Loving Jack, page 8
She went pale, and he knew that he’d gone too far in his rush for self-protection.
“Jackie, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“Didn’t you? Well, whatever.” She was amazed, absolutely amazed, at how much it hurt. She’d always dreamed of falling in love, deeply, blindly, beautifully in love. So this was how it felt, she thought as she pressed a hand to her stomach. The poets could keep it.
“Jack, listen—”
“No, I’d really rather not.” When she smiled at him now, he realized just how special her genuine smile was. “No explanations required, Nathan. It was only a suggestion. I should apologize for coming on too strong.”
“Damn it, I don’t want an apology.”
“No? Well, that’s good, because I think I’d choke on it. I really should get back to work, but before I go there’s just one thing.” Deadly calm, Jackie picked up her glass of iced coffee and emptied it in his lap. “See you at dinner.”
***
She worked like a maniac, barely noticing when Mrs. Grange came in to change the bed linen and dust the furniture. She was both amazed and infuriated at how close, how dangerously close, she’d been to tears. It wasn’t that she minded shedding tears. There were times when she enjoyed nothing more than a wailing crying jag. But she knew that if she gave in to this one she wouldn’t enjoy it a bit.
How could he have been so insensitive, so unfeeling, as to think she’d been offering him nothing more than sex, a quick afternoon romp? And how could she have been so stupid as to think she’d fallen in love?
Love took two people. She knew that. Wasn’t she even now pouring her heart out in a story that involved two people’s feelings and needs? And those feelings hadn’t sprung out of a kiss but out of time and struggle.
Same old Jack, she accused herself. Still believing that everything in life came as easily as slipping off a log. She’d deserved a swift kick and gotten one. But deserving or not, it didn’t make it any less humiliating that Nathan had been the one to plant it.
Mrs. Grange cleared her throat for the third time as she fluffed Jackie’s pillows. The minute the typewriter stilled, she stepped in.
“You sure do type fast,” she began. “You do secretarial work?”
There was no reason to take out her foul mood on the housekeeper, Jackie reminded herself as she forced a smile. “No, actually I’m writing a book.”
“Is that so?” Interested, Mrs. Grange walked to the foot of the bed to tug on the spread. “I like a good story myself.”
Mrs. Grange was the first person Jackie had told about her writing who hadn’t raised a brow or rolled her eyes. Encouraged, she swiveled around in her chair. The devil with Nathan, she thought. Jacqueline R. MacNamara had come to write a book, and that was just what she was going to do.
“Do you get much of a chance to read?”
“Nothing I like better after a day on my feet than to sit down with a nice story for an hour or two.” Mrs. Grange edged a little closer, passing a dust rag over the lamp. “What kind of book are you writing?”
“A romance, a historical romance.”
“No fooling? I’m partial to love stories. You been writing long?”
“Actually, this is my first try. I spent about a month doing research and compiling information and dates and things, then I just dived in.”
Mrs. Grange shifted her gaze to the typewriter, then looked back at the lamp. “I guess it’s like painting. You don’t want anybody looking till it’s all done.”
“Are you kidding?” Laughing, Jackie tucked her feet under her. “I’ve been dying for somebody to want to read some of it.” But not her family, Jackie thought, nibbling on her lower lip. They had already seen too much of what she’d begun, then left undone. “Want to see the first page?” Jackie was already whipping it from the pile and offering it.
“Well, now.” Mrs. Grange took the typed sheet and held it out at arm’s length until she focused on it. She read with her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. After a moment she let out three wheezes that Jackie recognized as a laugh. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could have pleased her more.
“You sure did start out with a bang, didn’t you?” There was both admiration and approval in Mrs. Grange’s eyes as she looked over the end of the sheet. “Nothing like a gunfight to pique the interest.”
“That’s what I was hoping. Of course, it’s just a first draft, but it’s going fast.” She accepted the page back and studied it. “I’m hoping to have enough to send off in a couple of weeks.”
“I’ll be mighty pleased to read the whole thing when you’ve finished.”
“Me too.” Jackie laughed again as she placed the first page on top of the pile. “Every day when I see how many pages I’ve done I can’t believe it.” A bit hesitantly, she laid her hand on top of the manuscript pages. “I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do when it’s all finished.”
“Well, I guess you’ll just have to write another one, won’t you?” Bending, Mrs. Grange hefted her box of cleaning tools and clumped out.
Why, she was right, Jackie thought. Win or lose, life didn’t begin or end on the first try. There couldn’t be anyone who knew that better than herself. If something worked, you kept at it. And if something didn’t work, and you wanted it, you kept right at that, too.
Turning around, she smiled at the half-typed page in her machine. She could apply that philosophy nicely to her writing. And while she was at it she might just apply it to Nathan.
Chapter Five
He was furious with himself. Still, it was easier, and a lot more comfortable, to turn his fury on her. He hadn’t wanted to kiss her. She’d goaded him into it. He certainly hadn’t wanted to hurt her. She’d forced him to do so. In a matter of days she’d turned him into a short-tempered villain with an overactive libido.
He was really a very nice man. Nathan was certain of it. Sure, he could be tough-minded, and he was often an impatient perfectionist on the job. He could hire and fire with impersonal speed. But that was business. In his personal life he’d never given anyone reason to dislike him.
When he saw a woman socially, he was always careful to see that the rules were posted up front. If the relationship deepened, both would be fully aware of its possibilities and its limitations. No one would ever have called him a womanizer.
Not that he didn’t have a certain number of female . . . friends. It would be impossible for a grown man, a healthy man, to go through life without some companionship and affection. But, damn it, he made the moves, the overtures—and there was a certain flow to how these things worked. When a man and a woman decided to go beyond being friends, they did so responsibly, with as much caution as affection. By the time they did, if they did, they’d developed a certain rapport and understanding.
Groping in the kitchen after a parsley salad wasn’t his idea of a sensible adult relationship.
If that was old-fashioned, then he was old-fashioned.
The problem was, that kiss over the kitchen counter had meant more, had shaken him more, than any of the carefully programmed, considerate and mature relationships he’d ever experienced. And it wasn’t the way he wanted his life to run.
He hadn’t learned much from his father other than how to knot a tie correctly, but he had learned that a woman was to be treated with respect, admiration and care. He was—always had been—a gentleman. Roses for the proper occasion, a light touch and a certain amount of courtship.
He knew how to treat a woman, how to steer a relationship along the right course and how to end one without scenes and recriminations. If he was overly careful not to allow anyone to get too close, he had good reason. Another thing he’d learned from his father, in reverse, was never to make promises he wouldn’t keep or establish bonds he would certainly break. It had always been a matter of pride to him that whenever it had become necessary to end a relationship he and the woman involved had parted as friends.
How could he and Jackie part as friends when they hadn’t yet become friends? In any case, Nathan considered himself sharp enough to know that if a relationship was begun, then ended, with a woman like Jackie, it wouldn’t end without scenes or recriminations. The end, he was sure, would be just as explosive and illogical as the beginning.
He didn’t like mercurial personalities or flash-fire tempers. They interfered with his concentration.
What he needed to do was to get back in gear—start the preliminaries on his next project, resume his social life. He’d spent too much time on the troubles and triumphs with the complex in Germany. Now that he’d gotten home, he hadn’t had a peaceful moment.
His own fault. Nathan was willing to accept responsibility. His uninvited guest had another week—after all, she had his word on that. Then she was out. Out and forgotten. Well, out, in any case.
He started upstairs with the intention of changing and drowning himself in the pool. Then he heard her laugh. It was just his bad luck, he supposed, that she had such an appealing laugh. He heard her speak in that quicksilver way she had, and he stopped. Her bedroom door was open, and her voice raced out. It wasn’t eavesdropping, he told himself. It was, after all, his house.
“Aunt Honoria, what in the world gave you that idea?” Kicked back in a chair, Jackie held the phone between her shoulder and chin as she painted her toenails. “Of course I’m not annoyed with Fred. Why should I be? He did me a wonderful favor.” Jackie dipped her brush in the bottle of Sizzling Cerise polish and played her cards close to her chest. “The house is absolutely perfect, exactly what I’d been looking for, and Nathan—Nathan’s the owner, darling—yes, he’s just adorable.”
She held her foot out to admire her handiwork. Between writing and cooking, she hadn’t had time for a pedicure in weeks. No matter how busy, her mother would have said, a woman should always look her best from head to toe.
“No, dear, we’ve worked things out beautifully. He’s a bit of a hermit, so we keep to ourselves. I’m fixing his meals for him. The darling’s developing a bit of a paunch.”
Outside the door, Nathan automatically reached a hand to his stomach.
“No, he couldn’t be sweeter. We’re rubbing along just fine. He might be one of my uncles. As a matter of fact, his hairline’s receding just like Uncle Bob’s.”
This time both of Nathan’s hands went to his hair.
“I’m just glad I could put your mind at ease. No, be sure to let Fred know everything couldn’t be better. I’d have gotten in touch with him myself, but I wasn’t sure just where he’d popped off to.”
There was a pause. For some reason, Nathan felt it was a particularly cold one.
“Of course, dear, I know exactly how our Fred is.”
In the hallway, Nathan heard little murmurs of agreement and a few light laughs. He was just about to continue when Jackie spoke again.
“Oh, Aunt Honoria, I nearly forgot. What was the name of that wonderful Realtor you used on the Hawkins property?”
Jackie switched feet and moved in for the kill.
“Well, dear, it’s rather confidential still, but I know I can trust you. It seems there’s this block of land, about twenty-five acres. South of here, a place called Shutter’s Creek. Yes, it is rather precious, isn’t it? In any case . . . you will keep this to yourself, won’t you?”
Jackie smiled and continued to paint as she received her aunt’s assurances. Aunt Honoria’s promises were as easily smeared as wet nail polish. “Yes, I knew you would. Anyway, it’s being sold at rock bottom, and naturally I wouldn’t have been interested. Who would? It’s hardly more than a swamp at this point. But the beauty is, dear, that Allegheny Enterprises—you know, the contractors who put up all those marvelous resorts? Yes, that’s the one. They’re scouting out the location. They’re thinking about pumping it and filling it in and putting up one of those chichi places like they did in Arizona. Yes, it was marvelous what they did with a few acres of desert, wasn’t it?”
She listened a few more moments, knowing how to play a line until the bait was well taken.
“Just a little tip from a friend of mine. I want to snap it up quickly, then resell it to Allegheny. Word from my friend is that they’ll pay triple the asking price. Yes, I know, sounds too good to be true. Do keep this under your hat, Auntie. I want to see if I can have the Realtor rush this through settlement before the lid’s off.”
Jackie listened for a moment as she debated putting on a third coat.
“Yes, it could be exciting, and very hush-hush. That’s why I don’t want to tip my hand to the Realtor here in Florida. No, I haven’t said a thing to Mother and Daddy yet. You know how I love surprises. Oh, darling, there’s the door. Must run. Do give my best to everyone. I’ll be in touch. Ciao.”
Delighted with herself, Jackie stretched in the chair and sent it spinning in a circle.
“Well, hello, Nathan.”
“I don’t know where you get your information,” he began, “but unless you want to lose even more money, I’d look for someplace other than Shutter’s Creek. It’s twenty-five acres of sludge and mosquitoes.”
“Yes, I know.” With the ease of the limber, Jackie brought her leg around so that she could blow on her painted toenails. Nathan wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d tucked her heel behind her ear and grinned at him. “And unless I miss my guess, dear old Fred will own all those lovely mosquitoes within forty-eight hours.” Smiling at Nathan, she pillowed her head on her folded arms. “I always figure when you pay back you should pay back where it’ll hurt the most. For Fred, that’s his wallet.”
Impressed, Nathan stepped farther into the room. “You planted the seeds of his downfall?”
“Exactly, and like Jack’s beanstalk, it should sprout overnight.”
Nathan mulled it over. It was a nasty trick, a very nasty trick. He only wished he’d thought of it. “How do you know he’ll go for it?”
Jackie merely continued to smile. “Want to make a wager on it?”
“No,” he said after a moment. “No, I don’t think I do. How much are they asking an acre?”
“Oh, only two thousand. Fred should be able to beg, borrow or steal fifty without too much trouble.” Deciding against a third coat, she capped the bottle. “I always pay my debts, Nathan. Without exception.”
He was aware he’d been warned and decided he deserved it. “If it’s any consolation, I doubt I’ll be able to drink iced coffee again.”
She crossed her legs lazily. “I suppose that’s something.”
“And I’m not losing my hair.”
She flicked her gaze over it. It was thick and full and dark. She could remember with absolute clarity how it had felt between her fingers. “Probably not.”
“Nor do I have a paunch.”
With her tongue caught between her teeth, she let her glance slide down to his taut and very flat stomach. “Well, not yet.”
“And I am not adorable.”
“Well . . .” Her eyes were laughing when they came back to his. “Cute, then—in a staid and very masculine sort of way.”
He opened his mouth to argue, then decided it was safer to give up. “I’m sorry,” he said instead before he knew he’d meant to tell her.
Jackie’s eyes softened along with her smile. Revenge always took a backseat to an apology. “Yes, I think you are. Do you like fresh starts, Nathan?”
So it was that easy. He should have known it would be that easy with her. “Yes, actually, I do.”
“All right, then.” She unwound herself from the chair. If he found himself looking at her legs again, he was only human. When she stood, she offered a hand. “Friends?”
He knew he could have given her a list of reasons they couldn’t be, certainly a lengthy one of reasons why they shouldn’t be. But he put his hand in hers. “Friends. Do you want to take a swim?”
“Yeah.” She could have kissed him. God, she wanted to. Lecturing herself, Jackie smiled instead. “Give me five minutes to change.”
She took less than that. When she arrived, Nathan was just surfacing. Before he had the chance to shake the water out of his eyes and spot her, she dived in beside him. She came up cleanly, head tilted back so that her hair was slick against her head.
“Hi.”
“You move fast.”
“Mostly.” She moved into a smooth sidestroke and did a length and a half. “I love your pool. That helped sell me on the place, you know. I grew up with a pool, so I’d have hated to spend three months without one.”
“Glad I could oblige,” he told her, but it didn’t come out nearly as sarcastic as he’d expected. She smiled and switched to a breaststroke that barely rippled the water. “I take it you do a lot of swimming.”
“Not as much as I used to.” With what looked like no effort at all, she rolled onto her back to float. “I was on a swim team for a couple of years in my teens. Gave some serious thought to the Olympics.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Then I fell in love with my swim coach. His name was Hank.” She sighed and closed her eyes on the memory. “I couldn’t seem to concentrate on my form after that. I was fifteen and Hank was twenty-five. I imagined us married and raising a relay team. He was only interested in my backstroke. I’ve always been able to go backward well.”
“You don’t say.”
“No, really. I was all-state with my backstroke. Anyway, Hank was about five-eight, with shoulders like I beams. I’ve always been a sucker for shoulders.” She opened her eyes briefly to study him. Without a shirt, his body seemed tougher and more disciplined than she had expected. “Yours are very nice.”
