A Kiss to Dream On

by Neesa Hart

  With a muttered oath, he lifted his head. Cammy stifled a groan when she saw the child watching them with avid interest. Jackson, apparently, had no such qualms. “Andy, what are you doing?”

  The genuine affection in his voice and the smile he gave the girl eased some of Cammy’s discomfort. Andy beamed at him. “You’re kissing.” Her tone left no question that she found that truth absolutely hysterical.

  “Uh-huh.” He ran a hand down Cammy’s back. “Why are you watching?”

  She shrugged. “’Cause.”

  “It’s not polite.”

  “The door wasn’t shut,” she argued. “If I wasn’t s’posed to look, how come you didn’t shut the door?”

  He laughed. “Do you still want to be a reporter when you grow up?”

  “Just like you.”

  “You’re going to be great at it. I can tell.”

  Andy looked at him in puzzlement. “Why?”

  “I’m smart that way. You didn’t tell me why you came up here.”

  “Grammy said if you didn’t eat dinner, she has some ready.”

  He gave Cammy an apologetic look. “My mother believes that the answer to society’s ills is home-cooked food. We’ll probably both gain ten pounds before we leave.”

  She had eased away from him when he’d begun talking to his niece. She finished the task of hanging her clothes, then met his gaze. “I think the last time I ate a home-cooked meal that didn’t come in a microwaveable container was my senior year in high school.”

  “Brace yourself,” he warned. “My mother takes the biblical directive to eat of the fat of the land in dead earnest.”

  “I doubt my arteries are going to clog in one weekend.”

  “You ever tried buttermilk biscuits with sausage gravy?”

  “Are you kidding? My father was from Syracuse. Our idea of a gourmet breakfast was half a grapefruit and a bagel.”

  Jackson’s laugh eased what was left of her tension. He looked more relaxed, more content than she’d ever seen him. In that instant, she made a conscious decision to simply enjoy the warmth of his family and deliberately push from her mind the idea that this hazy utopia he’d shown her couldn’t possibly last. She simply refused to allow her misgivings to knock the shine from his eyes.

  “Uncle Jackson.” Andy was pulling on his blue jean pocket. Belatedly, Cammy realized that Jackson had been holding her gaze, while she had been holding her breath.

  He glanced at Andy. “What, baby doll?”

  “Can I ask her about the box now?” Andy pressed.

  He squatted down so his face was eye level with hers. Gently, he smoothed a reddish curl off the girl’s forehead. “Maybe she’d like to eat first.”

  Andy looked crestfallen. “But you said—”

  Jackson pressed a finger to her lips. “Be polite, and I’ll tell you an extra bedtime story tonight.”

  “The scary kind?”

  “If you want.”

  The child seemed to think it over. She glanced at Cammy’s transmitter, visibly weighing the temptation. Cammy was about to tell Jackson she didn’t mind when Andy placed her small hands on either side of his face and said, “Uncle Jackson?”

  “What?”

  “Is she your girlfriend?”

  A cough squeezed from Cammy’s chest. Jackson gave her an amused look. “I’m working on it,” he told Andy.

  “But she’s not?”

  “Not yet.”

  Andy looked at Cammy. “Why not?” The earnest question told her that Andy knew any woman would be lucky to snag a man like her uncle.

  Jackson looked like he wanted to laugh. Cammy thought about kicking him in the shin. Instead, she offered the child a smile. “He’s not always easy to get along with.”

  “Uncle Jackson,” Andy looked at him solemnly, “you have to be nice if you want her to like you.”

  His eyes were shining with mirth. “You think so?”

  Andy nodded. “It’s a rule. Like sharing. And flushing.”

  He couldn’t seem to contain himself any longer. He laughed, a genuine, throaty laugh, as he swept Andy into his arms. Standing, he swung her around twice before he hugged her to his chest. “I love you.”

  She giggled. “I love you, too.”

  “Thanks for the advice.”

  She leaned back so she could press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Is it okay if I ask her now?”

  Jackson looked at Cammy. His shoulders were shaking. “At what age do they start teaching girls to manipulate men with open displays of affection?”

  “Preschool, I think. Around the time they hand out the rules about sharing and flushing. They take us aside and fill us in on the effective use of feminine wiles.”

  “Just for the record,” he said, “it’s going to work on me just about every time.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  “Uncle Jackson—” Andy’s voice had grown impatient.

  “Okay, okay.” He stood her on a chair so she could face Cammy. “I’ll test the waters for you.” He looked at Cammy. “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  He chucked Andy under the chin. “I’ll go see what Grammy has for dinner while you talk to Cammy. Be polite.”

  “I will.”

  “Don’t ask too many questions.”

  “I won’t.”

  To Cammy, he said, “Don’t let her railroad you.”

  “I’m an expert at this type of thing.”

  “If you’re not downstairs in ten minutes, I’ll come rescue you.”

  He walked from the room with long, graceful strides. Cammy allowed her gaze to rest on the breadth of his shoulders where they rolled beneath the soft chambray of his shirt. Being rescued by Jackson Puller, she mused, could become an extremely dangerous temptation.

  Jackson found his mother in the kitchen, standing at the sink peeling apples. Casey, the golden retriever he’d known since adolescence, thumped a tail on her braided rug at Jackson’s entrance. He stopped to rub the dog’s silky head, then walked up behind his mother to wrap his arms around her ample girth. “Hi, Mama.” He dropped a kiss on her cheek.

  She jabbed his ribs with her elbow when he reached for an apple wedge. “Ah. They’re for the pie.”

  He snatched the wedge anyway. “And you have too many apples. You always do.” He chewed the tart fruit. “Where’s everyone?”

  “On the porch. It’s a nice night. We thought we’d sit outside and enjoy it.”

  “And they left you here alone in the kitchen,” he teased. He knew from experience that his mother had finally had all the activity she could stand and sent a silent command to her father to usher the large group out of her territory.

  “I wanted to finish the apples.” She glanced at him. “Is Cammy coming down to eat?”

  “She’ll be here in a minute. She’s explaining her cochlear implant to Andy.”

  His mother nodded. “We read your column. She seems like a remarkable woman.”

  “And your curiosity is killing you?”

  “It’s not killing me exactly.” She set the apple down, then wiped her hands on her apron. “I’m just very glad you decided to come, and that you brought her with you.”

  “You’ll be happy to know that she has the very good sense to resist every advance I’ve made.”

  “Knowing you, you’ve been making plenty.”

  He grinned at her. “Every chance I get.”

  She patted his cheek. “She couldn’t have been resisting that much. She’s here, isn’t she?”

  “I badgered her to death. She finally had to agree just to get me out of her hair.”

  She snorted. “That’s a switch. Since when do the girls want you out of their hair?”

  It felt good, he realized, to share this banter again. He hadn’t realized how hungry he’d been for it until he’d gotten here. “I hate to break this to you, Mom, but just because you find me irresistible doesn’t mean the rest of t
he world does.”

  She ignored that. “Still, from what I read in your column, Dr. Glynn isn’t the kind of woman who’s easily manipulated into doing anything she doesn’t want to do.”

  “No. You’re right.”

  His mother pointed at the cabinet behind him. “Get two plates and silverware. I’ll pour you some tea.”

  He felt rather than saw his mother’s gaze fixed on the wide scar that marred his palm. “It’s okay,” he assured her as he reached for the plates.

  She plunked a glass down on the counter, then reached for his hand. Pressing her lips into the center of his palm, she raised tear-filled eyes to his. “I’ve been very worried.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” He cradled her face. “I’m getting better.”

  She tapped his chest with her index finger. “Here, too?”

  Over her shoulder, he saw Cammy enter the room. Andy held her hand and chattered aimlessly as they crossed the wide kitchen. He met Cammy’s gaze, held it, then wrapped his mother in his arms. “There, too,” he assured her.

  “It’s better this way,” Durstan assured her. “You couldn’t have given him what he wanted.’’

  The accusation found its mark. Cammy gasped as the wound in her heart stretched wider. Wiping her tears with the back of her hand, she glared at her father. “You don’t know that.”

  “Well, he’s gone, isn’t he?”

  “Because of you.”

  “Because I told him the truth.’’ Durstan’s expression turned harsh. “You didn’t really think Leslie wanted to marry you?”

  She refused to answer. Her mind traveled to the picture of the wedding dress she kept tucked in her desk drawer. Durstan studied her face with disbelief. “You did. You thought he was serious.”

  “You shouldn’t have interfered.”

  “For the love of—” Her father swore. “It’s time you learned something about life, Cameo. Leslie is a political animal with high aspirations. Boys like him want two things from the girls they date. Sex and political connections. God knows you weren’t giving him the first—at least not very satisfactorily.’’

  She gasped aloud. Her father’s gaze narrowed. “Were you?”

  “I don’t have to answer that.’’

  “You don’t have to. He wouldn’t have come sniveling to me if you had been.”

  “Father—”

  He held up his hand. “What he wanted from you was my blessing on his political aspirations. I told him if he wanted to succeed in this business, then he’d better find a wife who could help him campaign, support him once he got elected, and give him lots of healthy children. Just marrying into a political family wasn’t going to be enough.’’

  Cammy’s tears were scalding her eyes now. She stared at him in horror. “I can’t believe you—”

  He interrupted her. “It’s all true. No one knows that better than me. I married your mother for access to her family name. What I ended up with was a crazy wife and a handicapped child. I did Leslie a favor.’’ He pinned her with a pointed look. “One day, you’ll see that I did you a favor, too. You couldn’t have made him happy, Cameo. You weren’t what he wanted.’’

  Cammy forcibly pushed the painful memory aside as she gazed into the clear night sky. Standing on Jackson’s porch, she studied the twinkle of starlight in the black velvet canopy. Here the sky seemed larger, darker, than it did in the city. The rustling of leaves, spurred by a warm breeze, provided the only interruption to the stillness. Cammy concentrated for a few minutes on the sound, savoring its lulling rhythm.

  She’d lain in bed for nearly an hour before she admitted she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Pulling on a robe, she’d slipped quietly downstairs to the porch. The bitter memory, she now realized, had been lurking at the edges of her consciousness, waiting for her to let her guard down. The vastness of the night had freed it to taunt her. Often, she’d escaped those angry confrontations by seeking solace on the roof of her parents’ Washington town house. Then, she’d believed in the power of wishes and stars. Years of disappointment had taught her the folly of believing in miracles.

  She pulled the belt of her robe a little tighter. She’d almost forgotten that lesson today. The warmth of Jackson’s family, the way he made her feel, the inescapable truth of the way he pulled at her heart, tempted her to ignore the consequences. She was nine years old when she first confided to her mother that she escaped to the roof to wish on the stars. Her mother had informed her that evidently she’d been wishing on the wrong ones.

  The memory of Jackson lying in the front yard, swamped by his giggling nieces and nephews, looking younger and less strained than she’d ever seen him, reminded her that some stars, and the wishes that went with them, belonged to someone else.

  The obvious warmth of his family shed some light on her observations of him. He’d grown up in a world where children were accepted and loved and wanted. He’d enjoyed a close family full of warmth and compassion. Understandably, he’d expected the world to be the same way. The cold reality he’d experienced in his job had sent him scrambling to reevaluate. She’d stake her professional reputation on the fact that every disappointment in Jackson’s adult life had helped him reach the same conclusion. Someone had looked out for him as a child. Someone had stuck up for him when he’d gotten bullied. There had always been someone to share his triumphs and his sorrows, his successes and his failures. And somewhere, in the center of his soul, where the forces lay that made him the incredible man that he was, he fervently believed that everyone deserved a crusader. When he found people without one, he made up his mind to fill the role.

  The thought saddened her almost beyond belief. When she thought of him fighting the world’s battles, taking on every lost cause and hopeless case in his path, she saw his passion and his deep, vibrant love for life. She could never, she knew, give him what he wanted, what he needed. Jackson deserved a life full of children to love who loved him back. He deserved an uncomplicated relationship with a woman who still had all her pieces. He’d have to find that in someone else. When he realized that, she could easily end up with a heart so broken that it might not be fixable.

  But then, a niggling voice reminded, she didn’t have any future plans for it.

  He had so much to give, so many things to offer the world, and for reasons she didn’t begin to understand, God seemed to have plunked him down in her path so she could help him find them again. The trick was to make sure Jackson didn’t get hurt in the process. She could give him so much, as long as she made him understand why he couldn’t fall in love with her. He needed to keep that for a woman who could make him happy.

  Achingly familiar, a set of strong arms slipped around her waist. She leaned back against his chest. “Hi.”

  She felt his hand slide to her waist, check for her transmitter. “Hi.” His breath tickled her ear. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  “No.”

  He pressed a kiss to her neck. “Did they overwhelm you tonight with all those questions?”

  “I like them.”

  “They like you.”

  A smile played at the corner of her mouth. “How do you know? They all talk at once.”

  With a slight laugh, he turned her to face him. Clad in jeans and no shirt, the expanse of his chest assailed all of her senses. Some women, she’d heard, were leg women, or butt women, or even brain women. From now on, she decided while studying the smooth sculpted lines, she could definitely be known as a chest woman. She didn’t even resist the urge to trace a finger over the ridge of his collarbone.

  Jackson pressed a hand to the small of her back and said, “I just know. Besides, I like you.” He shrugged. “What choice do they have?”

  “Do they always give you everything you want?”

  “Hell no. They just know I’m extremely difficult to talk out of something I want once I’ve made my mind up.”

  Her finger trailed to the other side. “Is your mind made up?”

  “About wanting you? Sure. I know e
xactly what I want. You’re the one who needs convincing.”

  “You’re very good at it.”

  She felt him still. “Cam?”

  “Convincing me, I mean.”

  “Honey, you’re sending me some mixed signals here.”

  She met his gaze. “Really?”

  “You were pretty clear this afternoon that you weren’t ready to go here, yet.”

  Her fingers threaded through the dusting of dark hair on his chest. “I was?”

  “I remember it vividly.”

  “Girls change their minds, sometimes. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that?’’

  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  She pressed a kiss to his oh-so-tempting pectoral muscle. “Is that any clearer?”

  “Hell.” His breath left his body in a whoosh. “Why in damnation would you say something like that to me when we’re trapped in a house full of my family?”

  She rubbed the frown from between his eyebrows. “Mike would say I have a passive aggressive need to control my environment by manipulating my external circumstances to suit my personal gratification.”

  He grunted. “I can see I have a lot to explain to you about gratification.”

  A giggle escaped her. “Please do.”

  Without warning, he cupped the back of her head in his large palm, aligned her body closely with his, and captured her mouth in an aching kiss of mindless need and barely-banked fire. She pressed her hands to his shoulders, holding him to her like a treasure finally found. His mouth molded hers to fit the shape and feel of his. His whispered endearments tripped the hidden triggers in her spirit.

  He cradled her, she realized. When Jackson kissed her, his hands cradled her with a fierce tenderness. Even the hunger she felt in him, sensed in him as he deepened the kiss, told her that he cherished her. The feeling was singularly devastating.

  She pressed herself to him, moved her hands over his bare back, threaded them into the crisp silk of his hair. “Jackson,” she breathed.

  “I love the way you say my name,” he told her. His lips moved to her cheek, glided along her jawbone, then found the spot at her shoulder.

  Cammy gasped. “Have I ever told you that I love the way you touch me,” she confessed.