Chapter 14
Her fingertips were on his face, soft pads of blissful solace. Jack wished he could invite her to touch him everywhere, but one of them had to be strong. Sensible.
The latter word rarely applied to him. He was frequently off on a wild goose chase, lost in a conundrum, so absorbed in his work an elephant might sit down to take tea with him and he would pass the sugar without noticing.
As she’d played, he’d closed his eyes and imagined himself in a different life, one that was uncomplicated by shadows or disaster. It was an altogether perfect if impossible daydream featuring a scantily clad Nicola and a bottle of French champagne. Perhaps two bottles, to be on the safe side. He moved them to a suite at an exclusive Parisian hotel for good measure, for the anonymity and amorous adventure. Things whispered in French were always more jolie, in Jack’s experience.
There would be endless hours exploring each other’s bodies. He already knew Nicola was finely made, her figure trim. Jack longed to see her golden hair unbound and brushing her bottom. Her blue eyes would widen in marvel as he admired every inch of her with his tongue.
Blast. He could be having an Anglicized version of all this right upstairs in her cottage, minus the champagne. She had invited him, and he’d refused like the honorable fool he was.
Now she knew his reasons for his quasi-celibacy, and her initial shock seemed to have subsided. Apparently, she didn’t hate him for it—no one could miss the affection in her touch or the level gaze she gave him.
He captured her hand and kissed her knuckles, one by one. She shivered, and he brought her closer, putting the basket down on the kitchen table so he could hold her. She fit perfectly against him, as she always did. When she was this near, it was as if a calm, warm cloud descended and enfolded them both. He didn’t really understand the effect she had on him, but he wasn’t looking a gift horse in the mouth.
Not that Nicola was any sort of horse. Her face was delicate perfection, with a short straight nose, no trace of any equine tendencies. She did have a certain sturdiness, though. She was, for want of a better word, plucky. She had to be in order to cope with what she was going through. Nicola wasn’t steeped in sadness or self-pity, as he was.
Ah, she was lovely. She’d tucked a sprig of holly in her chignon, and she smelled as fresh as new-fallen snow. He placed his lips on her forehead and wished—
For what, exactly? Time standing still might work. Jack could hold her up against him as long as he wanted and no one would interrupt them. No disapproving Mrs. Grace. No useless sessions with well-meaning vicars and doctors.
In his fantasy, Nicola’s silence would simply be the result of total relaxation in his arms. Words were unnecessary when one felt whole like this, superfluous, really. What could a muttered sentence accomplish better than their arms and lips?
It was inevitable that he move from her smooth brow to her pert nose. He gave her a friendly nuzzle, then went lower still. Her lips lay open in wait. She was smiling slightly in anticipation, her eyes closed.
Jack was only kissing her good-bye, as a good friend. A very good friend. That earlier handshake was most inadequate. Anyone could shake hands—as a man in business he was forever pumping someone’s paw. But kissing Nicola was special, even if he would limit himself to a kiss.
Limits had their obvious drawbacks. Kissing was fabulous, but Jack wanted so much more. Physical contact would be very welcome. The mythical Parisian hotel suite was becoming real in Jack’s mind again, a private place for them to escape, to lie naked amongst satin pillows and fine linen sheets. Nicola’s dress would vanish and her soft pale skin would tempt him utterly. He might be so swept away that for once his overactive brain would stop bothering him and he would simply treasure the moment.
Treasure her.
Back in Puddling reality, it was just a kiss. But a long one, designed to tease and torment. Who was in charge of the teasing and tormenting was debatable. Nicola was giving as good as she was getting, and Jack felt the hot flush of lust from his scalp to the base of his spine. She had smoothed herself against him, imprinting her luscious form on his, her fingertips still at his jaw holding him in place.
Jack had no intention of moving away from this delicious agony. How long could one kiss and still remain upright? He didn’t think he had the wits to count the seconds, and he counted everything. His traitorous knees longed to collapse and take the rest of him to the stone floor. If they gave out, hopefully Nicola would follow and not hurt herself. He could cushion her fall and continue this bliss. It would be a sin to stop in a search for icepacks or plasters.
But a hard kitchen floor was not the ideal setting for seduction. Jack reminded himself he was not engaged in anything more than a kiss, anyhow; it was the bargain he’d made with his overburdened conscience. He was not going to take an innocent virgin to bed, no matter how tempting her offer.
He would just kiss her and kiss her and kiss her.
A score of kisses rippled into each other like the patterns of a kaleidoscope, blossoming into something beyond Jack’s comprehension. He was dazzled. Dizzy. Damn his knees and his principles.
Why couldn’t he kiss her to give her the ultimate pleasure? Nicola would retain the virtue she was in such a hurry to dispose of, and no harm would be done. He wasn’t worthy, but he could let her know how much he valued her friendship.
The basket would have to go before its contents were spilled. He half opened an eye and reached for it.
Nicola noticed his altered position. Unfortunately her hands came down on his shoulders as she drew away. Too far away. No more lovely lips. No more elegantly twisting tongue.
What are you doing? she wrote, panting a bit. Surely you aren’t still hungry.
“Oh, but I am.” Jack tucked the basket beneath the table, and in one swoop placed her on the clean pine surface. She looked alarmed, but he would remedy that shortly.
“I am flattered—honored—that you asked me to be your lover,” Jack said, his voice rough. “You know now why that’s impossible.”
She lifted her eyes to the beamed ceiling and shrugged.
“Allow me to be a gentleman here, resisting your very considerable charms. But I have thought of an alternate activity that should suit you nicely.” He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “You can trust me on this. I promise you will be happy.”
She gave him a puzzled look, then nodded.
Was it best to plunge ahead without explanation? No. He would soothe her with well-chosen words. If he could think of some. The activity he had planned would sound odd—shocking—to an innocent, no matter how he couched the description of what was to come.
He pulled a kitchen chair in front of her and sat down. He was now at the perfect level. Maybe he should loosen his tie; he was feeling choked and hot already. For a second he contemplated carrying her upstairs to her bedroom, but he might not be depended upon to behave himself once he got there. It was best to be a little uncomfortable—her enjoyment was paramount.
Jack put his hands on Nicola’s knees and looked up into her clear blue eyes. The fabric of her deep red dress was good quality, but it was a nuisance at present.
“Do not be embarrassed, or think what I’m about to do is in any way…strange or unpleasant between two people who care about each other.” He put the idea of Nicola doing the same to him firmly out of his mind before he disgraced himself.
“I am going to do something to your body that you might not know about. Don’t be afraid. This will not hurt.”
The only one apt to be injured was Jack. He hoped Nicola wouldn’t kick him in the head when she came.