An Irresistible Bachelor(2)

Since the day his father had gone discreetly bankrupt, Jack had been shelling out his hard-earned money to protect and fortify his family's legacy. To be properly sustained, the proud heritage and luxurious lifestyle of the Walkers required a tremendous, unceasing river of cash. Among the gene pool, however, there was a dearth of earners and a plethora of spenders. Jack was on the short list of the former.

His father's poor asset management and the financial realities of keeping up the Walker Theme Park had helped to ensure that he didn't turn into yet another useless blueblood. Instead, he was a hard-hearted, competitive SOB who had a reputation for winning at

all costs. It had been an evolution his father, Nathaniel James Walker VI, had never approved of, but then the man's opinions and choices had usually been poor in Jack's opinion. Nathaniel Six, as he'd been known, was the epitome of the Old Guard philanthropist. He felt there was only one proper thing to do with money: Give it away. A gentleman simply didn't tarnish his hands with the ugly business of making the stuff.

It was an entitled way of looking at life, and one that had resulted in his father being much celebrated by the universities, libraries, and museums that were the fortunate recipients of his largesse. Unfortunately, all that philanthropy had also landed him dead broke by the time Jack was twenty-five. The painting had been one of the first things sold to keep up the charade of limitless wealth.

Although Nathaniel Six had been dead for almost five years, Jack could clearly imagine how conflicted his old man would have been at the first Nathaniel's return. The patriarch's picture was back in the family, but thanks only to Jack's dirty hands.

What a catch-22, he thought, thinning his lips.

Shaking himself free of the past, Jack figured he shouldn't be quite so pleased with himself. He'd got the painting, all right. And the goddamn dream.

He'd gone to preview the piece at the Hall Foundation before the auction, expecting to quickly verify it was in reasonable shape and move along. He'd done the former, but in the process had met the art conservationist who'd been keeping him up nights ever since.

He'd first seen her as she'd been backing out of an office. She'd turned around, her deep red hair swinging over her shoulders, and their eyes had locked. He'd been intrigued, as any man would have been, but it wasn't like she'd struck him dumb with her charms.

His old friend, Grace Woodward Hall, president of the Foundation, had introduced them. The woman, Callie Burke, was an art conservationist and on a whim, he'd invited her to come with them to view the painting. Standing over the canvas, he'd been struck by her thorough commentary on the condition of the painting and her assessment of what needed to be done to properly care for it. He'd also liked the way she'd looked at the portrait. Her eyes had clung to his ancestor's face, as if she were utterly entranced. When he'd asked if she might like to conserve the work, though, she hadn't seemed interested and they'd gone their separate ways. At least until his head had hit the pillow that night.

He'd laughed off the dream at first, pleased to find that at the age of thirty-eight his sex drive was as high as it had always been. With each passing night, however, he lost more of his sense of humor. He'd decided the one saving grace was that they'd never meet again, so eventually he'd forget about her.


But then last evening, after his successful bid at the auction, his friend Grace had brought up the woman again. Grace had urged him to follow up with this Callie Burke, stopping just short of asking him to do it as a personal favor to her. Evidently, Grace felt confident that Ms. Burke could do the work and pushed him to look into the conservationist's background so he'd know just how talented she was. By the end of the evening, he'd agreed to play along though he still had no idea why it was so important to his friend.

Looking out over the city, he figured that he'd check into the conservationist's background tomorrow, and then he'd go find her and ask her again. He wasn't much for giving people second chances, but maybe now was a good time to give it a try. He had to admit he'd been rather touched by Grace's ardent support of the woman.

And the dreams? He wasn't going to worry about them. Hell, he didn't even like redheads.

"Jack?"

He turned to the bed and looked at the dark shape of Blair Stanford. His fiancée.

"Sorry I woke you," he said as she sat up on her elbows.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I’m all right.''