But draw the turgid pain
From my breast to your bosom, eclipse
My soul again.
Waste me not, I beg you, waste
Not the inner night:
Taste, oh taste and let me taste
The core of delight.
Her breath caught as the sheer vulnerability of her poetic confession shook her. God, she’d practically confirmed her helpless need for his continued touch.
“What is it called?” he asked with a husky drawl.
“Liaison. D.H. Lawrence.” She forced a small laugh. “I thought it was appropriate with our situation.”
Raw emotion flickered over his face. "Out of all the poems, you picked one with physical passion. Openness. And truth.” He ran his finger gently down her check. "Don't ever tell me you're boring again, Julianna."
Entranced by his intensity, she lost her footing and gazed at him like a love struck teenager. Jack continued with his questions.
“So, you’ve never really left this house?"
It took a moment for her to regain her balance. “No. I was able to teach a few night courses for money here and there, but my father needed full-time care."
“Did you ever just want to run away from it all?”
She caught a wistfulness in his tone, an underlying question that seemed more serious than he posed. A thousand regrets and wants and dreams raced through her mind, then settled. “Yes. But I chose to stay. I made a promise to my father and I intend to keep it.”
“Even at the expense of yourself?”
Her fingers stilled on his chest. “Yes,” she said softly. “Even at the expense of myself.”
“What did you promise, Julianna?”
“Nothing important.” She rolled off the bed, kicked off the shoes, and grabbed a long terrycloth robe. “Are you hungry?”
He watched her cover her nakedness and firmly belt the sash. “For food?”
God, he was gorgeous. All lean muscle and tawny skin. He reminded her of a predator temporarily sated, but his eyes still gleamed with lazy warning, reminding her he could strike at any time. Heat speared down her belly and her thighs clenched in anticipation. “Yes, food. I worked up an appetite.”
“Sure. But I’m not done with you yet.”
Julianna shivered and led him to the kitchen. The open space boasted shiny marble floors, stainless steel appliances, and long pine counters and cabinets that took up one whole wall. Cheery yellow walls matched the flowers stenciled along the edges of the ceiling. He settled himself at the counter and watched while she pulled out a griddle pan and mix.
Jack wondered why this woman intrigued him. Clad in her shabby white terrycloth robe, she expertly whipped up pancake batter and poured perfect circles on the hot griddle. Her long dark hair was a tangled mess of waves that fell around her face. There was nothing extraordinary in her appearance. Her face scrubbed free of make-up, a smattering of freckles across her nose, Julianna moved around the kitchen gracefully, and the peacefulness soothed his soul. In the next moment, her robe gaped open and one ruby red nipple flashed him. Immediately he hardened, and the need to claim her resurfaced like a hungry wolf scenting his mate. On the surface, she was a gentleman’s dream. Cultured, polite, and self-controlled. Pleasant appearance. Correctly educated. The perfect wife. Yet underneath, the woman burned bright and hot. He put his hands on her and she melted, her chocolate eyes going warm and gooey, the spicy aroused smell of her rising to his nostrils. She was aggressive and passionate and messy. She loved dirty talk and wasn’t afraid of intimacy. Julianna Waters was a complete enigma, yet she intended to marry only for wealth, and that sickened his heart.
He shook off his disturbing thoughts as she plopped a pile of perfectly formed pancakes on his plate. The delicious aroma rose to greet him and he groaned as he poured rich maple syrup over his dish. “I can’t remember the last time I had pancakes,” he muttered between bites.
“Dinner was always chaotic, so midnight breakfasts were popular in my house. There was something about cooking in the middle of the night that made me happy. Everyone else asleep. No television or phones or computer. Just cooking and the silence of my thoughts.”
“That’s how I feel when I’m on my boat. Life suddenly makes more sense.”
“I love sailing. I don’t think you can grow up in Newport and escape a passion for boating and fishing.” She sighed and forked up a mouthful of pancakes. “I can’t remember the last time I went for a relaxing sail."
“I’ll take you.”
The invitation popped out of his mouth before he thought it through. Then he realized he wanted her to see his boat. Wanted to take her sailing. Maybe not practical, but if she was dating someone seriously, their time together was drawing to a close. He wanted to make love to her on his boat and burn her in his memory.
She looked surprised, then gave a casual laugh. “We'd break our deal. You only get me at night, remember?”
His temper surged at the reminder of his promise. He became more determined to have her on his own turf and own terms. “I’ll take you for a night sail. You can meet me at the dock tomorrow evening.”
Wariness skated over her features. “Oh, I don’t know—”
“I do. You do what I say from midnight to dawn.” He deliberately glanced at his watch and got up from the stool. His erection sprang to attention and elicited a gasp. He smiled with satisfaction. “We have a few hours left before morning.” He took the bottle of syrup and poured a few drops on the tip of his finger. She watched with fascination, her teeth pulling her lower lip in and nibbling.
“Now take off your robe. I feel like a different type of breakfast.”
A beat passed. Challenge sparked the air, and he waited for her decision.
The robe slid off her shoulders and fell to the floor.
Jack smiled and moved toward her.
Bryce tossed down the report and looked at his private investigator with irritation. The squat, bald man waited patiently, as he always did. Bryce detested the man’s appearance, as he detested anything not pleasing to his eye. But at least the man was loyal and kept his mouth shut. Blackmail and money bought a lot of favors. He’d had Peter do his dirty work for years now, and no one ever suspected.
“What’s the missing piece?” Bryce asked. He stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought. “Jack needs to marry in order to inherit. He’s sniffing around the lovely Julianna, yet she needs to marry someone with money to save the Cliff House." He gave a rich laugh he knew was quite pleasant to the ears. “Priceless. My dear cousin is playing pauper and she has no idea she’s sleeping with a prince. Why wouldn’t he tell her? He could have his lover and a wife and inherit it all.”
As usual, Peter didn’t speak, just waited for Bryce to figure out his own thoughts. A strange idea floated past. “Could it be he wants to find someone who loves him for himself? My God, he’s more foolishly romantic than I thought possible. She’s not telling him she needs to secure her home by marrying, and he’s not telling her he needs to marry to secure his own kingdom.”
Bryce threw his head back and roared with laughter. “Sheer perfection. Now I just need to decide how I want to play. Jack doesn’t know I’m here. What better way to spring it on him than having him discover us in public? Peter, secure an engagement ring. I’ll propose by the end of the week. She’s kept me off the radar for now, but that’s about to change. I’ll make sure we dine down by the wharf near Jack’s boat. I need everyone to know I’ll be proposing, and I need Jack in attendance. Do whatever you need to have him there at the correct time. My next date with Julianna will be one very amusing revelation.”