Smooth Irish (Book 2 of the Weldon Series) (9 page)

“
How doesn’t really
matter. Do you think Alexi is in trouble?” Jackson’s face in the
almost moonless night was more shadow than substance.

“
No. Not exactly. I do
think the potential is there.”

“
Jesse left a message on
the answering machine a few minutes ago that his flight had just
landed in Savannah. He should be home inside of thirty minutes.
After I get you home, I’ll call and check. My bro and me are going
to have a long talk. Alexi’s too far along for him to be out of
town.”

“
I agree. I’ll call her
tomorrow and see how she’s doing.”

Jackson started his truck and backed
out of the drive. Nan turned her attention to the shadowed scenery
to escape looking at Jackson. The he-who-she-shall-not-name tactic
had failed miserably.

The effects of the earlier storm had
faded completely. The world had settled back into a comfortable
status quo. Salt and the scent of the sea laced the night breeze
whipping in the open window. Through the passing live oaks and
historic cottages of Tybee Island, Nan caught glimpses of silver
waves cresting in the Atlantic before Jackson pulled onto Highway
80 and headed west. Unfortunately, for Nan, her world was far from
returning to status quo. It was as if the storm had blown her life
off course, tossing her back into Jackson’s dangerous
proximity.

The atmosphere between them was tense
and fraught with expectation. It was as if a live wire danced
between them and neither of them knew who it would zap
next.

During the two months they'd dated,
more often than not, she’d sat at a table watching Jackson and his
band play. Her seven A.M. work shift and every-other-weekend work
schedule tended to curtail their dating time. His night owl
lifestyle hadn’t meshed well with the demands of her
job.

He’d also kept every moment so damn
sexually intense, that she didn’t think a thing was missing from
their time together until the euphoria wore off. Then she'd been
able to assess where Jackson was going with his life and where she
wanted her life to go.

Things had crystallized for her on New
Year's Eve, sitting with him in Salty's Bar. He’d just torn up a
recording contract from a country music producer, telling her he
had no interest in accomplishing more with his life than twanging
out a tune in a local bar, late nights, and sleeping till noon.
Then he pretty much asked her to share his bed for a
while.

She’d left then. Left before she lost
more to him than she could afford. He was a man going nowhere and
after watching her mother waste her life on a man just like that,
Nan wasn’t going to make the same mistake.

She had best remember that. But
instead of keeping up the safe silence, Nan dug at Jackson's stony
wall. Maybe she couldn’t get him out of her head because he was
somewhat of a mystery she’d never solved. She knew there was more
to him than he let her see. She also knew there was more to his
past than he was willing to share. Maybe if she satisfied some of
her questions, she could move on past him.

“
You were worried about
Alexi even before I said anything. What do you know about
eclampsia. Have you noticed something that I've missed?” she asked
as he pulled into the drive to her apartment and cut the
engine.

The chirp of crickets, a passing
motorist, and an occasionally barking dog filled the silence.
Jackson folded his arms and adjusted his long legs in the cramped
cab. “She’s my sister-in-law. I…”

Nan thought she would turn blue from
holding her breath, waiting for him to finish his sentence. He
didn’t.

“
Yes?” Nan
prompted.

“
Nothing,” he said,
shaking his head. She could practically see the wall slide back
into place.

“
Come on, I’ll walk you to
the door.”

Sighing, she slid out of his truck,
attempting to maintain her dignity in the short dress, though after
the view Jackson had caught earlier it was kind of a moot point.
The dizziness had run its course and the coffee with extra sugar
and cream had taken the edge off her headache.

She followed him to the door, deciding
that she’d find out more about Jackson’s past, and how Brad and Dr.
Dennison knew him.

To what end?
Her mind whispered. Nothing she could learn would change the
direction he was going, which was opposite hers.

She shoved her key into the lock.
Irritated with herself for even wondering about him.

Jackson closed his hand over hers on
the knob. The jolt of his touch tingled all the way to her toes;
they curled.

“
Nan, about
earlier—“

“
No. Let me say
something.” She turned to him, angling her neck to see him. “I
didn’t mean to hurt you when I walked out of Salty’s.”

Jackson shrugged. The yellow glare of
a street lamp, barely muted by the eaves of her porch, cast a
revealing light upon the square lines of his stubble-rough jaw and
lean face. He frowned, his eyes intense. “I was out of line about
you baiting your hook tonight.”

Nan pressed her finger to his full
lips, closing her eyes at the pleasure tingling through her. “What
I think is that we both want different things in life. You can’t
deny that.”

“
No,” he said, grabbing
her hand and pulling her toward him. “But neither can I deny
this.”

Jackson was like the storm, all wild,
knock-you-off-your-feet power. His mouth closed over hers with hot,
liquid passion. He did nothing more than cradle the nape of her
neck with his hands, bury his fingers into her hair, and kiss her
deeply. Yet, her heart pounded with dizzying force and a flood of
aching desire pooled in her center.

After one long, soul-wrenching kiss,
he groaned, and kissed her again. Varying his need, he nipped
lightly at the corners of her mouth, tasted the tender flesh of her
bottom lip, and then dipped deeply into her mouth again.

Drawn beyond the safety of her common
sense, Nan demanded more from him. She leaned into him, wrapped her
arms around his neck, and pulled her body close to his. His coat
gaped open, and her satin-draped cleavage brushed his chest. He
pulled her closer, close enough to feel the hard ripples of his
chest against her aching breasts. Close enough to feel his muscled
thighs against her legs. He answered her demand with one of his
own, then leaned back against the door and urged her closer
still.

She didn’t hesitate to follow. As
months of longing broke loose, she pressed tightly against the
growing ridge of his arousal. He growled deep in his throat, slid
his hands down her back, and cupped her bottom, lifting her up and
pulling her hard against his sex. The hem of her short dress
bunched and the rough material of his jeans rubbed her thighs. From
the breath of air against her bottom she knew that only her lace
underwear separated the bare flesh of his hands from her most
intimate parts. Still she didn’t care. She wanted nothing between
them.

Jackson pulled his mouth from hers,
breathing hard. “Damn, Lady, I still want to make love to you,” he
said softly. “That’s something I can’t seem to walk away from.” He
set her back on her feet, slowly easing his hands from beneath her
dress to rest on her shoulders. His blue eyes were so dark with
desire; they were blacker than the night, and more electric than a
crack of lightning.

“
We went through this
before, Jack. I can’t—”

He stopped her denial with a gentle,
firm kiss. “Don’t say anything. Think about it again. Just you and
me together. No strings. We’ll get it out of our system and move
on.”

He opened her door. She stepped
inside, still stunned by his kiss and the depth of her want for
him. Instead of dying out over their months apart, desire had
mushroomed, grown larger, more needy. What was she going to
do?

“
I’ll come by and take you
to get your car tomorrow.”

“
Thanks, but you don’t
know what you’re offering. I’m working the early shift, and from
what I remember, you don’t do morning. I’ll just catch a
cab.”

Jackson frowned. “I do mornings,
sugar. In fact, I’m very good at mornings.”

She tingled at his words, but started
to protest. He staved off her reply by brushing her lips lightly
with his thumb. Automatically her tongue slid out to taste his
warm, slightly salty skin. He pressed his finger to her tongue,
lingered in its moistness a moment, then slipped his thumb to his
own mouth.

Nan watched his tongue lick the same
spot she had. Watched his pleasure in tasting her where she had
tasted him. She closed her eyes against the potent suck of desire
making her want to pull him to the ground and love him till time
ceased to exist. When she opened them again, he was gone, only the
roar of his truck echoed in the night. Jackson had forgotten his
coat.

Warm silky fur rubbed against her
ankle and a plaintive meow dispelled the feel of Jackson’s
lingering touch. Nan sighed, bent down and picked up
Shakespeare.

“
No Romeoing for you
tonight, sir. Seems as if there’s enough of that going on already.”
After locking the door, she wandered into the kitchen to feed
Shakespeare. Now that Jackson was gone, her common sense seemed to
be returning. She’d done the right thing three months ago. She
didn’t need a relationship going nowhere.

“
Remind me to make it to
the grocery store tomorrow.” She dumped a can of tuna in
Shakespeare’s dish, then scoured the refrigerator for something for
herself, but nothing seemed to satisfy.

Shakespeare finished his meal and
adjourned to her bedroom. Nan followed. The nights had become
longer since she’d stopped dating Jackson; she’d eaten less, slept
less, and worked more.

Shakespeare groomed himself on the
slipper chair next to her bed. Nan cleaned up and settled into
reading “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” But her concentration eluded
her. She closed her eyes to drift to the land of dreams and lovers,
where Puck’s fairy dust made the impossible happen.

Jackson’s kiss lingered upon her lips
and thoughts of him plagued her all throughout a restless night.
The devil stood on her doorstep. She had her hand on the doorknob,
and her eye at the peephole, looking at him for all she was worth,
and he looked good. Come morning she knew she was going to let him
in the door.

At five a.m. Nan rolled out of bed groaning. Even
after coffee and a shower, she didn’t manage to get both eyes open
until the doorbell rang.

She hurried to answer it, her mind a muddled maze.
Wet hair wound up in a purple towel and her damp body wrapped in a
fuzzy robe that had seen better days, she peered through the
peephole and blinked twice. The devil had arrived.

Juggling several lunch bags, Jackson ran an
impatient hand through his hair and rang the doorbell again, then
rapped his knuckles on the door for good measure. Eye pressed to
peephole, Nan jumped at the sharp sound.

She cracked the door open and stuck her nose into
the slit. “Jackson?”

“Morning.” He grinned enough to
flash the dimple in his left cheek. The rough edge of very little
sleep laced his deep voice; its intimacy conjured up images of
waking in his arms on a lazy morning.
After
making love.

“What . . .” was the only word she could manage to
say as she furrowed her brow.

He held up the white bags and dangled a set of keys.
“Breakfast and transportation. Remember?”

“MMMM.” Nan drew a deep breath, catching the scent
of cinnamon and fresh soap. His black hair gleamed damply in the
porch light, giving evidence he’d recently showered. A dark shadow
on his square jaw let her know he’d skipped shaving, as a man in a
hurry might do. The morning air hung heavy with the essence of
spring and still carried a whispery breath of winter’s chill.
Jackson wore his customary dress, a snug fitting black T-shirt,
muscle-hugging jeans, and mirrored sunglasses. Her mouth watered at
his appetizing appeal.

“Well, sugar? As much as I’m enjoying your interest,
it’s chilly and I like my buns at least warm if not hot.”

“Buns? Oh, my. Um, I forgot to give you your jacket
last night.” Nan unlatched the chain and pulled the door open.

“Jacket wouldn’t help these." He
held up the scrumptious smelling bag. "Though, I like the direction
of your thoughts.” Jackson brushed his way in before she could move
back. He grinned like a man who had decadent things on his mind as
he waved the bags under her nose. “Cinnamon buns, darlin’. You
know, of the big, hot, sticky,
sugary
variety you eat for
breakfast?”

“Of course,” Nan said, pretending she’d never even
considered anything else. She pulled the edges of her robe closer,
a little self-conscious. “I love buns. Um, cinnamon buns.”

“You look better than the pastries.”

Nan pushed at the towel wrapping her head. “I, uh,
thanks. If I look better, they must be really messy.”

“You look delicious.” He lifted his sunglasses off
and pointedly slid his gaze over her.

Her body quickened and flushed, tingling in all the
places she’d dreamed he touched. Acute awareness plowed through the
cotton field of her mind. Awareness of him, of the heavy yearning
in her breasts, and of the throbbing heat in the center of her
desire. She tugged the front edges of her robe closer; the material
skimmed her naked breasts. Her movement brought his gaze to her
chest, and her nipples tightened.