Hard Irish (34 page)

“You’ve earned it.  And I’ll be putting my recommendation in for you next year as well.  This delivery might not have had as happy an ending, if you hadn’t have had the instinct to call me when you did.”    

“I’m only thankful that both mother and baby are all right.”

“Thanks to you.  Go home and get some rest.”

“You, too.”

“No such luck.  I left my husband with six five-year-old girls coming over for my daughter’s birthday party that should have started an hour ago.  Even though he’s a flexible kind of guy and completely supportive of my career, I’m sure he’s snatched himself bald by now.  So I’d better hurry.”

Nan laughed as Dr. Schwartz hustled away.  Careers didn’t necessarily make for a smooth family life.  Nan made a mental note to add flexible to her Mr. Right list.  

In the nurses’ station, Nan keyed a few quick notes into the computer and then logged off for the day.  She settled back in her chair and breathed a sigh of relief that was short lived.  When her gaze focused on the clock, she suddenly remembered that she was supposed to be at her friend Alexi’s house for a potluck BBQ.  In ten minutes.  She was too tired to rush and too tired to go, which was just as well.  Since Alexi was Jackson’s sister-in-law, odds were he’d be at the BBQ and she didn’t need any more fuel to fodder her nightly fantasies of him.

She hadn’t seen him in months, but she could clearly picture every nuance of his bad boy persona.  He was the devil who promised heaven in his every move, but offered nothing for the future.  She’d grown up under a futureless cloud and she wasn’t ever going back there. 

Digging her cell phone out of her purse, Nan dialed Alexi’s number, braced to face the riot act Alexi was sure to deliver.  

“I’ve got your number, Sugar.”

There was no mistaking the deep sensual voice.  Nan’s heart jumped and an oh-so-hot, sweat broke all over her body.  Her voice, caught sideways in her windpipe, squeaked.  “Jackson?”

“My name on your lips is a good start.  Please Jackson is even better.  Ever had phone sex, Nan?”

Air flew from her lungs.  An army of hormones attacked her sensibilities and everything else she had too.  Liquid fire, pooled, flowed, and stroked.

Oh, my!  A quick glance around the nurses’ station told her no one had even noticed her.  She should disconnect; pretend she hadn’t even called.  That would be the smart thing...

Instead she griped her cell phone tighter, swiveled her chair to face the wall, and shut her eyes.  His voice did things for which she was starved.  A moment she told herself.  Just a moment to relay her message to Alexi.  Then she’d hang up.

“Afraid sugar?”  Like smooth Irish cream, his voice glided and curled into a warm knot right where his deep tones stroked the most.  

“No.”  Since she’d forgotten to breathe, she sounded wispy instead of practical.

“Is that a no to sex via a live wire, or no to the fear.”

“Both,” she gasped, planning to ask to speak to Alexi just as soon as she caught her breath.

“Virgin ears.  Mmm, that means I’ll be your first.  Can’t you feel me?  I’m right up against you.  Feel the heat?  My hands on you... my mouth.  I can still taste your honeysuckle lips.  I keep wondering if the rest of you is as sweet.  Do you wonder too, Nan?  Wonder how all that explosive attraction would play out between us if we let it loose?  Remember the kiss outside the bar against the wall that day?  We almost made love right then and there.”

Nan gulped for air, she was drowning.  Drowning in him again.  She popped her eyes open, hoping that the images he evoked would evaporate.  They didn’t.

“No,” she said desperately.  “No, I don’t remember.  I don’t wonder.  Tell Alexi I can’t make it tonight.  We’re all wrong for each other Jackson, sorry.”  Nan cut off the call before she heard anything else to tempt her otherwise.  She stared at the wall, stunned by how much her need for him had grown since she’d stopped seeing him.

“Nan?”  A firm finger tapped her on the shoulder.  “Anything wrong?”

She swung her chair around.  “Dr. Swanson?” she said, trying to blink his golden blonde image into focus, but a blue-eyed raven-haired devil kept imposing himself onto her retina.

He waved his hand in front of her face.  “The one and only, but please, call me Brad.  You look tired.”

“I am a little,” she said, blinking again.  This time her vision blessedly cleared and she latched onto Brad's GQ, Armani draped bod with both eyes like he was the last lifeboat before the flood.  She gave him her brightest smile.  “What can I do for you?”

His eyes widened.  “You should smile like that more often.  It’s quite breath taking.”

Nan’s jaw loosened with surprise at the personal compliment.

Brad shook his head as if bouncing out of a trance.  “Ahem, well, I stopped by to ask you if you’d like to be my date for the charity banquet next Saturday.  It’s not normally my sort of thing, but I thought if you’d like, we could, uh, go together.”

Had Mr. Famous Neurosurgeon just asked her out on a date in the middle of a colleague filled hospital?  Nan shook her head to clear out the Jackson oriented cobwebs and saw Brad frown.

“Is that a no because you are working?” he asked.

“No.  I mean that wasn’t a no to you.  That was a no to...never mind.  Yes, I would like to go with you to the benefit.”

“Excellent,” Brad said, giving her the full force of his charismatic smile.

Nan prepared herself for a jolt of excitement, something along the lines of the lightning bolt Jackson had sent shooting through her with his “ever had phone sex” line.  To her dismay, nothing happened.

Buy Smooth Irish (Book 2 of the Weldon Series) now!

Excerpt from THE MISTRESS OF TREVELYAN by Jennifer St. Giles

I hurried downstairs, thoroughly convincing myself that my interest in my appearance rested solely upon the fact that I now held a new position in life. It had nothing to do with the look in Benedict Trevelyan's eyes this morning. That was only the wild imaginings of a spinster. In the entryway, I turned a blind eye to the stained glass windows, lest they should tempt me to linger, and I followed the sounds of voices until I discerned the words being spoken. Then I froze, too mortified even to breathe.

"Really, Benedict, this penchant you have of catering to the unfortunate has gone too far this time," a woman said, her voice nasal and cold. "A homely washerwoman is in charge of educating my grandsons? A woman no better than a beggar off the streets? Surely Maria must be mistaken."

"Am I to take it that you'd find a beautiful washerwoman acceptable then, Mother?"

"Botheration. Do not start twisting my words around. What is the truth of the situation?"

"You heard correctly, though I would hardly consider Maria an intelligent source of information," he said, and my stomach cramped and roiled. I knew my station in life, but to hear it put so bluntly was disturbing.
No better than a beggar off the streets.

I almost missed the rest of what Benedict said, but his deep voice reached through my embarrassment. "The supposed washerwoman is not only cognizant that Newton made scientific studies of the characteristics of light as well as the gravity of an apple, she also seems to be gifted at capturing and holding my sons' attention. And I daresay the woman has a great deal more practical sense than to chase Robert around the kitchen with a broom. So all in all, until I see otherwise, my sons are better off under the tutelage of an intelligent and well-versed washerwoman than under the care of a blundering nurse. Miss Lovell is nowhere near a beggar off the streets. I consider the subject closed."

"He's such a tyrant, don't you agree?" a male voice whispered right next to my ear. I jumped with fright, nearly knocking the man over as my shoulder clipped his jaw.

I'd been caught eavesdropping again. Mortified, I swung around to see a pair of bloodshot blue eyes blinking at me as Stephen Trevelyan rubbed his chin and worked his jaw. He didn't seem to be the least put off about the accident. In fact, he was grinning and looking at me, quite frankly, with interest

Shocked, I patted my chest. "My word, you gave me a fright, Mr. Trevelyan."

"So sorry. You must be the new governess, Miss Lovell. I am
Stephen
Trevelyan. With Ben at the head of the family, there's only room for one Mr. Trevelyan. So please call me Stephen. May I call you Ann?" He held out his hand, and after hesitating a moment, I shook it, trying to stifle my smile. The man was outrageously familiar, especially in light of his status and mine, yet I liked him.

"I suppose," I replied, a bit disconcerted. He did not release my hand, and what I noticed most about his touch is that it did not carry the penetrating impact Benedict Trevelyan's did.

"From the blistering old Ben gave me earlier, it seems that I owe you an apology. And now that I have met you, I feel sorely vexed at myself for falling into your arms and not remembering a jot of it."

"I see you two have met," Benedict Trevelyan said. He stared at us from the doorway.

Heat flushed my cheeks, and I pulled my hand from Stephen Trevelyan's. "Yes, just now. Here in the corridor.'' Though Benedict Trevelyan didn't say anything, the disapproval in the grim set of his lips practically shouted at me. I took another step away from his brother. My feet moved even before my mind registered the implications of such a movement I had nothing to feel guilty about, but my actions indicated otherwise.

"Are Katherine and Constance down yet?" Stephen Trevelyan asked, his voice several degrees colder than when he'd spoken to me.

"No, but Mother is. She's eager to see you."

"Duty calls, Miss Ann. And please remember to call me Stephen. After all, I hear we became quite close this morning." Winking at me, Stephen Trevelyan moved past and entered the room.

I lifted my hand to my brow, brushing away the perspiration that suddenly beaded my skin. I felt strange, possibly even ill. Stephen Trevelyan's familiarity was a bit disconcerting, but Benedict Trevelyan's scrutiny was completely unnerving. "Perhaps I will go and—"

"Perhaps you would like to accompany me to the garden for a few moments and tell me your impressions of my sons. I know Mother and Stephen will want to spend a few minutes alone. Constance is habitually a quarter of an hour late, and Katherine..." He shrugged. "Well, no one can predict what she will do. She is shy and may decide to delay meeting you for a time yet."

Very little news of Benedict Trevelyan's sister, Katherine, had ever filtered down to my ears, but I'd heard several things. One was that she had a debilitating illness; the other was that she was mad, but I had no intention of asking him about his family. I was practical enough to realize the boundaries of my station and would adhere to them, no matter how curious I was.

The fresh air of the garden appealed to me as just what my nerves needed, even though I suspected that Trevelyan's presence would immediately nullify any calming effect the evening breeze and fading light might provide.

I should go back to my bedchamber, I thought. Not to hide as much as to settle myself back into what I considered my proper role as a governess. Truly, going from laundress to walking in the garden and eating dinner with the master of Trevelyan Hill was more than I felt ready to swallow. Though it was somewhat comforting that Benedict didn't consider me to be a beggar off the streets, there was no way to hide the fact that I did not belong.

Yet complying with his demand that I give him my impressions of his sons was part of my job, and I could not deny his request. "The garden is fine," I said.

He motioned for me to precede him across the entryway and out the rear door to the garden. "This way, then."

As I passed him, the awareness of his presence behind me penetrated every nuance of my being—his size, his heat, the surety of his step. Even the power of his gaze upon me affected me. He was a large man, and never in my life had I felt more of a woman than I did in his company.

Unfortunately, the garden by day with his sons was not the same garden by evening with the man himself. The shadows beyond the angel fountain were darker, the breeze from the bay more invigorating, and the scent of the flowers sweeter.

I slowed my step, not wanting to trespass into the more intimate shadows near the edges of the garden. He adjusted his step to mine; the gentlemanly consideration only made me more aware of him beside me, and I had to force myself to focus on my purpose in being in the garden with him. "What about your sons do you wish to know?"

"As I said. Your impression of them, but first I must mention that Dobbs said—"

My back stiffened. "I apologized to him for that. I will not let it happen again."

He caught my elbow, forcing me to stop and face him. His eyes were too black, as if they held too many secrets to ever lighten with a smile. The sharp angles of his features that I'd taken so close a note of the day before imprinted themselves again into my mind, only deeper and subtly different this time. The Roman nose and conquering chin were the same, but in the dimmer light his lips appeared softer, as did his manner.

A ruffling breeze from the bay played with his raven hair and lent him an air of rakish vulnerability that I didn't want to see, for it made him even more attractive. His fingers upon my arm were warm, so very warm through the fabric of my dress that I knew they'd burn were he to touch my skin directly. A wonderfully pleasurable burn, I thought, remembering the feel of his hands upon my person from this morning. I shut my eyes.

"I'm curious, Miss Lovell. What exactly are you apologizing for?" He released my arm, but the heat of his touch lingered. The urge to touch him, to see if I affected him the way he affected me, washed over me.

My eyes popped open, and I clenched the skirt of my dress with my hands. What had I been apologizing for? The children. I had to clear my throat to find my voice. "Yes, well, for the children running up to the school room for their lessons. Mr. Dobbs has already called me to the carpet for their boisterous manner."