An Irresistible Bachelor (An Unforgettable Lady #2)(40)
An awkward silence ensued while Mercedes glared at her son and Jack leaned back casually on the granite counter.
So this was how the upper classes fought, Callie thought. No yelling, no cursing. Just a lot of chilly glances and the rank odor of disapproval filling the room.
“Did you want something?” Jack said smoothly.
Mercedes took off her gloves with sharp movements and pushed them into the pocket of her fur coat. “No.”
“Good night, then.”
“Good night, indeed,” Mercedes snapped before turning on her heel and leaving.
Callie took a deep breath and stared at the remnants of their dinner. The half-eaten food in Jack’s bowl. The candles dripping wax. The napkins that were lying on the table.
Such a fine meal, she thought. Or at least it had started out that way.
“You okay?” Jack asked.
She nodded even though she was far from fine. Now that she was thinking more clearly, she had to wonder what would have happened if Mercedes hadn’t come home. Would they have ended up in a bedroom somewhere? Was she really that reckless? To lose her virginity to a man with no relationship, no declarations of love? No chance of a future because he was engaged to someone else?
Unfortunately, when she remembered what it felt like to be in Jack’s arms, Callie thought, yes, maybe she was that rash. And maybe she should thank his mother for being an intrusive pain in the ass.
Jack cleared his throat. “Brace yourself. I’m about to apologize again.”
Callie looked up at him. “This time, you have nothing to be sorry for. I was the—ah . . .”
Aggressor was probably the right word. God, she wanted to cringe.
Jack shook his head and came over to the table. She thought for a moment he would take her in his arms again, but he only cleared his place setting.
As he went over to the sink, he flipped the lights on and she blinked from the glare. He paused and then slammed his bowl down with force, making her jerk in surprise as pasta jumped out and landed on the counter.
“Damn it, I don’t want to . . . want you like I do. What’s happening between us . . . It isn’t right.”
“I agree,” she said quietly. “We should—Ah, let’s just forget about it.”
His face was harsh as he stared at her over his shoulder. “You think that’s even possible?”
“Do we really have a choice?”
In the awful silence that followed, she helped him clean off the table. As soon as the job was done, she dropped the napkins on the counter and headed to the door.
“Good night.”
He didn’t stop her. “Good night, Callie.”
11
JACK WADDED up the napkins, threw them into the hamper, and shut off the light. Instead of heading for the stairs, he went out a side door. The last thing he wanted was to get into a bed that was only the width of a hallway away from her.
The cold wind cut through his clothes and he liked the sting of the night as he walked aimlessly across the lawn. Distantly, he heard cars go by, the sound of Route 9 a soft, unceasing hum.
She wanted him to forget? He’d have more luck turning back time.
When a light came on in Callie’s bedroom, he stopped and watched the shape of her body as she moved around. When she paused by the window, he stepped deeper into the shadows. She seemed to be scanning the night.
Forgetting her was just not an option.
And he knew playing Peeping Tom was only going to push him further into the clutches of insomnia, so he headed for the garage. Hitting the light switch and climbing up the narrow stairs, he looked at her carefully arranged work space.
Brown jars of liquid were lined up neatly to the left of the painting, as were an assortment of brushes, wooden sticks, and cotton swabs. The microscope, which had been poised over the painting surface, had been put aside and he saw that a breathing mask and some rubber gloves had been brought out. He picked up a notebook and flipped it open. Her notes on the portrait’s condition were voluminous, her writing very neat, her statements almost lawyerly in their tone and accuracy. She’d ordered the documentation under headings like “Surface,” “Edgewrap,” “Soakage,” and “Thread Oxidation.” In talking with her about her work, he’d been surprised at how scientific the terminology was. She knew a hell of a lot about chemistry, for instance, and had been able to describe at a molecular level what would happen when the solvent she was going to use hit the old varnish and liquefied it.
She was, he’d learned, incredibly smart.
As well as sexy as hell.
He closed the notebook and put it back.
Damn it. If his mother hadn’t come in, he would have taken Callie on the kitchen table. On top of the damn dishes. He’d been so driven to have her, he hadn’t cared where they were.
He shook his head. He had to talk to Blair. He could have put one slipup with Callie behind him. Two was a trend he couldn’t live with.
It was not going to be easy. No matter how carefully he expressed himself, he was going to hurt a woman who loved him, and that made him feel wretched. He also knew there was a possibility she’d end the engagement, and he wouldn’t blame her if she did.
As the deep growl of a car sounded out in the night, he glanced at his watch, surprised Thomas was home so early.
Before Jack turned off the lights, he looked back at the table, picturing Callie bent over the painting, totally absorbed in her work. He thought about her losing track of time and not eating properly and realized there wasn’t a clock in the place, not even a digital readout on the stereo.
J.R. Ward's Books
- Consumed (Firefighters #1)
- The Thief (Black Dagger Brotherhood #16)
- J.R. Ward
- The Story of Son
- The Rogue (The Moorehouse Legacy #4)
- The Renegade (The Moorehouse Legacy #3)
- Lover Unleashed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #9)
- Lover Revealed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #4)
- Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood #8)
- Lover Awakened (Black Dagger Brotherhood #3)