Nan watched his tongue lick the same spot she had. Watched his pleasure in tasting her where she had tasted him. She closed her eyes against the potent suck of desire making her want to pull him to the ground and love him till time ceased to exist. When she opened them again, he was gone, only the roar of his truck echoed in the night. Jackson had forgotten his coat.
Warm silky fur rubbed against her ankle and a plaintive meow dispelled the feel of Jackson’s lingering touch. Nan sighed, bent down and picked up Shakespeare.
“No Romeoing for you tonight, sir. Seems as if there’s enough of that going on already.” After locking the door, she wandered into the kitchen to feed Shakespeare. Now that Jackson was gone, her common sense seemed to be returning. She’d done the right thing three months ago. She didn’t need a relationship going nowhere.
“Remind me to make it to the grocery store tomorrow.” She dumped a can of tuna in Shakespeare’s dish, then scoured the refrigerator for something for herself, but nothing seemed to satisfy.
Shakespeare finished his meal and adjourned to her bedroom. Nan followed. The nights had become longer since she’d stopped dating Jackson; she’d eaten less, slept less, and worked more.
Shakespeare groomed himself on the slipper chair next to her bed. Nan cleaned up and settled into reading “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” But her concentration eluded her. She closed her eyes to drift to the land of dreams and lovers, where Puck’s fairy dust made the impossible happen.
Jackson’s kiss lingered upon her lips and thoughts of him plagued her all throughout a restless night. The devil stood on her doorstep. She had her hand on the doorknob, and her eye at the peephole, looking at him for all she was worth, and he looked good. Come morning she knew she was going to let him in the door.
CHAPTER SIX
At five a.m. Nan rolled out of bed groaning. Even after coffee and a shower, she didn’t manage to get both eyes open until the doorbell rang.
She hurried to answer it, her mind a muddled maze. Wet hair wound up in a purple towel and her damp body wrapped in a fuzzy robe that had seen better days, she peered through the peephole and blinked twice. The devil had arrived.
Juggling several lunch bags, Jackson ran an impatient hand through his hair and rang the doorbell again, then rapped his knuckles on the door for good measure. Eye pressed to peephole, Nan jumped at the sharp sound.
She cracked the door open and stuck her nose into the slit. “Jackson?”
“Morning.” He grinned enough to flash the dimple in his left cheek. The rough edge of very little sleep laced his deep voice; its intimacy conjured up images of waking in his arms on a lazy morning. After making love.
“What . . .” was the only word she could manage to say as she furrowed her brow.
He held up the white bags and dangled a set of keys. “Breakfast and transportation. Remember?”
“MMMM.” Nan drew a deep breath, catching the scent of cinnamon and fresh soap. His black hair gleamed damply in the porch light, giving evidence he’d recently showered. A dark shadow on his square jaw let her know he’d skipped shaving, as a man in a hurry might do. The morning air hung heavy with the essence of spring and still carried a whispery breath of winter’s chill. Jackson wore his customary dress, a snug fitting black T-shirt, muscle-hugging jeans, and mirrored sunglasses. Her mouth watered at his appetizing appeal.
“Well, sugar? As much as I’m enjoying your interest, it’s chilly and I like my buns at least warm if not hot.”
“Buns? Oh, my. Um, I forgot to give you your jacket last night.” Nan unlatched the chain and pulled the door open.
“Jacket wouldn’t help these." He held up the scrumptious smelling bag. "Though, I like the direction of your thoughts.” Jackson brushed his way in before she could move back. He grinned like a man who had decadent things on his mind as he waved the bags under her nose. “Cinnamon buns, darlin’. You know, of the big, hot, sticky, sugary variety you eat for breakfast?”
“Of course,” Nan said, pretending she’d never even considered anything else. She pulled the edges of her robe closer, a little self-conscious. “I love buns. Um, cinnamon buns.”
“You look better than the pastries.”
Nan pushed at the towel wrapping her head. “I, uh, thanks. If I look better, they must be really messy.”
“You look delicious.” He lifted his sunglasses off and pointedly slid his gaze over her.
Her body quickened and flushed, tingling in all the places she’d dreamed he touched. Acute awareness plowed through the cotton field of her mind. Awareness of him, of the heavy yearning in her breasts, and of the throbbing heat in the center of her desire. She tugged the front edges of her robe closer; the material skimmed her naked breasts. Her movement brought his gaze to her chest, and her nipples tightened.
His pupils dilated and he slowly lifted his gaze to hers. Throat dry, she swallowed, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. Almost as if the scene played in slow motion on a movie screen, he tossed his glasses on her hall table, dropped the bags to the floor, and swept her up against his hard, lean body.
“Damn,” he muttered as he lowered his mouth to hers. She burned everywhere. Her hands left behind the modest job of keeping her robe closed and sought the heat of his broad shoulders and silky hair. He deepened the kiss, bending her back over his arm. A shock of pure pleasure ripped through her and she fought to keep a grasp on her sanity. His lips trailed down her neck and pushed her robe open. Nan refused to open her eyes; refused to acknowledge that this wasn't a fantasy. This was real.
"You are so damn beautiful," he said. Cool air and his heated breath brushed over her breasts and she knew what he was seeing, knew without looking that she lay naked and open to him. The dampness of his tongue slid along her chest and inched closer to her aching nipple. Then heat shot though her as she felt him suck her nipple into his mouth.
Nan gulped in air. Blood roared in her ears. Her back arched and his burning hand slipped beneath the robe, cupping her sex. She moaned. He felt so good. Oh, how she needed his touch there. She reached for him, pulled upon his shoulders, pressing her sex against his hand.
His groan came from deep in his throat, primal, sexual, and needy. "Let's take this to the bedroom, sugar."
A bed in a room with no window to a future her mind screamed through the sensual haze enslaving her.
“We can’t,” Nan mumbled. He nipped her breast and she moaned. “I have to go to work.”
“Double damn,” Jackson whispered as his mouth left one breast and moved to the other. His finger slid against her, pressing into her feminine folds and she moaned with need.
Nan knew that in another second she'd be lost. Work, patients, responsibility, everything would cease to matter.
She straightened her back, forcing his mouth back up to her neck. “I can’t. I need to dress,” she said, pulling back from the fire consuming her alive. She pushed on his shoulders and he straightened. They stared at each other. They'd gone further than they had before. The fire between them had burned hotter than ever before. He was breathing as heavy as she and looked as stunned as she felt. He clenched his jaw; his full mouth fell into a grim line, telling her how much his restraint was costing him.
Without a word he set her on her feet and pulled her robe closed.
Nan scrambled for something to say. “Uh, you’ll find fresh hot coffee in the coffee maker, cream in the fridge and sugar on the table. I’ll…I'll be out in a jiffy.” After I take fifty cold showers, she thought as she turned and ran.
Jackson reached for Nan as she left. Then let his hands drop when she disappeared into the bedroom like a fuzzy rabbit running from a fox. He drew in several ragged breaths of air, counted to ten; then forced himself to retrieve the breakfast he no longer desired.
He stood in the entryway for a long moment, uncomfortable as hell. He didn't even have room for air in his jeans.
Slowly the red haze of desire eased and he began to notice his surroundings. Taking
note of everything he passed on his way to locating the kitchen. There was a multitude of plants everywhere—palms and trees and flowers, potted plants, hanging plants. You name it; Nan had it.
The kitchen was no different. Amongst the plants, shades of soothing blues, bright whites, and cheery yellows greeted him in the wallpaper, counters, and curtains. He ran a curious look about, interested in what his surroundings could tell him about their owner. She liked to care for things.
When he’d dated her, he’d avoided knowing personal details, including going to her apartment. Sharing things like that led a woman to believe he had more to offer than what he gave between the sheets. So why was he here now? Just to give her a ride.
So why the buns? Just to share a breakfast?
No. It was about damn time he started being honest with himself. He was here because he couldn’t get Nan out of his head. He wanted her in his bed. He wanted the fire between them to burn him alive, to make him forget. Because when he was kissing Nan, nothing else mattered, not even the past. And that felt good.
It was a sexual thing. Nothing else.
Frowning, he thrust himself into the busy work of setting up a cozy breakfast at Nan’s dinette table. He popped the buns into the microwave to warm them, then set out two mugs of coffee.
He had to bide his time this time around. Maybe with a little room to breathe, she’d see things his way. They could explore hot sex without getting caught up in issues of goals and futures. The woman needed to loosen up and live the day for the day, and he was the man to show her how to do it. Hot, sticky cinnamon buns were the first step. Too bad she had to be at work this morning.
A slight noise from the door had him spinning around ready to give Nan the sensual breakfast of her life. Instead he met wide yellow eyes that seemed to say; “I know what you’re up to.”
The fluffy gray cat flicked its tail and bared its teeth, as if to tell Jackson his plan was doomed. Jackson bared his teeth, too, returning the favor. “What? You don’t think I’m the man for the job?”
“Meow,” the cat replied. The microwave beeped and Jackson pulled the steamy buns out, breathing deep of their rich aroma. He looked back at the cat. “These tell a different story. Before breakfast is over I’ll have her eating out of my hand. Wait and see.”
Jackson set the buns on the table. Just as he was about to sit down, the cat hopped into the chair. He gently brushed the cat back to the floor. “Sorry bud, this is my place this morning. You go find somewhere else to lounge.”
The cat flicked its tail and left the kitchen. Turning his attention back to breakfast, Jackson realized he’d forgotten to get cream from the fridge.
“The buns smell wonderful,” Nan said as she walked into the room.
She brought with her a light fragrant cloud of enticing honeysuckle and mint freshness, reminding him of the honeysuckle bush not too far from the old cabin he lived in. Sometimes on steamy, summer afternoons, he’d lay out by the creek and revel in the warm sun and sweet smell.
A flash of making love to Nan in the hot sunshine, in just that spot, shuddered through his mind. He blinked, bringing Nan back into focus. She stood before him cool and collected. The complete opposite of the wildly abandoned woman he’d kissed moments ago. Dressed in efficient pristine nurse whites with her luxurious sable hair pulled into a neat bun, she looked very professional and very reserved.
“You smell wonderful, too. I love honeysuckle.” He grinned at her and she smiled back at him. He recalled pulling the centers from honeysuckle flowers as a kid and licking the sweet nectar. He wanted to taste the sweet nectar of Nan's center. She'd taste even better.
“Pardon?” Nan frowned and walked to where he was staring mindlessly into the open refrigerator.
He cleared his throat. “Uh, the buns, I bet the buns will taste even better.” He shifted his gaze back to the task of finding cream, but the contents of the refrigerator blurred. Nan was too close for rational thought. He hooked his thumbs into the pocket of his jeans to ease the swelling tightness.
Maybe he should have just stayed in bed this morning. A man needed all of his wits if he was going to woo a woman like Nan into his bed. And he didn’t know if he was up for that this early in the morning.
“Can I help you find something?” Nan leaned in beside him, peering into the fridge, wreaking more havoc on his already scattered brain cells.
“Yeah.” Jackson exhaled roughly and centered his gaze directly on hers. Her mouth formed a surprised “O” and her pupils dilated, leaving her irises a warm honey brown. He wanted her with a rawness that left him nearly undone. He straightened as she did. They ended up only inches apart. She didn’t back away, and he took that as a good sign.
Without moving his gaze from her face, he said, “Your choice. You can either help me find cream for the coffee or we can find your bed and get this craziness in our blood out of our system now.”
Nan stepped back then, and Jackson cursed himself for a fool. He had all the subtlety of a bulldozer. It was a wonder she didn’t kick him and his buns out of her apartment. “Nan, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so crude. It’s just all night I—“
“We need to hurry,” she said, business-like.
His jaw went slack with surprise. He didn’t have to hurry; he was already ready. “I can do that. Which way to the bedroom?” He reached for her.
She sidestepped away. “No. I, um, mean breakfast. Here’s the cream.” She grabbed a carton from the fridge. He stepped back as she firmly shut the refrigerator door. “I have a planning meeting I need to attend before my shift starts and I have to—Shakespeare! No!”
A suspiciously satisfied meow sounded across the room. Jackson looked over. Shakespeare sat on the table licking his left front paw. Bits of crystallizing white sugar clung to his whiskers.
“He should have horns on his head,” Jackson muttered, glaring at the cat.
Nan laughed and shooed the cat out of the kitchen.
Cat-lick-denuded-cinnamon buns were all that was left of the sensual breakfast he had planned. Hell, he should have stayed in bed. Then he looked at Nan; saw the sparkle in her eyes; the sexy curve of her smile, and changed his mind. Buns or no buns, he was glad he had come.
Breakfast didn’t go exactly like he’d planned. They had had to whip by the bakery and get coffee and fresh buns to go. He now had a pleasantly satisfied sweet tooth and a sticky steering wheel to show for it.
Forty quick minutes later, he pulled his pickup next to Nan’s lonely hunter-green BMW at the Savannah Yacht Club.
Nan turned to him, hesitant. “I really appreciate this morning. The breakfast and the ride, well, it was very thoughtful. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He liked how she looked in the early morning. Though she was too pale, giving evidence that she spent more time working than she should, he liked how the bright sunshine glinted off the golden lights in her brown hair. An inner glow in her dark honey eyes challenged the new day and drew him to her. Nan seemed to look at life much the same way he had a lifetime ago, fresh, optimistic and hopeful. Everything he wasn’t now. He had no business wanting her, wanting to touch and feel the breath she gave to life. But he did.
She opened the door to get out, and he did the same, walking around to her. She unlocked her door and leaned deep into the car to drop her tote bag onto the passenger’s seat. The crisp material of her white pants stretched across her bottom, outlining the conservative, full cut of her panties. The complete opposite from the underwear she’d worn last night. He grinned. Next time he found Nan in a compromising position on the hood of his pickup, he wouldn’t be so quick to rush her inside, even if it was storming. There was something hot and elemental thinking about making love to her in the rain. “You look better in a uniform than any nurse I’ve ever seen.”
She straightened then frowned. “What are your comparisons? The nurse in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest? I think waking up this early in the morning has you delusional.”
&n
bsp; He opened his mouth to tell her he’d seen plenty of white uniforms, then shut it. That part of his life was over.
“Well, thanks again. It was, um, good to see you.” She seemed a little nervous as she turned to get into the car.
“Yeah. Real good.” He caught her shoulder and turned her back to him. “Not so fast, you have sugar on your mouth.”
“I do?” She reached up to brush away the crumb, but he captured her hand in his before she could wipe it away. He leaned down and laid his lips over the spot and licked. Sweet heaven.
Nan stiffened slightly. “Jackson, we can’t.”
“We can’t?” he whispered back and slid his mouth more in line with hers. He waited a moment to see if she’d pull away. When she didn’t, he ran his tongue across her bottom lip, softly, slowly, coaxing.
Her answer came in her sigh of surrender as her palm flattened against his and their fingers intertwined. Her skin heated and electrified his nerves, sending a shock straight to his gut. Her lips parted, and he kissed her. Not hard, as the blood racing through his veins urged, but tenderly, like the sun’s warmth in the early morn. A deep moan worked its way up the back of his throat as she sank into the kiss, wrapping her arms about his neck.
When he could no longer hold back his desire, he gently set her back on her feet, drew a deep breath, and tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder.
After a moment he stepped back and cupped her chin to brush his thumb across the last crumb of sugar clinging to her mouth. Her lip trembled beneath his touch. “I meant what I said last night. I want to make love to you. You and I would be incredible.” He took her left hand and kissed her bare ring finger to its tip. Then he nipped the sensitive pad with his teeth before covering it completely with a soothing combination of his mouth and lips. “We’re both free, consenting adults. We can, sugar. We definitely can.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
She could.
She had to.
Smooth Irish (Book 2 of the Weldon Series) Page 7