Jack glanced up then and caught her openmouthed stare. Grinning, he crossed an arm over his bent knee.
“I think I need a little more on-the-job training. Peg gave me a crash course before she left to take her daughter to the dentist, but I obviously missed some of the more subtle tricks of the trade. Like how the heck you maneuver two armloads of plates off your arms and onto the table.”
“You get someone to help you,” the giggling high schooler put in.
“Or you don’t load up both arms,” Hank drawled.
“Or you slide the plates onto the table, instead of bouncing ‘em,” the customer whose dinner had ended up on the floor contributed dryly.
“Slide, huh?” Jack pondered the technique, undisturbed by the snickers rising from the other booths. “I’ll have to try that next time.”
Sabrina finally found her voice. “What in the world are you doing here?”
His grin softened to a private smile. “Letting Sleeping Beauty snatch a few more Zs.”
“But...? Why...?” Flustered, she could only shake her head. “You should have woken me.”
“I tried. When you sleep, Sabrina, you sleep.”
Suddenly mindful of their rapt audience, she flushed and dropped to one heel beside him. The broom swished up the broken plate and spilled food with brisk efficiency.
“You could’ve at least told me you were coming out to the diner,” she murmured. “I thought you’d driven back to Tulsa or wherever.”
“Didn’t you read the note?”
“What note?”
“I left it propped on the kitchen table.”
“I didn’t see it.”
She hadn’t seen anything beyond her disappointment that Jack had left her. Now, she couldn’t see anything beyond the smile that lightened his eyes. It made her heart start flashing and singing like the old Wurlitzer jukebox when one of the customers fed it quarters.
He hadn’t left her. He’d let her sleep and come to fill in for her. Sabrina couldn’t remember receiving a more generous gift from anyone. The need that had consumed her this afternoon deepened, softened, sweetened.
He must have seen it in her face, or in the smile she gave him in return for his unexpected gift. His voice dropped to a husky whisper in her ear.
“You’re beautiful asleep, Sabrina.”
“I’m awake now,” she answered with a shiver of delight. “I’ll take it from here.”
She did. Effortlessly and flawlessly.
Watching from the stool he’d retired to, Jack decided that she could give a time-and-motion expert lessons. Measuring her performance by the yardstick of his own admittedly limited experience, he could only admire the way she served up a generous helping of laughter along with endless platters of chicken-fried steak, onion burgers and pecan pie.
Her hands were never empty, her feet never still. She carried coffeepots, silverware and full platters on the way to the crowded tables, empty plates and glasses on the way back. In between, she took orders, mixed salads, dished up desserts, manned the cash register and changed the soft drink dispensers.
Most of the clientele in the place obviously knew and liked Sabrina. Some, Jack discovered a half hour later, liked her a little too well. He nursed a cup of coffee and glowered at a particularly obnoxious jerk in the black T-shirt and bill-to-the-back yellow ball cap. The trucker had trundled his eighteen-wheeler into the parking lot with a roar that rattled the diner’s windows and hadn’t stopped making noise since. Sabrina returned his wisecracks handily enough, but the man was starting to get on Jack’s nerves. The look in the trucker’s bloodshot eyes as he held up his coffee cup didn’t exactly improve matters.
“Hey, Sabrina, how about a refill?”
Busy collecting an order from the pass-through window, she called an answer over her shoulder. “I’ll take care of you in a minute.”
“Yeah, and I’d like to take care of you, too, baby doll.”
The lascivious comment earned him scowls from the customers seated beside him. The little smacking noises he made when Sabrina bent over to snag a ketchup bottle from under the counter brought Jack right off his stool. Before he’d taken more than a single step around the counter, Sabrina straightened and shot him a look that told him to back off.
She handled the situation with a smile and a smooth style all her own. After delivering the order, she strolled to the end of the counter. The glass carafe in her hand steamed with scalding, fresh-brewed coffee.
“Do you want this in your cup or over your head?” she asked calmly.
“Huh?”
“The next time you make a rude noise or a comment like that, I won’t ask.”
She filled his cup, then hooked a hand on her hip and waited patiently. It took the cretin a while, but he finally figured out what she expected from him.
“I, uh, didn’t mean anything.”
She arched a brow, still waiting.
“Sorry, Sabrina.”
“Apology accepted,” she said easily. “How about a piece of pie to go with your coffee? There’s some lemon meringue left.”
Jack settled back on his stool. The urge to violence still ripped at him. He knew how to take care of himself, had participated in his share of brawls during his rowdy youth, but he’d long since learned the value of negotiation over brute force. Yet he would have wiped the linoleum with the jackass at the other end of the counter if the man hadn’t apologized.
Almost as strong as the urge to violence was the primal urge to mark his territory. To stake a claim. Permanently. Irrevocably.
And he would. Later. When they were alone. When they’d had a chance to talk. When he could tell her about the decisions he’d come to last night, all of which concerned her.
Jack flicked a glance at the clock over the counter. Four more hours until the diner closed. Probably closer to five until he could take Sabrina home, kiss her senseless, tumble her into bed. Then talk.
It was, he realized, going to be a long night.
Finishing off his coffee, he decided to go out to the truck to check in with his office, then the Wentworth operations center. That would kill a half hour or so. Spinning erotic fantasies about what he intended to do with—and to—Sabrina later would kill the rest.
Or kill him.
It was a close call.
Jack couldn’t remember wanting more or aching harder in his life. He was waiting beside the Mazda when Sabrina walked out of the diner into a night spangled with a couple of million stars and the sweet scent of new-mown grass. The arms she slid around his neck were warm and eager, her kiss as hungry as his. But her weary sigh when she settled against his chest neatly sabotaged his agenda for the rest of the night.
“Tired?”
“Yes. No.” Laughter bubbled up. “Yes. It’s been quite a day.”
Jack didn’t comment on the fact that he’d spent the past several hours thinking of ways to stretch the day even further into the night. Instead, he reached for her car keys.
“We can leave my truck here overnight. I’ll drive your Mazda, and you just relax.”
He’d just more or less announced that he wanted to spend the night in her bed, and she was supposed to relax? Sabrina didn’t think so.
“I’m okay,” she said a trifle breathlessly. “I’ll drive my car and you can follow. It’s only a few miles.”
The truth, she admitted as she slid behind the wheel, was that she needed those few miles to get her fluttery nerves under control. She’d spent the whole blessed evening on a blade of anticipation, as conscious of Jack’s presence in the diner as a tethered goat watched by a lazy mountain lion. His every movement feathered her nerves. His smile came close to causing her to put another hand into the pie. If that weren’t bad enough, all she had to do was think about the rumpled bed waiting for them at home and her lungs squeezed painfully.
They were still squeezing when she pulled into the carport. The truck’s lights flashed in the rearview mirror, blinding her for a moment. She s
quinched against the glare, then heard Jack’s boots as they crunched on the drive. He held out a hand to help her out The simple touch sparked white flashes of heat through her body.
She led him through the side door. Sure enough, a folded piece of white notebook paper was propped against the pile of textbooks on the kitchen table. She’d missed it completely.
“Would you like a drink? Rachel brought a bottle of wine with her a few weeks ago.” Sabrina reached for the fridge handle. “Or there may be a bottle or two of beer left from Dad’s last swing through.”
Jack caught her arm. “Unless you want some, I’ll pass. I swigged enough coffee while I watched you in action to keep me awake all night.”
She cocked her head, her eyes wide and too innocent. “All night, huh?”
“All night,” he repeated with a grin.
She gave a little groan, partly in response to the sheer male bravado in his boast and partly from the excitement that streaked through her when he bent his head.
His mouth covered hers. This kiss held everything they’d bypassed this afternoon. Tenderness. Slow, sensual exploration. Wonder.
All too soon, it escalated into greedy hunger. When Sabrina finally pulled back, her legs were as shaky as her breath.
“If you expect me to last longer than the next ten minutes, we’d better slow down these kisses.”
“Honey, we’re going to slow everything down.”
The smile that accompanied that promise had her heart bumping even before he slid an arm under her knees and brought her to his chest. True to his word, he strolled down the hall and eased her onto the rumpled bed.
He loomed over her, his face a play of light and dark in the shadows. He slipped off her sneakers, and Sabrina’s throat went dry when he unsnapped her jeans and slowly peeled them down her hips. Then he wrapped both hands around her foot. His skin was warm against hers. Excited and nervous and suddenly, ridiculously shy, she propped herself up on one elbow.
“What are you...? Oh, Jack! Oh! Oooh!”
She plopped back on the quilt, sure she would drown in a river of pleasure. His strong, sure hands worked magic on her aching arches, her toes, her heels. He massaged one foot, then the other. Each exertion, each pressure eased aches she hadn’t even known she had.
“If you ever decide to retire from the oil-and-gas business,” Sabrina gasped between ripples of sheer pleasure, “you could make a fortune doing feet Another fortune,” she amended on a shuddering sigh.
“What makes you think feet are my only talent?”
His wonderful, magical fingers moved to her ankle. He rotated the joint, loosening it, then slid his palms along her calf. Kneading, knuckling, stroking, he had her quivering all over. Certain she’d died and gone to waitress heaven, Sabrina closed her eyes and gave herself up to the exquisite sensation.
Afterward, she was never quite sure when she first realized that her legs were untapped, unmapped erogenous zones. Maybe when the pleasure shifted from joyous little spurts to slow, decadent streams. Or when Jack’s fingers found an aching knot of muscle just above her knees. She jerked. Murmuring an apology, he laid a kiss on the tender area.
She jerked again at the hot touch of his tongue. And again, when he edged her panties down and trailed kisses across her hips, her belly. He bared her breasts, her throat. She was swimming in fire by the time his skilled mouth finally reached hers.
“Now you, Jack,” she panted what seemed like hours later. “Let me see you. Let me pleasure you.”
“Slowly,” he reminded, his voice rough, tender, a little hoarse.
“Slowly,” she promised, hers liquid with desire.
He heeled off his boots, and Sabrina took over from there. Rising up on her knees, she unbuttoned his borrowed shirt. Her mouth was as soft as a cloud on the dark bruise that crept across one shoulder. Her hands were gentle on his back.
Despite her butterfly touch, or maybe because of it, his skin rippled under her fingers like a fast-moving stream. His neck corded under her lips. His shoulders flexed and went taut. He strained with the effort of holding back, of letting her touch and taste and breathe in his scent.
When they finally sank back onto the bed, she was wet and ready, more than ready, for him. He anchored his hands in her hair, tilted her head back, drew a little whimper of protest.
“We may be in trouble here, Sabrina.”
The rough growl barely penetrated her haze. “What?”
“You know those deep waters we talked about?”
“What...? Oh. Yes.”
“I guess I’d better admit that I’m in over my head.” His gruff admission cut a path straight to her heart. “Way over my head.”
She stared up at eyes awash with a tenderness that stole what little was left of her breath. At that moment, Sabrina tumbled out of lust, slid right past longing and landed smack in the middle of love. She felt herself dropping. Was powerless to stop the free fall. Didn’t even try.
A piercing happiness welled in her chest, so sharp and strong that she knew she’d never forget this moment, this instant in time. She wanted to tell him that she felt the same way. She wanted to laugh in exultation, sob with joy, but he entered her with a long, slow thrust that had her swallowing everything but a scream.
She was sure they’d take off then, that they’d shoot up to the moon like rockets, much as they’d soared to the afternoon sun. But he kept the pace of their loving so slow and so sweet and so magical that she was sobbing with the wonder of it long before it ended.
Despite her nap earlier, Sabrina never found out if Jack could make good on his boast to stay awake all night. Nor did they ever have their promised talk.
She felt herself slipping into oblivion after only an hour in his arms. Or maybe it was two. Or three. She couldn’t find the strength to lift her head and check the clock.
She buried her face in the warm angle between his neck and shoulder. She didn’t want to think about that damned clock. Didn’t want to hold back the tides of sleep, the tides of love. But the sense of responsibility that followed her like a shadow kept her awake long enough to mutter into the warm skin under her lips.
“Jack...”
“I’m here.”
“The alarm. Is it...is it set?”
He craned his neck. “Yes. Do you want me to turn it off?”
Her breath puffed out in a long sigh. “No. It’s my turn to open tomorrow. I’ll have to get up at...four-thirty.”
“Four-thirty!”
“Mmm.”
A groan rumbled in his chest. “Okay, Sleeping Beauty. You’d better go into your trance.”
“I...already...have.”
Chuckling, he drew her up a little higher on his shoulder.
That soft laugh and the smooth flex of his muscles under her cheek would constitute Sabrina’s last real memories of Jack Wentworth.
Chapter 11
The soft, persistent hum jolted Jack right from sleep into instant wakefulness. He lay absolutely still, waiting while his senses made order of the noise and the darkness and the warm body curled into his.
It took him only a second or two to identify the hum, another couple to ease out of Sabrina’s loose hold. Naked, he scooped up his jeans and dug a small, flat beeper out of the pocket. A single glance at the illuminated digits had his skin prickling.
He glanced at the phone on the nightstand beside the bed, then spun around and left the room. The door shut noiselessly behind him. Picking up the living room phone, he punched in a code to scramble the signal, then hammered out a ten-number sequence. Trey McGill answered on the second ring.
“El Jafir hit a refinery last night,” the State Department rep said without preamble.
Jack swore, low and long. “Any casualties?”
“No, and no serious damage. But the bastards promised real fireworks next time.”
“Dammit!”
“We need you on a plane today.”
Before he thought about it, before he had time even to
understand it, a protest formed in Jack’s throat He didn’t want to leave Sabrina. Not now. Not until he’d satisfied his raw need to make her his.
Not even then.
Especially not then.
“I can’t this time, Trey.”
“What?”
The single syllable exploded with such astonished disbelief that Jack almost smiled.
“Send someone else.”
“There isn’t anyone else,” Trey snarled. “No one that Prince Kaisal and his father trust after the damned leak.”
“Have you found the source?”
“We’ve traced it back to State, but the trail ends there.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
Jack wasn’t a fan of huge, amorphous organizations at the best of times...which was one of the reasons why he operated so well outside of them.
“Sounds like you’ve got some serious housecleaning to do,” he bit out
“We do. In the meantime, we’ve been hustling to put together the emergency aid package I told you about. We need you to take it in.”
“Hell!”
Scowling at the dim outline of the Route 66 poster on the living room wall, Jack raked a hand through his hair. He had to do this. He had too many of his own people in Qatar, and he and Ali went too far back to let him down now. Deliberately, he shoved aside his gnawing reluctance.
“All right, I’m in.”
“Good! You can use your concern over the security of the Wentworth Oil people in-country as a cover. I’ll brief you on the aid package when you get to D.C. Do you want me to send an air force jet to pick you up?”
“No. I’ll get my people to roll out the Lear. I’ll be there in...”
He flicked a glance at his watch. He had to get to the office, retrieve his passport and some cash, establish a cover for the unexpected trip. As Trey had intimated, that wasn’t a problem. The security of his people demanded his immediate, personal attention.
“I’ll be there by ten your time,” he said. “Noon at the latest.”
The Mercenary and the New Mom Page 13