A Word with the Bachelor (8 page)

He stopped long enough to drag his shirt off in one easy, quick movement and she tried to do the same with hers. But the material got hung up on her hair and Jack seemed eager to help her out, then tossed her shirt into a shadowy corner of the room. With the light to his back, she couldn't see his eyes when he cupped her breasts, but his hands were shaking slightly.

He brushed his thumbs over the tips of her plain white bra and she wished for an estrogen miracle that included pretty, feminine underwear. Kissing her neck and shoulder, he reached behind her and unhooked that plain white bra, letting it drop to the floor between them.

He straightened and settled his gaze on her, drawing in a quick breath. His voice was a little hoarse when he said, “Pretty.”

Somehow lacy lingerie didn't seem quite so important all of a sudden. She rested her palms on his chest and wanted to say something, but she had no idea what. Instead, she just felt...the dusting of hair. The contour of muscle. The taut abdomen. It gave her a moment of pure clarity—the last one for a long time.

Lacy, matching bra and panties didn't make a woman feel feminine. What did that was the way a man touched her. A gentle, commanding caress that activated every nerve ending in her body and made her hormones snap to attention.

Slowly he backed her toward the bed and when she felt the mattress behind her legs, she kicked off her shoes and sat. He dropped to one knee and undid the button at the waist of her jeans. Without conscious thought, she lay back on the bed and let him draw the zipper down, then lifted her hips so he could slide off her pants.

A moment later he dragged off the rest of his clothes and slid in beside her, pulling her into his arms and kissing her into a frenzy of need.

His fingers traced the edge of her panties as he slipped his hand between her legs, not quite touching her where she most wanted to be touched. Then he hooked a thumb into the waistband and dragged them off. When he touched her where she wanted him to, she arched her hips and shamelessly pressed herself into his palm, where he cupped her.

His breathing grew increasingly harsh until finally he left her long enough to take the condom out of his jeans pocket. He put it on, then kneeled on the bed, gently nudging her legs apart before covering her naked body with his own. He took most of his weight on his forearms so as not to crush her. The warmth and sheer wonder of being skin-to-skin washed over her.

With one hand he brushed the hair away from her face. “You're looking at me like that.”

Like she had the first time they'd met. And he was looking back, his eyes dark with heavy-lidded desire. No man had ever looked at her like that before. The realization shattered her control and she reached for him, arching her hips again, letting him know she wanted him.

He slid inside her slowly, deeply. It was a delicious sensation as she felt herself close around him. He rocked into her and she wrapped her legs around his waist, hanging on for dear life as she came apart in his arms.

He held her close as pleasure rolled through her, tremors in its wake. When they stopped, she pressed her mouth to his neck and nibbled kisses down his chest. With a groan from somewhere deep inside, he buried his face in her hair as he thrust one more time and followed her into release. She held him as he'd done for her and they stayed locked in each other's arms for a long time. Frankly, Erin didn't ever want to move, but that wasn't an option when her stomach growled. It was dinnertime.

Jack smiled tenderly. “Someone needs to be fed.”

“Something tells me I'm not the only one.”

“I'm not saying you're right, but with my training I can get by longer on less.”

“Nuts, berries and bugs?”

“If necessary,” he agreed, his lips twitching.

“Gosh darn, we're fresh out of survival provisions.”

“Bummer.”

“What about steak, baked potato and salad? If it would make you feel better I can lie and tell you I picked the greens in the forest.”

His stomach rumbled right on cue. “As you might imagine, I don't much care where the greens came from.”

“Okay. Then you have to let me up.”

“Roger that.” Surely there was reluctance in his eyes.

Before she could decide whether or not it was real or imagined, he rolled away and grabbed his clothes off the floor before leaving her alone. The sound of the bathroom door down the hall was her cue to get up and she dressed as quickly as possible.

A few minutes later they were both back in his living room/office. Erin noticed that the bottom drawer of his desk wasn't all the way closed. She glanced at Jack and saw that he'd been looking in the same place. After her remark about survival rations she must have provisions on the brain because she couldn't resist asking. “Office supplies?”

“There's a legend in the writing world that a well-stocked office makes one a better writer.” He lifted one broad shoulder in a shrug.

She'd seen that shoulder without a shirt and the simple, masculine gesture was now a major turn-on. That was her signal to leave. “I'll go get dinner started.”

“Okay. Meet you downstairs.”

She nodded and walked out the door. If she didn't miss her guess, he had no desire to talk about what just happened. That worked for her. The problem with coming to your senses was the return of rational thought.

On the first day they'd met Jack had said in no uncertain terms that he was never going to take her to bed. Erin didn't know whether or not to be pleased that she'd made a liar out of him. Or completely shocked that she'd crossed a professional line. When his editor had hired her to look after him mind and body, she probably hadn't meant for Erin to sleep with him.

She had a strong work ethic so that made her feel bad enough. Even worse was the guilt she felt toward the man she'd agreed to marry, then didn't before he died. Sex with Jack Garner was the best she'd ever had.

And she had no idea where things went from here.

Chapter Eight

T
he next morning, Jack stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel from the bar beside it and dried off. It was an ordinary start to the day—or it would be if he hadn't slept with his research assistant the night before. The same assistant he'd once asked whether or not she'd ever slept with a man. Now he knew for a fact she had, because he'd been there.

That was bad enough, but the part that made him feel as if he was living in an alternate universe was where she hadn't talked about it. During dinner she didn't bring it up even once.

He'd waited, alert and ready, and had been braced for anything. Had an apology all rehearsed in his head. Along with a promise that it wouldn't happen again. It was no lie that he was a bad risk. He had the juvenile record and bad marriage to prove it. Erin was the kind of woman you protected so she could find the guy who deserved her and would make her happy.

Jack wasn't that guy.

The thing that messed with his head was that she acted as if it never happened. Or in any way let on that she had regrets or felt used. But now she'd had a whole night to think things over. This morning at breakfast she was going to hit him with the rocket-propelled grenade of what happens now.

After shaving, combing his hair and putting on the usual jeans and T-shirt, he took one last look in the mirror. “I'm ready for you, little Miss Sweetness and Light.”

Jack opened his bedroom door and was immediately hit by some mouth-watering smell coming from the kitchen. Coffee mixed with sausages and potatoes. He was hungry and knew it was probably too much to hope she would wait until after he ate to launch her verbal offensive.

Following the smell of food, he walked down the hall to the kitchen. As usual Erin was there and the coffee had been brewed.

She had her back to him and was whipping something in a bowl with a wicked-looking metal thing. Probably she was pretending that stuff being worked over was his face.

Jack braced himself and tried to put on his not-a-care-in-the-world hat. “Morning.”

Her body jerked and she glanced over her shoulder. “Good grief, you startled me. I didn't hear you. But I guess when you're army Special Forces, you get pretty good at sneaking up on people. Obviously your training stuck because I had no idea you were there.”

“Understood.” He was trying to decide if her cheerfulness was forced and she was prattling more than usual. It was hard to tell.

“I'm making omelets today. And there's sausage.” Apparently Harley was helping by standing guard at her side.

“Sounds good.” Jack studied her eyes, which were bright green and so clear and beautiful it was hard to look away.

His gut told him she didn't have a deceptive bone in her body and if there were any hard feelings the evidence would be right in front of him. His assessment was a complete blank on negative feelings, which should have been a relief, but wasn't. That didn't mean she wasn't planning a discussion over breakfast. Best keep up his guard and repeat that apology one more time in his head.

“Do you want coffee?” she asked.

“Does Harley like walks?” He laughed when the little dog yipped and scurried over to him, doing his level best to follow orders and not whine. Jack squatted and scratched the hairless body. “Sorry, buddy. Didn't mean to say the
w
word. It's going to have to wait. I have a scheduled meeting this morning.”

Erin poured the beaten eggs into the hot pan, then glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Nine o'clock sharp.”

His comment wasn't about time confirmation as much as giving her an opening for that discussion. She'd been locked and loaded when she came upstairs to reestablish a perimeter around the status meeting she'd insisted on having, then proceeded to bust his chops about the research he'd given her. After that...

He was so turned on.

And that's where military training had deserted him. You couldn't always be in command of a hotspot, but you learned discipline over your own actions at all times. Last night this woman took him down without firing a shot. Thus the need to establish rules of engagement—if she brought up the subject.

While she stood watch over the cooking eggs, he poured coffee into the mug she'd set out for him. His favorite mug, he noted. The one that read, Go Big or Go Home.

“Can I help?” he asked.

“Yeah. Make toast. The bread's already in, just push it down.”

“Roger that.” He did as requested and buttered the slices when they were ready.

A few minutes later they were seated at the table across from each other, just like every morning since she'd arrived on his doorstep. His plate was loaded with a spinach-and-cheese omelet, fried potatoes, sausage links and toast. Hers looked the same but with significantly smaller portions. She dug into the food like someone who'd been marooned on an island for weeks. Was it his imagination, or could she be avoiding conversation?

She chewed a bite of toast and swallowed. “So, I'm curious.”

Okay, not avoiding talk. Here it comes, he thought. “About what?”

“How did you happen to choose a dog like Harley?” She speared a potato with her fork. “Not that he isn't a sweetheart. But, let's be honest here, he's not really your type.”

Did he have a type? If they were talking women, the one across from him was the polar opposite of the kind he usually favored. The looser their standards, the better he liked them. With Erin, her standards had standards. But she'd asked about Harley. And he was so relieved that she hadn't brought up close encounters of the sexual kind that he didn't even consider not answering.

“I saw Harley when I walked by an animal shelter in California. He was standing at attention in the window and wearing a camouflage T-shirt. He was, hands down, the least appealing animal in the place. Pretty much the ugliest dog I'd ever seen in my life.”

“So why did you take him?” She cut off a bite of egg and put it in her mouth.

“I didn't. Not then, at least.”

Erin stopped chewing for a moment and stared at him. She swallowed quickly, then said, “So you went back for him? On purpose?”

“I went back,” he said, “but not for him. My mission was to talk myself out of any imaginary attachment. My fallback position if that didn't happen was any dog but him.”

“A more handsome one who would complement you?” One of her delicate eyebrows lifted, daring him to contradict her.

He wished he could, especially because there was a flattering subtext in the question. She apparently thought he wasn't so bad to look at. Jack wasn't particularly vain, but hell, how did he fight that?

“I was sure one of those other dogs would grow on me,” he admitted.

“But that didn't happen and you took him home,” she persisted.

“Nope. Not that day, either.”

She set down her fork. “So, what happened? Obviously this story has a happy ending because he's here. Did he escape from the shelter and stow away in your car?”

“I think he would have if he had opposable thumbs and was tall enough to reach the door handle.” He laughed at the image. “No. Third time was the charm.”

“Ah, so he wasn't an impulse buy. The acquisition was premeditated.”

Jack didn't have a snappy comeback to that so he was honest. “There was something about him. Every time I saw him he stood proud and dignified. Like a good soldier who was presenting himself for inspection to a superior officer. The next thing I knew, I had a dog.”

“Oh, Jack—” She smiled. “That's a great story.”

He looked at her, waiting for a zinger to follow the praise, but those eyes of hers went all soft and gooey, as if he was some kind of hero.

That wasn't good.

The dog had plopped himself beside her and she reached down to rub his head. “You chose wisely.”

“You were not one of his groupies the first time you saw him,” he reminded her.

“I was hasty. He's a keeper.”

“You think?” Jack honestly wanted her opinion.

“I do. He's proof of all those sayings. Beauty is only skin deep. It's in the eye of the beholder. Don't judge a book by its cover.”

“Yeah,” he said dryly. “That.”

“This little guy has grown on me,” she admitted.

“I think the feeling is mutual.” And there was a lot of that going around, Jack thought. Because she was growing on
him
.

That was the only explanation for why he'd compromised his principles and slept with her when he'd sworn it would never happen. He'd told her that to her face before asking if she'd ever been with a man. He'd tried his damnedest to ignore her and she'd destroyed his willpower with her erotic talk.

“Thank you for telling me that, Jack.” She had that mushy hero thing going on again.

“No big deal.”

“That's where you're wrong. I think opening up about something so personal means you're starting to trust me.” And she looked ridiculously happy about it.

Suddenly things had gotten even more complicated than a simple clarification of where they stood after sex. Erin was the kind of woman who wanted promises, the white picket fence, a family. She'd been engaged, for God's sake. But Jack knew that a promise wasn't worth the powder it would take to blow it to hell. As much as he wished it could be different, there would not be a repeat of last night.

No discussion necessary.

He was counting on the discipline he'd learned in the army to keep him from disobeying his own direct order.

* * *

Jack had apparently received her message loud and clear about the folly of assigning her absurd research topics because today's list
could
be relevant to an action-adventure story. Erin had compiled some information on search-and-rescue, bullying and drug-sniffing dogs. But her favorite, by far, was diamonds. As in fencing stolen ones.

She looked at the pictures on her computer and sighed. “Definitely a girl's best friend. Men can break your heart, but a diamond will never let you down.”

“Should I be worried that you're talking to yourself?”

Erin jumped, then saw Jack in the doorway. “I wish you'd stop doing that!”

“What? Worry?”

“No.” She pressed a hand to her chest, over her pounding heart. At least she told herself it was pounding because he'd startled her. It was probably something more serious than that but she wasn't going there. “Quit sneaking up on me. Wear a bell or something. I'm not a covert op that requires stealth protocols.”

“Someone is crabby.”

“Someone was just dandy until you scared the stuffing out of her.”

“Understood.”

The word was crisply spoken, all military discipline, but the grin was a targeted weapon that did nothing to return her heartbeat to normal and everything to rev it up again. Darn him. It was like some kind of mind control. If he grinned and ordered her to take off her clothes, she'd be naked in a hot minute. But that was just wishful thinking. Going to bed with him again was like eating a whole bag of potato chips in one sitting. Giving in to temptation might be satisfying in the moment, but the process of getting rid of the negative consequences would be long and ugly.

On the other hand, maintaining the status quo was practical.

She knew it was late afternoon but not what the time was. Diamonds tended to make a girl lose track of everything. The sun getting lower in the sky said it was inching toward the dinner hour, which meant she should cook soon.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“It's my house?”

“What I meant to say was, are you finished working?” she asked.

One dark eyebrow rose and he leaned a broad shoulder against the wall. “Are you?”

She was going to lob that ball back in his court. “I could be. Or not. Because I'm not the one who's at the beck and call of my process to write a book.”

“I see.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Well, let me put it this way. My process is getting cabin fever.”

“So you're finished working?” she persisted. “I need a simple, direct answer.”

“Yes. I'm going into town,” he added.

Erin was almost sure they'd had a conversation about filling up the creative well, an idea he'd mocked. She couldn't resist rubbing it in a little. “That will be good for your process. Have fun.”

“You're going with me.”

“Oh, you don't want me.” She was sure about that. He'd never said a word about them sleeping together, which told her how much she mattered. That slipup was a one-time thing. “I'm quite certain they keep your chair warm at Bar None. There's probably a sign on it. You should go make another new acquaintance.”

“It's not Bar None I have in mind.”

“Grizzly Bear Diner, then.” She nodded. “Looks like a fun place. You should check it out.”

“Another time.” He straightened away from the wall and there was something in his eyes that was almost vulnerable. “I'm going to the Harvest Café.”

“Wow.” A vivid image of his last encounter with the café's co-owner was still fresh in her mind. “Are you going to talk books with Lucy Bishop?”

“Actually it's her partner, Maggie Potter, I want to see. And this is long overdue.”

Erin tried to be on her toes with him at all times, but that one she really hadn't seen coming. “Why?”

“I could tell you, but...”

“You'd have to kill me,” she said wryly.

“You're very dramatic.”

That was ironic coming from the man who went all wonky and weird at the mention of his second book, or she should say work-in-progress. At least she hoped there was forward momentum. But she decided to take the high road and not point out that he was the pot calling the kettle black.

“Okay, then. When do you want to leave?” she asked.

“Now.”