by Janzen, Tara
“I feel fine now, Dr. Singer, really. It’s just a scrape.”
“I don’t think we should take a chance,” Lila insisted. “Especially with me being the liable party.”
“Oh, you don’t have to be the liable party,” Trey said, and gestured at Jack. “I’ll sue him.”
That did it.
Jack pushed away from the counter and picked the kid’s coat up off a chair. “I’ll help you out to your car.”
“But I’m not—”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Hudson,” Lila interrupted. “I don’t think he should try those steps on his own again, not without a handrail.”
Jack nodded and hustled Trey out of his chair and into his coat. What resistance he felt in the bony little body, he overcame with a bit of subtle strong-arming.
“But, Dr. Sing—”
Jack quickly nudged the back of Trey’s knee with his own knee, effectively disabling Trey for a couple of seconds so he could snag the kid’s arms in the sleeves of his big coat.
“Goodness!” Lila lunged for Trey and caught him at the same time that Jack pulled his coat over his shoulders. “Why, you can barely stand up. Are you sure you can drive?”
“I’m fine, I swear,” Trey gritted through his teeth, giving Jack a black look and shaking the bigger man’s hands off with a quick jerk of his shoulders. Then he reconsidered his statement. “Well, maybe I am a little wooz—”
“You’re fine,” Jack interrupted, giving him a good clap on the back. “I can tell. You young kids are made of stern stuff. A couple of aspirin and you’ll be great. Come on. I’ll get you across the porch without breaking any bones.”
“I bet,” Trey muttered.
“Thank you, Jack.”
Jack. Finally, he thought, Jack. Her use of his first name put a measure of determination in his step, and he had Trey out the door, down the stairs, across the backyard, and into his car before the kid had a chance to regroup.
“Nice meeting you, Trey,” he said. “Don’t forget to take those aspirin.”
“Wait a minute, buddy.” The kid speedily rolled down his window and grabbed Jack by the sleeve. “That was a twelve-dollar bottle of wine.”
Laughter checked Jack’s anger in an instant. He shoved a hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out a ten and a five, chuckling under his breath. “You’ve got good taste, kid. Keep the tip.” He loved being generous in victory. It was a hell of a lot better than being generous in defeat.
Trey took the money and shoved it into his coat pocket. “Yeah, well, just remember what I said, man. You’re no Danny Singer .”
It was a cheap shot, the cheapest; a low blow, the lowest; and it hit home with unerring accuracy. Jack didn’t care much for the kid’s presumptuous, intellectual categorizing, and he didn’t know anything about dealing with widows. But he did know he’d never come close to what he’d seen in the magical photograph of Lila Singer dressed in ethereal gauze in the moonlight.
“Right, kid,” he said, leaning over the open window. “Now, why don’t you give this thing a little gas, and let’s see if we can get you out of here before I change my mind about keeping you in one piece.”
* * *
Lila stood on tiptoe at the kitchen counter, peeking out the window over the sink, not certain if she’d won or lost. Getting rid of Trey was a definite plus, but Jack Hudson was a definite unknown.
She took another sip of wine and tried to think of a polite way to thank him and kick him out at the same time. The man unnerved her in some very private places, places she’d forgotten about, and she didn’t have a clue as to why. Sure, he was good-looking in an all-American way: broad and rugged in the shoulders, independent behind the eyes, and plain cute everywhere else. But that was no reason for her pulse to skip, or her breathing to quicken whenever she was around him. No reason at all.
She stretched higher on her tiptoes, craning her neck to one side to watch Jack give Trey’s car an extra push out of the driveway. Her problem was she’d become too used to her students, graduate or otherwise. With them there was always an unspoken barrier, an undeniable difference in experience and authority. Jack Hudson didn’t seem to recognize those things, even though she was the boss.
Or was she?
“Damn,” she whispered. He was coming back into the house. She quickly swallowed the rest of her wine and set the glass aside. She’d thank him, that’s what she’d do. There was absolutely no reason for him to hang around any longer. She’d just thank him and, of course, he’d take the hint and leave.
Of course he would, she assured herself, pausing to straighten the bottom of her sweater and smooth her skirt. As a matter of fact, he was probably coming in only to get his coat and his lunchbox.
The French doors opened with a squeak of newness. Drawing in a fortifying breath, Lila marched toward the office to thank him for all his trouble and his help. She got no farther than the connecting doorway, for there he was, standing next to a stack of lumber, picking up his lunchbox and putting on his battered black ski jacket. She didn’t believe it. Neither did she believe the ache of disappointment she felt tightening her chest.
Jack heard a soft sound of dismay and looked up. Lila stood in the doorway, backlit by the glow from the kitchen, with the light tangled through her hair like a net of silver. In that instant she conjured up a thousand new feelings in his heart and body.
Hell, he thought. It’s New Year’s Eve.
He set his lunchbox back on the boards and walked over to her.
“I think the kid will be okay,” he said.
“Me too,” Lila whispered, though she hadn’t meant to use such an intimate tone of voice. Whispering had a way of drawing another person near.
Jack obliged, ever so slightly. “Tomorrow is the last day I can work full-time over here,” he said, resting his hand high on the doorjamb.
“Oh.”
“I’ve got some other jobs I need to get back to.”
“I have some other jobs.” she softly corrected him.
He quirked one eyebrow in question. “At the university?”
“What?”
He grinned, slow and easy, and she felt a wave of heat spread across her face and chest. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter. I’ll be over in the evenings to finish up.”
“Okay.” She’d lost the thread of the conversation somewhere, but it really didn’t matter, not when he was standing so close in the half-dark room.
“I’ll work on the handrail tomorrow.”
He shifted his weight subtly, moving a couple of inches closer to her. She watched the smile fade from his face, and wondered if she could possibly be wanting what she thought she was wanting.
“If it’s okay with you,” he continued, “I’ll keep my key to the French doors until the whole job is finished.”
“That’ll be fine.” Her voice grew softer, her eyes wider, and Jack found himself edging even closer, wishing he had a reason to touch her.
“I’ve been thinking of building in some bookcases,” he murmured, absently lifting a hand to brush the wild curls back from her cheek. He needed no more reason than desire to touch her, he realized.
“Nice . . .” was all Lila managed to breathe out. His caress mesmerized her, like a magic spell.
He leaned down and brushed his mouth across her cheek. His hand tilted her chin up until their lips barely met. “You’re too beautiful not to be kissed,” he whispered, his voice husky with the same tension Lila felt with every breath. “Especially on New Year’s Eve.”
His hand slid to the nape of her neck as his mouth claimed hers in a series of teasing explorations. Lila found her reasoning powers melting with every light kiss he feathered across her lips. Each brief touch fanned a flame deep inside her, evoking once more the memories of a long-ago moonlit night when a stranger had kissed her and seemed not to be a stranger at all. His mouth rubbed against hers, warm and breathy, gentle and demanding. His tongue tasted her lips, and she sighed, granting him what he asked for
.
In the way dusk slips into darkness, gentleness turned into passion and memories into a startling present. Lila felt the muscles in his arms flex as he gathered her closer. She felt her own heart beating a new rhythm, and she heard his breath grow ragged and heavy as he kissed her deeper, longer, slower. She reached for him to steady her world, but found the hardness of his body even further disorienting. It had been too long, and he felt too good. The size and strength of him was overpowering and protective at the same time. The circle of his arms was a homecoming, a haven to which she’d returned.
What was left of her rational mind insisted that this man was still a stranger, but coursing through the lost recesses of her soul was a remembrance of his slightest touch, of the way his mouth moved, the scent of him . . . Or was it an expectation, an instinctive knowledge of what was to come and the satisfaction of his fulfillment?
She didn’t know, and truth be told, as he kept on kissing her, she didn’t care.
Jack cared. He cared about her hair sliding through his fingers. He cared about her sweet curves pressed against him and driving him crazy. He cared about the wild abandon of her kiss and the way he was starting to lose control.
One more minute, he told himself, just one more minute of tasting her, of feeling the excitement she generated like heat under a summer sun. He slanted his mouth across hers in the opposite direction, and she followed him down the new path, molding her body to his in that one extra degree he couldn’t handle. He’d never known a kiss to get out of hand so fast. He’d never known himself to get out of hand so fast.
“Lila . . .” He couldn’t tear himself away.
“Jack?” she murmured, her mouth still touching his, and he knew she’d never forget his name again.
“Do you think—” He stopped, unsure of the right words, and kissed her again. When they came up for air, he knew he had to ask. “Lila, how do you feel about making love . . . with me, tonight? I mean . . .” Hell, he didn’t know what he meant, so he kissed her again, and again, all the while trying to get it straight in his head about where his mind and his body were conflicting. Three more seconds of holding her in his arms proved his body thought his mind was nuts. His body had no doubts about wanting her, about how and where to touch her for the maximum effect, for a response guaranteed to leave tracks of fire across his senses. His body said, “Lift her skirt, Jack. Run your hand up her thigh and show her how good love can be with you.”
His mind insisted on being a gentleman, of reminding him she was a widow and that she barely knew him, on giving her time, on promising the end would be worth the wait. Yet even as his mind took its noble stand, his hand slid down the side of her skirt.
Three
Lila gasped, not knowing if it was in shock or pleasure. His fingers grazed the curve of her hip, his palm rubbed slow, sensuous circles on the fabric of her skirt. Her body picked up the rhythm as he drew her deeper under the spell of his touch and his kiss.
Then, as if a transmission had finally made its delayed connection, his words penetrated the cloud of passion fogging her brain. She stiffened in his arms, though her mouth remained on his.
Jack felt the stilling of her lips and knew exactly what had happened. He opened his eyes the barest degree. Chocolate-brown eyes gazed back at him, wide with an emotion he couldn’t name, until he noted the flush of embarrassment coursing across the delicate pale skin of her face. He closed his eyes and kissed her again, softly, telling her silently that he wanted her but was willing to let her go.
His insides remained on overdrive, and it took him a moment longer to finally break contact. When he did he knew he had to do something besides stand and stare at her like a man who’d just seen water after twenty years in the desert. He’d probably frightened her, coming on like a randy teenager.
He had frightened her, but Lila knew it was a poor second to how badly she had scared herself by reacting to him as she had. Her breath was coming short and shallow, a dead giveaway to his effect on her. Yet even with the hot flush of humiliation staining her cheeks, she couldn’t step away.
She looked up at him, watching him watch her, feeling like two people. One of those people had seldom gazed into his hazel eyes, barely knew his face, the straight nose, the gentle grin playing about a mouth that looked thoroughly kissed. Her blush heightened, but she didn’t look away, for the other person knew him like the earth knows rain. It was that knowledge that frightened her. A sensual being inside her knew the pleasure of his thigh against hers, the light touch of his tongue on her lips, the heavier, drugging passion when his tongue invaded her mouth with primitive, consuming thrusts; a sensual being who had reacted instinctively to his every touch. And her instincts were the last thing Lila trusted. They’d been scorched and manhandled by grief. They’d led her into shame and degradation, and she planned on never taking the trip again.
Jack sensed her embarrassment turning to confusion and then pain, and he knew he needed to do something, and quickly. So he spoke in an attempt to give his mouth an alternative to touching hers again in a comforting caress. He spoke before he became completely lost in the soul-deep darkness of her eyes, before he’d actually given sufficient thought to his words.
“I could kiss you all night long.”
His voice was husky and sincere enough to singe Lila’s sensibilities with another wave of heat.
“It’s . . . it’s just a physical thing,” she stammered, trying and failing to discount the emotions swamping her.
“Very physical,” he agreed, his grin broadening.
“A purely chemical reaction,” she continued.
“No, I flunked chemistry. I think this is something else.”
“You flunked chemistry?”
“Among other things.”
“Oh.” Disappointment softened her voice, and Jack suddenly wished he’d done better in school, a thought that hadn’t crossed his mind in fifteen years. Maybe if he’d known he’d someday fall for a college professor, he’d have tried harder, even though at the time it had seemed as if he were trying his hardest and getting damn little to show for it.
“I do have my good points,” he said, only half teasing.
“I’m sure you do.” She glanced away, but he wasn’t ready to lose her for the night.
He brushed her cheek with his hand, urging her to meet his gaze. “I’ve been in business for ten years, and you’re the first disaster I’ve had. I’m beginning to think it’s the best thing to ever happen to me.”
Her blush deepened, and she looked away again.
“I coach Little League,” he added in a coaxing tone. “My mother loves me, and my ex-wife doesn’t hate me.” A true testimonial if he’d ever heard one, but its effect wasn’t what he’d bargained for either.
Her head came up sharply. “You’re divorced?”
Not the crime of the century in his book, but she made it sound like a federal offense. “Only once,” he teased, but he could tell by the look on her face that he’d dug himself into a hole. He wasn’t sure exactly why or how he’d gotten off on such a cockamamie subject with a woman he wanted to kiss again as soon as possible.
Lila shook her head. “I’d like you to leave.” It was a lie, she admitted, but only half of one. Part of her did want him to leave, desperately, while the other half of her wanted just as desperately for him to kiss her once more.
“And I’d like to take you out tomorrow night,” he said.
“I don’t date.” The statement sounded ridiculous now, even to her own ears, but she held by her credo.
“You don’t date,” he repeated after a long, tense pause, and she detected a note of anger in his voice. “But you’ll kiss to the point of spontaneous combustion. I’m not complaining, mind you, but you might be safer dating, Dr. Singer.”
Unwittingly, on a surge of adrenaline, she lifted her hand to slap him. Just as quickly, though, she curled her fingers and dropped her hand, abashed and confused.
“Okay,” Jack said calmly,
angry at himself for saying such a stupid thing.
“You don’t understand.” Her face was white, and she’d clenched her hands together so tightly, each knuckle stood out in stark relief.
“I’d like to understand.” He reached for her, but she backed away.
“I’m sorry, really. I’d like you to leave.”
“If you want to talk, I’m a good listener.”
“No, thank you.” She took another step backward, and Jack conceded defeat.
He turned and walked over to the stack of lumber where he’d left his lunchbox. Before he let himself out the French doors, though, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “You know, Lila,” he said, a slight smile curving a corner of his mouth, “not even my mother got that upset about my flunking chemistry.”
It was a second-rate attempt at humor, but Lila grabbed for it, partly out of appreciation for the attempt, partly out of contrition for the dreadful act of almost slapping him. He hadn’t deserved to take the brunt of her anger, especially since it had been directed at herself more than at him.
“I’ll get over it,” she said with a weak smile of her own.
It was more than Jack had expected, but then, she was turning out to be more than he’d expected. Back in September he’d thought her all sweetness and serenity. Tonight she’d shown her fire, and he found himself drawn to the heat of her flames with an even greater force than he’d been drawn to the light of her sweetness.
* * *
Lila knew she had to forgive herself, but she wasn’t sure how or where to begin. Time helped, and Jack gave her a week of it. Twice he left messages on her answering machine to explain his absence and to confirm his return on Friday.
Twice she listened to his rich, deep voice, the western drawl slow and easy, the timbre soothing like a river of honey. Twice she listened to him call her Lila, not Dr. Singer. She tried not to think about it. They obviously had nothing in common, which was her preferred standing for their relationship.
Nothing in common except those kisses.
The wayward thought intruded Friday evening as she stared out the sitting room window at the midnight-blue winter evening, her fingers tight around a heavy white envelope.