by Jan Freed
“Hi, babies, did you miss me?” she crooned, a confirmed spinster reduced to treating her pets like children. She bent over and stroked what bits and pieces of fur their constant weaving allowed. “Move now so I can walk.”
They didn’t of course. She played soccer with their bodies all the way to the kitchen, where purring escalated into meows at first sight of the dry cat food. She filled each of their bowls, freshened their water and wandered into the main room. The sudden pall of silence grew heavy.
Everywhere she looked, Joe and Allie were theretier impish grin brighter than the lamp, his big body transforming the small apartment into a (tollhouse. Listless and dissatisfied, Catherine moved into the bathroom and checked the medicine cabinet, the bathtub ledge. She walked into the closet and eyed the wire hangers, the empty shoe shelves. And finally, wadded behind the roll-away bed in one corner, she found a piece of evidence that they hadn’t been a dream.
She lifted the garment with two hands and spread it wide…wider…envisioning Joe’s broad shoulders filling the Astros jersey. Her fists drew together and she buried her face in the crumpled material, knowing she was torturing herself, inhaling his lingering scent just the same. Her eyes closed. A wordless sound of longing escaped her throat. Damn you, Joe Tucker, for making me love you.
Lifting her head, she threw the jersey toward the sofa, snatched up her evening bag and marched to the front door, intent on filling her lungs and mind with something besides him. Once on the landing, she locked the door and drew in deep gulps of air.
Ah, yes, roses. New-mown grass. And the faintest whiff of an earlier barbecue in the neighborhood. Crickets and frogs serenaded from the dark edges of the backyard. At this height, she was level with the branches of the huge pecan tree. Its canopy of leaves screened her view of the bench where she’d poured out her “sordid” story, the tree trunk where she’d first tasted real passion. A bleakness more complete than any she had known crept into her heart. Setting her purse on the cedar rail, she propped her elbows beside it, rested her chin in both palms…and sensed she wasn’t alone.
“‘But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East and Juliet is the sun!’”
The voice came from somewhere below, its deep timbre producing a swell of wonder that took her breath away.
“‘Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief that thou her maid art far more fair than she.’”
Delivered in a velvet murmur, the words flowed naturally, melodically, stirring her modern heart as deeply as they’d affected women centuries ago.
“‘Be not her maid, since she is envious. Her vestal livery is but sick and green, and none but fools do wear it. Cast it off.’”
“Joe?” she whispered, knowing full well who it was. A shadowy shape moved directly into her line of vision.
“‘It is my lady. O, it is my love! O that she knew she were!’”
The garage spotlight kindled dark intense eyes raised in an unsmiling study of her face. It illuminated his broad forehead, his square jaw, the serious set of his mouth. He’d discarded his coat and tie and unbuttoned his shirt at the neck. Against the starched white collar, his throat arched strong and virile.
She drank in the details of his appearance because she didn’t dare dwell on his last words. They’d been scripted, she reminded herself. And he was a talented actor.
“I’m impressed,” she said thickly. “First Sebastian, now Romeo. Shakespeare is a difficult role.”
“It depends on who’s playing Juliet.”
Somehow she dredged up flippancy. “Don’t be modest—you’re a natural. A lover not a fighter, remember?”
“There are times when a man should be both.”
She straightened from the rail and hugged her stomach. “I’m too tired for riddles, Joe. Why are you here? What do you want?”
“You.”
Her heartbeat stumbled, then broke into a wild gallop.
“Come here.”
Her own words thrown back in her face.
He stood there, tall and strapping with the breeze ruffling his thick dark hair, so entirely what a man should be that it hurt to look at him. Her anger flared hot and righteous.
“Is this some kind of game to you? Because I’m not playing just to prove you can make me.”
“Does he love you, Catherine? Does he take away your pain and make you feel? When you kissed him in the car, did he make you burn?”
“You were watching us?”
“Answer the question.”
“You were watching us?”
“Yes, I was watching!” he roared. “I saw you staring into his eyes. I saw you lean over and kiss him. If you hadn’t kept it quick I would’ve ripped his friggin’ head off. Now answer the question, dammit. Did he make you burn?” His eyes glittered with a kind of savage anguish.
“No, he didn’t make me burn!” she yelled back, close to tears. “He’s never made me burn, or my heart pound, or my body ache—not like you have. Is that what you wanted to hear, Joe? Is your macho pride happy to know that I love you and not him?”
Her eyelashes fluttered. She sucked in a horrified breath. Grabbing her purse, she pulled out the key and whirled around to the door. Her hands shook so badly she fumbled inserting the grooved metal properly. The landing vibrated as feet pounded up the stairs.
“C’mon,” she breathed. The key slipped in and she reached for the knob.
Large hands spanned her waist and pulled her against an iron body. Heat seared her bare back. A stubbled cheek pressed against her neck.
“You drop a bomb like that and expect to run away?” he rumbled in her ear. “I don’t think so.”
An agonizing, wonderful, miserable terror filled her heart. “Nothing’s changed.”
“Like hell,” he muttered, turning her in his hands and pressing her spine against the door. His mouth came down hard and hungry on hers, and she was lost.
He kissed her deeply, possessively, as if he needed the taste of her more than he needed air. The hot succulent mating of tongues took her from embarrassed to burning in seconds flat. She threw her arms up and spread her fingers wide, thrilling to the hard strength beneath fine cotton, the thick hair cushioning his skull. His own hands seemed fascinated with her bare back, returning again and again to the point just above her rhinestone bow and teasing the edges of fabric. He suddenly pressed her tight to his loins and tore his lips from hers.
“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice gruff with passion.
She lifted heavy eyelids and stared up with unfocused tenderness. “I love you, Joe.”
He made an unintelligible sound low in his throat and captured her mouth again, his tongue delving deep and hard. His palms rose to bracket the sides of her breasts, his thumbs finding the sensitive centers with unerring accuracy. As always with him, and only him, she lost her inhibitions and matched his ardor, loving the wet heat of his mouth, the tumescence pressing into her stomach. Wanting more. So much more.
When at last he lifted his mouth, they were both breathing like bellows.
His dark turbulent gaze bore into hers. “You can’t marry Pretty Boy, Catherine.”
A perverse stab of irritation jerked up her chin. “Why not?”
“Because you’re going to marry me.”
She wilted like a pricked helium balloon while he watched her closely, his expression growing more grim with every passing second of her silence.
“I can see you’re overwhelmed with joy.”
Overwhelmed, yes. She couldn’t speak for the confusion storming her senses.
“I know I don’t have a job yet and I can’t finance the fancy practice you’ve always wanted, but I’ll work hard, Catherine. There’ll always be food on the table and a roof over our heads. And Allie is crazy about you. She’d be thrilled to have you for a mother.”
“And you? Would you be thrilled to have the burden of a wife?” Hating the threat of tears in her voice, she twisted her head and swallowed.
A strong hand spanned her chin and turned her face to his. The tender light in his eyes captivated her. She couldn’t look away.
“How can my best friend be a burden? I love you, Catherine, didn’t you know? It was me calling you my lady and my love earlier—for myself, not Romeo. Good God, I parked the Bronco a block away and spied on you like a damn kid when you got home. You’re making me crazy, and there’s only one thing I know that will cure me, Counselor.”
He lowered his head and brushed her lips gently. “Marry me.” His tongue traced the corners of her mouth and dipped inside for a quick taste. “Marry me.” He trailed his mouth along her jaw and nibbled her earlobe. “Marry me, Catherine. Maybe one day I’ll be in a position to give you the things Carl can now, but don’t make me wait to give you my love. We’re good together, you know we are. We’ll laugh a lot and fight a lot and make up like rabbits if I have anything to do with it. Say you’ll many me.” His voice was soft, cajoling, seductive.
Her eyes drifted shut as the sincerity of his love sank in. And still she said nothing, for to be wooed like this after a lifetime of emotional deprivation was rainfall to a parched field.
“We’ll go to Colorado for our honeymoon. There are some cabins I know of right in the heart of an aspen forest. During the day we’ll watch the leaves shiver in the wind. At night we’ll make love by a fire, maybe make a little brother or sister for Allie while we’re at it. I’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Her heart was too full to contain.
“Ah, sweetheart, honey…don’t cry.” His tongue caught the tear welling at the corner of one lid before it spilled free. “You can take your time deciding.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and held him close, vowing to make her rugged gentleman happy until her dying breath. Pulling back, she opened her eyes and offered a wobbly smile.
“I never had any intention of marrying Carl after our night together. I just didn’t want you to feel obligated to do your gentlemanly duty.” She hugged him more tightly. “I want a houseful of kids, Joe Tucker. And Allie for a junior bridesmaid. And a regular game with Earl at The Pig’s Gut to keep my aim sharp. Oh…and about that honeymoon?”
His mouth showed signs of breaking into the devilish grin she loved. “Yes, ma’am?”
“I really don’t see any point in waiting to start it, do you, Joe?”
And there it came, spreading white and wicked and delicious across his face. “No, ma’am!”
Opening the door and dropping the key in her purse, he handed her the bag and gave her a look that melted her bones. In one powerful swoop he lifted her high against his chest and crossed the threshold.
“Guess who’s got his touch Juliet?” he crowed before kicking the door shut with his heel.
eISBN: 978-14592-7805-9
MY FAIR GENTLEMAN
Copyright © 1996 by Jan Freed.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part In any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any Information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters In this book have no existence outside the Imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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Printed in U.S.A.
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
About The Author
Title Page
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Copyright