An Irresistible Bachelor (An Unforgettable Lady #2)(63)

Callie cleared her throat. “Listen, about Thanksgiving. I’m sure you’ll have guests, so I’m going back to the city—”

“But I don’t want you to go. Unless you have family to see, stay here.”

The words had come out of him fast and hard, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“Won’t you need my room?”

“No. And even if we couldn’t put everyone up, I’d send people to a hotel before I’d displace you.”

Her grin widened. “What about the holiday dinner?”

“We don’t really do the whole turkey thing. Not since my father died. The big event is our annual holiday party the day after. Which you are, of course, invited to.”

Callie nodded, pleased. “Okay, I’ll stay for both.”

He smiled with satisfaction. “And have dinner with me tonight?”

“I’d love to.”

“Good. I’ve got a tough day of off-site meetings ahead of me, but I promise to be back around six. And I’ll be very hungry by then.”

As he looked at her from under heavy lids, her body warmed up. Moving with obvious intent, he came around the desk, took her into his arms, and kissed her until they were both breathing heavily.

“I’ll be thinking of you,” Jack said. “All day long.”

The feeling was mutual.

Callie spent most of the hours working on the painting, with pictures of Jack floating in and out of her mind. At four o’clock, she took a break and went out to play with Arthur in the yard. She was at the side of the house, throwing his favorite tree branch as far as she could, when a black Town Car pulled into the drive. As Arthur shot after the stick, she watched the limousine stop under the porte cochere. A uniformed driver got out and opened the rear door.

A tall, slender blond woman emerged from the car. Even from across the lawn, it was obvious she was someone important. She was dressed in a black suit and, with her short, stylized hair, she was very chic.

Callie had a fleeting thought that she’d seen the woman somewhere before. Maybe in Stanley’s gallery?

The door to the house opened and Mrs. Walker emerged with arms outstretched. As the two embraced, Arthur came back with the stick and dropped it on her foot.

She threw it quickly and turned back, but there wasn’t much else to see. The two women had disappeared into the house and the limousine driver was leaning back against the car as if he was used to waiting.

She returned to work, anxious for the two hours to pass so she and Jack could get away from the house. It was curious how ten thousand square feet could still be suffocating, and she couldn’t wait to be alone with him. She’d decided some necking in that Aston Martin would be a fine way to start and end an evening. Although on that logic, it was too bad the man didn’t drive a Volvo station wagon.

Or a minivan.

An hour later she heard the garage door go up and the low growl of Jack’s car. She whipped off her breathing mask and ran her fingers through her hair, spreading it out over her shoulders.

When he got to the second floor, she ate up the wide smile on his face.

“I missed you,” he said. “How was your day?”

“I’ve done some great work this afternoon. Take a look at the top of his head. The waves in his hair are remarkable.” Callie leaned in close to the canvas, pointing out the area with her wooden stick.

Jack came up behind her and she felt his hands settle on her shoulders. When he spoke, his voice was right next to her ear.

“I have something for you.”

She looked up, feeling anticipation thicken her blood. But instead of kissing her, he put a glossy bag with satin handles down on her desk.

She tensed when she saw the Cartier name. “What’s this?”

“Just a small present. Go on. See what’s inside.”

She took out a sizable red leather box, and when she got it open, she shook her head. Inside was a gold watch.

“Jack, I can’t accept this.”

“Why not?” He reached over and took the beautiful timepiece out of its satin bed. “You need a watch.”

“Yeah, well, not one like this.” It had probably cost ten or twenty thousand dollars.

“Try it on.”

He slipped it over her hand and onto her wrist. It was heavy and felt altogether foreign.

“Fits perfectly,” he said with satisfaction.

“Jack, it’s too much.”

Impatience flickered across his face. “The thing tells time. That’s all you need to worry about.”

“But so does a Timex.”

Jack frowned. “Why can’t I buy you a gift? People give them and receive them all the time. It’s the basis of our retail economy, as a matter of fact.”

She got up from the chair. “You can. But . . . your version of a gift and the rest of the world’s are very different.”

“I don’t care about the rest of the world.”

“Fine. My version of a gift, then.” She faced him. “Jack, I’ve got to be honest with you. I don’t have a dime to my name, other than what you’re going to pay me at the end of this job. That place in Chelsea? That’s where I live. The Chanel suit? It’s a friend of mine’s. I’m not from your world. Not even close.”