Her eyes popped open wide. “I never said, I mean, I certainly wasn’t implying that I wanted to, I mean, that we should—”
He carried her to the bed. “Relax, Clair. I meant to sleep. We’ve got a long couple of days ahead of us before we get to Wolf River. But hey—” he dropped her on the squeaky mattress “—thanks for thinking of me.”
Her cheeks turned scarlet against her still pale skin. “Oh,” she said somewhere between a croak and a squeak.
She looked so lost lying on the bed, so…disappointed?…that Jacob considered “jumping in” himself. He stared at her, saw the outline of her soft breasts against his white T-shirt, the faint press of hardened nipples, that long expanse of legs covered by his sweatpants. A jolt of lust shot through his blood.
“Get some sleep,” he said through the dryness in his throat as he turned. “We’ll hit the road around nine.”
He walked through the connecting door to their rooms, closed it tightly behind him, then groaned.
This, he thought miserably, was going to be one long trip.
It was dark when Jacob woke. He wasn’t even certain why he had awakened, especially considering it was—he slitted a glance at the red dial of the nightstand clock—5:46 a.m.? Good God, it was still the middle of the night.
And was that coffee he smelled? He breathed in the wonderful scent and nestled his head back into his pillow. He’d have to get himself a cup when he finally did wake up in a couple of hours.
But there was another smell, he realized dimly. A light, fresh scent of…peaches? Where was that coming from?
He heard her whisper his name at the same time he felt the mattress dip on the other side of the bed. When he bolted upright, muttering a swear word, she gasped.
“What’s wrong?” He could see her outline in the early dawn seeping through the closed drapes, but he couldn’t make out her face. She’d already jumped up from the edge of the bed and stood a safe distance away, holding a mug of coffee in her hands. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing’s happened.” Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“At five forty-six in the morning?” he hissed.
“It couldn’t wait.”
“The hell it can’t.” He pulled the covers up and turned his back to her.
“I have a plan.” She came around the bed, flipped on the bedside lamp, then set the steaming mug of coffee on the nightstand.
He winced at the stream of light, was almost enticed by the coffee, then shook it off and growled, “Go away, Clair, or I won’t be responsible for anything that happens.”
Folding her arms, she looked down her nose at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He rose on one elbow, let the covers slide down his bare chest and narrowed a look at her. Her hair, still damp from the shower she’d obviously just taken, curved around her pretty oval face and touched the top of the sleeveless button-up pink blouse she wore. She’d pulled on slim-fitting black capris that showed off her long legs and narrow hips. Her feet were bare, her toenails painted with pink glitter polish.
Dammit. He wanted to consume her whole. He fisted the covers in his hands to keep himself from dragging her into his bed and showing her exactly what he meant.
But he wouldn’t. Not only was she a client, she was trouble. With a capital T. Clair Beauchamp was complicated. He preferred simple when it came to sex and women.
“Wasn’t going into naked, strange men’s motel rooms on your mother’s forbidden list?” he snarled.
He saw her hesitation, then she squared her shoulders. “Well, that’s partly what I want to talk to you about.”
Once again she’d caught him off balance. Another reason to keep his distance from this woman. “You want to talk to me about strange, naked men in hotel rooms?”
“Of course not.” She rolled her eyes. “I want to talk to you about my plan.”
On a groan, he slid back under the covers. “Have you always been this big a pest?”
“That’s the point, Jacob.” She sank down on the floor and sat on her heels. “I’ve never been a pest. My entire life I’ve always been expected to, and always have, behaved in a certain manner. It never occurred to me there was an option.”
“You’re telling me you never rebelled, even when you were a teenager?” Even for a socialite priss like Clair, that was hard to believe. He thought about all the foster homes he’d been through, the hell he’d raised through his most difficult years. “Every kid drives their parents nuts at least once.”
“I gave the term PC a whole new meaning.” She stared down at her clasped hands. “For me it was Perfect Child. More than anything, I wanted my parents’ approval.”
“Not an easy job, I gather,” he said.
She looked up sharply, a snap of fire in her blue eyes. “I wasn’t the poor little rich girl, if that’s what you’re thinking. My parents have always been wonderful to me. Have always done what they thought was best for me. They were protective, yes, overly, yes, but only because they loved me. And because I loved them, I wanted to please them.”
At the cost of pleasing herself, Jacob realized. It didn’t take a shrink to figure out she’d lost one family and was afraid she’d lose another if she wasn’t—in her mind’s eye—the “Perfect Child.” Even though she’d only been two when her birth parents had died, the memory was locked in her little brain and stayed with her.
But this was hardly the time for Psych 101.
On a sigh, he sat and dragged both hands through his hair. “So what’s your plan?”
Smiling, she picked up the coffee mug and handed it to him. “My plan is no plan.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve had my whole life mapped out for me, like a paint-by-number. For just a little while, I want to be spontaneous. Impulsive. Irresponsible.”
Bad idea, he thought, but who was he to tell her what to do? She’d had enough of that in her life already. He took a sip of coffee. “Fine. I’ll get you to Wolf River and you can do and be whatever you want from that point.”
“I mean before I get to Wolf River. I want to take the long way there. See things I’ve never seen. Do things I’ve never done. Experience as much as I can along the way.” Her eyes were as bright as her smile. “And I want you to drive me.”
“Me?” Coffee sloshed over the sides of his cup. Very bad idea. “No way.”
“Jacob, I’ll pay you for your time.” She rocked forward off her heels and laid her arms on the edge of the bed. “What’s another three or four days?”
The heat of her body and the scent of peaches drifting off her smooth skin sent his blood racing. Could she possibly be so oblivious not to realize the effect she had on him? Or was she manipulating him to get what she wanted?
Either way, he felt the slow rise of anger. He set the coffee mug down, then startled her when he took hold of her shoulders and brought her close.
“Let me spell it out for you, Clair,” he said narrowing his gaze. “Client or no client, I don’t trust myself to keep my hands off you for the next two days, let alone another three or four.”
She stared at him, her eyes wide. “I trust you,” she said quietly.
He didn’t want her to trust him, dammit. Didn’t want that kind of responsibility.
“You want spontaneity? You want impulsive?” he said through gritted teeth. “Fine. You got it.”
He dragged her closer and covered her mouth with his, felt the shock wave course through her body. He was shocked, as well, not only at the raw intensity of his own need, but the fact she didn’t pull away. He parted those incredible lips of hers with his tongue, then dived inside.
And still she didn’t pull away.
She was every bit as sweet as he’d imagined. He tipped her head back and deepened the kiss even more, felt her shiver of response and her low, soft moan. Her lips molded to his, then tentatively she met his tongue with her own.
It was the shimmer of innocence that had him yanking hi
s head back. He stared down at her, watched her thick lashes slowly rise. There was confusion in her eyes, and desire. Definitely desire. Her lips were still parted and wet from his kiss.
He’d expected her to slap him, or at the very least, to tell him off. The fact that she did neither nearly had him dragging her back to him again.
He wanted to, dammit. His body ached to bring her to his bed.
But he wouldn’t. Somehow, somewhere, he knew there’d be a price he wasn’t willing to pay.
“Don’t trust me,” he said dryly and released her so suddenly she fell back on the floor. “Get yourself another man.”
She sat there staring at him, then slowly, as unexpected as everything else was with this woman, she started to laugh.
“What’s so damn funny?”
“Whatever on earth made you think I’m looking for a man?” she said, crossing her arms over her stomach. “Good heavens, the last thing I need or want right now is a man.”
“Is that so?”
“Don’t take offense, Jacob.” Tucking her hair back behind her ears, she sat down on her heels again. “I mean, that kiss was very nice and all, but I assure you I wasn’t looking for anything more than a ride to Wolf River with a few detours along the way.”
His kiss was very nice? He frowned darkly. He’d show her very nice…
But she was already up on her feet and moving toward the door. “I’m sorry you don’t want the job,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll send you a check for your time and expenses. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me and if you—”
“Just stop right there.”
She paused at the connecting door and looked back at him. “Yes?”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m going to pack, then call a rental car company to come pick me up.”
“You’re going to drive yourself?” he asked incredulously.
She turned and lifted a brow. “I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”
“Well, I’m making it my business, dammit.” He grabbed the sheets, then wrapped them around him as he slid off the bed.
Damn fool woman.
Her eyes widened when he stomped across the room toward her. “We’ll leave in fifteen minutes and you better be ready. Until I’ve had at least three cups of coffee, don’t speak to me. Got that?”
“All right,” she said demurely.
“Now unless you want an eyeful,” he snapped, “I suggest you get the hell out of my room.”
She moved quickly across the threshold, then shut the door tightly behind her. Jacob stared at the closed door for a full minute and wondered what the hell had just happened.
You lost your mind, Carver, he said, swearing hotly. That’s what happened.
The No-Plan, Plan, my ass.
Still swearing, he headed for the shower and decided it was going to be a cold one.
Four
Clair suspected that Jacob kept the volume on his CD player high to deter conversation from her as much to enjoy the music. She didn’t mind, not only because she enjoyed the diverse selection of rock he played—Dave Matthews, Beatles, Stones, Springsteen, Zeppelin—but because she needed a little time alone with her own thoughts at the moment, as well.
She glanced at Jacob, watched his thumbs move to the beat of “Jumpin’ Jack Flash,” and wondered if he knew he hummed along with most of the songs and even occasionally, under his breath, sang a line or chorus. But then he’d catch himself and sink back into that brooding silence of his. It was obvious he was used to being alone in this big car, and he wasn’t happy about anyone invading the sanctity of his space.
They’d left Lenore three hours ago and at her request, stopped for bottled water in a town called Don’t Blink, then crossed the state line into Georgia. The day was hot and humid, and Clair was thankful that Jacob’s car had an air conditioner powerful enough to keep a penguin cool.
Or a woman whose body was still on fire after being thoroughly and completely kissed.
Jacob’s kiss had sizzled her brain and scorched her body clear down to her toes. Even now, her lips still tingled and her stomach fluttered. Her entire life, Clair had been taught how to behave with poise and grace. To be calm and composed in every situation. One kiss from Jacob, and she’d nearly melted into the floor.
She’d nearly begged for more.
Oliver’s kisses had been…polite compared to Jacob. Pleasant. Controlled. Tepid. Jacob’s kiss had been wild and reckless. Hot.
He’d told her he didn’t think he could keep his hands off her, and though his words had made her heart skip and her breath stop, she didn’t believe him. A man like Jacob couldn’t really be interested in an inexperienced, bluenose stiff like herself. She knew he’d only said that, then kissed her to intimidate her, to change her mind about taking detours on the way to Wolf River.
But his intentions had not made the kiss any less thrilling. If anything, he’d proven to her that there was a whole world waiting to explore, to experience. And while she might not be ready for the Jacob Carvers of the world, she was definitely ready for a little excitement, a little adventure.
While she pretended to be engrossed in the lush greenery of the passing farms and hillsides along the highway, she cast a sideways glance at him. The black T-shirt he had on fit snugly over his broad chest and muscular arms. He wore a day-old beard and a pair of sunglasses. A small, jagged scar over his right eyebrow reminded her of a bolt of lightning. His jaw was strong, his nose slightly crooked, his mouth—her breath caught just thinking about his mouth—was bracketed by lines on either side.
Even though she wasn’t looking for a man at the moment, she could only imagine that Jacob had more than his share of interested females. The man exuded the kind of raw masculinity that would have women dropping at his feet.
She yanked her gaze away, disgusted at her line of thinking. In a meadow beyond a white rail fence, she saw two little boys running through knee-high grass, pulling red and yellow kites high in the air behind them. Long, blue streamers swirled from the bottom of each kite.
“I’ve never done that,” she said absently, watching the kites dip and soar with the air current.
He lowered the music. “What?”
She turned in her seat, still staring out the window as the car passed the meadow. “I’ve never flown a kite.”
“Never?”
She felt silly now that she’d said it. Leaning back in her seat, she looked over at Jacob. “Have you?”
“Of course.”
“What color was it?”
He furrowed his brow. “Color?”
“Your kite.”
“Oh. Orange, with the number O1.”
“Why, 01?”
He looked at her as if she knew nothing. “The General Lee.”
“General Lee?”
“You know. The Dukes of Hazard. Bo Duke, Luke Duke, Daisy Duke.”
“The TV show.” Understanding finally dawned. “I’ve heard of it.”
“But you’ve never seen it?” he said in disbelief. “Jeez, you did lead a sheltered life.”
“More like a scheduled life.” She thought of all the after school lessons, the Saturday recitals. “Ballet, piano, Cotillion.”
“Cotillion?”
“Formal dances for young people,” she explained.
Jacob shuddered. “I’d rather drive nails through my toes.”
She laughed. “Sometimes it felt like that if you got the wrong partner. But we learned proper etiquette and social graces.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
She sat very straight and lifted her chin. “Introductions, for one. ‘Mr. Carver,’” she said in a very stuffy voice. “‘May I introduce you to Mrs. Widebottom. Mrs. Widebottom, Mr. Carver.’”
He tilted his head down and glanced at her over the top of his sunglasses. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Absolutely not. Then, Mr. Carver, you would ask Mrs. Widebottom if she would like a gl
ass of punch. ‘Why, yes, Mr. Carver, I’d love a glass of punch.’” Clair batted her eyes. “After you fill the punch glass for her, you then ask if she’d like a cookie. Once you have punch and cookies, you have a conversation.”
“You mean you can’t just eat the cookies?”
“Heavens, no. You have to talk first. Engaging your partner in polite conversation is required. ‘Mr. Carver, that’s a very nice T-shirt you’re wearing. Is it Tommy Hillfiger, by chance?’”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “‘Why, no, Mrs. Widebottom, it’s Sidewalk Sam.’”
“‘I’m not familiar with that designer,’” Clair said with a sniff. “‘New York, or Paris?’”
“‘Lower East Side. Sam’s on his corner from noon to six every afternoon. Three shirts for twelve bucks, but if you tell him you know me, he’ll cut you a deal.’”
It was the first time Jacob had truly heard Clair laugh, and the sound rippled over his skin. The smile on her lips faded when she turned back to the window and stared out.
“Did you ever wonder,” she said thoughtfully, “what your life would be like if your mother had never left?”
He had from time to time. But he knew what she was really wondering about was how different her own life would be if her birth mother hadn’t died. He shrugged, then focused his gaze back on the highway. “You can’t change your life. It is what it is.”
She shook her head. “It’s not that I want to change it, I just want to make it better.”
“You already did that yesterday, when you walked out of that church. That took guts, Clair.”
“I hurt a lot of people,” she said quietly.
“And if you’d married Oliver?” Jacob shifted gears, then changed lanes and passed a ten-wheeler. “Who would you have hurt?”
She turned back from the window. “Me.”
“Damn straight.” He smiled at her, noticed a sign along the road announcing Ambiance, population two thousand, three hundred and forty-six. Five miles ahead. The next sign was a twenty-foot billboard advertising Doug’s Delicious Dogs.
He glanced over at her, saw her staring at the billboard.
“Ms. Beauchamp,” he said ever so politely. “May I interest you in a Doug’s Delicious Dog?”
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