Читать книгу Wild Revenge: The Dangerous Jacob Wilde / The Ruthless Caleb Wilde / The Merciless Travis Wilde - Сандра Мартон, Sandra Marton - Страница 14

ADDISON STOOD in the kitchen, wearing a robe that came down to her ankles, and stared blankly at the old clock ticking away above the stove.

“Midnight?” she said. “It can’t be midnight!”

Jake, dressed only in jeans that rode low on his hips, stood leaning against the door frame, arms folded, bare feet crossed.

She was a delectable sight, and all he could think about was taking her back to bed.

But it was late, they were both hungry, and grabbing a bite to eat seemed a smart thing to do when he had every reason to keep up his energy.

The night wasn’t over yet.

She looked at him. “What does your watch say?”

He looked at his watch, then at her.

“The little hand’s on the twelve,” he said, deadpan. “So’s the big hand. Where I come from, that means it’s either midnight or high noon, honey, and considering the fact that it’s pitch-black outside, my best guess is midnight.”

“Midnight. I just don’t see how—”

She bit her lip. And she blushed.

Damn, he loved that about her! Hours in his arms, hours spent exploring each other, and she could still turn pink as a schoolgirl.

And yet, she had all the confidence a man could want in a woman, in bed or out. You’d never be able to take her for granted; she’d always be an exciting challenge.

You could build a future with a woman like Addison McDowell.

Jake frowned.

What kind of nonsense was that? This was about terrific sex with a terrific woman. End of story.

“You’re right,” he said, taking things back to where they belonged. “Where could the hours have gone?”

The color in her lovely face deepened. Jake relented, straightened to his full height, walked slowly toward her and took her in his arms.

“Either we get some food in our bellies or they’re gonna find just two piles of bones on old man Chambers’s magnificent linoleum floor.”

Addison leaned back in his arms.

“Not a fan of linoleum, huh?”

“Frankly, I can’t tell linoleum from marble. Well, yeah, I can, but it’s that shade of green makes my stomach lurch.”

“It’s called chartreuse.”

“Even worse.”

She slid her hands up his naked chest, loving the feel of his skin, the silkiness of the dark hair across his sternum, the strong beat of his heart.

“We had linoleum in the kitchen when I was growing up. Not green. Pink. We had pink everything. Walls. Rugs. Bathroom.” She smiled up at him. “But I got even. Every single thing in my apartment, walls to floors to furniture, is white.”

“Aha.”

“Aha, what?”

“Aha, that explains old man Chambers’s bedroom.”

“My bedroom,” she said softly.

“Damned right,” Jake said, his voice a little rough.

Addison locked her hands at the nape of his neck. She could feel the very edge of his scar under the tips of her fingers. She wanted to slip behind him, press her lips to the scar, but she knew better.

Jake hadn’t mentioned it again.

Still, she knew it was some kind of concession that he hadn’t put on his shirt when they finally left the bed, especially since he had not once removed the black patch from his eye.

He was hurting. Not outside. He was hurting inside and she hurt for him. It was a helpless feeling, not to be able to do anything to help.

“Such deep thoughts,” he said, brushing his mouth gently over hers.

Somehow, she managed a quick smile..

“Chartreuse linoleum will do that every time.”

“I agree. So, how about we eat something fast so we can get out of this room just as fast?”

“A brilliant plan, Captain. What would you like?”

He gave a soft, sexy laugh. She blushed again and he drew her even closer and kissed her.

“I’m serious, Jacob.”

“So am I,” he said, and kissed her again.

The kiss went on for a long, lovely time. Then Addison stepped out of his arms and opened the fridge.

“Let’s see—I have some cheese….”

“Excellent. I’ll make us those fried cheese sandwiches.” When she looked over her shoulder at him, he raised his eyebrows. “What?” he said innocently. “You’re not in the mood for fried cheese?”

“Tell me you made that up.”

“It’s an old Wilde recipe.”

“I bet your sisters would disagree.”

“Well, okay, it’s an old Wilde Bunch recipe.”

She laughed. “You, Caleb and Travis? The Wilde Bunch, huh?”

“That’s what the town called us.” Jake tucked his hands into the rear pockets of his jeans and admired the delightful shape of Addison’s backside as she bent to the bottom shelf. “Although, to be accurate, fried cheese is Trav’s specialty.”

“Thank goodness for small favors,” she said, pushing a couple of small containers aside.

“Mine’s fried hot dogs.”

That brought her upright.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“You northerners are so judgmental.”

“I’m afraid to ask what Caleb contributes to these feasts.”

“Marshmallows. Not fried,” he added quickly. “Charred. You know. In a fire. Crispy on the outside, melted on the inside.”

“Actually, I don’t know.”

“What? You never sat around a campfire and toasted marshmallows?”

“Nope.”

“Ah, honey,” Jake said, with genuine regret, “you missed a lot.”

“Charlie used to say the same thing.” And even as she asked herself why she’d mentioned Charlie, the answer came to her.

It was time to know how Jake felt about Charlie and the ugly gossip.

“Charlie,” Jake said—and he wondered how he’d sounded, saying the name.

Curious? Well, he was.

Any man would be, when a rich guy left a woman a couple of hundred thousand acres of good Texas land, no matter how tumbledown its condition.

Jealous? No. Of course not …

“That’s it? Just ‘Charlie’?”

Addison shut the refrigerator door and turned toward him.

“Charles Hilton.”

Her tone was wary, maybe even defiant. So was the look in her eyes.

Okay. Now Jake knew exactly how he’d sounded.

Like a man biting back a mouthful of jealousy.

“He was my friend.” She waited. “I told you that, remember?”

“Hey. I didn’t say—”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Addison. Honey. That’s not fair. I only meant—”

He frowned. Why was he explaining himself? They’d met, what, two days ago? One day ago? He was losing track. She had her own life, just as he had his.

Hell. Be honest, Wilde.

Plain and simple, he wanted to know if she was carrying the torch for a dead guy.

“I meant,” he said slowly, “did you love him?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? He was my friend. My God, you’re like all the rest, believing what you want to bel—”

Jake cursed, dragged Addison to her toes and kissed her.

Not gently.

Not tenderly.

His kiss was demanding and possessive, and yet so sweet it took her all of a heartbeat to respond to it. Her lips parted; her tongue slid against his. And when he took the kiss deeper, she put her arms around his neck and gave herself up to the feel of him against her.

“I’m sorry, Adoré,” he said. “I believe you. And even if you had loved him—”

“I did love him. Like a father. And he loved me like a daughter.”

Jake nodded. “Good,” he said thickly. “Because I don’t think I could handle his ghost haunting you and this godforsaken ranch.”

There was a silence. Then she gave a soft laugh.

“Jacob. That doesn’t even make sense.”

It made perfect sense to him. Or maybe not. Hadn’t he just told himself that he’d only met this woman a day ago? That he had no claim on her?

More to the point, he didn’t want a claim on her. On anybody.

Why would he, when he was moving on?

“Jake?”

“Yeah.” He expelled a long breath. Stick to the facts, he told himself. Facts were always safe. “So, what kind of guy was he?”

She smiled. “You’d have liked him. He was very down-to-earth.”

“Was he your boss?”

“A colleague, but a thousand times the lawyer I’ll ever be.”

“I’ll bet you’re Clarence Darrow in a skirt.”

She laughed.

“If I’m any good at all, it’s Charlie’s doing. He was my mentor.” She smiled. “I used to call him my hero.”

A muscled flickered in Jake’s temple.

“There are no such things as heroes,” he said, “except in fairy tales.”

Addison touched her hand to his face.

“You’re a hero,” she said softly.

“The hell I am. I did what I was trained to do.”

“Sometimes,” she said, even more softly, “doing what you’re trained to do is what heroism is all about.”

Jake snorted. “That’s media B.S.”

“No, it’s the truth.” She hesitated. “My father was a fireman.”

“Yeah, well, no question. Those guys are heroes.”

“He was trained to go into burning buildings. The last time he went into one, he died.”

“Hell, Adoré. How old were—”

“Six. And I still remember how I loved him, and how brave he was.”

“This isn’t the same.”

“It is. You saved lives.”

His jaw tightened. “You, of all people, should know better than to believe every story you hear.”

“Jacob—”

He moved past her, opened the refrigerator door.

“I thought we were going to get something to eat.”

Addison couldn’t see his face but she had a clear view of his scar, and of the rigidity of his shoulders, as if he’d been cast in stone.

She’d touched a nerve, and she—she cared for him too much to touch it again.

“Right,” she said briskly. She stepped in front of him and made a show of checking the shelves she’d checked five minutes before. “Let’s see. I have yogurt. Cottage cheese. Wheat bread. Tomatoes and lettuce and, oh, some tofu …”

Nothing. She could feel him standing behind her, something—anger, pain, despair—coming off him like waves of heat.

“Tofu, then,” she said brightly. “Mixed with granola. And toasted wheat bread topped with cottage—”

Jake reached past her and shut the door.

“The basic food groups,” he said, turning her toward him.

The darkness was gone. His posture had eased. There was even what might have been the beginning of a smile on his lips.

She smiled, too, and offered a silent thank-you to the gods for giving women the instinctive knowledge that the mention of fermented milk and soybeans could drag a man like Jacob back to reality.

“I’m going to buy you dinner.” There it was, a real smile, and it made her heart lift. “Or breakfast. Or lunch. Or whatever meal this is supposed to be.”

“At midnight? In the middle of nowhere?”

“Get that look off your face, Adoré. Anybody would think you’re suggesting Wilde’s Crossing can’t hold its own with the gourmet dee-lites of the Big Apple.”

She snorted. Jake’s smile became a grin.

“How about a small wager?”

“Fifty cents. And, just so we have the ground rules straight, McDonald’s won’t do it.”

“Fifty cents,’ he scoffed. “You call that a bet?”

Addison cocked her head. “Suggest something.”

He put his arms around her, laced his hands together in the small of her back.

“How about if I win, we’ll replace that yogurt with whipped cream?”

A rosy pink glazed her cheeks. “Whipped cream and granola?” she said, batting her lashes in feigned innocence. “I don’t know.”

“Whipped cream and you,” Jake answered, his words low and gruff. “Your mouth. Your breasts. Your thighs.”

Addison rose on her toes and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

“Deal,” she whispered, “just as long as we save some of that whipped cream for me to use on you.”

He groaned. She laughed. And before he could push her back against the refrigerator door and show her that they didn’t need whipped cream at all, she slipped out of his encircling arms and headed out of the kitchen, her hips swaying with what he knew was deliberate, teasing provocation.

He laughed….

But then his laughter died.

In its place was a sensation he’d never felt before. He wanted to go after her, scoop her into his arms and make love to her, sure.

But he wanted more.

More than taking her to bed.

He wanted her in his heart, in his life….

You? a cold voice inside him said. Don’t be stupid, man.

“Come on, slowpoke. Get your shirt … Jake?”

He blinked. She was waiting for him just outside the kitchen. She had a sweater over her arm.

“Hey,” she said softly. “What’s the matter?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“You sure? Seriously, I can scramble some eggs if you don’t want to—”

He was beside her in a heartbeat; she was in his arms in less than that and when he kissed her, the kiss was so deep, so intense, that she let the sweater fall to the floor so she could cling to him for support.

Something was wrong. She knew it. And she could only hope that he would tell her what it was because whatever it took, she’d help him.

How would a woman not help a man once she realized she was falling in love with him?

It turned out, he couldn’t wear his shirt.

“No buttons,” he said, and gave her a solemn look. “People see me wearing a shirt without buttons, they’ll know you tore them off.”

That rated another blush.

Thankfully, old man Chambers had not been one to toss things out. The ancient equipment in some of the outbuildings, the sagging furniture and antique appliances in the house, were testament to his frugality.

The jeans and workshirts Jake had years ago left, in the closet in what the old man had called the hired hand’s room, were still there.

The jeans were threadbare but a couple of the shirts were usable. He retrieved a blue one. It was too tight but that was the least of his worries.

The real problem was trying to figure out what was going on with him.

They were on the way to breakfast, and he was driving like a man possessed. The speedometer needle hit ninety and kept on going. He always drove fast but tonight—

Tonight, he wished the car was a small, sleek jet that could carry them high above the clouds.

He needed to feel the world fall away below him.

What the hell had happened back in that kitchen? One minute they’d been laughing, teasing each other with memories of the long day they’d spent in bed, anticipating the hours still ahead, and then, all of a sudden, sex hadn’t been enough.

Enough for what?

Jake shot a glance at Addison.

That, as the Danish prince had said a long time ago, was the question.

There’d been that other moment, too, when the truth of his own life had forced its way into his thoughts. Memories of the night he’d lost those men.

Men?

Jake shifted his weight, flexed his hands on the steering wheel.

Boys. Eighteen. Nineteen. The oldest had been twenty-one. And they’d died because he’d been too late, too late, too late—

“Jacob?”

Addison touched his arm. He damn near jumped out of his skin. It took a minute to remember where he was.

Who he was with.

A woman who knew nothing about him except that he was supposed to be some kind of hero.

“Jacob,” she said again, “we’re going awfully fast.”

He looked at the speedometer. Eased his foot off the gas until they were down to a reasonable speed.

Like ninety.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Everything’s fine.”

He wanted to tell her. He ached for it. The sweet relief that would come of telling her that he didn’t deserve the medals, the adulation, the nonsense the world had heaped on him.

He couldn’t.

What if she looked at him the way he looked at himself each morning? Looked at him with disappointment and, worse still, disgust?

Angie’s was right ahead, the sign—Angie’s Café, Open 24 Hours—blinking on and off as it had always done.

Thank God for small favors, he thought, as he pulled into the parking lot and turned off the engine.

“See?” he said brightly. “What’d I tell you? Angie’s is never closed. Of course, you won’t find tofu on the menu …”

Her silver eyes were filled with question.

He cursed, reached for her, took her in his arms and held her against his heart.

“Stop worrying about me,” he said softly. “I’m fine.”

She wasn’t buying it. He could see it in her face.

“Honey.” His voice roughened. “I just need—I need what you’ve given me, okay? This day. This night.” He paused. “Most of all, I need you.”

It was the truth.

He wasn’t sure what that meant or where it was taking him.

The only certainty was that what was going on inside him scared the hell out of him.