Smooth Irish (Book 2 of the Weldon Series) (19 page)

“
Not yet.”

“
Promise me you’ll see one
soon.”

“
I promise. So to answer
your question, I’d rather stay here. Why don’t you play? I love
listening to you.”

He seemed relieved at her suggestion and quickly
settled down with his guitar, playing a variety of songs. His voice
in the night both comforted and thrilled her. In music she heard
his yearning and need. It reached out and grabbed her heart,
tugging so hard she could feel herself falling headlong into
him.

Much later his song turned to kisses and his kisses
turned to loving, and she had a hard time imagining what it would
be like never to touch him again.

* * *

Nan woke up Sunday morning to an empty bed and the
steady drizzle of rain pattering on the cabin’s roof. Several
places about the room Jackson had set cans to catch leaks from the
ceiling. The drip-dropping sound reminded her of the trailer she
once lived in. Her mother had always planned to move to a better
place, but that never happened. Her memories of the way things had
been were so strong she had to fight to keep her perspective. This
wasn’t the past, but many things about Jackson’s cabin needed a
little bit of care; the torn fabric on the arm of a chair, a drawer
set askew, and the wood needed polish. What she hadn’t seen
yesterday, she saw today. She’d find it depressing to live amidst
the disrepair, too much a reminder of the past.

Getting up, she went in search of Jackson. She found
him out on the porch asleep in the swing. His guitar lay beside
him. His rugged, harried appearance told Nan he’d been awake most
of the time she’d slept. He looked so alone, so solitary that he
seemed as far away from her as the stars. She turned to go back
inside, not wanting to disturb him.

“Don’t go.” He sat up and moved his guitar off the
swing.

Nan walked back and joined him. The hem of his
T-shirt she wore rode up and she tugged it down a little, but
Jackson reached over and stayed her hand with a caress. A slight
chill hung in the damp air and raindrops splattered the porch’s
edges.

“Rough night?” Nan asked.

He shrugged. “The usual.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really. Do you want breakfast? I can run into
town and pick up more buns.”

Nan smiled. “Shakespeare would be crushed that we
left him out.”

“That’s good.”

Nan glared at him and he raised his hand to deflect
the killer look. “Okay. I take that back. I’ll even buy him one.
How’s that?”

“Much better. I wonder what time it is?” She stood
up. What had been relaxing yesterday was making her feel antsy
today. She had the need to do something, anything she could term as
productive.

“I think there’s a clock on the microwave.”

Nan blinked. He
thought
there was a
clock on the microwave. Wasn’t time important enough to
know
where a clock was?
She shook her head and wandered back inside the cabin. Stepping
between the cans collecting water drips, she moved over to the
microwave and read the time twice before she believed
it.

“Jack. It’s already eleven thirty.” She rushed
around, picking up things she usually kept neat and stuffing them
into her tote bag.

Jackson stuck his head in the door. “What’s
wrong?”

“It’s eleven thirty.”

“So?”

She turned around and stared at him. “Half the day
is already gone. There is so much to do.”

“Like?”

“Like get ready for work next week. There are
uniforms to iron and groceries to buy. My violets need replanting,
and there’s probably dust all over my furniture. I’m going to have
to take a rain check on the buns.”

Jackson looked at her like she’d grown a second
head. “Glad you could spare the time yesterday.” He slammed the
door and the doorknob tumbled across the floor.

Okay. Just because he didn’t sleep last night and
was in a sour mood didn’t mean she had to lose her cool, too. She
counted to ten. Then when looked at the doorknob, she counted to
fifteen before she finished gathering her things. Jackson was
sitting on the porch swing, messing with his guitar when she walked
out. He looked up, watching her intently as she went over to him.
Somehow this wasn’t how she pictured their romantic interlude
ending.

“Your doorknob broke.” She meant to say something
else, but those were the first words that leapt from her mouth.

Jackson shrugged and strummed out a chord.

“What are you pissed off about?”

“Nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like a nothing to me.”

“Your dust is gathering.”

“Damn it, Jack. You’re not being fair. There are
things that have to get done. The world would be a sorry place if
they didn’t get done. A little dusting around here wouldn’t
hurt.”

“You weren’t thinking about dust yesterday or last
night as I recall. Why the big change this morning?”

“Sex doesn’t make the world go around.”

Jackson looked up from his guitar then. He didn’t
say anything, just looked at her and raised a questioning brow.

She blushed. She couldn’t deny he had made the earth
move under her feet. “Well, not all the way around.”

Jackson set his guitar aside and stood. “Sure about
that, sugar?” he asked advancing.

Nan stepped back and planted her hand in the middle
of his chest. She could barely hold back the groan. He felt so good
and now that she knew intimately the magic he could make, she’d
lost all resistance to his charm. If he maneuvered her into bed
now, she’d be there all day. “Dinner,” she piped, her voice
creaking in her suddenly dry throat.

“I’m hungry,” Jackson murmured. He took her hand
from his chest, brought it up to his mouth and nibbled. “Hungry for
another taste of you.” He brushed his tongue over her finger.

Nan stepped back and moaned as an electric streak of
desire shot up her arm. “Not now. Tomorrow night. My place. I’ll
cook dinner for you.”

His gaze focused on hers over the top of her hand.
Her invitation seemed to stop him cold. Was he surprised? Or had
she scared him? Now that she thought about it, when they’d dated
before, she had never invited him to her apartment. She supposed it
was her way of assuring they didn’t end up in bed. But on the other
hand, he hadn’t asked to come in either. Not until he’d brought her
the sticky buns.

After a long moment, he breathed deeply then spoke.
“Tomorrow night, your place?”

“Yes.” Nan licked her dry lips. Why did she feel as
if her heart hung on his answer? This weekend was meant to explore
her thoughts about Jackson, possibly get him out of her system, not
to entrench him deeper inside of her.

He released her hand and stepped back as he ran his
fingers through his hair. This didn’t appear to be an easy decision
for him and Nan wondered why. It wasn’t like they weren’t somewhat
involved. They’d just spent about as intimate a weekend as two
people could.

“Okay. What time?” he finally answered.

“Six,” Nan said, suddenly having the urge to
smile.

“Six it is.” Jackson moved forward and swept her up
in a mind-boggling kiss. She felt in that moment as if he’d made
more than just a physical step her way.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“I expect you to be on your best behavior tomorrow
night. Paws off the food and absolutely no snack attacks on any of
Jackson’s personal belongings,” Nan instructed as she finished
watering her plants and checking them for signs of trouble.

Shakespeare blinked at her and deigned to give her a
flick of his tail. She wasn’t sure she had his cooperation at all,
but she let it go. She had other things to worry about. Like what
she was going to say to Brad. The message he’d left on her
answering machine Friday night said he would call her when he got
in tonight. At ten o’clock, her “night” was just about over with
considering she had to be up at five in the morning.

She’d already decided she’d tell Brad they couldn’t
date any more. She just hadn’t figured how to say it. Did she owe
him an explanation? Her mind kept turning circles, looking for
answers. At ten fifteen she couldn’t stay up later and called Brad.
She got his answering machine.

“
Brad. This is Nan. I’m afraid I
won’t be able to go next weekend for the yacht party. As it turns
out, I’m working then. When you get back, we need to talk. Good
night.”

Nan hung up the phone. She couldn’t break off with
him via the answering machine, so canceling their date was the best
she could do for the moment.

As she lay in bed thoughts of Jackson swam in and
out of her mind—him at the beach, at his cabin, the places and the
ways they’d made love. The way her body ached for him now was so
much worse than the ache she had had before. Having him only
intensified her need for him. He was coming for dinner, beyond that
she had no idea. Making love to him only made her want more things
from him. A vivid fantasy took shape and she pulled out her pen and
little black book.

A masked, black-clad pirate stood on the bow of a
ship that had just captured the frigate she had sought passage on.
She was on her way to England to marry a stranger—Lord Weldon to
whom she’d been betrothed since birth.

Her heart pounded with fear as the scurvy pirate
who’d forced her from her berth dragged her by her bound hands to
the masked man. An icy wind whipped about in the cold drizzling
rain, making her shiver.

“I’ll take her from here,” the masked man said
turning to her. He looked dangerous, dressed all in black. His eyes
gleamed blue from beneath his mask and his damp raven hair blew
wildly about his broad shoulders.

“Aye, Black Jack. She’s a feisty one and a beauty as
well. She’ll warm your bed better than a tavern wench any ol’
day.”

Black Jack caught hold of the rough rope wrapped
tightly about her wrists. “This won’t do.” He drew a dagger from
his belt.

She flinched, painfully pulling against the binds.
Tears brimmed in her eyes as he forced her closer to him.

“You’d do well to fear me,” he said, his voice a
deep, almost unnatural rasp. Then amazingly, he cut the ropes. She
fell backward, but he was faster. He caught hold of her waist and
pulled her up against him.

Her blood rushed in response to her hammering heart.
She feared him, but his hold on her was gentle, his body warm to
her cold, rain dampened state.

“You need ropes of silk to bind you.” Lord Weldon
looked through his mask at the woman with whom he was betrothed.
Some of the anger in his heart eased. The old salt hadn’t lied. She
was beautiful. Still, no amount of beauty was worth the price he’d
have to pay to fulfill a near twenty-year old promise his deceased
father had made.

Lord Weldon smiled; his plan was working well. In
capturing the king’s ship he would finally reclaim a small portion
of the money the king owed his family and had refused to pay these
past ten years. And once word reached England that his bride to be
had been taken captive by pirates, no one would blame him for not
marrying the girl. He’d set her up in her own home, provide for
her, and avoid the perils of the marriage bed. Though from the full
bosom pressed so softly to his chest, those perils were a bit less
than he’d imagined.

With all the hard-edged pirates he’d hired, he’d
have to keep her confined to his quarters to assure her safety. And
considering the spark in her eyes, she’d have to be tethered to
keep her there. The thought of her bound to his bed, a slave to his
desires aroused some dark fantasy inside him. He’d never take an
unwilling woman, but the idea of a woman pretending to be unwilling
until his touch swayed her, caused his blood to pump. Very little
in life excited him anymore.

His betrothed recovered enough to
push back from his chest and to fight his hold. He smiled as he
pulled a silk handkerchief from about his neck to bind her again.
Maybe by the time
they reached port, this
beauty would want to share in his fantasy. She would have to be
blindfolded. He couldn’t chance her connecting the Pirate Black
Jack and Lord Weldon.

* * *

The alarm clock rang and Nan fought the silken binds
to free herself, her body aching for another touch from Black
Jack’s magical hands. Her eyes popped open at the thought.

Lord, have
mercy
! In her sleep she had wound her
sheet about both her wrists. Untangling herself, she pulled out her
black book and started to write. When she finished, she knew she
was in big trouble. Not because of the fantasy and not because
she’d almost made that fantasy come true by binding herself in her
sleep. Nope, she was in big trouble because of where this fantasy
had ended up. The unwilling Lord Weldon had eventually married
her.

Nan bounced out of the bed and rushed off to work in
record time. If she kept herself busy, kept her mind focused on the
million and one demands of her job, then maybe she could stay sane
until Jackson showed up for dinner. This just sex relationship was
more that she bargained for. Her need of Jackson should be
diminishing not increasing.

The Labor and Delivery Department was insane and
seeing Jackson working outside the Nurse’s Station window all day
nearly drove her crazy. She didn’t have time for anything more than
a Coke for breakfast, and lunch consisted of a bag of chips as she
wrote in her patients’ charts.

She was starving by the time she left work and part
of her hunger had nothing to do with food. She stopped at a
lingerie shop to appease some of her appetite and then dashed to
the grocery store. There she spent double what she usually did,
which wouldn’t be a big deal if she could remember half of what she
bought. All she could think about was Jackson and what she’d bought
to tantalize him with. She also bought him a little plant to
brighten up his cabin.