Midnight Kiss

by Robyn Carr Brashear; Robyn Carr Brashear

  “This is a spindle gouge.” He pointed to a spot on the other side of the machine. “You stand over there. This—” he indicated a flat metal edge he adjusted to come closer to the block “—is called a tool rest.”

  When Jordan was in place, Will flipped a switch and the wood began spinning. He put the handle of the tool at an angle on the rest. With deft hands, he leaned the tool in and out, and wood shavings all but leaped off the block in long curls. Beneath his hands began to appear graceful curves she could never have imagined creating from a block of wood.

  “That’s incredible.”

  “What?” Will flipped the switch.

  “Sorry.” She stepped back, but she couldn’t help wanting to touch. “I hope I didn’t interrupt at a bad time.”

  He studied her and the hand that was rising by her side. “Come over here. You can help.”

  “Me? Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

  “Jordan, you’re curious. There’s no substitute for the feeling of the wood under your hands.”

  “But it’s beautiful. I’ll mess it up.”

  He shrugged. “I have more material.”

  She was torn between longing and fear. “I won’t be good at it.”

  “Do you only do things you’ve already mastered, then? I think not. You were not born a lawyer.”

  “Some would say I was born to argue.”

  “And there I’d likely not disagree,” he said with a smile. “Still, surely you’ve attempted the unfamiliar.”

  “I learned kickboxing,” she admitted. “I’m really good at it—want to see?”

  “Perhaps later. Just now, let’s find out if there’s a woodworker lurking within you.”

  “Okay.” Truth be told, she really did want to try it. She assumed the place he indicated in front of him and tried to imitate his two-handed grip, one beneath and one over the tool, guiding it.

  “Hold it firmly but keep your body relaxed.” He arranged himself behind her, his big frame a comforting and disturbing presence all at the same time. “You’ll need to be both flexible and vigilant. No piece of wood is uniform throughout. Its textures and composition differ from spot to spot. Keep the spindle gouge slightly loose in your fingers, but clasp it carefully enough so that the turning doesn’t dislodge it. I wouldn’t want to see a scar in this lovely exterior of yours. Notice the edges of the tool. They’re wicked sharp.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t…”

  “Here, place your hands in mine, and we’ll begin together so you can acquire a feel for this.”

  She fought past her awareness of his big, warm hands, of his hard body a shelter around her. She narrowed her eyes, staring hard and steeling herself.

  Will kissed the side of her neck, jolting her.

  “What was that for?”

  “Don’t tense up. Light on your feet, fluid in your motions.”

  Jordan inhaled one good, deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready.” I hope.

  Will flipped the switch and drew her hands with his closer until the blade touched the wood. Jordan gasped and jerked. The spindle gouge slipped, goring a crooked line in the wood before he pulled her hands back. “Sorry.”

  “You’re doing fine. There’s an entire forest lost to my learning. Now relax against me, and let’s begin again.”

  Relax. Against him.

  Yeah, right. But she tried, and he was a good teacher. Soon her fascination was great enough to overcome most of her extreme awareness of his body touching hers. She focused and watched the curves form under her hands—

  It was her hands doing this, she realized with a jitter. Will had let go, though he still stood right behind her, his body big and warm and—

  Another crooked groove. “Sorry.” Focus, Jordan. She redoubled her efforts and moved the tool along the wood as she’d watched him do, weaving in and out and fashioning a curve not nearly as beautiful as his own, but not a total loss.

  She pulled away and studied the piece still whirling in front of her. “Not bad, huh?”

  Will leaned into her to flip off the switch. “Quite good, in fact.”

  “For a beginner?” she asked, turning toward him.

  His eyes were hot on her mouth, then flicked up to her eyes. “Accept your due, Jordan. You did well.”

  Though her insides jangled, her rush of triumph overrode them, and she had to smile, throwing her arms wide. “I loved it!”

  “Careful, now.” He plucked the instrument from her hand, but just as she would have retreated, he took a step toward her, and she lost her breath.

  She hastened to cover her intense reaction to him. “Can I do another one?” Then she experienced a moment of unfamiliar shyness. “If you can spare the wood, I mean.”

  Those blue eyes saw too much. As happened so often, she had the sense that Will Masterson understood her in ways that disturbed her.

  Fortunately for her, he stepped away then, just before she could decide whether to yield to the kiss they were both obviously dying for or to run for her car before things got out of hand.

  He turned back with another piece of wood. “All right. Let’s try this one. It’s oak, not pine. You’ll want to pay attention to the difference in them.” He went on to discuss those differences as he removed the turned piece and replaced it with the block.

  And Jordan couldn’t decide whether to be miffed or relieved that she’d dodged that bullet.

  “WHY WOULD YOU NEED a wife?” Jordan asked much later after a delicious dinner. “You’re a really good cook, on top of everything else. What can a woman do for you that you can’t do for yourself? I can’t believe you actually baked that bread.”

  Will settled beside her in the porch swing, looking down at her with a knowing grin on his face.

  “Well, sex, sure, but you don’t need marriage for that,” she said.

  He chuckled and rested his arm behind her. “Man was not made to live alone.” He glanced over at her. “Nor woman, either.”

  “You’re wrong. I prefer to be on my own.” Jordan lifted a shoulder. “Some of us just aren’t meant for the long term.”

  Will smiled indulgently, then set the swing in motion with a shove of one foot. “For an intelligent woman, you’ve a feather brain at times.”

  Jordan smacked him on the belly, but that didn’t faze him. “Protest as you will, sweetheart, but you know I’m right.”

  “I do not.” She frowned and glanced over at him again as the feel of his belly registered. The man had a six-pack, she would swear. Suddenly she really, really wanted to see him out of that flannel shirt and the T-shirt beneath.

  “What has that lovely brow so wrinkled?”

  “You. You weren’t supposed to be sexy, damn it.”

  “What?” He did a double take, then guffawed. “How is one man supposed to keep up with that odd mind of yours?”

  “You’re big,” she accused.

  “I am. And what, might I ask, am I to do about that?”

  “Nothing.” She crossed her arms over her stomach and harrumphed. “My type is lean and dangerous.”

  Will sighed and set them swinging again. “You’ve no idea what your type is.”

  “I suppose you think it’s you.”

  He captured her chin. “Now, why would I be wanting to make myself miserable, getting involved with a difficult woman like you, hmm? Last I looked, I’d not taken leave of my senses.”

  Stung, Jordan didn’t respond. How could she argue? She was difficult. And, okay, maybe sometimes she was tired of being so on edge all the time, but… He was so not her type, she reminded herself. A man who worked with his hands, who gardened and cooked. Who wanted some country-girl type and had no taste for night life, for the dangerous edge of risk.

  “What’s going on in that serpentine brain?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I should go,” she said abruptly. “I never meant to spend the whole day here.”

  “Coward.” His face was deadly serious.

  “I most certainly am not.”

 
He merely arched one eyebrow. “You know there’s something between us, and you run rather than face it.”

  “Face what?” she scoffed. “You barely even kiss me. Who’s the coward?”

  His normally affable manner vanished completely. In a blink, he’d plucked her from her seat and settled her on his lap, sliding one big hand to cradle the back of her head.

  And kissed the living socks off her.

  For a second, she froze.

  Then she dived in. To take control, she’d thought…but control wasn’t in the cards. She dug her hands into his sides and felt muscles even more impressive than she’d realized. For all that Will looked stocky, he actually had great muscle definition. She’d had a fling with a bodybuilder once, and Will’s torso and arms, not the product of steroids, she was sure, would have made that guy jealous.

  Within seconds, she found herself surrounded by arms made of iron, snug against a big, warm body that felt like the haven she’d been seeking all of her life.

  Will groaned and deepened the kiss, and Jordan followed him into a special, private place she’d never visited…never even imagined. She slid her arms around his neck and pressed closer against him, wondering if she’d ever kissed a man before who’d taken her on such a roller-coaster ride of emotions like this, spanning the spectrum in seconds.

  But she knew the answer already. There was only one Will. And she didn’t know what to do with him.

  Finally, it was Will who drew away, and Jordan who whimpered and pulled him back. He resisted, though she felt his body’s vivid response to her. He set her back a few inches, both of them breathing hard, and leaned his forehead against hers.

  “Now, Will,” she murmured. “Make love to me now.”

  Instead, he lifted her and set her on legs that wouldn’t hold her, steadying her with his hands at her waist.

  “No, sweetheart. Not in the heat of the moment.”

  “You want me. I know it, and you do, too.”

  “That’s not enough.”

  “It’s enough for tonight.”

  He looked at her sadly. “I’m beginning to think I want more than tonight.”

  “Do you always get what you want?” she whispered.

  “I can’t tell you. I’ve never wanted anything as I want you. I only know that when we make love, it’s not going to be a whim, not one of your flings. You’re still not ready, Jordan. And I can wait. Not easily, but I’ll manage.”

  Her body edgy and aching, Jordan’s temper spiked. She’d love nothing better than to stomp off and never see him again—except that wasn’t at all what she craved to do with this excess of energy she was dying to spend in another fashion.

  But he stood there looking at her, blue eyes sparking yet resolute, patient and seeing too much. Jordan had a sense that she was fighting a battle for her life. He would change her. This couldn’t last—they were too different—and where would she be then? Who was she if not Jordan the Shark, with hot and cold running men?

  “I can’t be a Marly, Will.”

  He smiled. “I happen to like Jordan Parrish, saints preserve my black soul.”

  She relaxed enough to laugh. “You are certifiably insane, you know that?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll make coffee.”

  Jordan sighed. “It’s a lousy substitute for sex.”

  “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, darlin’. Just consider it foreplay.” He picked her up and strode inside with her. “Stay a little longer, would you?”

  How could anyone remain angry at this man? She relaxed in his arms, enjoying an odd sense of freedom that the night would not, as all her others were, be about sex. He was the oddest person. He baffled her and enraged her…. “Can I keep my newel posts?”

  He glanced down in surprise. “Of course.” He didn’t ask what she would do with them, didn’t make fun of her for wanting them as souvenirs of a day she wouldn’t soon forget. “I’m thinking that with a bit more practice, you could turn one that would fit exactly on my stairs.”

  She blinked, absurdly pleased at the notion. “Really?” Then doubt crept in. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then I must believe for both of us.” He seemed perfectly serious.

  She stared at him and marveled at the kindness that was so integral to his nature. “What am I going to do with you?” she whispered.

  He set her down on a bar stool in the beautiful kitchen he’d restored, trapping her between his arms and the counter, his eyes hot and blue and kind.

  “Ah, but isn’t that the journey we must take together to find out?” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then drew away with an obvious reluctance that pleased her enormously.

  “I’d best be making that coffee now.”

  Jordan swiveled to watch him, her greedy eyes following every move he made.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WILL HAD STAYED AWAY from her deliberately for nearly a week. Thankfully he had a lot of work to complete for David, and he was intent upon finishing the tiling in the master bathroom that was his concession to modernity. The original bath had been the size of a coat closet. He’d taken that space and a large chunk of the adjoining small bedroom and created a bathroom that would scandalize his family when they saw it. Their family of ten had shared one small bath and thought nothing of it.

  One day they would understand that Will was here to stay. Surely when he had a family of his own, his mum and da and at least some of his siblings would relent and pay him a visit.

  Though, he had to admit, the prospect of a family seemed further away than ever.

  Because now there was Jordan.

  Blast his black soul, why could he not simply see reason and walk away from her? Yes, there was more softness in her than anyone else recognized, but the distance between that and Jordan as a wife, much less a mother…surely the moon itself was closer.

  What was it about her that drew him so? Was it, as his mum declared, only his weakness for the lost, the lonely? Jordan was lonely, of that he was now certain, whatever she might argue, and she did want to make love with him very badly. How much of that, however, was simply her competitive urge? He wondered if any man had ever said no to Jordan Parrish.

  And why would they? Even a blind man, robbed of the sight of that tantalizing mouth, those endless legs, the sleek curves—that blind man would hear her husky, come-get-me voice and seek her out.

  Yes, he wanted her to the point of distraction. But as lovely as her body was, it was Jordan’s spirit that captivated him. A quick mind, a wry wit and, most of all, a wistfulness she normally hid well…there was much more to be discovered about Jordan.

  And he wanted to be the one to do it. Only him and no other.

  But she had not yet forsaken her playmates, he’d learned. In a moment of weakness, he’d driven downtown and nearly parked his truck, ready to climb her steps and be done with the waiting.

  Then he’d spotted her walking down the street, tossing her head coyly and smiling at another man, one whose expression clearly spoke of anticipation.

  Damn you, Jordan, he thought as he pulled into his driveway and parked. Finn came running, and Will wanted to brush past the dog, to throw something, to yell—

  Horrified at the agitation he felt and how that turned him into someone he couldn’t like at all, Will exhaled in one powerful gust and dropped to his haunches. “Sorry, boy.” He gave Finn a good rubbing, then let his head sag while the dog licked his cheek and whimpered.

  Perhaps he wasn’t up to the challenge she presented. Gentling Jordan Parrish required too much. She bore not the faintest resemblance to the woman he’d fixed up this house for, the woman who would make him happy.

  Will rose and stared into the growing darkness.

  And tasted the bitter ash of defeat.

  He should give her the freedom she demanded, let her waste her life however she might. It was her life, after all, as she never ceased to point out, he thought as he strode toward his back door.

  As he passed his shop, how
ever, he couldn’t help remembering her childlike joy in turning newel posts, the shy pride when he’d said she could make one for his staircase.

  He was so preoccupied as he ascended his back steps that he nearly toppled the package resting against his back door.

  “Will Masterson” was written on it in a bold yet feminine slash he didn’t recognize. Beneath it, in smaller letters, “You don’t have to like this, but I thought of you when I found it.”

  “Jordan,” it was signed.

  He carried the bulky box inside, wondering how she’d managed it herself. He turned on the lights, then set it on his kitchen counter. What could the woman be doing? Carefully he slit the packing tape and dug through foam peanuts to a bubble-wrapped shape below.

  Removing the mounds of cushioning required several more minutes, all the while his curiosity racing.

  “Well, I’ll be,” he said to Finn when he reached the end. Will shook his head and glanced down at the dog. “She brought me a window.”

  It was the stained glass window he’d been seeking to place above the front porch. Nearly two years he’d been searching, not sure exactly what he wanted and determined to wait until he had that figured out.

  You don’t have to like this, Jordan had written.

  He’d thought he’d want to pick it out himself as he’d done with every last inch of this place up to now.

  But somehow she’d known what he was looking for before he had. A Celtic knot, a lovers’ knot in shades that would now determine his exterior paint choices at last.

  Perhaps she couldn’t cook, didn’t know a weed from a tomato plant, couldn’t sew on a button. No, she wasn’t a Marly, nor did she have any desire to be.

  But somehow, prickly, difficult Jordan Parrish understood him. Saw into his heart.

  “Oh, but I do like this, sweetheart, very much.”

  Just then the thought of the man he’d seen her with earlier punched a hole in the pleasure he felt, but he tightened his fingers on the window frame and knew that she’d never done anything like this for any of those temporary men. Patience. You have a lot of it, don’t you?