A Touch of Confidence

by Jess Dee

  Maybe, just maybe, it was time to leave teaching. Time to get into a profession that would at least allow him to earn enough to buy his own home. A home he could raise a family in if he ever settled down. He could join his pop at Wilson Property Management and slowly learn the business until he was confident enough to take over the reins when Big Jack retired.

  It was an idea he hated all the way through to his bones. The thought of leaving teaching, leaving his students, made his stomach twist.

  “I can’t pretend to remember every property on our books, Miss Jones. There are just too many of them. As I said, I would be more than happy to check our files—”

  “Don’t patronize me. I don’t want another property. I want this lease signed so I can open my new store, right here.”

  “I’m trying to find a way to get you a new store.”

  “By urging me to take another shop? I don’t think so. Why not start by getting your grandfather on the phone and sorting out this mess with him? Perhaps your other tenant would be happy to settle on another property. This one is already spoken for.”

  Jack shook his head. “Much as I’d like to get my grandfather involved in this, I cannot contact him now.”

  She arched a brow. “Oh? And why is that?” She gave him a scathing look.

  “Because my grandfather had a heart attack yesterday. No matter how pressing your need to rent the shop may be, I assume you’ll allow him the time to recover before dropping this bomb on him?”

  Chapter Two

  Claire stepped back with a gasp. “Oh, my God.” Her shoulders drooped and her hand covered her mouth. “Is he okay?”

  “No, Miss Jones.” For some reason, Jack couldn’t contain his sarcasm. “He had a heart attack. Of course he’s not okay.”

  “I-I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” The look in her eyes changed from furious to distressed, and it was that distress that ripped through Jack.

  He’d been running on autopilot since his father had phoned him yesterday.

  Big Jack had suffered chest pain and gone to the hospital—on his father’s insistence. The old man had tried to argue that a little chest pain wasn’t going to kill him, but his father had refused to listen. Thank God, because the tightness in his chest had in fact been a full-on myocardial infarction, and had his pop not been seen in emergency, it might have killed him.

  As it was, his grandfather had been scheduled for a triple bypass in eight weeks’ time.

  Jack’s own heart stuttered then. He hadn’t reacted last night. Hadn’t had the time. He’d been too busy sorting through folders and files at the office, trying to work out what the hell needed to be done.

  If he’d had the choice, he’d have spent the night at his pop’s bedside. But Big Jack’s distress doubled when he thought about his business. So out of fear that the man might suffer another heart attack, Jack soothed him in the best possible way. He’d taken the reins and hadn’t had a minute to think since.

  But now he did. Suddenly he couldn’t not think about what had happened to Big Jack. Couldn’t think about anything else.

  Christ. He’d nearly lost his pop.

  Nearly lost the man he’d looked up to his whole life. The same man who’d taught him to play rugby when his father had been too busy. The man who’d encouraged him to follow his heart and become a teacher when his parents had urged him to study law or accounting or business management.

  His grandfather. The man he’d spent weekends with when he was young, fishing and hiking. Learning a respect for the great outdoors his parents would never have instilled in him. A man he loved more than he did his own parents, a man who’d been more nurturing to him and his brother, Anthony, than their parents ever had.

  Shit. Pop had almost died.

  Someone called his name. He heard it, but his mind was focused totally and utterly on his grandfather, who’d lain in that massive hospital bed, his usually ruddy cheeks and sharp eyes pale and dull against the stark white sheets.

  His stomach lurched. His grandfather wasn’t just sick. He was critically ill. If he didn’t have the bypass surgery, his heart could give in at any time, could surrender permanently to a blocked artery.

  Hands touched his arm, shook his shoulder, but still he didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

  A scene played in his head like a movie. He and his pop on his grandfather’s fishing boat, rods in hand and something mighty tugging at the end of his line. Big Jack had helped him reel in the massive snapper. Far too big for a nine-year-old to conquer alone, Pop had aided him every step of the way without ever taking away his glory. And when the fish had been snared and the boat returned to the dock, Big Jack had shown him how to gut it, and together they’d barbequed the massive fish for the whole family.

  Jack’s gut clenched. Would he and his pop have another chance to fish? Would they go out on his boat again? Lately Jack had been the one helping Pop reel in the fish, but neither of them had complained. It wasn’t about the fishing. It was about spending time together. It always had been.

  “Mr. Wilson?” The hand was on his arm again. A sturdy touch. Gentle but firm. “Jack?”

  He blinked and found himself face to face with Claire Jones. Her hazel eyes were filled with concern, her gaze searching his.

  “Are you okay?”

  He didn’t answer, just stared into her beautiful eyes and wondered what he’d do if he lost his grandfather.

  “I think you’re in shock.” Her hand slid over his face, soft, warm and comforting. “You’re cold as ice.”

  He almost laughed at her. Puh-lease. Grown men didn’t go into shock. They took life’s little blows with straight shoulders and a proud stance.

  But then losing his grandfather wouldn’t just be a little blow.

  “You need to warm up somehow.” Her hand disappeared, leaving Jack oddly bereft by its absence. Then his shoulders were cloaked with a light weight and her exquisite fragrance surrounded him, intoxicating him.

  He stared at her, noticed her bare neck for the first time, and wondered how she’d respond if he pressed the smallest of kisses to the exposed flesh.

  Then he wondered how he could think about kissing her at a time like this.

  He blinked. Minutes ago she’d worn a scarf. A long one that she’d wrapped around that neck and let the ends hang down over her breasts. Now it was gone. Which explained the feather-light wrap on his shoulders.

  “It’s not helping.” She sounded worried. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  And then the statuesque Miss Jones was gone, leaving Jack alone with his thoughts and his fears.

  He lowered himself to the floor and scrubbed an exhausted hand over his face.

  Damn it. He didn’t want to be alone. Didn’t want to face what he’d so stoically avoided since his phone had rung. It would be so much easier to forget real life. To deny his grandfather had a problem. Perhaps if he lost himself to the subtle scent of roses and the not-so-subtle rise of full breasts and creamy white skin, he could forget the trauma of the night before.

  Long moments passed and there was Claire again, crouching in front of him, pressing a paper cup into his hand. He took it, and almost smiled at her attempts to look after him when she held her hand around the cup too, looping her fingers over his, making sure he didn’t drop it. Then she guided their hands towards his mouth, as if he were incapable.

  “Drink,” she insisted. “It’s tea, with lots of sugar. It’ll get you warm and help with the shock.”

  He frowned in disdain. “I’m not in shock. Men don’t go into shock.”

  Her replying nod showed exactly how much she believed him. “Yeah, okay. Drink the tea anyway.” She tilted her hand.

  Hot, milky liquid spilled into his mouth. Hot and very sweet. For someone who took his drinks without sugar, the taste almost made him retch. But to give the woman credit, the tea slid down his throat and landed in a warm puddle in his belly, and when Claire tilted the cup for a second time, he took another sip, and then a third w
ithout arguing.

  Three swallows were as much as he could handle. The next time she attempted to feed him, he shook his head and lowered both the cup and her hand. “Thank you. That’s enough.”

  She looked at him in disbelief.

  “Honestly, I don’t need more. I’m fine.” Again he became aware of the scarf around his shoulders filling his head with her beguiling scent.

  He set the cup on the floor, removing her fingers from it so it could balance.

  Claire shook her head. “You’re white as a sheet and icy cold. You did not respond once when I called your name and barely even noticed when I shook you.”

  “Delayed reaction is all,” he assured. “I’m fine.” And he felt it. Felt…calm again. Maybe the tea had helped. Although he suspected it was Miss Jones who had soothed his worries, not the hot drink.

  “You, my friend, are not fine. You’re in shock.” She shot him a look that dared him to disagree, and the patience and kindness in her eyes took his breath.

  He had a sudden, desperate urge to kiss her.

  He almost snorted aloud. Yeah, right. This was no time for a kiss. His grandfather was in hospital, he’d just fucked up a lease agreement, and she was madder than hell and threatening legal action.

  His thoughts sobered him. Maybe the woman was right. Maybe he had just experienced a delayed shock reaction.

  “Would you like to talk about it?” Her voice was gentle, nothing like the irate firecracker who’d stood before him threatening to contact her lawyer.

  He shrugged, pulling himself together. Yes, his grandfather was unwell. But he could cope with it. He didn’t have a choice. “There’s nothing to talk about. He had a heart attack. He’s in the hospital. They’re looking after him. End of story.” It wouldn’t do him any good to get caught up in the severity of the situation again. No way could he think clearly if he focused on the trauma.

  “That’s a short story. Especially for a man being hospitalized with a heart attack. I’d expected something…a little longer. A little more serious.”

  “I’m not sure my grandfather would appreciate my talking about him to you.”

  She pulled back and held up her hands, palms facing him. “You’re right. It’s none of my business.”

  He mentally slapped himself, feeling like a jerk for cutting her off when she’d done nothing but try to help.

  Claire stood, straightening from her knees to her full, impressive height. “I suspect you need some time out, so I’ll leave you alone. The tea’s beside you if you change your mind about wanting more, which I hope you do.”

  Jack searched for something to say and came up with nothing.

  She reached into her handbag and pulled out a business card, handing it to him. “I’ll come past your offices tomorrow morning. Eleven okay? We can continue our discussion then.” She hesitated, probably giving him a chance to nix the meeting or maybe reschedule.

  He didn’t—because he had no idea what was scheduled for tomorrow. Hard as he’d searched, he had yet to find Big Jack’s diary. Perhaps if he’d found it last night he’d have known about the appointment with Miss Jones.

  “My number’s on the card if you need to get hold of me before then. But that should give you some recovery time—and some damage-control time.” She nodded at the floor. “Drink your tea. Whether you want it or not, it’ll make you feel better.”

  “Wait!” It wasn’t shock that had him calling out. His mind had cleared. He was focused now.

  Claire turned to look at him.

  He just didn’t want her to walk away from him. Not without thanking her for her kindness. Or apologizing again for fucking up the lease agreement. He extended his arm to her. “Can you give me a hand up?”

  Confusion fluttered through her eyes, but she blinked and it was gone. “Of course.” She reached over and grabbed his hand with hers.

  The second their hands touched, a shock of energy smacked him in the stomach, and Jack knew his every good intention was about to go to hell. He knew he should use his common sense, knew he needed to keep things professional. But damn it, her touch burned a hole through his skin, her perfume played havoc with his balls, and she stared at their hands with huge eyes, as though she’d also experienced the electric charge.

  Using his weight and position as leverage, he tugged hard on her arm, and instead of pulling himself up, he yanked her down.

  She toppled with a startled cry.

  He caught her, breaking her fall with his body. He should have taken her size into account before acting so impulsively. But he hadn’t, and her weight knocked him over.

  Jack landed on his back, clasping her in his arms, ensuring she came to no harm.

  He hadn’t meant to land like this—so close. He’d only hoped to…what? Fill his arms with Miss Jones like he’d felt compelled to do since she’d walked into the shop?

  But now that she lay above him, her curves pressing against his body, common sense eluded him. Logic left the shop.

  Her face turned crimson and an expression of horror—or maybe embarrassment—creased her features. Before she had a minute to catch her breath, he pressed his hand to the back of her neck, pushed her head down and kissed her.

  Shock rendered Claire immobile. She’d fallen on Jack Wilson, had the breath knocked out of her, humiliated herself so badly her cheeks burned like the devil, and now the very man she’d almost crippled with her considerable weight was kissing her.

  Molding his lips to hers, plunging his moist tongue into her mouth, tasting her, feasting on her.

  Dear God, he wasn’t just kissing her, he was making love to her mouth. Seducing her with his expertise, ravaging her lips and wreaking havoc on her senses.

  He surrounded her. With his arms wrapped around her back, his lips pressed to her mouth and his massive, solid body cushioning hers, she was eclipsed by him. Never before had a man made her feel…small. Or fragile. But in his embrace she felt petite. And feminine. And clumsy as all hell.

  Oh, God, instead of pulling him up and giving him a supportive hand, she’d fallen on him. Instead of offering him comfort about his grandfather, she’d almost knocked him unconscious.

  She attempted to hold on to that mortification, reminded herself that the man was in shock, but it proved impossible. How could she focus on the negative when his very taste overwhelmed her and his scent did funny things to her belly?

  He smelled like a man should smell. Woodsy, like the great outdoors, but also… She inhaled, pulling in his aroma. Sexy. She couldn’t put into words what made her want to tear his shirt from his body and allow her hands to roam free over his huge chest, she just knew he smelled intoxicating.

  Although that inebriated sensation could be a result of his kiss. Of the way his mouth plundered hers, taking whatever he could and giving back a hundred-fold.

  There was nothing calm or gentle about the kiss. He sought to pillage, own and devour. She could do nothing but allow him free access. And maybe kiss him back. Just a little.

  Okay, a lot. Maybe she kissed him back as ravenously as he kissed her.

  Damn it. She kissed the man who’d leased her shop to someone else. The very man she should be mad as hell with. Where were her priorities? She needed to get up and walk away. At least until Jack had time to come to terms with his grandfather’s illness and work out a solution to the lease issue.

  But she couldn’t motivate her body to leave. Couldn’t force herself up and off him. Couldn’t even stop her hands as they crept up his sides, molding to the shape of his muscles, imbibing his warmth.

  Had she thought him cold just a few short minutes ago? Now he burned beneath her hands. Heat radiated from his body, singeing her palms. That was a good thing, right? It must mean he was getting over his shock.

  Claire yanked at his shirt, pulling the tails from his pants, letting her hands creep beneath the cotton.

  Holy shit. Hot male flesh pulled taut over rippling muscle.

  He felt so damn good, a moan of appr
eciation escaped her throat. Jack kissed her harder, more thoroughly, and Claire couldn’t get enough of the wet heat of his mouth.

  The arm around her back tightened, pulling her closer. He shifted, straightening out his legs so Claire lay on top of him. Her hips pressed to his, her breasts squashed against that substantial chest.

  A low groan of appreciation vibrated through his lips as he ground against her, revealing an impressive erection.

  Claire’s head spun.

  The man was hard. Aroused.

  Wow.

  No man had ever acted with such erotic abandon around her. No man had ever kissed her as though his very life depended on it. As though the taste of her lips was enough to send his temperature soaring, or the feel of her body against his made him groan in ecstatic agony.

  Claire was under no false illusion. She would never be one of those gorgeous, model-type women who had men falling at her feet. She was the big, clumsy, overweight girl next door who…well, who fell at men’s feet apparently. While trying to help them up.

  Perhaps the shock had muddled his brain? Perhaps his grief had left him shaken and vulnerable, and his instinct was to reach out to whomever was close at the time?

  Her.

  That would explain the way he held her so tight, the way his mouth seemed reluctant to release hers. It would also explain the feverish groan that rumbled through his chest, vibrating against her breasts and making her pussy clench with excitement.

  It didn’t explain the erection. Didn’t explain why he rocked his hips, rubbing his cock over a spot so sweet that had Claire not been wearing pants, she’d have been thrown into a spiraling orgasm.

  Oh, God.

  It didn’t seem to matter whether or not she was dressed. Didn’t matter that she and he were fully clothed. The pressure against her clit, so unexpected, so intense, was enough to build sensation that could send her over the edge in no time.

  Her wild rocking in return helped matters not at all. Without being conscious of her body’s actions, she found herself grinding down on his erection, her knees on either side of his legs, meeting every seductive thrust of his hips with a twist of her own.