Chapter Eight
Rachel didn’t go over to Jamie’s house the following morning to cook him breakfast. She didn’t go over at lunch, and she didn’t check to make sure he had everything he needed for dinner. In short, she spent the entire day avoiding him.
She’d thought she’d have the courage to take whatever he offered, but had quickly come to the realization she was a complete coward. She wouldn’t make the same mistake she’d made with Deke. He’d also been a client, but she’d allowed herself to be flattered by his good looks and sweet words. She’d allowed herself to be swept away by his charisma, putting his needs before her own, doing whatever he asked of her until she’d lost her job, lost herself, and finally lost him.
Instinctively, she knew Jamie wasn’t anything like Deke. He would never belittle or insult her. Instead, his eyes heated when he looked at her, and when he’d held her in his arms, she’d felt as if she was the most desirable woman on the planet.
And that was the problem.
How was she supposed to resist him, when every cell in her body ached for his touch? She’d spent the entire night tossing and turning in her bed, recalling every luscious second of those moments in the pool. She remembered how hot and thick he’d been in her hand, and the deep, sexy sounds he’d made in his throat when she’d touched him. She could still feel the hard calluses of his palm on the bare skin of her bottom, and she’d wanted him to explore further.
Call her cowardly, but she couldn’t face him. Not yet. Not until she got her own rioting emotions under control.
She peeked through the curtains at the house across the street for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, but there was no sign of Jamie. A wooden fence surrounded the backyard and concealed the pool area from view. Was he out there, lounging by the water? Was he angry with her? Did he even think of her?
Her phone rang, startling her, and she guiltily dropped the curtain back into place, even as hope flared it might be Jamie on the other end.
“Hi, Mom,” she answered, after seeing the number on her display. “How’s the cruise?”
“Wonderful. We just pulled into port at Maui today, and we finally have phone service again. How is everything going?”
Her mother’s tone was cheerfully innocent, but Rachel knew better.
“Mrs. Colton talked with Jamie, didn’t she?”
“She’s concerned, since Jamie said he hasn’t seen you yet today.”
“That’s all he said?”
“I think so.” There was a pause. “Why? Did something happen?”
Rachel walked into the kitchen, pulled out a stool and sat down. “No.”
“So everything is fine?”
“Of course. Jamie’s a big boy. If he needs me, he’ll call.”
“If you’re sure…”
“I am. He doesn’t need a nursemaid, Mom, and if there’s an emergency then he has my number.”
“But what if he’s fallen? What if he’s unable to call you?”
Rachel closed her eyes and counted to five, praying for patience. “You said he just talked to his mother. He’s fine.”
“Okay, if you’re sure. But I think we’d all feel better if you just went over and checked on him. Not now, because that might seem suspicious, but maybe in a little while.”
“Good night, Mom,” Rachel said into the phone. “Enjoy Maui.”
She could hear the smile in her mother’s voice. “Good-night, darling. Go check on Jamie.”
Rachel hung up with a groan. If she didn’t know better, she might just think her mother was doing a little old-fashioned matchmaking. Setting the phone down, she scrubbed her hands over her face and then looked at the clock. It was past eight o’clock, and her grumbling stomach reminded her she’d hardly eaten all day.
Now she stood up and opened the fridge to stare moodily at the shelves. Unlike Mrs. Colter, her own mother had not stocked the house with Rachel’s favorite foods, and aside from the usual condiments, salad fixings, a half dozen eggs, and a chilled bottle of white wine, the shelves were mostly bare.
With a sigh, Rachel pulled the bottle of wine out and set it on the island. She was reaching for a wineglass when the doorbell rang. Frowning, she walked into the living room and peeked through the window. Jamie stood on the front steps, balancing easily on his crutches as he waited for her to answer the door.
Anticipation and dread warred inside her, and for a moment she actually considered not answering. As if sensing her watching him, Jamie looked toward the window where she stood, saw her peeking out, and gave a nod of his head.
Damn.
Drawing in a deep breath, Rachel quickly smoothed her hair and opened the door, determined to maintain a friendly, professional demeanor.
“Hi,” he said, and gave her a rueful smile. “I come bearing gifts—sort of. Consider it a peace offering.”
“Oh?”
Rachel tried to appear indifferent, which was difficult considering how good he looked. He’d managed to pull a pair of dark, loose sweatpants on over his cast, and wore a long-sleeved white T-shirt that hugged the planes of his chest and emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. The words Virgin Islands were printed on the length of one sleeve. That’s when she realized he wore a backpack.
“So, are you going to make me stand out here all night, or can I come in? You know you want to know what I have in here.”
Wordlessly, she stood back and let him in. He made his way to the kitchen and eased the backpack off, setting it on the surface of the island.
“Ah,” he said, seeing the bottle of wine she’d left there. “Great minds think alike—I see we’re on the same wavelength.”
Setting his crutches aside, he eased himself onto a stool. Reaching inside the backpack, he drew out a bottle of red wine, and then a second bottle of white wine, along with two blocks of cheese and a box of crackers.
Rachel stood with her arms crossed. “You brought me wine and cheese.”
“And crackers,” Jamie added with a grin. “Since I haven’t seen you all day, I thought maybe we could have a drink and swap stories about our day.”
Rachel arched an eyebrow. “Okay. I sat on my butt all day and did nothing. You?”
Jamie laughed. “You’re not getting off that easy.” He twisted on his stool and glanced out through the sliding doors that led to the backyard. “I seem to recall your parents had a fire pit. Is it still there?”
“It is.”
“Great. Why don’t we move this party outdoors, and I’ll get a fire going?” Without waiting for her response, Jamie stashed everything, including her bottle of wine, back into his backpack, and stood up. “Grab a couple of glasses, and a plate for the cheese and crackers.”
Without waiting to see if she would do as he asked, he turned and made his way to the sliding doors. Shaking her head, but feeling inexplicably more cheerful, Rachel reached for two wineglasses and a small plate. Following Jamie outside, she set the dishware down on a small table. Unlike Jamie’s backyard, which was dominated by the deck and swimming pool, Rachel’s parents’ yard was a profusion of lush gardens and flower beds bisected by meandering paths.
Closer to the house, there was a sunken, circular bluestone patio with a stone fire pit in the center. Several chairs, including a double-chaise with matching side tables, had been artfully arranged around the pit and an overhead arbor had been strung with delicate fairy lights. The sun had already set, so Rachel flipped the lights on. The fire pit had already been set up for a fire, courtesy of Rachel’s dad, so all Jamie had to do was ignite the fire starters that had been tucked beneath the stacked wood.
“There,” he said in satisfaction, as flames started to lick at the edges of the wood. “That should get going in no time. Do you need a blanket?”
The temperature had dropped with the setting sun, and Rachel realized it was fairly chilly outside. She wore a pair of jeans and a light top, and now she nodded. “Good idea. I’ll just go grab one.”
When she returned just a few minutes later, Jamie had opened the bottle of white wine and had poured them each a glass. Now he reclined on one half of the dual chaise with a pillow beneath his leg. He had the plate of cheese balanced on his thigh as he deftly sliced it into manageable pieces. He looked up as Rachel paused in the doorway to the patio, and patted the cushion next to him.
“C’mon and sit down. Don’t be shy.”
Rachel hesitated. Smart guy that he was, he’d chosen the only chaise that looked out over the shadowed gardens. Her choices were to sit next to Jamie in the twin chaise, or by herself on the far side of the fire. If she didn’t sit with Jamie, she’d look like an uptight prude.
With as much nonchalance as she could manage, she settled herself onto the chaise next to him, and skootched herself back against the cushions. Then, unfolding the blanket she’d brought with her, she shook it out so it covered her legs.
“Do you want to share this with me?” she asked, knowing her tone was anything but gracious.
Jamie either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. “Sure,” he replied, and pulled the extra material across his legs. He set the cheese plate down between them, and retrieved their glasses of wine from the side table, handing one to her.
“Cheers,” he said, and tipped his glass against hers.
Rachel took a sip, enjoying the crispness of the wine, and then kept going, finishing the entire glass in one fell swoop.
“Okay, then,” Jamie said, amused, and refilled her glass.
She watched the flames in the fire pit as they spread outward and grew larger, and she tried to pretend she wasn’t acutely aware of the man seated next to her. A mere five inches of space separated their bodies, and he was so close she could actually smell him. By now, she was familiar with the scent of his soap and shampoo, and the underlying musk that was his alone. She breathed deeply, furtively.
“How long are you going to be mad at me?” he asked, idly turning the wineglass in one hand. Rachel watched, noting the strong, tapered fingers and neat nails. His hands fascinated her. She knew how they felt on her bottom. How would they would feel on the most sensitive parts of her body?
“I’m not upset with you,” she said after a moment, and she realized it was true. In fact, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d been this comfortable with someone, although that might have been the wine she’d just guzzled. She was beginning to feel the effects. Jamie was easy to be with. He made her laugh, and he had a way of putting her at ease so she felt she could say—and do—just about anything. And that was the problem. She’d allowed her guard to slip. She’d let herself forget he was her client. “I’m upset with myself.”
Jamie swiveled his head to stare at her in surprise. “Why?”
He was so close, even in the dim light from the overhead bulbs, she could see the faint bristle shadowing his jaw, and the strong vein that ran along the side of his neck and throbbed strongly. Rachel would only have to lean over to press her mouth against his skin.
“You know why,” she said. “Because I forgot myself.”
He looked at her with a mixture of exasperation and amusement and, reaching over, took her wineglass from her hand and set it down alongside his own.
“Come here,” he murmured, and before Rachel could protest, he slid a hand along her jaw to cup her face and turn it for a kiss. Rachel didn’t resist; if she was honest with herself, she’d been wanting this since she fled his house yesterday morning.
His mouth was warm and he tasted faintly of the wine, and the small sound of approval he made sent shivers of awareness along Rachel’s spine. Almost without will, she leaned in to him. Her hand curled around his arm, feeling the muscles beneath the soft cotton of his shirt, and reveling in how solid and hard he was.
Jamie pulled back and studied her, before reaching up to smooth a stray tendril of hair back from her face. After a moment, a smile touched his mouth. “I want you to forget yourself, Rachel McCafferty.”
“Rachel Narducci.”
Jamie shook his head. “Nah, you’re not a Narducci. Not anymore.”
Rachel smiled ruefully. “If I ever was. The more I think back on those days, the more I wonder why we got married in the first place.”
Jamie shifted to look at her more fully. “That always did bug me. What was it about that dude that made you decide to go and marry him?”
His voice held so much contempt and disbelief that Rachel laughed. After a moment, she sighed, and shrugged. “I don’t know. I was young and impressionable, and he was such a big personality. He used to call me doll-face, and even though it sounds old-fashioned, and maybe even a little condescending, I actually liked it.” She risked a glance at Jamie. She’d never even told her girlfriends that bit, because she’d known how they would react. “Stupid, right?”
“To marry someone because he calls you doll-face?” Jamie made a scoffing sound. “Yeah.” He picked up her hand in his and turned it over, before pressing a kiss against her palm, and then curling his fingers over it. “I would never call you doll-face. Sugar lips, maybe. Hot pants, definitely. Or maybe sweet cheeks.”
Rachel snatched her hand from his, laughing in mock outrage. “Sweet cheeks?”
“C’mon,” he teased. “You’ve got a great ass.”
His compliment, however crude, made Rachel blush. Nobody—not even Deke—had ever told her she had a great ass.
“Thanks,” she said with a grimace. “I think. But I didn’t marry Deke just because he called me doll-face. For all his faults, he can actually be extremely charming, and when he turns his attention on you…” Her voice trailed off.
“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Jamie said. “I get it. The guy’s a multi-millionaire, he’s good-looking in his own bizarre, attention-grabbing way, and he probably showered you with gifts. How can anyone compete with that?”
His tone was one of frustrated resignation, and Rachel wondered if he might actually be jealous of Deke. She had been twenty-eight when she’d married Deke, who had been just twenty-five at the time. His family had been against the union, convinced Rachel was only after his money. Hence, the rigorous prenuptial agreement that had essentially denied her any portion of his wealth should they divorce without children.
But the truth was Rachel had been completely infatuated with Deke in those early years. He’d had a magnetism that drew you in and made you want to be close to him. Of course, his lavish lifestyle had been part of his allure. On their first date, he’d driven her to a local high school football field where a helicopter had been waiting. They’d flown to Martha’s Vineyard for dinner, and had returned to LaGuardia Airport, where he’d handed her into his sports car and driven her home. She hadn’t invited him up to her apartment that night, but she did the following night, and each night after.
But had she really loved him? She’d been hurt when the marriage had ended, but she hadn’t been devastated. If she was honest with herself, she’d actually been a little relieved. Keeping up with Deke Narducci had been exhausting, both physically and mentally.
Deke had loved a good party, and had thought nothing of traveling halfway around the world to be part of a celebration. At first, Rachel had enjoyed accompanying him. Each party, each location had been more fabulous than the last. But eventually, she’d grown weary of the late nights, the constant travel, and the glamorous people. She wasn’t in the same league as the other women at these social events, and she’d grown tired competing for Deke’s attention. She’d started staying behind, letting Deke go alone. Maybe she’d been complicit in the death of their marriage, but looking back she realized it never would have lasted, no matter what she did.
“He could be pretty hard to resist,” she agreed. “Unfortunately, he’s the kind of guy who needs constant stimulation, and he becomes easily bored with the same thing.”
Jamie stared at her in disbelief. “Are you seriously suggesting he became bored with you?”
Rachel shrugged one shoulder. “Apparently. He began cheating less than a year after the wedding. I didn’t find out until much later, but that was his defense—he was bored.”
“Not only is he a serious douche, but he also sounds like a three-year-old.”
Rachel laughed. “Yes, there are a lot of similarities between Deke and a toddler. But enough about him, okay? He’s out of my life, and I’d just as soon not talk about him anymore. Could you hand me my wine?”
Reaching over, Jamie picked up the wineglass and handed it to her. “I don’t know if this helps, but I always thought you were way too good for that guy.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.” She took a long swallow of her wine. “Dylan said the same thing. He actually flew out to New York to try and change my mind about marrying Deke.”
“Yeah, I remember. I even offered to pay his airfare if he succeeded in getting you to call the wedding off.”
Rachel stared at him. “You knew about that?”
Jamie shrugged. “I may have encouraged him, a little.”
“Was I the only one who didn’t realize we were wrong for each other?” With a groan, she tipped the wineglass back and drained the contents, and then set the empty glass down on the patio beside the chaise. “Don’t tell me any more; I don’t want to know.”
Reaching out, Jamie captured her free hand and laced his fingers with hers. “I’ll just say one more thing,” he said, “and then we’ll never talk about the Deke-wad again.”
Rachel looked at him, but there was no trace of laughter or mockery in his expression. Something inside her coiled itself in anticipation of what he might say, and she was acutely conscious of how warm and large his hand was.
“What’s that?” she asked faintly.
“Deke is an idiot,” he began, and his voice had a rough-soft quality that made Rachel’s insides quiver. His gaze dropped to their linked hands. “Otherwise, he would never have let you forget how important you were to him, or how damned lucky he was to have you in his life. He’d have reminded you every day of how beautiful and special you are.” He raised his eyes to hers. “And he damned sure never would have cheated on you.”
“Jamie…”
Without conscious thought, she leaned toward him. Jamie released her hand and met her halfway, rolling toward her so he pressed her back against the cushions, bracing his weight on one elbow as he used his free hand to cup her jaw. His hair glinted gold in the firelight, and Rachel’s eyes drifted closed in anticipation of his kiss. He traced his thumb along the line of her cheek before brushing it across her mouth. Without opening her eyes, Rachel lightly bit the pad of his thumb.
She heard Jamie give a small groan of surrender, and then he was kissing her, his lips pushing against hers until she opened willingly for the hot slide of his tongue. She speared her fingers into his short hair, urging him closer. He complied, slanting his lips over hers and licking at the inside of her mouth. He smelled delicious, and the warm, heavy weight of him against her breasts sent an ache of longing to her groin. She shifted slightly to accommodate him, and he responded by sliding his free hand to her breast.
Rachel gasped into his mouth as he cupped her gently, and then kneaded the flesh with his strong fingers. She hadn’t been touched this intimately in a long time, and the sensations were almost overwhelming. When he brushed his thumb over her nipple, and then plucked at the sensitized bud through the fabric of her shirt and bra, she arched involuntarily, seeking more of the delicious contact.
“I want you to touch me,” she breathed against his mouth.
“I am touching you,” he said, laughing softly. “And you feel amazing.”
In answer, Rachel covered his hand with hers, and brought it down to the vee of her legs where an insistent throbbing had begun the moment he began kissing her. He made a deep sound of approval and cupped her through the thin cotton of her pants, before rubbing his fingers along the seam of her sex.
Rachel realized her breathing had quickened, and she shifted her hips restlessly as he deepened the kiss. Her hand crept to his waist. More than anything, she wanted to touch him the way he was touching her. She could still recall how thick and hot he’d been when she’d touched him by the pool.
Jamie pulled away. His breathing was a little ragged, and even in the indistinct light, she could see the twin patches of hectic color high on his cheekbones.
“Sweetheart,” he said, and his voice was a husky rasp. “We should probably move this indoors, where we can, uh—”
Looking down, Rachel saw the blanket had slid off. Beneath the soft sweatpants, Jamie was fully aroused, but was having difficulty getting into a comfortable position on the inclined chaise.
“Your leg!” Rachel exclaimed. “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t even thinking—”
“Shh,” he hushed her. “It’s all good. I just think we should go indoors where we can get more comfortable.”
“What about the fire?”
“Which one?” he asked, laughing and kissing her at the same time. He glanced at the fire pit. “I’ll put the screen over the top. It’ll be fine.”
He eased himself away from her, and the cool evening air washed over Rachel’s heated body, making her shiver. She immediately missed Jamie’s solid weight and warmth. Pushing to a sitting position, she gathered up the blanket and their wineglasses, watching as Jamie eased himself to his feet.
He gave her an apologetic look. “If I could, I’d carry you inside. I don’t want to stop touching you for even a second. Promise me this won’t ruin the mood.”
Rachel smiled. “It won’t. In fact, I’ll do the touching while we head inside.”
If she was smart, she would take this opportunity to change the direction of the evening, maybe even send him home. But her body still thrummed from his touch, and the sight of his arousal made her remember she was a woman, and she still had desires. So instead of doing the right thing and putting an end to the night, she waited while Jamie secured the fire pit, and then walked with him into the house, keeping one hand on his back as he swung his crutches. Once inside, she set the glasses and blanket down, and turned to Jamie.
“Where were we?” she asked.
Jamie moved closer to her, crowding her against the island. He supported his weight on one crutch as he slid a hand to the back of her head, gently tangling his fingers in her hair and tipping her face back.
“I’m crazy about you, Rachel McCafferty,” he said softly, and lowered his mouth to hers. “I always have been.”
Alarm bells rang in Rachel’s head, but then he was kissing her, and she lost any ability to think coherently.