by J. R. Ward
As she opened the back door, the resounding silence in the kitchen reminded her it was Thomas’s day off. This meant Mrs. Walker would be out to dinner, and Callie grinned. Although she and Jack had plans to go to the movies and have dinner somewhere, maybe they should just stay home. It seemed a damn shame to waste the privacy.
She glanced at her new watch. She was getting used to it and it did serve the purpose of telling her when it was lunchtime. More than anything, though, she liked it because it made her think of Jack.
Sitting down at the table, she started to leaf through the paper, stroking Arthur’s ear with her free hand.
An hour later, she looked at the watch again and started pacing around the kitchen. Jack was never late, and he’d told her he’d be home an hour and a half ago. She was wondering whether she should try him at the office when the phone rang.
Even though she wasn’t in the habit of answering calls at the house, she picked up the receiver, hoping it was him.
“Hello?”
“Callie, it’s Jack. I need your help.”
In the background, she heard muffled voices and the sound of something shrill. Were those alarms?
“What happened?” she asked, her hand coming up to her forehead.
“I totaled my car.”
Her lungs immediately stopped functioning.
Calm, stay calm, she told herself. At least he can still pick up the phone.
“Oh, God. Are you—”
“I’m fine except I broke my damn arm. Can you come pick me up? I’m at Beth Israel.”
“Where? And what’s around here to drive?”
“Take the other Jag.”
He told her where the keys were and gave her directions to the medical center. As she flew out the door, she was imagining all kinds of what-ifs with horrid consequences. The way he drove, he could have done a lot more damage to himself than just ending up with a cast on his arm.
“The other Jag” was a convertible, and, as luck would have it, a stick shift. As she hiccuped down the driveway, she was hoping that enough of the transmission system would be left by the time she got to Boston to get them home again. The trip was interminable. She was a reluctant driver under the best of circumstances, and stress didn’t improve her skills. Behind the wheel of a powerhouse engine, working the clutch and accelerator with all the finesse of a student driver, she was no Jeff Gordon.
A lifetime later, she pulled up to the emergency wing of the hospital’s massive complex. She figured she’d have to ditch the car to find Jack, but then he came limping out of the double doors, his arm in a sling. She jammed on the brakes and leapt from the car.
“You hurt more than your arm,” she said, eyeing the bandage at his temple.
“You should see the DB9.” He shook his head and winced. “It looks like it’s been through a trash compactor. This morning it was a sports car. Now it’s an accordion.”
Callie opened the door for him and he grimaced as he carefully slid inside. She ran around and got in, but hesitated before pulling away from the curb because she wanted to take a good look at him. His jacket was around his shoulders, his tie was hanging out of his pocket, and his untucked shirt had some dried blood on the collar. She wondered what kinds of bruises were hidden under his clothes.
“Can we go now?” He put his head back against the rest and closed his eyes. He looked tired and uncomfortable, but not as if he were on death’s door by any stretch.
As soon as she was convinced he was all right, she got pissed.
“What the hell did you hit?”
He winced as her voice bounced around the inside of the car.
“How do you know it was my fault?” he asked quietly.
“Because I’ve been in a car with you. Damn it, you could have been killed.”
“First of all, I wasn’t. And I know this because I hurt all over. Secondly, the driver that swerved into my lane had a thing or two to do with the accident. Now can we please go?”
Biting back a curse, she gripped the steering wheel and eased them onto Brookline Avenue.
“How did it happen?” Callie grumbled.
“I was on Storrow Drive. Some guy in an SUV shot into my lane, and when I tried to get around him, I hit the guardrail, did a three-sixty, I think, and ended up on the esplanade.” He turned his head and looked at her. “That’s the strip of green between Storrow and the Charles River. Usually it’s reserved for pedestrians, so you can imagine I wasn’t the only one surprised to find myself in a car on the jogging path. Thank God no one else was hurt.”
She shook her head. “You drive too fast.”
“I know.”
“You’re too aggressive.”
“I know.”
“You could have killed yourself,” she repeated, irritated by his laconic responses. “And don’t say ‘I know.’ ”
“Okay.”
She shot a glare across the seat. In the glow from the dash, she saw that his eyes were closed. He looked beat and the urge to yell at him faded. Focusing on the road, she figured she would get him home and put him right to bed.
Assuming he didn’t fall asleep in the car.
When she pulled into Buona Fortuna’s drive, she thought she was going to have to wake him up, but he lifted his head and let out a long sigh. Carefully parking the Jag in the garage, she wondered if she was going to have to help him get out, but he stood up on his own and slowly limped out into the night air. Closing the garage door, she noted that Mrs. Walker’s car was back and wondered what the woman’s response was going to be. Here was her perfect son, all banged up. She was probably going to throw a fit.
As Callie came to his side, Jack was staring up at the stars with a thoughtful expression, his good arm cradling his broken one in spite of the sling around his neck.
She reached out and put her hand gently on his shoulder. She needed to touch him and not through his clothes. She had to know the warmth of his skin, to have his body against hers, to feel that he was all right, not just assume it from afar.
“Thank you,” he murmured softly. “For picking me up.”
“Good Lord, of course.”
He started for the house and she followed, measuring the way he favored his right foot and the rigid way he held himself. As she opened the door for him, she thought he looked visibly relieved to be home.
“Do you want anything to eat?” she asked.
“Can you bring me something upstairs? I want to change and lie down.”
When she came up to his bedroom, the confident, elegant man she knew was standing by his bed, completely tangled up in his clothes. The sling was hanging cockeyed from his shoulder, his shirt stuck around his neck, and his belt was half undone.
“You need some help?” She put down the plate and glass, swallowing a smile.
One eye glared out of the mess. “Yes. Please.”
She quickly freed the buttons, stripped off the shirt, and removed the sling.
She held her breath as she eyed a bruise on his collarbone.
“That must have hurt.” She put her hand out and touched him, running her fingers gently around the red mark.
When he didn’t say anything, she looked up. His eyes were closed and his face was showing intense concentration as if he were drinking in her touch.
Jack’s voice was rough. “When the car stopped spinning around, I was so damn dizzy and bashed up, I couldn’t tell what kind of shape I was in.”
She winced, trying not to imagine his broken body being pulled out of the car by paramedics.
His eyes opened slowly. “The first thing I thought of was you. The idea of not seeing you again was . . . unbearable.”
Callie reached up to his face, feeling the rasp of his beard growth, the hollow above his jawline, the pulse that beat at his throat.
When she dropped her hand, he took it and put it back.
“Touch me,” he said. “You make the numbness go away.”
She let her hand move down over his sho
ulder and onto his biceps. Lightly tracing his pecs, she paused on his beating heart and went down onto the ridges of his stomach. She could felt his body tighten under her fingertips and heard his breath as it rushed out of him. When she brushed the backs of her knuckles across his belly button, he hissed, taking his lower lip between his sharp teeth.
She paused, worried that she was hurting him.
“Don’t stop,” he said thickly. His eyes were wild, on the edge of violence. “Christ, please don’t stop.”
She reached for his belt buckle, feeling supple leather as she finished undoing it. His pants hit the floor in a rush and she looked up. A fine sheen of sweat had broken out across his chest.
Jack grabbed her with his good arm, crushing her to him, burying his head in her hair. Feeling the solid wall of his chest, hearing the beat of his heart, she shuddered and opened her mouth.
Knowing that she was taking the biggest risk of her life, that it was too early, that it was not the right time, that maybe she was just speaking out of passion and relief, she whispered, “I love you.”
Jack fell still and she immediately wished she could take the words back.
What was she thinking? Sure, he cared for her. Yes, he had passion for her. But love?
Callie stepped back, trying to cover up what she’d said, but his eyes pegged her with an intensity she’d never seen in them before.
He brought her back against him. “I can’t believe it. I didn’t think it would ever happen. But . . . I love you, too.”
He pulled her close and she felt like crying. It was more than the blessing that he was home safely. That he felt the same way she did. That his words were not a promise, but a statement of fact. No, the feeling came from a sense that maybe the world wasn’t quite the hard, cold place she’d always known it to be.
After so many years of being alone, she had someone of her own.
18
THE FOLLOWING evening, Jack let Gray Bennett into the front hall. His friend was obviously not happy.
“Where the hell have you been? You don’t return my calls—Christ, what happened to you?”
“Car accident.” He ushered Gray down to the study, closing the door behind them.
As Jack slowly lowered himself into his chair, he was more than ready to be able to move freely again. The bruises would fade soon enough, but the godforsaken arm was going to be a pain in the ass for the next month and a half.
“Jesus.” Gray stared at him for a minute and then shrugged out of his coat. He tossed it over to the couch. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just banged up.”
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t get hurt worse. But you still should have called me back. What we’re doing has taken on a life of its own and it’s in your best interest to be up-to-date.”
“I know.” But falling in love had a way of making a man think of things other than politics. “Now, sit down and tell me what I need to know.”
Gray settled into a club chair and crossed his legs. His foot started tapping.
“There something I need to worry about?” Jack asked evenly.
“I just got a call from New York and I had to track you down in person. There’s a rumor going around that you and Blair have called off the engagement. You want to tell me what’s going on?”
The phone at Jack’s elbow started to ring and he silenced it with the flick of a switch. “We have ended it. I did, actually. I made a terrible mistake, and like most lapses in judgment, I didn’t figure it out until someone got hurt. I regret what happened, but getting out is absolutely the right decision.”
Gray’s foot stilled. “I’m your friend first, so I’ve got to ask, how’re you doing?”
“I’m fine. Except for feeling like shit for what I put Blair through.”
“Well, I’m sorry it didn’t work out. She’s a fine woman.” There was a pause. “Now, I’m also your political consultant, so I need to talk some shop.”
“Shoot.”
Jack tugged at the sling and repositioned the broken arm across his chest, trying to ease the strain in his shoulder. A meeting with Gray was overdue and he was prepared to spend an hour or two with his friend if that was what it took.
“We’ll talk about the ramifications of the broken engagement in a minute. First, the election. It’s getting to be fish-or-cut-bait time. Speculation is beginning to mount even though we’ve still got a year before the polls open. I want to know, just between me and you, where your head is. Are you going to run?”
“Unless something drastic changes, yes.”
“Good. Starting this week, I’m going to quietly look for a local campaign manager. I know a couple of good ones, and hopefully they haven’t been snatched up yet. This is another reason why deciding now is so important.” Gray bridged his hands together and regarded Jack over the tips of his fingers. “Now, about Blair. I’m glad you didn’t announce the engagement, and I’m also glad that if you had to end one this close to an election, that it was with her. She’s a lady and she’s got integrity, so I don’t think we can expect her to jump up out of the bushes and spring a broken-heart tell-all.”
Jack inclined his head. “Blair would never do something like that. We don’t have anything to worry about.”
“From her, maybe.” Gray got up from the chair and started pacing. “I think we need to do some damage control anyway. Other people know you’d asked her to marry you. If it were to come out that you’d broken off this engagement for another woman—”
“Who said anything about another woman?”
His friend shot him a dry look. “Don’t even try that with me.”
“I’m not denying it. I want to know who your source was.”
“Karl Graves.”
Jack tightened his lips. “So it’s all over Manhattan?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve known him for a while and he called because he was concerned about Blair and wanted to know what the hell had happened between you two.” Gray planted his hands on the top of the desk and leaned forward. “My point is, this is just the kind of playboy move you don’t need in the papers. I think for the time being I should function as your press man. Better for me to field the inquiries first, assuming there are any. It’ll give you some insulation.”
“Fine.” Jack looked out the window.
“Listen, I don’t want you to worry. I can handle whatever comes at us. My job is to ensure that people take you seriously, and I’m going to be ready.”
Jack shook his head, thinking back to all the headlines he’d made over the years. A broken engagement fit the pattern perfectly. “Christ, Gray, do you think I’m crazy to run?”
“No, but you’ve got some liabilities to overcome.” His friend straightened. “You’ve never held a political office before, which is one strike against you. You’re successful at business, and God knows you’ve got the family name working for you, but you’re going to be picked apart for those bad-boy years. The good thing is that while you’ve been with Blair, you’ve been out of the papers except for good coverage. I’m only concerned right now because I don’t want this thing with Blair to start the avalanche before you get out there with your platform. The more voters know about you before they’re reminded of your past, the better. Which is one more reason to declare loudly and early.”
“You mentioned damage control. Do you want me to talk to Blair?”
“No, I’m really not concerned about her.” There was a pause. “I want you to talk to Callie.”
Jack frowned. “About what?”
“She’s the one who changed your mind about marrying Blair, right?” When he nodded, Gray said, “Do you plan on keeping her around for a while? Or is she just a temporary diversion?”
“What the hell kind of question is that?”
“A pretty damned important one. And later we can cover why you wanted to set me up with the woman if you were so into her.”
Jack stood up and went to the bar. “You want some bourbon?”
&nbs
p; “Bradford’s?”
“Is there any other kind?”
When Jack handed Gray his drink, they both sat down.
“Callie is much more than a one-night stand. I’m in love with her.”
Gray’s glass stopped on the way to his mouth. “My God. You’re serious.”
“Very. She’s everything I wasn’t looking for and exactly who I want.”
Gray shook his head ruefully. “I’m happy for you. Really happy. If I seem surprised . . .”
Jack laughed. “It’s completely understandable. And just remember, if it can happen to me, it can happen—”
“Don’t even say it.” Gray took a long swallow of his drink and gritted his teeth. “Back to business. I’m going to assume Callie’s a factor in the election next year. She needs to know what she’s getting into if she sticks around. She’s going to get dragged into the fray, and it’s only fair to prepare her.”
Jack nodded while despising the truth. The last thing he wanted was to have her subjected to the media rush, but he couldn’t ignore the inevitable.
“I’ll speak with her.”
“And it would be helpful to know a little bit about her background.”
“That’s easy enough.” He shrugged and recited her résumé.
“What about her family?”
“She doesn’t talk about them much.”
“Find out why.”
“Gray, I’m not going to play private detective on my . . .” He wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence. Lover? Girlfriend? Those sounded weak compared to how he felt whenever he was with her.
As he struggled, his friend said softly, “We need to know.”
When he swore under his breath, Gray shook his head. “This is only the beginning. Have you really thought about what the election is going to do to your life? Are you sure you’re up for the scrutiny?”