by Jan Hudson
She squirmed in the leather seat, and he glanced at her. His thoughts must have been following the same line as hers. Raw desire etched his face, and he reached over and stroked her thigh.
His touch sent a shiver of electricity zinging through her; she sucked in a startled breath. Only the restraint of her seat belt kept her from doing something foolish. Sexual awareness bombarded the cab, ricocheted off the walls in frenzied currents, scorched the air.
He moved his hand from her leg, seized the wheel in a two-handed grip, and said, “I gotta pay attention to what I’m doing. I sure as hell don’t want to wreck us now.”
“No. Not now.” Was that her voice? It sounded raspy, breathless.
Jackson drove safely, but quickly, to their neighborhood. He didn’t pull into her drive; he headed straight for his own, poking the remote to lift the garage door as he made the turn.
She made a sound of protest and looked toward her apartment.
“We’d get soaked again going to your place,” he said as he pulled into the garage. “Besides, my bed is bigger.” He grinned. “And I’m gonna need a lot of room.”
Nine
“Come on in,” Jackson said, “and let’s get you dry and warmed up. You’re soaked to the skin.”
“You’re just as wet as I am.”
“Yeah, but I’m tough.”
She poked his arm as he guided her through the mudroom door. “I’m tough, too.”
He kissed her nose. “No, you’re like spun sugar, and I can’t have you melting on me.”
Streak, who had been left in the room with his basket and newspapers, started barking and jumping on Jackson.
“Hey, there, fella,” he said, bending to scratch the puppy’s head. “How’s the food and water holding out? Looks good. You stay here and guard the house, and I’m going to take care of the lady.”
As if he’d understood every word, Streak barked and wiggled his tail. Jackson could charm anybody—woman or beast.
He led her through the kitchen, where they pulled off shoes and boots, to the den. “Let me get a fire going. You go to the guest bath and get out of those wet clothes. Down the hall, second door on the right. There should be an extra robe in the linen closet.”
Olivia didn’t argue. She was soaking and chilled to the bone.
The guest bath, beautifully decorated in dusky green and terra-cotta, still smelled of newness. As she unbuttoned her sweater, she caught her reflection in the mirror and realized that not only did she look totally bedraggled, but she still wore Jackson’s black cowboy hat. She took it off and set it on the tile counter, then stripped off her wet clothes and draped them over the shower rod.
After toweling off, she found a stack of white terry robes in the closet and took one. Crow’s Nest was embroidered in black on the breast pocket. It was too big, but she belted it snugly, then searched the drawers hoping to find a hair-dryer and a brush. She did. Clever decorator, she supposed. Everything for the guest’s comfort. She even found an unopened box of condoms in one of the drawers.
She opened them. Feeling a bit wicked, she put one packet in the pocket of her robe and gave it a pat.
Using the dryer she’d found, she fluffed the damp ends of her hair and restored a bit of order, then leaned forward toward the large mirror and checked for mascara smudges. Her reflection told her that she looked decidedly mussed. The shivery rasp of terry cloth across her nipples told her that she felt decidedly sensual. The gleam in her eyes told her that she was decidedly ready for Jackson Crow.
This was it. This was the night.
Feeling even more wicked, she put two more packets in her robe pocket and smiled as she picked up his hat and left the bathroom.
Barefoot, she walked back to the den. She stopped at the doorway. Jackson was squatted in front of the fireplace, adding another log to the new fire. He was barefoot, too.
And bare-chested.
Olivia’s breath caught as she watched him poke the log. A shower of sparks shot upward, the cozy scent of burning oak pervaded the room and the glow of the flames brushed his skin with copper. He wore only an oft-washed pair of jeans, and a towel lay draped around his neck. His dark hair was rumpled and waving as if he’d merely scrubbed the towel over his head a couple of times.
He must have sensed her presence, or perhaps she’d made some small sound, for he glanced at her over his shoulder and smiled. He stood and held out his hand. “Fire’s going pretty good. Come warm yourself. I’ve got coffee brewing—or would you rather have wine?”
“Coffee first.”
She joined him. “Nice fire.”
“Naturally. I was a Boy Scout.”
“I’ll bet you were cute in your uniform.”
“Absolutely.”
“Here’s your hat.”
“It looks better on you.” He plunked it on her head, then pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
His lips were still cool from the outside chill, but his tongue was warm. Hot.
And reckless.
He pulled her closer, and the hat tumbled from her head as she arched her body against him.
He kissed her thoroughly, then left her mouth to nuzzle his way down to her shoulder, pushing aside the robe as he went. She clung to his bare back as his lips traced her collarbone, sighed as he rubbed his cheek against the cap of her shoulder, groaned as his hands slipped inside her robe to cup her bottom.
“Oh, darlin’,” he moaned against her ear as he stroked her breast, and she turned into pudding.
She ached for him, ached with a need so potent that she could hardly stand it. She’d wanted him for a long time, and to wait any longer was excruciating. Grinding herself against him, she grabbed handfuls of his hair and pulled his mouth to hers. Her breath was ragged; her heart pounded furiously.
“Oh, Jackson, I want—I want—”
“What do you want, darlin’?”
“I want you.”
“You’ve got me.”
He kissed her again, rubbing his chest across her breasts, pushing the robe farther and farther apart until it was skin against skin. His hand stole between them to thumb her nipple, then it dipped lower, and her knees went weak.
“Jackson,” she whimpered.
“What, darlin’?”
“I want—I want—”
“Tell me what you want, sugar.”
His fingers were doing marvelous things to her. She could barely find words. “I want you. Inside me. Now.”
He eased her down to the couch, and her robe fell open.
He knelt beside her, his eyes seeming to devour her. “In a minute, darlin’. I’ve got some more looking to do. And some more touching.” He dipped his tongue into her navel. “I want to make sure you’re ready.”
His hand stroked up her thigh, over her belly, and up to make a figure eight across her breasts, then down again to probe more intimate places.
“Jackson, I’m ready!”
He chuckled. “I believe you are. I’ll be right back.”
He stood.
“Where are you going?”
“To get some protection.”
She fished in the robe pocket. “Here.”
He cocked one wicked dark brow and grinned. “Prepared were we?”
“I told you I was ready.”
“So you did, sugar. I was beginning to think it wasn’t going to happen.” He stripped off his jeans, then kissed her while he put on the protection. “I’ve lain awake many a night imagining this moment.”
He continued to stroke her and kiss her as he moved to a place between her thighs. She sucked in a long gasp as he slid into her, filling her deeply, completely.
They savored the moment of their joining, lying still for several seconds. A rush of wonderment swept over her, and she drank in the power of their coupling. Then they began to move as one in a slow sensual dance that stoked sparks of desire in every cell of her body.
He stroked her as they moved, whispered praise for her body, her beauty a
s he thrust deeper and deeper. She rose to meet each thrust, and the power and tempo increased until the flames glowed white-hot.
Their lovemaking grew frenzied, and she bucked and groaned, and they rolled off the couch onto the rug.
Hotter and hotter, faster and faster—
Then spasms broke over her. They arched her back and stole her breath.
His climax came almost immediately.
She could feel the throb of his fulfillment. His back bowed and his arms taut, holding his weight off her, and with firelight glistening off his damp skin, he looked like a great primitive warrior. Strong, muscled, virile, supremely handsome.
Her heart ached at the sight.
Dear Lord, how she loved him.
Loved?
No, she told herself. She’d loved the lovemaking. He was a skilled lover. He’d made her feel like the only woman in the world for him.
She would bask in the feelings for now, enjoy the temporary intimacy.
Olivia crossed her arms behind his neck, pulled him down to her and snuggled close.
“Sugar, I do believe you’re purring.”
She chuckled and, imitating his drawl, said, “Sugar, I do believe you’re right. That was delicious.”
“The night is young yet, tiger. Want some coffee? Some wine? Some cheese? My heart on a pine plank?”
“You’re crazy.”
“Yes, ma’am. Crazy about you.”
The storm continued throughout the night, and their tempestuous coupling continued, as well. They moved to Jackson’s big bed, snuggling and napping, then rousing to make love again, both insatiable, wild. Was it the thunder and lightning, vibrating through the house and splitting the sky with its power, that roused her to such wildness, such abandon? Or was it simply Jackson? Never had a man stirred her the way Jackson did. Never had a man satisfied her the way Jackson did.
She slept, content and secure, in his arms.
Shortly before dawn Olivia woke. The storm had moved on, and the rain had stopped. She slipped from his bed and went to the guest bathroom. Her clothes were still damp. She hesitated to put on the clammy garments, but she didn’t want to be seen skittering across the street in a robe, either.
Deciding to put her things through the dryer, she slipped on a robe and gathered up her belongings, then moved quietly to the laundry area off the mudroom.
As soon as she opened the door, Streak met her with excited barks and wiggles and jumps.
“Shhhh,” she said, closing the door behind her. “We don’t want to wake up your master. He had a very tiring night.”
Streak wasn’t very concerned about being quiet. He barked and wiggled and jumped until she dumped her clothes in the dryer and picked him up.
“You rascal.”
He licked her nose. She laughed.
“Hey, buddy,” Jackson said from the doorway. “Are you trying to smooch my gal?”
Startled by his presence, Olivia turned. “Did we wake you? I’m sorry. I told Streak to be quiet, but he doesn’t mind very well.”
“You got that right. But the noise didn’t wake me. The quiet did. I missed the sound of your breathing. What are you doing up so early?”
“Drying my clothes. I didn’t want to sneak home wearing your robe and be the talk of the neighborhood.”
“Don’t worry about it. Come on back to bed and get some sleep.”
She gave him a teasing smile. “I’m afraid that if I go back to bed with you, I won’t get any sleep.”
A wicked grin broke over his face. “You’re safe for a while, darlin’. I’m plumb tuckered out. Come on.” He held out his hand.
She took it and followed him back to his big bed.
He lied. Or else he got his second wind.
It was midmorning before she awoke. Alone.
Just as she sat up and stretched, Jackson stuck his head in the room. “Mornin’, sugar. How do you like your eggs?”
“Poached.”
“Will scrambled do?”
She smiled. “Sure.”
“Good. I’ll be right back.”
In two minutes he came back, carrying a tray. He wore only his jeans.
“Breakfast in bed?” she asked.
“Yep. Eggs, bacon, biscuits, butter, jelly, orange juice and coffee. The jelly is homemade. Grandpa Pete puts up several pints every year when the dew-berries come in.” He put the bed tray over her lap, then slathered butter and jelly on a piece of biscuit and held it to her mouth.
She took the bit he offered. “Mmm. Very good. Where’s your breakfast?”
“I already ate mine. And yours. Twice. Streak helped some.”
Frowning, she tried to figure out what he’d just said.
He laughed. “I fixed breakfast earlier, but you went back to sleep. So I went ahead and ate. I thought you might be rousing about an hour ago, so I fixed you another breakfast. You were sawing logs when I brought it.” He grinned. “I figured that the third time was a charm. Need anything else?”
Touched by his thoughtfulness, she swallowed back the lump in her throat and shook her head. “Thank you very much. Nobody ever brought me breakfast in bed before.”
“Not even when you were sick or on your birthday?”
She shook her head again. “Not that I recall. Thank you, Jackson. Thank you very much.”
“No problem.” He gave her a peck and crawled in beside her. “Want to watch the news?” He picked up the TV remote control and clicked it on.
“Fine with me. Have you read the Sunday paper already?” She sipped her coffee.
“I don’t take a newspaper.”
“Good heavens, why not? I can’t start the day without coffee and the morning paper. Sundays are a special treat. On Sundays, I take both the Statesman and the New York Times.”
“Never liked to take the time for newspapers. Guess I’m a TV kind of guy. Want me to go get the papers from your driveway?”
“No, I’ll read them later. I can’t believe that you don’t subscribe to a newspaper, especially now that you’re in politics,” she said in a teasing way. “I mean, how can you keep up with Doonesbury?”
“Is that such a loss? Look, I’ve got instant news around the world with CNN—and I can shave at the same time.”
Olivia rolled her eyes and buttered another bite of biscuit. “Jackson, that’s ludicrous. You can’t get the depth of information from a TV show that you can get from a newspaper. TV is just a series of sound bytes. Newspapers give details.”
“I listen to the radio for the details.”
She sighed. “Deliver me.”
He chuckled and took a bite of the biscuit she held. “To any place in particular?” He dabbed a bit of jelly on her chin and licked it off.
He tugged down the sheet that was tucked under her arms and put another dab on her nipple. “Have I told you how much I love your breasts?” He bent and licked the jelly smear away, lingering to lick long after the sweetness had disappeared.
“Mmmmmm. Several times. Careful, you’re jostling the coffee.”
He moved the tray from her lap to the floor.
“What about my breakfast?”
“I’ll fix you another later.” He ripped the sheet away.
Jackson wondered later why he hadn’t told her. He’d had the perfect opening while she was eating breakfast and they were talking about newspapers. Why hadn’t he told her the truth? Why hadn’t he just told her that he hated the sight of newspapers along with everything else that was printed?
Why hadn’t he just spilled his guts and told her what a damned moron he was? He felt like a dirty dog by not telling her the truth. He wanted things to be open and aboveboard between them. But he wanted her respect more. If she knew, how could somebody like her respect somebody like him?
He broke out in a cold sweat when he thought of her knowing his secret. She was so sharp, a damned brilliant woman. A scholar. He couldn’t abide the notion of Olivia pitying him or being embarrassed by his ignorance.
&
nbsp; Sooner or later, she was bound to find out.
Maybe not. Maybe he could keep faking it. After all, he was an expert at faking it. He’d faked it all the way through school and through all his adult life.
Hell, even his own family didn’t suspect that he could barely read.
Ten
Late the following Sunday afternoon, Olivia hummed as she iced a coconut cake. She couldn’t believe that she was feeling so domestic. After the disastrous birthday production, she’d sworn off cake making. Yet, she and Jackson had only been lovers a week and already she was baking again. She must be fond of the guy.
She smiled and stepped back and surveyed her latest effort. Not bad.
In fact, it looked darned good.
She picked it up and took it downstairs, calling to Tessa and Ed as she spotted them in the backyard. She and Jackson were joining Tessa and Ed for barbecue. Jackson was providing the beer; Olivia, the dessert.
Ed, a tall, silver-haired man, waved his mop brush at her. “Do you smell those ribs? My mouth’s already watering.”
“They smell great. Are they almost done?” Olivia asked as she set the cake on a picnic table near Tessa.
“Another half hour ought to do it.”
“Nice cake,” Tessa said.
Olivia beamed proudly at the compliment. “There’s something to be said for practice.”
“I’ll take it inside,” Tessa said. “It’s getting a bit cool to eat outdoors, don’t you think?”
“Aw, you gals are sissies,” Ed said. “It’s pleasant out here. Say, where’s Jackson with the beer?”
“He should be here,” Olivia said. “I told him five-thirty.”
Glancing across the street, she saw that Tami’s car was gone. In fact, she recalled that Tami had left the usual Sunday-afternoon session quite a bit earlier than she ordinarily did.
Odd that Jackson hadn’t arrived. He was always punctual.
“I’ll run over and see what’s keeping him,” she told the Jurneys.
She hurried across the street and through the courtyard. After ringing the bell twice and receiving no answer, she grew concerned and tried the door. It was unlocked. She went inside, stopped and called out.