An Irresistible Bachelor(47)

"Is this why you never got married?"

Thomas grinned. "Naw. I never got married because the woman I loved wasn't interested in me."

"Really?"

"I know. Can you believe it? With all my charm." Thomas arched his neck to finish the beer. His eyes had a faraway look in them when his head came back



to level. "She wouldn't have me. Thought she was too good for me and was probably right."

"What happened to her?" Jack polished his beer off and put it down.

Thomas shrugged. "What does it matter?"

"Maybe you could have a second chance."

"There are no second chances, Jack-o'-lantern," the man said, using the old childhood name. He tossed his beer into the trash. Tm heading upstairs. 'Night."

"Hey, Thomas?"

"Yeah?"

"If Callie doesn't surface around noontime for some eats, bring something up to her, will you?"

Thomas smiled, long and slow. "Sure thing."

When the man went up to bed, Jack headed to his study and called Blair's cell number. It rang three times and he got voice mail. He tried the Waldorf, where she had been staying, and then remembered she'd moved into the Cosgrove. When the front desk answered and he asked for her, they transferred him immediately, but there was no answer.

He checked his watch. It was 10:30. She was probably still hard at work.

Jack rubbed his hand over tired eyes. It was a good thing she hadn't picked up. He was in a rush to get through the hard conversation and might have been inconsiderate enough to try it over the phone.

Besides, his mind was as clear as silt.

The next morning, Callie left her room quickly. After what had happened the night before, she would rather not run into Jack. Or his mother.



She was surprised to find Thomas in the kitchen, but he explained an early night had meant he'd been up with the sun and in the mood to make bread.

She grabbed a piece of fruit, because it was the only way he would let her go without making her breakfast, and went to the garage. Arthur was excited by the rush, prancing alongside her.

When she got upstairs and sat down in front of the painting, she saw a heavy gold watch set carefully beside her tools.

She picked it up, recognizing it immediately.

"Oh, Jack."

She'd spent most of the night sitting on the window seat, a satin pillow cradled in her arms, Arthur asleep on the floor next to her. In the quiet hours, she'd attempted to negotiate a compromise between what was good for her and what she wanted. It was like trying to broker peace between warring tribes.


Which was a bit of a surprise considering how clear-cut the situation was. She knew it would be crazy to think Jack would end his engagement. So if she were to get involved with him, she was just going to end up exactly where her mother had. As second best to a rich man's better half.

She was going to have to make it her business not to get caught alone with him again.

Because she obviously couldn't trust herself. And if she let Jack kiss her again, if she let him touch her body, God forbid if she let him make love to her, she was bound to start confusing the intense physical sensations with emotions. Isn't that what the naive always did and why first loves were so painful? If her heart got involved, she'd feel a hell of a lot worse than sexually frustrated.

Hell. If.

She had a feeling it was too late for if. The man captivated her with all of his contradictions, with his hard shell and his soft touch. He was like no one she'd ever met and not because he was rich and powerful.

But he was never going to be hers.

With a deep breath, Callie set the watch back where he'd left it, trying desperately not to get lost in the thoughtful gesture.

Staring at the painting, she attempted to find the appropriate enthusiasm for the adventure she was about to embark on, but it was a while before she was ready to get started.

With the documentation finished, her next step was to strip off the dirt and the old varnish layer. First, she needed to determine what kind of varnish had been applied and choose a solvent that would be strong enough to remove the protective coat but not so intense as to take off any of the paint layer. She was going to use the lower left-hand corner to do the testing, in an area that would be covered by the frame.

When she'd finally gotten into bed the night before, she'd reviewed the painting's records one more time. The varnish had been applied in the early 1930s, at the time of the last cleaning, and this meant it was made of natural compounds. Nothing synthetic would have been used back then and she'd come prepared with chemicals that were appropriate to remove a tree-sap-based resin.