Leslie LaFoy

by Jacksons Way

  “I don't know, Jack,” she said slowly, leaning back. “What if—”

  “I'm going to be right here,” he promised, laying the reins in her lap and giving her no further choice in the matter. She drew a deep breath and, as he'd fully expected, squared her shoulders and picked them up.

  “Nothing bad is going to happen,” he gently assured her, as she carefully threaded the strips through her fingers. “We'll take it slow and easy and I'll talk you through it one step at a time. You've got good horses; they're not going to get ornery on you.”

  “You'll take the reins back if they do?”

  “Absolutely. Whenever you're ready, give the reins a little flick and make a clicking sound like I did earlier.”

  She drew one more deep breath and then committed herself to the attempt. Jackson, true to his word, kept up a steady, softly spoken stream of instruction, explaining each of the terms he used and the mechanics of making the horses go where and when she wanted them to. Navigating the very first corner without hitting it or any of the other carriages in the street produced a sigh of relief and a noticeable relaxing of her shoulders. The second one elicited a giggle of delight deep in her throat. The sound strummed all along his senses and quickened his pulse.

  There were no two ways about it; Lindsay MacPhaull was one helluva woman. There had been three marriage proposals, she'd said. And then the one man—The Fool— who'd courted her and walked away. Four men wasn't very many, all things considered. Why wasn't he having to plow his way through a line of men that stretched down the front walk of MacPhaull House and around the block?

  Physically, she was the kind of woman that turned male heads when she walked past. No china doll had ever been made that could rival the delicate beauty of her face. And her body … Jackson let his gaze caress the sweep of her curves. Her clothing molded to her and left precious little to his imagination. Jesus, her body was perfection; the kind that invited a man to slip his arms around it, draw it close, and hope to God he could drown himself in the sheer and uncommon pleasure of making love to her.

  And yet Lindsay seemed completely unaware of her effect on him. Him and every other man on the face of the earth, he realized. And so he was back to his original puzzle. Why was she unmarried? Why were there no suitors fuming over the fact that he'd walked into her life and claimed her every waking moment as his?

  The physical attraction of her aside—which wasn't something to be lightly discounted—she had a cartload of other qualities that were every bit as alluring. Surely he wasn't the only man who appreciated intelligence, a quick wit, refined tastes, and social graces. She was damn re- silient, too. When she smiled, she lit up the world. And her laughter was so genuinely happy and unrestrained that a man couldn't help but realize that she wasn't bound all that tightly by the notion of propriety. All it took to free her was a little nudge and a playful wink. Lindsay was, when she was being unguardedly herself, a woman of passionate impulses.

  And what intriguing impulses they were. How could a man not be fascinated by a woman who didn't have a submissive, passive, reticent, or retiring bone in her lusciously curved body? There was no controlling Lindsay MacPhaull. You either accepted the fact that she was your equal in every sense or you ran for your life.

  Jackson smiled. He wasn't the running sort. But there were a surprising number of men in the world who were. And that, he supposed, was the answer to his questions. One look into her dazzling blue eyes and most men would instinctively understand that they were going to have to surrender any notion of being the king of their domestic castle and lord of their financial dominion. It wasn't in Lindsay's nature to back down. Whatever the contest, she'd stand toe-to-toe with a man and give back every bit as good as she got. The greater the risk involved in the battle of wills, the more she'd be drawn to it. And, like Billy, she'd be likely to up the stakes all along the way, confident that the opposition would soon fold under the pressure.

  He didn't run and he wasn't the kind of man to fold either. It didn't bode well for the two of them. He didn't seem able to keep from thinking about making love with her and she didn't seem inclined to play the modest maiden. It would be much easier for him to cling to the remnants of gentlemanly conduct if she were to try clinging to propriety, though. As it was, she'd met his every advance without flinching and then calmly bettered him before walking away. At the rate they were going, they'd one up each other into a bed before the month was done.

  And would that be so damn horrible? Jack asked himself. Lindsay was a big girl and knew what she was getting herself into; The Fool had apparently taken her for a ride aways down Carnal Road. Jack had been right up-front with her, telling her that he wasn't about to stay in New York one day longer than he absolutely had to. Lindsay knew that he wasn't a Forever and Always man. If she tumbled into his bed, then she'd be tumbling with her eyes just as wide-open as his were.

  And he'd make damn sure they were. There wasn't going to be any bastard child and there wasn't going to be any tearful farewell scene on the docks. And Lindsay needed to understand very clearly that whatever happened between them personally wasn't going to be allowed to affect the business aspects of their relationship in any way. The two areas had to remain separate at all costs; to let them merge, even accidentally, would tarnish all the pleasure they might otherwise have in their companionship. There were lines in the sand and then there were lines in the sand. While some of them were getting mighty blurred, the one separating business and personal was deep and and well-defined. If she couldn't accept that, well, he'd just have to resign himself to being celibate. And acutely, painfully miserable.

  “You're being awfully quiet over there,” Lindsay said, gently interrupting his internal diatribe. “Has my driving scared you speechless?”

  There was no point in delaying the necessary and the inevitable. “You're doing just fine,” he assured her, turning in the box so that he sat angled toward her, allowing him to easily watch her face. “I'm just wondering about a few things.”

  She arched a brow, but didn't take her eyes off the road. “Are there any answers you think I might have for you?”

  “It depends on how honest you want to be.”

  “Oh, that sounds ominous,” she said lightly. “Are your ponderings of a business or a personal nature?”

  “Purely personal. How brave are you feeling, Madam Coachwoman?”

  “Very,” she replied, smiling. “I haven't even come close to hitting anyone or anything. And no one has felt obliged to point their fingers at me and laugh. Ask whatever you'd like, Jack. If you ask a question that makes me uncomfortable, I'll let you know. Until that point, you'll get the truth as I know it.”

  “All right.” Take the bull by the horns, Jack. “This afternoon, on our way to Mrs. Theorosa's … Was it really unseasonably warm?”

  “No.”

  She hadn't hesitated so much as a fraction of a second. “I thought so,” he drawled, wondering if he was as brave and forthright as she apparently was. “You were getting even with me for the game I played with you in Gregory's office, weren't you?”

  “That was the general intent.” She turned her head to smile at him. “Was it successful?”

  “Extremely.” He held his hand up between them, holding his thumb and index finger a scant half-inch apart. “You came this close to getting an indecent proposal.”

  She laughed and went back to watching the road, saying, “But, being a gentleman, you restrained the impulse.”

  He had the distinct impression that she regretted his nobility. “Would you have accepted it?” he asked, incredulous.

  “Honestly, Jack, I don't know what I would have done.” She smiled wickedly and arched a brow. “I think it's quite likely, though, that I would have undone another button while I contemplated the matter.”

  She could light his fires so damn easily. The fact that she was truly a good and decent person was the only thing that kept her from being a very bad girl. And that made her one helluva inte
resting woman. “Didn't Abigail Beechum ever tell you that it's cruel to tease?” he asked.

  “It seems to me,” she retorted saucily, “that the shoe fits your foot just as well as it does mine, Jackson Stennett. I seem to recall that it was your foot tracing delightful patterns up and down my leg in Mr. Gregory's office.”

  “Delightful, huh?”

  “Be that as it may,” she offered, the tone of her voice suddenly soft and serious, “I shouldn't have deliberately teased you as I did and I'm sorry, Jack. If you'll promise to avoid tempting me, I'll promise to—”

  “It won't do any good,” he interrupted with a chuckling snort and a dismissive wave of his hand. “You'll only undo it all by apologizing.”

  She instantly looked over at him, her brows knit and and her lips pursed in a little O of good-natured aggravation.

  “You dance, you pay the piper, Lindsay.”

  “Well,” she said on a quick exhale as she turned back to watch the road, “if you intend to kiss me for that particular lapse in self-control, you'll have to wait, because we've reached MacPhaull House and I have to get the carriage not only through the gate, but around back and into the carriage house. Do you have any idea of how small the doors are on the carriage house? John's always complaining about them.”

  Wonderful timing and a nice sidestep, he thought. “Would you like me to take it from here?”

  “Absolutely not. There's no satisfaction to be had in saying I managed to drive halfway home but gave up the reins when it got the first bit difficult.”

  “And satisfaction is everything.”

  “It is indeed,” she agreed, “and I intend to fully earn mine. If you want your kiss, then you'll have to give me sufficient driving instruction to insure that you're alive and whole enough to collect it.”

  She was too damned cavalier about inviting his advances. To his surprise, he discovered that it rankled. He was going to collect that kiss the minute they climbed down out of the box, and he was going to make sure that it singed her all the way to her nonchalantly daring little toes. This was going to be the last time she contemplated one of his kisses without a sizable tremble of anticipation.

  “There are limits to what a man—gentle or otherwise—can tolerate,” he felt compelled to warn. “You're courting trouble, Lindsay. You need to know that.”

  “I do,” she answered solemnly. “I don't, however, seem to be able to resist temptation where you're concerned. Good judgment disappears like a wisp of smoke in a gale wind. Now,” she added, her tone back to being blithely buoyant, “tell me how I'm supposed to maneuver this huge black box through those narrow little gates.”

  Lindsay knew that she'd been too honest, had pushed him too far. She could feel the tension vibrating out of him, could hear it in every taut syllable he uttered as he told her how and when to pull the reins. Pay the piper? Oh yes, the reckoning loomed in the minutes ahead, a certain, inescapable fate. This kiss wasn't going to caress her soul as his last one had, though. If she was reading him correctly, he intended for this kiss to be rough and perhaps even a bit frightening. Which it was, even in considering the prospect. Deliciously frightening. She didn't have the sense God gave a goose. Amazingly, given how thoroughly distracted she was, she managed to get the carriage through the gates and into the carriage house without wrecking it.

  Even as she drew the horses to a halt, he was swinging down out of the box, saying as he did, “Sit right there and I'll come around to help you down.”

  Laying the reins aside, she watched him stride around the front of the horses. Long, hard strides. Her heart skittered and it occurred to her that a reasonably prudent woman determined to save herself would summon a haughty manner and cry propriety at this point. She couldn't do that in good conscience, though; the predicament was of her own making. Staging a well-timed faint was a possibility. But not a good one, she decided as Jackson reached her side of the box. Given the look in his eyes, he'd deliberately drop her on her head. He lifted his arms and Lindsay knew that she was out of time and options. There was nothing to be done but lean out, put her hands on his shoulders, and let him exact his rough justice.

  His gaze, dark and hardened with the determination of intent, met hers and held it captive. Lindsay felt her breath catch, her pulse quicken. She was courting the storm, inviting it to do its best to destroy her. And she'd never felt happier or more wondrously alive. She had to be insane. Her heart racing, Lindsay leaned out and down, entrusting him with her safety, her dignity, and her thrilling expectations.

  His clothing was wet and warmed from the heat of his body. And under it, beneath the palms of her hands, she could feel the corded muscles in his shoulders, feel the steely strength of his arms as he slipped his hands around her waist and lifted her free of the box. His hands firm and sure around her waist, he held her above him for a long heartbeat, watching her face, silently promising to wreck slow havoc on her senses.

  And then he drew her closer and began to lower her, his gaze holding hers. She gasped at the tantalizing friction of her body slowly moving down the length of his. He was pure muscle and sinew and gloriously wicked intent. He was everything dangerous, the most forbidden of all temptations. The knowing, the waiting, the wanting … An exquisite ache blossomed deep in her chest and spread like quicksilver into her limbs. If he didn't kiss her, she'd die; she'd crumple to the straw-covered floor and die of hunger and disappointment.

  Jackson forced himself to swallow, made himself take a breath. God, never in his life had he seen such open and innocent yearning in a woman's eyes. Never had he wanted to possess a woman like he wanted Lindsay MacPhaull; totally, deeply, and completely. Right here, right now, and all damn night long. To hell with what he should and ought to do. To hell with her being a lady and his being a gentleman. To hell with dinner and Hen—

  Dinner. His common sense rushed to assert itself. They were already late for dinner. If he kissed Lindsay, the odds were they'd never get there. She had a way of making him hungry in a way that had nothing to do with food. If he gave in, they'd both eventually regret the moment of weakness. He needed to be practical, to exercise good judgment.

  But goddamn it, he needed Lindsay, too. He needed her in a way that he'd forgotten a man could need. And he'd promised himself that he'd kiss her. He'd promised her, too. If he went back on it… Just one kiss, he told himself. One short, quick kiss to satisfy his sense of pride, to show her that he was a man of his word. And that would be it; one brief kiss and then he'd set her aside and walk away. He could do it. He had the strength.

  Lindsay blinked in dazed surprise and would have stumbled back if Jack hadn't caught her arms and kept her upright. It had to have been the quickest, most passionless kiss in the history of mankind. She didn't know whether to be angrily insulted or graciously blasé. Confused, she was— and in spades.

  He cleared his throat and refused to meet her gaze as he let go of her arms. “I need to take care of the horses,” he said hastily, stepping away.

  Lindsay watched him walk off, suddenly aware of just how frustrated and angry she was and how deeply her feelings hurt. “Quite the predator,” she muttered under her breath.

  He stopped and then slowly turned back to face her. His brow cocked, he tilted his head and studied her through narrowed eyes. A smile flirted at the corners of his mouth. “What did you say?”

  Her heart jolted and her pulse raced. Yes, she was wildly, foolishly crazy. And she didn't care one whit. “I was observing—to myself—” she countered lightly, her hands fisted on her hips, “that I was right earlier this evening. You are not a predatory man, Jack Stennett.”

  He moved toward her, slowly and deliberately. He stopped only when he was close enough for her to bask in the warmth radiating from him, close enough that she had to tilt her head up to meet his gaze.

  “Is that a dare, Lindsay?” he asked, his voice the lazy drawl that sent tingles racing down her spine.

  “No, it's an opinion,” she answered with quiet
defiance.

  He studied her for a long moment and then one corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Hope it's not carved in stone,” he said, slipping his arms around her waist and drawing her hard against the length of his body.

  His lips brushed over hers once, twice, and then, as though he sensed the craving curling tightly inside her, he claimed her lips fully with his own. He devoured her, his possession as sure and masterful as it was compelling and thorough. Her lips parted at his gentle demand and her knees weakened as his kiss deepened to wrap around her soul. She pressed closer, twining her arms about his neck, abandoning herself to a kind of bold hunger that was heady and all consuming and right; as right as breathing and living itself. Desire sang through her and she rose on the song, eagerly returning the passion of his kiss.

  His heart thundered; his blood shot hot and fierce. She was everything he could want, all that he did want. He couldn't hold her close enough, taste her deeply enough. His hands explored the luscious curves of her waist, her hips, then slid to cup her from behind, drawing her against the hard proof of his desire. She responded instantly, and just as boldly, gently catching his lower lip between her teeth, then teasing his captive flesh with the tip of her tongue. Exquisite sensation swept through him in wave after intoxicating wave. Moaning at the sheer pleasure of it, he tightened his arms around her.

  Wrapped in the certain strength of his embrace, won-drously intoxicated by the power of his kisses, Lindsay twined her fingers in the dark hair at his nape as his hands came up to open the buttons of her dress. Whispering her assent against his lips, she slipped her hands to his shoulders and then to the front of his shirt. The buttons opened easily and the warmth of his skin beckoned her touch. She reveled in caressing the corded planes of his chest, in the low, deep groan of his appreciation as he drew his lips from hers.

  A protest melded into a gasp of wonder as his lips trailed down the column of her throat and into the hollow at the base. He lingered there, thrilling her senses, teasing the sensitive spot with slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue as his hand glided into the valley of her breasts. He kissed a trail downward as his fingers slipped beneath the lace of her corset and across her hardened nipple.