by Mia Caldwell
Ian took the plunge he’d been planning when he decided to come to Jada’s room in the first place. “Maybe we could discuss it more, later. Consider all the possibilities. Would you like to go on a picnic? It’s perfect weather today. I can ask Mrs. Best to make us up a basket. We could go to one of my favorite spots on the grounds, near the arched—”
“Yes,” she broke in, her enthusiasm charming Ian. “I’d love to go on a picnic with you.”
“Great. Shall I come for you at eleven?”
“Could we make it noon? Deb gave me a massage last night, and got me to agree to let her wax and mud pack me this morning. I don’t know how long it will take, but surely she’ll be done by noon.”
“Noon is fine. Enjoy yourself. Deb’s great at what she does.”
He turned to the door and heard Jada’s soft tread behind him. He had to get out of that room before he took her in his arms and pulled on that tempting tie around her waist.
She said goodbye to him at the door and closed it softly behind him. He stood in the hallway, rocking on the balls of his feet, extremely pleased with himself. He made a mental list of everything he needed to do to create the perfect picnic, and made note of a few other things to accomplish before calling for Jada.
His step was jaunty and he whistled a happy, tuneless ditty as he headed off on his tasks.
Chapter Five
JADA STROLLED DOWN THE STONE path, her hand on Ian’s sturdy forearm. Spring sunshine warmed her bare arms and the top of her head, the breeze carrying vernal-fresh scents of forest and lake.
She was glad to be there with Ian and was buoyed up with gratitude. She had a near-irresistible impulse to skip.
“It’s not far now,” Ian said. “This is one of my favorite spots on the property.”
“I can’t wait to see it.”
She sneaked a sideways glance at her handsome companion. He was just so ... so ... put together, but with an underlying ease. He didn’t have to work to look like he did. His appearance and demeanor were effortless, unaffected, as natural to him as breathing. Jada guessed it came from a life of affluence and professional success beyond most people’s wildest dreams.
His presence certainly lifted her spirits. Walking with him, his spell-binding confidence spilling onto her, added bounce to her step.
When Ian had called for her at her room, he had sucked in a deep breath as he looked her over from head to toe. For the first time in her life, Jada felt beautiful. Ian did that, giving her the nonsensical idea that she was prettier when in his company, funnier, smarter, more sophisticated.
Admittedly, her hairstyle and clothes added to that feeling. She should have worn shorts or pants, but she hadn’t been able to resist the sleeveless, breezy shirtdress in the palest of greens with intricate hand-embroidered accents and a line of several dozen tiny pearl buttons running down the front. Elly had chosen sandals for Jada with pearl details on the straps.
Deb, who was as wonderful with hair as she was with massages, had worked Jada’s hair into an exquisite bun with braids winding through and around it. A mother-of-pearl stickpin speared the bun at the base.
But for all of the gorgeous add-ons, it was the way Ian looked at her, the appreciation in his gaze, his desire, which made her heart skip a beat and made her think she might be beautiful after all.
She didn’t know how he managed these feats. Ian made everything better. He simply did.
They turned down a new path and Jada noticed Lydia Pepper standing ahead. She wondered what the head of estate security was doing in the forest.
Lydia nodded a greeting when Ian and Jada approached. Lydia was a tall, imposing, attractive woman, around Jada’s age. Jada couldn’t look at her and not think, “Now there’s someone who seriously has it together.” She presented a crisp, professional appearance in her dark blue uniform.
“The perimeter is secured, sir,” she said snappily to Ian. “All access points covered. Potential breaches identified and confirmed elsewhere.”
“Good, thank you,” Ian said. “I knew I could count on you.”
“Just doing my job, sir. I dare a single chipmunk to breach our line.”
Ian laughed. “Chipmunks aren’t the enemy, Lydia. Agatha Brimgore is another matter. You have my permission to use any means at your disposal to keep her out.”
Lydia nodded with the slightest of grins quirking up a corner of her full mouth. She stepped aside and beckoned them forward.
“What’s that about Agatha?” she asked Ian.
“I’ve got a security detail out here to make sure we’ve got privacy for our picnic. The last thing I want is Agatha or Sasha barging in,” he explained.
“So we’ll have privacy, except for the security people surrounding us.”
“It’s a wide perimeter. They won’t be near us.” He gave her a sly look. “We’re going to be all alone. Does that worry you?”
A tiny thrill shot up Jada’s back. “I don’t know. Should it?”
“That’s a coy answer.”
“That’s because I’m flirting.”
“I know.”
“Then quit pointing it out.”
“I’m flirting back at you,” Ian said.
“I guess I don’t mind it then.”
“The flirting or being alone with me?” he asked.
“Both.”
They shared a smile. Jada’s step became even perkier, and Ian walked taller than ever, swinging the massive picnic basket in a wide arc.
They soon arrived at their destination, the arched bridge. It was three or four times of the size of the small arched bridge back near the house, and spanned over a wide spot in a healthy creek which fed the lake downstream. The beauty of the bridge and surroundings made Jada feel like she’d stepped into a fantasy movie.
The wooden structure had elegant lines and an intricate pattern of multi-colored brown pebbles paving the walkway. The railing was burnished smooth, polished by the touches of thousands of hands. It was fairy-tale superb and she half expected a troll to pop out from under the arch and demand five gold coins if they wanted to cross.
“This is gorgeous,” she said, trailing fingertips over the patinated surface. “It seems ancient, yet your grandfather built it?”
“Not this piece. He found it in Japan and had it shipped here. It’s several hundred years old.”
“Gorgeous.”
Ian’s expression sharpened. “Indeed.”
She stood at the railing and took in the surrounding area. A canopy of trees stretched out over the creek, filtering sunlight through leafy branches, sparkles flashing on the surface of the meandering current.
Trailing tendrils of a weeping willow tree created a shadowy enclave on the grassy bank. Had she been a child, Jada would have been drawn to that tree, creating a pretend house under the tree’s leafy, rustling walls of greenery.
Cattails and reedy bushes lined most of the shoreline. Off to one side, she noted a clearing half-circled by towering trees at the forest edge. A large, colorful blanket was spread on the grass, with bright pillows sprinkled about. She noted two large silver buckets filled with ice and bottles.
She nodded in the clearing’s direction. “Our picnic spot?”
“Of course,” he said. “Do you approve?”
She considered a joking comeback, but opted instead for sincerity. Something about the place and the moment demanded it. “It’s absolutely perfect. Thank you.”
He was pleased, she could tell.
They headed to the picnic site, Ian helping her lower herself onto what must have been a cashmere blanket. She smoothed her dress, tucking it around her legs so she didn’t flash parts which would be unladylike to reveal—for now. She smiled to herself.
Ian settled near her, cross-legged with the basket in front of him. Dappled sunlight played over his dark hair. He looked relaxed in his lightweight trousers that rode low on his hips, and in his loose, open-throated, lawn shirt with sleeves rolled partway up his muscular forearms.
“Shall we see what Mrs. Best packed for us?” he asked.
“You mean you don’t know?”
“Nope, only the chicken. I requested that. You can’t have a picnic without cold fried chicken, and Mrs. Best’s is so good, it can bring tears to your eyes.”
He flipped open the lid of the basket. Beautiful china plates, white linen napkins, real silver dinnerware and delicate crystal glasses were stored on flaps. He set those aside and began pulling out container after container of food.
There were fresh vegetables with a heavenly-smelling artichoke dip, tangy pickled beets, a vinegary cucumber and onion dish, creamy campanelle pasta salad with cherry tomatoes and sweet corn, on and on it went, all the way down to the bottom of the basket with muffaletta sliders, iced strawberry tartlets, assorted cheese and fruit, a long loaf of crusty French bread and of course, crispy fried chicken.
“Um,” Jada said, “Mrs. Best was aware this picnic was for two people, right?”
“No worries. We’ll give the leftovers to Sasha.”
Ian poured Jada a glass of the fruity sangria that had been chilling in the silver buckets. It was delicious, and Jada savored each sip.
They chatted as they tasted the different dishes.
“What did you want to be when you grew up? When you were a kid, I mean,” Ian asked. “Did you always want to be an accountant?”
Jada smiled. “Yeah, I used to dream of squeaking out deductions under the glow of one of those lamps with a green shade. Actually, I went into accounting because it seemed like a secure career for the future. You can’t escape death and taxes, they say, and I’m not cut out to be a doctor or a mortician. Too squeamish. Did you always want to be a billionaire tycoon?”
It was his turn to smile. “No. But I knew I’d go into business like my grandfather. When I was really young, I wanted to invent a time machine so I could visit the dinosaurs.”
“I wanted to live under the sea and catch jellyfish with Spongebob and Patrick.”
Ian laughed. “Not me. I hated Squidward.”
“I was gonna kick him out and live in his house.”
“An excellent idea.”
As they chatted, Jada was surprised to discover that thanks to television and movies, pop culture in general, they shared more history than she would have guessed. Ian, raised with every luxury, a world traveler before he was a teenager, had watched the same TV shows and listened to much of the same music as Jada, a middle-class girl raised by parents who saved up all year for a few camping trips during their meager vacation time.
She learned Ian’s parents weren’t interested in business endeavors. His father was a well-known plastic surgeon who specialized in reconstructive surgery, the money he’d inherited from Ian’s grandfather allowing him to do charitable work for children from low-income families in America and abroad. For all his fine qualities, Jada understood him to be a driven, loner type, whose vision was focused more on the wider world than on the narrower, childhood needs of his only son.
Ian’s mother hadn’t spent much time with him either when he was young. She’d divorced his father before Ian turned five and used the settlement to travel to Europe where she chased after minor royalty and the fast-living social scene. While Ian’s father had never remarried, his mother was currently on her seventh husband.
Ian had been left with his grandfather, who hired staff to help care for the young boy. Ian was sent off to boarding school by the age of ten, and only saw family during school holidays and special occasions.
Ian told his story as if there was nothing to be sorry about having absent parents and a grandfather who could spare scant time for him. He never intimated that his childhood was lonely, or in any way damaged by adult family members who left most of his upbringing to paid staff and teachers.
Perhaps, Jada thought, that’s how it was for a certain class of people, for Ian’s class. As for Jada, hiring others to raise your children for you was an unthinkable concept.
She realized she’d have to rethink everything she thought she knew about this man, that there was a gulf between the two of them which ebbed and flowed, widening and narrowing as it passed through different aspects of their lives.
The more she got to know him, the more she wanted to know. Plus, it didn’t hurt that Ian was the finest looking man she’d ever seen, and he made her feel tingly without even touching her.
They ate their fill of Mrs. Best’s delicious food and still wound up packing away nearly as much as they’d unpacked. For dessert, Ian opened a small container of strawberries and with a flourish, pulled a bottle of icy cold champagne out of one of the silver buckets.
“I shouldn’t have any,” Jada said as Ian dropped a perfect strawberry into a champagne flute then filled the glass with bubbly. “You may not believe this, but I’ve drunk more in my short time here than I have in months and months.”
He handed her the glass and poured one of his own. “You’re not much of a party girl then.”
“What do you think?”
He took a sip of his drink, watching her lips as she tasted the champagne and ran the tip of her tongue over the glass brim to gather up an escaping drop of sparkling liquid.
“I think not,” he said. “I also think I’ve been so taken with you that I never asked if you have a boyfriend, or a lover. Do you have a lover, Jada?”
Something about the way he said “lover” set off tremors inside her. She swallowed hard. “No.”
His eyelids lowered. Bedroom eyes. There they were, bright blue and sexy as hell, focused entirely on her. What a rush.
“I can’t imagine you spend much time alone,” he said, “as beautiful as you are.”
Gulp. She kept it together. “I work a lot. Late. It’s hard to meet men when you’re too tired to go out.”
“Their loss is my gain then. At least, I hope it’s my gain.” He drained the last of his champagne, catching the strawberry between his perfect white teeth and biting it in half. He took the remaining half in his fingers and slowly leaned forward, moving in close to her.
He held out the strawberry. It nearly touched her lips. “Would you like a taste? They’re very sweet and juicy.”
Unthinking, she licked her lips. She couldn’t miss the way he watched her tongue. She opened her mouth and he held the strawberry as she bit it away from the stem. A tiny drop of juice spilled down her lower lip, and Ian scooped the droplet up on his fingertip.
She chewed the sweet fruit slowly as Ian offered his finger to her. Did she dare? Her insides had gone haywire, nerve endings misfiring, pinging around her body, her brain gone foggy as she found herself caught in Ian’s gaze.
Heaven help her, she was going to dare.
Chapter Six
JADA WRAPPED HER SMALL HAND around Ian’s, achingly aware of how large his hand was compared to hers. With a seductiveness she didn’t know she possessed, she drew his hand forward and licked the droplet off, then gently sucked the tip of his finger into her mouth. Mmm. He hadn’t lied when he said it was sweet.
Ian watched her lips purse around his finger. He made a noise, a slight one that was barely audible, a deep bass rumble edged with the understanding of shared desire. He pulled his finger out of her mouth and traced the edge of her trembling lips.
He wanted her. She wanted him. And it seemed like this had been coming for hours and hours. Ready ... set ... go.
He set their glasses aside and pulled her into his arms. Then he kissed her and she wrapped her own arms around his wide shoulders and gave herself up to his demands.
And they were demands. His kiss was intense, all-consuming, leaving no doubt he’d take what he wanted. His passion pushed Jada’s own desires to new levels. He held her tightly, her chest crushed against his, and while one of his hands controlled her behind her neck, his other squeezed her around the waist.
It was like being whirled up in an unstoppable force, and it should have frightened her, his strength, his implacable will, demanding her sur
render. But whatever fright Jada felt was from her own need soaring to unprecedented levels within seconds of Ian’s lips claiming hers.
He kissed her until she was breathless, then he blazed a path of kisses over her jaw and down her sensitive neck. His warm breath raised goosebumps on her arms and she ran her fingers through his silky hair, tangling and tugging where it was longest.
She flung her head back and gave herself over to his kisses, to the tickling flicks of his tongue on her earlobe that made her sigh and moan. Then he raised up, released his hold on her and, gently holding her face in both of his big hands, he looked into her eyes.
“Look at me,” he commanded, and she couldn’t have ignored him even if she’d wanted.
She locked her gaze onto his. Jada didn’t think, or move, or wonder what it meant. She simply felt the moment, felt his alpha heat, the potency of his hunger, of her own, and she understood on a soul-deep level that whatever they did, it would be together, whatever he wanted, she would also want, whatever he took, she would freely give.
His tongue flicked out and he licked quickly over the line of her lips. He released her face and leaned back.
His speech came deep and gravelly, his blue eyes flashing and fierce. “I want to watch you unbutton every single one of those little buttons on your dress. Do it now.”
Her palms went instantly damp and something twisted down low in her belly. She reached for the top button. It was tiny and slick in her fingers, causing her to struggle to push the pearl through the fabric loop.
Then it popped free, and Ian watched with a predator’s gleam in his eye as one by one, she worked her way down the front of her dress.
She never looked away from Ian, and sometimes he spared a moment from watching her hands and met her eyes, always at the right moment, just when Jada’s courage began to falter, when self-consciousness nipped at her certainty. His gaze renewed her confidence.
The sides of Jada’s dress pulled apart the lower she went, revealing the transparent white lace of her delicate bra. The dress spread wider as she moved over her stomach. When she hit the stretchy lace that lined the top of her panties, Ian reached out and covered her hand with his.