“Right there.” Her voice was strained, but she did settle back against the seat. “Everywhere.”
Gently he moved his hand over her lower back, felt her slowly relax under his touch. When he slid his hand upward, she moaned softly and arched her spine against him, Jacob bit the inside of his mouth to hold back the threatening swear word.
Her skin felt like warm silk and he felt his own hand itch to explore, to slip deeper inside the dress and curve around her narrow waist. To slide his palm upward over her flat belly and feel the firm weight of her breast in his hand.
Her back, long and slender, was completely exposed to him. He felt an overwhelming desire to press his mouth to one smooth, bare shoulder and taste her, to nip at her warm skin.
“That feels wonderful,” Clair breathed and snuggled against the car seat.
Clair had never experienced anything quite so relaxing—or erotic—in her life. Jacob’s large hands moving slowly over her back were the most exquisite feeling in the world. His palms were rough, his fingers strong, yet gentle. Her entire body tingled at his touch, her skin felt unusually tight. Warm shivers of sheer pleasure coursed through her veins.
She felt as if she’d been drugged, or as if she’d just wakened from an intensely sensual dream and she was still trapped between fantasy and reality. Her limbs felt heavy, her mind sluggish.
It shocked her that she would allow this man she barely knew to touch her in such an intimate manner. Shocked her that she wanted him to touch her, to keep touching her, not only on her back, but other places, too. Her breasts ached to be touched, her nipples tightened. And lower, between her thighs, she felt a heavy warmth and a dull throb.
When his hands slid up her waist and his fingertips were no more than an inch from the underside of her breast, she felt her heart skip a beat, then start to pound furiously. She knew she should move away, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t.
Breath held, eyes closed, she felt him lean closer, felt the warmth of his breath on her shoulder…
And then, just as suddenly, he pulled her dress back up to cover her shoulders and moved away.
“Better?” he asked.
Too embarrassed to turn around and look at him, she simply nodded.
He said nothing, but she heard him open the car door, then step out. Thankful for the moment alone, she covered her face with her hands and groaned. She could only imagine what he must think of her. Not only had she begged him to unhook her dress, she’d allowed—no, welcomed—his touch.
She heard him rooting around in his trunk, and when he slammed it shut and came back around the car, she reached behind her to hold her dress together.
He stood outside the driver’s door and tossed some clothing into the front seat. “Put these on for now. We’ll find something more suitable when we stop for the night.”
Clair glanced at the gray sweatpants and plain white T-shirt and looked up at Jacob. “I—thank you.”
“You’ve got five minutes to change, then I’m getting back in this car whether you’re dressed or not. I suggest you hurry.”
He closed the door, then leaned up against the driver’s door, arms crossed. Clair stared at his stiff back for a full ten seconds, then looked at the clothing. They’d be huge on her, but anything was better than this miserable dress.
Five minutes he’d given her, then he was getting back in the car. Realizing she’d already wasted twenty seconds, she scrambled out of her wedding dress and corset and tossed them in the back seat, yanked the T-shirt over her head, then kicked her satin pumps off. She’d barely tugged the sweatpants over her hips when Jacob climbed back in the car and started the engine.
A plume of dirt sprayed behind them as he headed back to the highway. He held the steering wheel in a death grip and squealed onto the road as if the devil himself were on his heels. When he shifted gears and gunned the motor, the car leapt forward like a beast loosened from its cage.
With the church and her wedding behind her and the long road ahead, Clair felt a giddy sense of freedom she’d never experienced before. Smiling, she snapped her seat belt on, settled back, then mentally sang along with an Eagles’ tune blasting from the radio.
Take It Easy…take it easy…
Three
It was nearly eight o’clock when Jacob pulled into the hamburger drive-thru stand. He was hungry, tired and in one hell of a bad mood.
He was used to traveling alone. He liked traveling alone. It hadn’t mattered that Clair had managed to keep quiet for the entire time they’d been on the road. He couldn’t relax, couldn’t concentrate with a one-hundred-twenty-pound bundle of female sitting next to him. He’d kept his eyes off her and on the road, but he’d felt the energy radiating from her, felt her excitement, her nervousness, her anxiety.
And if that wasn’t enough to drive him crazy, he could smell her. That incredible, tantalizing scent that kept reminding him how soft her skin had been under his hands, how smooth. Reminded him how much he’d wanted to touch her all over. With his hands and his mouth and—
“Welcome to Bobby Burgers in the beautiful town of Lenore, South Carolina. My name is Tiffany,” a perky teenager bubbled through the speaker static of the drive-thru stand. “May I take your order, please?”
He dragged a hand through his hair, then stuck his head out of the window. “We’ll have three Big Bob’s, two fries and two—”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Clair unbuckled her seat belt. “Let me look.”
“What’s to look at?” he said irritably when she scooted across the seat.
Pleasure lit her eyes as she stared at the menu. “Chili fries,” she said with reverence. “I want one of those, please.”
Shaking his head, Jacob turned back to the speaker. “Make that a—”
“Wait, wait, wait.” She leaned over him, placed a hand on his arm. “With extra cheese. Oh, and a chocolate shake.”
She was practically in his lap. He could feel the warmth of her body, and the knowledge she had no bra on under his T-shirt had Jacob grinding his teeth. “Is that all?”
“Maybe some extra pickles and mayonnaise on the hamburger. Oh, and some of those little green spicy things, too, please.”
“Jalapeños?”
She smiled brightly and nodded. “That’s it. On the side.”
They picked up their order, then he pulled the car into the hamburger stand’s parking lot and handed Clair her cache. She pulled several napkins out of the greasy brown paper bag and spread them over her lap.
Jacob watched with interest as she opened her burger and took a small, delicate bite. She closed her eyes with a sigh and smiled.
“I take it you like Bobby’s Burgers,” he said, and tore into his own hamburger.
“This is my first.” She pulled out a jalapeño and stuck it between the meat and her bun.
“Your first Bobby’s Burger?” He stared at her in disbelief. “They have twenty-five thousand franchises in fifty states,” he quoted the sign. “Everyone has eaten a Bobby’s Burger.”
“I haven’t.” She took a bite, then sucked in a breath as she waved her hand in front of her mouth. There were tears in her eyes.
Grinning, he handed her the chocolate shake she’d ordered. She took a long sip, then settled back in her seat and reached for a chili-covered French fry.
“My mother had a very specific list of foods our chef was allowed to prepare.” She ate the French fry as delicately as her burger. “Hamburger was on the forbidden list.”
“So that’s why you pitched the hot dog in the trash can.” He reached for his soda. “You thought I was one of your mother’s spies.”
“Something like that.” Clair chewed thoughtfully. “My mother worries.”
“About hamburgers and hot dogs?”
“You don’t even want to know.” She sighed, then stared thoughtfully at another French fry. “Sometimes she’s a little overprotective.”
“A little overprotective?” Jacob snorted and took a gulp of soda. �
�That’s like saying Shaquille O’Neil is a little tall.”
Clair lifted her chin. “It’s only because she loves me. I was—am—her only child. I’m sure your mother worries about you, too.”
“My mother worried so much she left me and my younger brother with an alcoholic father when I was nine,” he said without emotion. “She did manage to show up at my dad’s funeral when I was eighteen, but only because she’d found out she was the beneficiary of a small life insurance policy. She collected her money and I haven’t seen her since.”
“I’m sorry,” Clair said quietly, lifting her gaze to his. “It appears we come from two extremes.”
“Sweetheart—” he raised his drink to her “—that’s the understatement of the century.”
They finished their meal in silence, and he had to admit he was more than a little surprised that Clair managed to polish off the food she’d ordered, including the peppers.
He watched her long, slender fingers smooth and fold the paper from her burger, flatten the foam cup her fries had been in, then place everything back in the brown paper bag. It was like watching a ballet, he decided. She moved with the grace and fluidity of a dancer, and the fact she was dressed in an oversize T-shirt and baggy sweats didn’t detract from her elegance in the slightest.
Still, no matter how well she wore his clothes, he realized she would need something more suitable for their trip, not to mention a few personal items.
There was no getting around it, Jacob thought with a silent groan. He was going to have to do something he dreaded. Something he swore he’d never do.
His palms started to sweat at the very thought of it.
He was going to take a woman shopping.
Two hours later, Clair sat in the middle of her motel room floor and pulled her treasures out of the plastic Sav-Mart shopping bags. A pretty pink cotton tank top, a short denim skirt, a mint-green button-up blouse. She hadn’t tried anything on, but she had bags and bags of clothes in front of her. Smiling, she picked up a soft lavender sweater and held it to her cheek.
Every single item she’d chosen completely by herself. She’d never been in a Sav-Mart Department store before, though she’d heard of them. After all, they were the largest discount department store in the country. But Josephine Beauchamp would never have been caught dead in a Sav-Mart. If she knew that her daughter had not only gone to the huge chain store, but bought an entire wardrobe off the racks, she would be hyperventilating. And if she’d seen what her daughter had worn to go shopping there—a man’s T-shirt, sweatpants and satin pumps—Good Lord, she’d need smelling salts to recover.
Though certainly Clair had felt more than a little self-conscious about her attire when she’d first entered the store, she’d quickly forgotten her discomfort once Jacob had grabbed a shopping cart and headed for the women’s section. She’d followed along behind him, trying to keep up with his long strides, while taking in the experience at the same time.
Everything about the warehouse-style shopping had absolutely fascinated Clair. Aisles that seemed as long as a football field, heavily stocked six-foot-high shelves. Huge bins filled with a fascinating assortment of discounted items. Bicycles, trash cans, pet food, patio furniture, books—everything under the same roof.
Jacob stopped at the women’s section, folded those muscular arms across that broad chest of his, assumed a sour expression, then told her to be quick about it.
Clair had always shopped in exclusive specialty stores with designer labels and tailored, custom-made clothing. But here there were racks and racks of ready-to-wear clothes. Dresses, blouses, skirts, underwear, night wear, shoes. Jacob had complained that she’d grabbed at least one of everything, but he’d paid for everything with his credit card, and she’d assured him that he would be reimbursed in full.
She’d filled the cart with clothes, spent another thirty minutes in the toiletries-and-cosmetics section, where she’d also bought nearly one of everything, including a jar of iridescent glitter body cream and a tube of sparkling, liquid blue eye shadow. Jacob had driven to the motel when she’d finished shopping, and she’d waited in the car while he registered them for two rooms. Grumbling and growling the entire time, he’d grabbed her shopping bags and the suitcase she’d picked out, then helped her into her room. Clair was certain he hadn’t said more than three words since they’d left the store.
She couldn’t imagine what his problem was, and at the moment she really didn’t care.
She was too busy having fun.
Dizzy with delight, she reached for the bag filled with the assortment of underwear she’d picked out. She’d been thankful that Jacob had occupied himself with a sports magazine on the other side of the register while she’d emptied the shopping cart onto the register conveyer belt. If it hadn’t been embarrassing enough to watch the young male clerk pick up and scan her undergarments, he’d also had to yell at another employee for a price check on one of the bras. Clair had forced herself to stand there calmly, though inside she’d wished that the floor would open up and swallow her whole.
Amazingly, she’d survived, and now, sitting cross-legged, she laid everything out in front of her: bras and panties in black lace and white silk and flowered satin. Push-up, sheer, embroidered, strapless—she’d shown no restraint.
And last, but not least, she pulled her most daring purchase of the evening out of the bag—one leopard-print thong panty.
She couldn’t wait to try it on.
Gathering everything into her arms, she stood quickly and started for the bathroom. Halfway there, she paused at the first rumble of pain in her stomach.
The knock on the door came at the same time the second pain hit. Sucking in a breath, she set the lingerie on the bed, then carefully, slowly moved toward the door and opened it. Jacob stood on the other side.
He looked at her, then furrowed his brow. “You okay?”
“I—” The pain eased off, though the nausea lingered. “Yes. I’m fine.”
“You look a little pale.”
“Just a twinge in my stomach. Nerves, I’m sure,” she said, drawing in a deep breath. “I’m all right now.”
“You sure?”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“Good.” He held out a sweet-smelling pink box and opened the lid. “I bought some doughnuts across the street. I figured you might want one now or in the morning.”
If she’d been pale a second before, Clair’s face turned sheet-white as she stared at the box. Jacob watched her clamp a hand over her mouth, spin on her bare heels and dash for the bathroom. She slammed the door behind her.
Uh-oh.
So much for doughnuts.
He snagged a maple bar for himself, then moved into her room and closed the door behind him. There were bags and articles of clothing everywhere, which hardly surprised him since he’d not only had to suffer the shopping ordeal, he’d hauled all the bags into her room. You’d have thought she was going on a six-month cruise, he thought, taking a big bite of the sugary doughnut. He lifted a brow at the undergarments she’d tossed on the bed. Her choice of lingerie had been the more interesting part of the shopping trip, though he’d pretended not to notice one way or the other what she’d thrown into the Sav-Mart basket. But, hey—he took another bite of doughnut—a guy couldn’t completely ignore racy black lace bras and skimpy matching panties, now, could he?
Stepping beside the bed, he picked up the leopard print and nearly choked on his last bite of doughnut.
Good Lord, she’d bought a thong.
His heart skipped, then raced as he stared at the tiny scrap of silk. The last thing he needed was an image of thong underwear on Clair. For that matter, he didn’t need—or want—an image of Clair in any underwear.
No, wait—he shook his head—that wasn’t what he meant, either, dammit.
Thankfully the sound of the toilet flushing was like ice water on his wandering thoughts. He dropped the thong back onto the bed, licked the sugar crust off his thumb, th
en moved to the bathroom door.
“You okay?” He knocked lightly.
“I’m fine,” she said weakly. “Go away, please.”
Ignoring her request, he opened the door and stepped into the bathroom. She sat on the cool, white tile floor, her back against the tub, her forehead resting on her bent knees. He pulled a washcloth off the towel rack, ran it under cold water, then handed it to her. “Here.”
Glancing up, she took the damp cloth and pressed it to her cheeks. “Thank you. Now if you don’t mind…”
He sat down beside her. “So what do you think? Was it the chili fries, the chocolate shake, the jalapeños or maybe—”
“Stop,” she said on a groan. “I don’t need you to tell me it was stupid. I learned that all by myself, thank you very much.”
Smiling, he took her chin in his hand and lifted her face. Her skin looked like chalk. “You need to learn to pace yourself, Clair, that’s all. Maybe inch out into the cold water, instead of just jumping in. Walk before you run.”
“I’ve been inching and walking my entire life, Jacob,” she said softly. “I don’t care if the water is cold, I don’t care if I fall. I’ve already missed out on so much. I’ll make mistakes, but whatever they are, they’ll be mine.”
“So the life of a pampered princess is not all it’s cracked up to be, is it?” he asked, cocking his head.
“I won’t make excuses for who I am, or how I was raised,” she said defensively, then closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. “Or who I thought I was anyway.”
He’d been around spoiled, wealthy women who thought the world should revolve around them. But there was something different about Clair. An innocence that unnerved him, made him want to get in his car and drive away as fast and as far as he could.
For a moment, he considered doing just that, then swore silently and scooped her up in his arms instead. She gasped, then stiffened at his unexpected maneuver.
“Well, Miss Beauchamp,” he said evenly, “since you don’t want to ‘miss out’ on anything, I suggest we get you in bed.”
That Blackhawk Bride Page 4