry—and not for food, every fiber of her being yearned for his attention. Was he really going to sleep in his own room tonight—and she in hers? She recalled the feel of his smooth muscled body pressed to hers and the protective feel of his strong arms around her. She shivered—how would she ever bare sleeping alone?
“Are you cold, honey?” Margaret asked.
“Uh, yes—perhaps I’ll go upstairs and put on a cardi. I’ll come back down and help you clear the dishes.”
“Don’t you worry—I’m going to deal with this in the morning.”
“Yes, all right,” she agreed absently.
The Baroness slunk up the stairs, hoping she would find John in the nursery still—she did not. Ducky slumbered in a fresh sleep romper, tiny limbs splayed haphazardly. No doubt her father had lulled her into this blissful dream state. He certainly had a way with the ladies. She bent over the crib and brushed her lips over Ducky’s satiny plumage.
