An Irresistible Bachelor(69)
"Did I hurt you?" His voice was deep and male, velvety in the darkness. Full of concern.
Not yet, she thought to herself. And God, she hoped he didn't.
"Callie?"
As he brushed away another tear, she said, "I don't want to fall in love with you."
"Good Lord, I should be so fortunate ..." His voice drifted off. "You know I never want to hurt you, right?"
She nodded.
"And I'm going to do my best."
She started to worry about what would happen between them, but then she stopped herself. The present. She had the present. He was with her now, holding her tightly. Thoughts of what lay ahead would only ruin what they had at the moment. Closing her eyes resolutely, she moved in close so that her head rested in the crook of his arm.
He soothed her with a gentle caress and she eventually gave herself up to sleep.
It was early the next morning when she felt him rise from the bed. In the gray light of dawn, she watched him slip on his trousers, his head tilting down as he zipped up the fly and buttoned them. When he turned and caught her eyeing him, he smiled.
"I have to go, but may I kiss you good morning?" That silky tone was back in his voice.
"Please."
Jack sat on the bed next to her and leaned forward. She raised her mouth for his kiss, but he reached forward for her hand. Uncurling her fist, he pressed his lips to the tender skin of her palm.
"Good morning, Callie," he said. He wrapped her fingers into a ball again and squeezed. And then he kissed her softly on the mouth and walked out of her room.
When Callie woke up again and stretched, she felt a tightness in her body that was unfamiliar and not at all unpleasant. She lay on her back, looking up into the canopy over the bed and thinking about Jack. Images of what they'd done in the night were impossible to resist.
She was right. He had been an incredible lover, though not necessarily for the reasons she'd first assumed. The way he'd held her afterward was the best part of the experience.
When she finally got out of bed, she saw his button-down shirt on the floor and picked it up. Lifting the fine cotton to her nose, she breathed in, smelling cedar soap and something more elusive, more distinctly Jack.
She looked around, noting the buttons that had popped off and were dotting the Oriental rug. Getting caught with his ruined shirt in her room by the upstairs maid would send messages neither of them were prepared to deal with. She quickly cleaned up the flooi; showered, and got dressed.
With his shirt tucked under her arm, she walked across the hall. There was no answer when she knocked so she stuck her head into his bedroom and quietly called out his name.
The mahogany antiques and oil paintings she'd expected; what was a surprise was the anonymity of it all. There were no snapshots of him on vacation, no clothes draped on the back of a chair, no books or magazines fanned out on the bedside table. It might as well have been a luxurious hotel room and she was disappointed that the place didn't reveal more about him.
Which was a lot to ask for from a color scheme, she thought wryly, eyeing the deep green walls. Even one as expertly developed as this.
The only thing that was out of order was the bed. The covers had been pulled back and the pillows propped up against the velvet headboard, as if he'd spent time deep in thought.
"May I help you?" Mrs. Walker said loudly.
Callie wheeled around, bracing herself as the woman came down the hall as if the natural order of things had been disturbed.
Mrs. Walker saw the shirt and her eyes narrowed. "Do you require something from my son?"
In a rush of levity, Callie thought, no, she'd had plenty of him last night.
Setting her shoulders, she remembered rule number four for bullies: Ignorance is bliss. There can't be a problem if you refuse to acknowledge that one exists.
Calmly, she went over to the bed and laid the shirt on top of the rumpled covers.
"Have a good day, Mrs. Walker," she murmured as she walked out.
For once, the woman seemed speechless.
As she headed for the kitchen, Callie wished like hell Mrs. Walker's timing hadn't been so good. Or maybe she shouldn't have been so conscientious. If she'd only left the shirt in her room, buried it in a drawer until she could give it back to Jack—
Hell. It was like getting into a car accident because you'd been putting on your seat belt.
Jack was reading the paper and drinking coffee when she walked into the kitchen, and the moment she saw him, she smiled. Dressed in a suit, his blue silk tie hanging from a precise knot, he looked as if he was too civilized to have done half the things he had to her in the night.