Blackjack and Moonlight: A Contemporary Romance (9 page)

He’d made a huge mistake at the end of their first date. He’d kissed her—just once—with all his love front and center. It felt so completely different from anything he’d experienced before, he wasn’t sure how he could go back to his usual mix of desire and technique. He’d relived that kiss countless times during the week. He’d thought of things she might have said, other things he might have done, dawning realizations she might have had, offers—of something other than “coffee”—that he might have made or accepted.

In short, he’d driven himself crazy with the tantalizing prospect that kissing, touching, caressing, arousing,
satisfying
Elise would make her love him. It wouldn’t work that way, but he clung to the hope.

Jack slowed his pace as he neared her house. It was a fine spring evening, the mild temperature promising more flowers and greenery with each new day. Frankly, even nature taunted him with blossoms and fruitfulness—products of a life cycle he couldn’t seem to manage.

Who cared when it happened—there was no doubt he was in love with the diabolically elusive Elise Carroll. He also understood what the poets had been saying for millennia—
love sucked
. Even if Elise had shared his feelings on day one, they’d still have an uphill battle merging their lives. That the feelings were all on his side left him struggling to know how to proceed. How does a man treat the woman he wants to cherish forever when all she wants is to f—uh, have her way with him?

Jack fumed in the cool April air. He’d been born a century too late. A hundred years ago, his courtship would have gone very differently. He’d have asked her father for her hand in marriage. Elise might have been allowed the option to say no, but the economic reality gave women little freedom to decide things as essential as who they married.

Once married, they’d have had a lot of time to get to know each other. Now he got one night with her per week. And precious little of that time was going to be taken up with conversation. How was he supposed to court a woman determined to keep everything purely physical? Better the sexual frustration inherent in the early twentieth century approach.

No, he had that wrong. He might be a throwback to an earlier time, but the woman in that scenario wouldn’t have been his Elise. The fearless woman he’d fallen for in his courtroom couldn’t have existed in any other century. She was a product of the present, and that included having autonomy over her sex life.

Bad luck for him that he’d fallen for a thoroughly modern woman with no economic need for a husband, and seemingly no interest in romance.

His stride lengthened.

What was wrong with this picture? Wasn’t it supposed to be the man who wanted sex with no emotional ties? And wasn’t the woman more likely to be the one mooning over her lover’s photo on the office website? Because he had to face facts. He’d clicked on Elise’s photo at the Fergusson & Leith website more than once. A lot more than once.

Elise was a cipher to him, unlike anyone he’d known. His previous experience had resulted in fairly formal encounters followed, eventually, by fairly formal sex. Formal, unemotional sex. He’d actually caught himself thinking about a particularly tricky prosecution while engaged in certain intimate acts in bed.

Jack shook his head. He enjoyed sex, of course, but surely it was just a physiological imperative, like scratching an itch? He’d always assumed it got so much attention because of the cultural taboos around nudity and non-procreational coitus.

Yet, here he was, intensely aware of how few blocks were left between his body and hers. He was already aroused just thinking about the evening, feeling his desire for Elise welling up inside him. If all it was going to be was sex, at least it was going to be sex with the woman of his heart.

Which brought him back to that final kiss last week. He needed to guard against that…that tiniest touch of romance. Turned out, kisses could be equally enthusiastic but where one type said, “Wow, you’re hot,” another said just as clearly, “I love you.” Without being sure how he knew, he sensed he’d lose Elise if every touch said, “I love you.”

That meant he’d better be prepared to run through the cases on his docket to keep his emotions in check. And wasn’t that the most depressing resolve? It was even having a deleterious effect on his desire.

Jack could just see Elise’s house on the next block. He looked at his watch—still too early. He walked over to a park bench in Fitler Square, near a bronze sculpture of three turtles. He was nervous. It felt a bit like those first few days as a judge, when he’d expected someone to leap up and declare the Senate confirmation had been revoked on the basis of Jack’s incompetence.

These anxieties happened with new jobs. Once he found his groove, he’d be okay. He’d worked through it as a prosecutor, then as the US Attorney, and he could do it now as a judge. His nerves around Elise were worse. At least with his career, he had some experience. This was the first time he intended to court a woman with marriage as his goal.

The bronze turtle statues were cute. An adult and two babies. Babies. The issue of children had been lurking at the back of his mind for days. He’d waited so long to fall in love, he really couldn’t expect it to happen again anytime soon. Therefore, Elise Carroll would be the mother of any children he had. If she said no, he’d never marry—or he’d marry so late that children would no longer be an option. Who wanted to be the geriatric dad at the playground?

He leaned back on the bench. Never marry? That was just sad. He’d always assumed he’d marry. Someday. He simply hadn’t met the right woman, or even a woman close enough to right to consider the option of marriage. Now he’d met her—the one woman in his future—and she was indifferent to him. In theory he’d survive Elise’s rejection and maybe have better luck the next time. Realistically? Without her, a solitary future stretched out like an abandoned road to a distant horizon. Jack would end up the bachelor on the bench, a lesser version of Justice Souter. Well, there were far worse role models.

He took a deep breath and looked over at Elise’s house, its windows glowing in the twilight. He wanted to share that warmth with her. He wanted to protect her, enchant her as she enchanted him. For tonight, he’d have to settle for pleasing her in bed.

Coughing uncontrollably, Elise yanked open the front door. What an idiot. Everything had been perfect until she’d gotten the brilliant idea of making a fire, then couldn’t remember which way the flue worked. Now she had a living room full of smoke and maybe ten minutes before
that man
arrived. He’d laugh at her, or worse. She hated him, she really did. Their whole agreement was a huge mistake. If it weren’t that she was extremely horny and oh, yeah, that she didn’t know his cell phone number, she’d call and cancel. With her hacking cough, she’d have no trouble convincing him that she really was sick.

Her spasms subsided gradually. Time to go back in and figure out how to clear the smoke. A movement across the street caught her eye.

Shit. He was at the edge of the park, looking right at her. Elise squelched the impulse to dash back into the house.
Keep your head up, show no fear.
She walked over to meet him.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Of course not.” She managed to laugh before coughing again. “Overreaching—that’s my fatal flaw. I thought it would be nice to have a fire, but my enthusiasm got ahead of my common sense. One stuck flue later and voilà,” she said, turning to gesture at the smoky front hall.

“Did you get the flue open?”

“Yes, eventually. And the smoke alarm turned off. I even managed to make the fire burn properly. But the house is filled with smoke. So unsexy.”

He surprised her by putting his arm around her shoulder and hugging her swiftly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I love a damsel in distress. Let me help.”

“Boy Scout,” she muttered, relieved by his matter-of-fact approach. She let him lead her back to the house. She’d opened the French doors to her tiny garden, and the cross-ventilation did a lot of good, although it now seemed as chilly inside as out. She closed the French doors and the window in the kitchen while he poked at the fire. By the time she got back to the living room, he’d managed some lively flames. She could even feel heat.

“Thanks. Would you like some wine?” she offered.

He put his hand on his heart. “You got wine just for me?” he teased. “I’m honored. Red, if you’ve got it.”

Elise looked at him. Blackjack McIntyre was in her house. Her distinctly smoky and chilly house. She’d thought several times that he wouldn’t show up. But he was here. And lord he looked good. Suede jacket over a sweater over a button-down shirt, dress slacks and loafers. Her eyes traveled back to his face. He was amused.

“Forgive me for being a bad hostess, but…” Elise murmured. She reached up and kissed him. A sexy kiss, and when her lips parted his, an even sexier kiss. Oh, yes, the judge was in the house.

She settled back on her heels, reluctantly removing her arms from around his neck. She was lost in his eyes, gleaming with desire and amusement. “Wine. Red. Got it.”

When Elise returned, she joined him on the sofa across from the fire. He’d taken off the jacket and seemed calm and relaxed. He studied the flames, but turned to smile at her as she handed him the glass. She was still nervous. She’d poured them both some of the Shiraz she’d bought. She hoped it was good. The guy at the wine store had said it would do for an intimate evening at home.

He swirled the wine around, sniffed, then took a sip.

“Are you a big-time wine connoisseur?” She felt awkward about her own ignorance.

“This is very good wine,” he said gently.

“I wouldn’t know. I once bought a bottle of wine because the description on the label made it sound like the grapes had a really tough, hardscrabble life. I still had to rely on my boyfr—a guest’s assurance that it was any good.”

“I’m beginning to see why you pooh-pooh five-star restaurants.”

“I like to eat but I don’t like all the fuss. Food is food, it seems to me.” Elise could hear the defensiveness in her voice, but she wasn’t trying to impress the guy, so why not be honest?

They sat in silence for a while. The fire was gradually thawing her out. She stretched out her feet.

“I guess it was a good thing I didn’t try to greet you in some barely-there lingerie, huh?” she said finally.

He laughed, a quiet rumble at her side. “Goose bumps aren’t very sexy, no.”

Elise thought for a minute. Time to get the sex date rolling. “I am wearing a new bra and panty set, though. You get a prize if you can guess what color lace.”

She turned her head to meet his gaze. Yup, he was interested. She took his wineglass and put it on the coffee table next to hers. She shifted over to straddle his hips and rested back on his knees.

His eyes were hotter than the fire. “What’s the prize?”

“I don’t know. What would you like to win from me?” She toyed with the hair at his nape, which was maybe two weeks away from being ruthlessly hacked off. Could she get him to let his hair grow? She liked the black silkiness against her fingertips.

“Two romantic dates in a row? Friday
and
Saturday, say?” His eyes gleamed.

She thought about that. What was the harm? He’d never guess. “Okay.”

“I have to feel the lace to be sure, you know—tactile color identification methods have come a long way in the FBI labs.”

She laughed at his solemn tone. “Oh, have they?”

“Mmm-hmm.” He slipped his hands under her top at the back, where it overlapped her jeans. One hand inched up to the back of the bra, the other slipped into the gap by her backbone. The panties were hipsters, selected because they did super-sexy things for her ass. He skimmed the lace trim on the top of the panties, then moved both hands up her back.

“A warm color.” He kept his eyes on her face the entire time. It occurred to her that he was doing a cold read, saying things then watching for her reaction, the way phony fortune-tellers did. She tried to block him by imagining the other set of undies she’d bought but hadn’t worn. They were pale shell pink. She concentrated on them.

“In the red or pink family.” His hands had moved around to the front of her bra. He was brushing his fingertips over the lacy cups. His thumbs strummed her aching nipples, then he trapped them against his palms. That felt amazingly good. She half closed her eyes and arched her back, pushing her breasts harder into his touch.

The hell with his guessing the color. Elise struggled to keep her eyes on his to make sure he didn’t peek. She throbbed all over and if they didn’t start shedding clothes soon, she’d go insane.

Still she had to needle him. “Interesting techniques the FBI are using these days.” She sucked in her breath when he did something exquisite with his fingertips. She heard her breathing as though it were coming from far away, a soft pant.

“Aren’t they?” he agreed calmly. He punished her sarcasm by pulling her breasts out of their cups. His palms were hot and smooth on her flesh. She was ready for him to do more. She needed those hands lower down. Now.