Just a Taste Page 14

  There’s nothing to talk about, Jillian.

  “Precisely.”

  She locked her car and while she walked, dug for her list in the depths of her bag. Distracted, she almost collided with a woman as she rounded the corner.

  Her apologetic smile faltered then widened with recognition. “Charlotte? It is you! Hello.”

  The day she’d visited with her half sisters, she’d felt an immediate affinity with their cousin Charlotte. Her cousin Charlotte. As the younger woman returned her greeting now, with shy but genuine warmth, she felt it again. An I-like-you response deep inside. She also experienced a jab of guilt. She’d been so focused on Seth and the renovations, she hadn’t done anything to further the bond of connection she’d established that day at the estate.

  “I don’t suppose you have time for a coffee?” she asked. Then she gestured toward several heavy-looking shopping bags in Charlotte’s hands. “If you’ve finished shopping.”

  “I have. And, yes, I’d love a coffee.”

  “Enzio’s?”

  They agreed on the coffee shop and while they walked, Jillian searched for a conversation starter. “I’m shopping, too. For a florist, of all things.”

  “Maybe I can help you,” Charlotte offered. Then, “I do the flowers for The Estate.”

  “You’re a florist?” Jillian laughed softly at the fortuitousness. “Yes, I would love to pick your brain. But that means I’m buying the coffee.”

  Over the first coffee, they talked flowers and Charlotte recommended two home-based florists as the most creative. Jillian thought about asking Charlotte if she would like the job, but decided not to press the friendship yet. Not with all the family problems unresolved.

  Over their second coffee, they talked about family and Jillian learned that Spencer and Lilah had taken Charlotte and her brother Walker in after their parents had been killed in an accident.

  Except I’m not convinced my mother is dead.

  Walking back to her car, Jillian frowned over Charlotte’s staggering revelation. Intuition, she’d said, was all she had to go on. Plus a bone-deep distrust of her father’s brother. “Spencer has lied and deceived to suit himself so many times, who knows what else he has hidden from us?”

  “Indeed,” Jillian muttered.

  Lies and deceit had been Jason’s weapons of choice, too. Her father—her birth father—and her ex-husband were two of a kind and so very different from Lucas and Seth.

  Seth. Her heartbeat skipped and restarted low in her belly. It was so obvious why she’d fallen so easily into this…this…non-relationship with him.

  He fed her confidence, as a professional, as a person, as a woman. Those big hands had gently shoved her into action when she’d shilly-shallied over Spencer and Anna and what to do. He understood her goals with the tasting room and appreciated how she elected to run it.

  More importantly, she trusted him.

  She trusted his straight talk—he didn’t fill her with false hopes. She trusted his strong protective streak—he would not hurt her. She trusted his honesty—he would not lie to her.

  And, where, exactly did that leave her?

  If only she knew. If only she had the strength and courage to trust her instincts, to take a risk. If only there was no past, no Jason and Karen, between them.

  If only, if only, if only.

  Seth couldn’t avoid seeing her over the next week. Every day there was something to work out as the remodeled tasting room came together. He hated these exchanges. She polite, he stiff, both of them pretending to ignore the sexual energy that charged the air around them.

  That need ached in his body, night and day, unrelenting. Worse in his bed at night, better when he could pound out his physical frustration at work. But then he’d catch her watching him, and the intensity on her face, in her eyes—the wanting—would damn near bring him to his knees.

  In those seconds, he knew, he’d only have to ask. Or not. Just grab her by the arm and take her mouth and they would both be lost.

  Somehow he made it through to Saturday afternoon, when he had to go seek her out. He found her at work in the cellar, told her he was finished for the time being, until the windows arrived. Then they just stood there, not touching, eyes not quite connecting, but unable to walk away.

  And he had to explain, to do a better job than on Tuesday morning, because he couldn’t stand this stilted, uncomfortable formality between them. “About the other morning…what I said about us and a relationship.”

  “It’s okay,” she said quickly. “It’s not a good time for either of us. I’m just starting to find my feet again. This—” she did that hand-waving thing, her trademark “—my job, the new tasting room, what I want to accomplish here. And I am going to make that wine. My wine.”

  This was all good. He should be happy for her. Would be, he knew. “You better send me a bottle.”

  “The first one has your name on it.”

  He nodded, accepting all that his mind resisted. He didn’t want a bottle sent in the mail. He wanted it hand-delivered. No, he wanted to share the creation, her passion and excitement, to see her—

  “So, we agree then. Neither of us wants a relationship.” Except she said it slowly, hesitantly, almost like a question, and he knew that she, too, was battling the same internal war. Need versus want. “The past makes it all too…complicated.”

  “It’s not just the past. It’s now and it’s the future—it’s Rachel. If we were to continue this—” Their eyes met and held, with everything this entailed steeping the air between them. Sweet and aching with suppressed passion. “What happens when it ends? Things are awkward enough after one night. Rachel adores you, Jillian.”

  “The feeling’s mutual.”

  “I know, and I don’t want that jeopardized. I don’t want her to suffer again because I can’t keep a relationship together.”

  She stared at him an unnervingly long time. Enough time for Seth to realize that he’d said more than he had intended, more than he’d ever wanted to say about his marriage. But she either didn’t pick that up, or she ignored it, focusing instead on what really mattered. Rachel.

  “That is such a cop-out. You know I was seeing Rachel every other week for two years and hardly ever bumping into you.” Her eyes sparked with heat, but her voice chilled with every word. “I would never let whatever is between us affect my relationship with your daughter, Seth. She means too much to me.”

  She was right, but he let her walk away. What else could he say? What else could he do?

  Theoretically, with no tours or tastings, Monday and Tuesday constituted Jillian’s weekend. But Seth knew she rarely took days off. So when he didn’t catch a glimpse of her all day Monday, he figured she was avoiding him. He didn’t blame her. He’d avoid himself, too, if he had the choice.

  But he did need to tell her that the windows turned up a day under the promised week. He’d installed the first—yeah, to check they’d gotten the specs right, but also to see the end product of his design. Satisfaction sparked in his gut as he stood, hands on hips, surveying the effect. He almost smiled.

  Oh, yeah, she’d definitely want to see this.

  He tried the offices first, just in case, but Mercedes confirmed that her sister had taken the day off. “She and Mom went shopping in the city, but try the house. They may be back.”

  They were…at least, Caroline was. “I’m sorry, Seth. Jillian couldn’t get up to the stables quickly enough when we got back,” she told him. “Would you like her to call you later?”

  “No, it’s not important. I’ll see her tomorrow.”

  Halfway to the highway, he almost turned back. Almost gave in to a reckless whim to go find her and take her to see the window in person. But he didn’t trust himself in his current mood.

  Too dangerous, too edgy, too needy.

  He gripped the wheel hard in his hands, locked his jaw and headed for home. Later, with five miles and a phone connection between them, would be safer to talk to
her. Barely.

  Of course, it turned into one of those nights. A clingy three-year-old wanting one more story, Daddy, just one more. Guilt because he hadn’t been there for enough bedtime stories lately. And after he tucked in her tiny sleeping body, the phone didn’t let up. It was well after ten before he caught a minute. Too late to call. Probably. Still, he was tempted, so sorely tempted. He dialed once, then, swearing softly, hung up. An early riser, Jillian was probably early to bed, too. He would call first thing in the morning. And try not to spend the whole night imagining her in bed.

  “I woke you.”

  “No. No, I’m wide awake,” Jillian said quickly.

  No one could sleep with their heart pounding a thousand beats a second. And that was only partly due to the strident wake-up buzz of her bedside phone. The other part was from hearing his voice. First thing on waking. In her bedroom. In her bed.

  “You’re a lousy liar.”

  Smiling in this dreamy, besotted fashion was okay, she figured, since he couldn’t see her. “Usually I would be up and gone by now, but I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  “Me neither.”

  His gruff, early-morning voice curled through her body and all the way to her toes. Jillian pushed her sleep-messed hair aside and pressed the receiver closer to her ear. She wanted to feed that bedroom voice right into her senses.

  “Are you there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “I thought you’d gone back to sleep.”

  Hardly. “Caroline said you called yesterday. I did wonder why…?”

  “Is that what kept you awake?”

  “No.” She stretched a little, and her nightgown scraped against sensitive, turned-on nipples. “I was remembering last weekend,” she admitted after another breath of pause. “And wishing things could be different.”

  If only, if only, if only.

  Silence. She’d managed to shock him. Well, good. She liked the idea that she could.

  “Are you there?” she asked, mimicking his earlier question. “You haven’t gone back to sleep?”

  He laughed and said, “Not possible,” in a way that made her wonder about his state of morning arousal. She wished she had the courage to straight out ask, to really shock him.

  Are you still in bed, Seth? Are you naked under those charcoal sheets? Are you turned on like I am? Are you sleek and hard and—

  “It’s not working, Jillian.”

  His tight, almost reluctant-sounding admission stopped Jillian stretching under her sheets and, well, touching herself. A little. As he’d done that night in his bedroom. “What’s not working? Is there a problem with the windows?”

  He laughed again, short and harsh. “No, the windows are just fine. Better than fine, in fact.”

  She jackknifed upright. “They’re here? They’re in? Why didn’t you say?”

  “That’s why I called.”

  Well, of course it was. Jillian gave herself a mental slap to focus as she shucked her sheets. “I have to go and look. Are they as wonderful as I’m picturing?”

  “Better.”

  She laughed, then paused in her excitement. “Thank you for understanding that I’d want to know first thing.”

  “I didn’t want to miss you.”

  She knew what he meant. He’d called early to catch her before she left for the stables. But her heart read another meaning and responded in kind.

  Oh, Seth, I didn’t want to miss you, either. “But I do.”

  Silence. Jillian stood statue still beside her bed. She’d actually said that. Only a whisper, but definitely out loud. Into the phone still clutched to her face. Heart thudding, she sank down onto the edge of the bed.

  Perhaps he didn’t hear. Perhaps he didn’t understand. Perhaps—

  “It’s not working for you either, is it?”

  Jillian closed her eyes and gripped the phone harder. Her hand had started to shake. No, not just her hand, her whole body was shaking with reaction or nervous tension or just plain need. “No,” she whispered. “It’s not.”

  She heard him exhale, a long soft sound of relief or relenting, that left her oddly breathless.

  “Are you coming out this morning?” she asked.

  “I can’t.” He swore softly. “I have another job.”

  “Damn.”

  “Yeah.” His laugh was a soft, rough catch of sound. “God, I want to see you.”

  “Me, too.” To see him, to touch him, to hold him. She closed her eyes and drew a ragged, needy breath. “What time will you be finished with this job?”

  “Late morning. But I’ve got an in-office meeting.”

  “Can I come to your office after your meeting?” Please? She didn’t care if she sounded desperate. She was.

  “I should be finished by one-thirty.”

  “I’ll bring lunch.”

  “No, just bring you.”

  Jillian’s heart rolled over in her chest. “Okay. I’ll see you then. One-thirty.”

  He said, “See you later,” and disconnected, and Jillian was still sitting there on her bed staring at the phone and wondering what she’d just done—and why—when it rang again.

  “Not the office,” he said without preliminary. “My house.”

  “What about Rosa?”

  “It’s her day off.”

  Twelve

  J illian pulled up outside his house five and a half minutes early. It didn’t matter. His truck was already parked in the driveway.

  By the time she’d cut the engine and unfastened her seat belt, her hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t get the key out of the ignition. That didn’t matter, either. For driving in this condition she deserved to have it stolen. Driving Under the Influence of Lust. There should be a law against such a downright dangerous practice.

  The front door swung open before she lifted her hand to knock, and for a long moment or a short second—she had no concept of time—she stood there gazing into his eyes and all she could think was, It’s only been a week. Why does it seem like forever?

  “You’d better come inside,” he said, like the perfect and polite host inviting her in for a visit. Except his eyes held no hint of politeness, only a hunger with the same dark edge that jangled through her nerves.

  “Or?” she asked, liking the idea of skating that edge.

  “Or I’m liable to shock the neighbors.”

  “Are you going to shock me, though?” she asked, ducking under his arm and into the foyer. The door closed behind her with a sharp click, and before she could draw half a breath, he’d swung her around and hard up against its solid surface.

  “Probably,” he muttered as his mouth came down on hers.

  She met him halfway, already on her toes, as frantic for that first meeting of mouths as he. But after those first few greedy seconds, the kiss slowed and stretched into a sultry feast of lips and mouths and tongues.

  Her hands relearned his body, tugging at his T-shirt and hauling it over his head, then touching as many smooth planes and hard muscles as she could find. He laughed and asked, “Who’s shocking who, here?” and she told him she hadn’t gotten started yet.

  Eyes met and held, he reached for the hem of her very proper knee-length dress, and started to slide it up her thighs. She didn’t blink, didn’t break eye contact, just watched and waited until he swore softly.

  “Hell, Jillian. You could have warned me.”

  “I thought about it.” She leaned into him and nipped at his ear. “I thought about calling you at your office and warning you.”

  “That would have shocked me.”

  “Especially if you were on speakerphone.”

  His laugh turned into a growl as he stroked her panty-free behind and between her legs, as he lifted her against the hard ridge of his fly. And whatever teasing remark she’d been working up next was driven from her mind by the powerful wave of longing that racked her body.

  She saw the same in his eyes, the connection, the recognition of equal and matching desi
res, and knew this was the only man she had ever—could ever—feel this liberated with, this trusting of, this intensely for.

  “You’re already wet.”

  “Since this morning in bed.”

  He groaned, low and rough, and touched her again.

  “You make me wet, Seth,” she whispered. “I want you inside me. Now.”

  “Here?”

  “Here. Now.”

  “I have a bed upstairs.”

  She undid his pants, cupped the tight fullness between his legs. “I have all I want right—”

  He cut her off with a feral growl. “Wrap your legs around me.”

  Vaguely she registered the pause, the package he fished from his pocket, but then he gripped her hips and thrust inside her. He rasped out a curse, a blessing, a promise, and held himself still, all the way inside her, filling her body while her heart overflowed with sweet, blind want.

  “Take my dress off,” she whispered, desperate for skin against skin, for his hands and his mouth. “Quickly.”

  The dress was gone in a flash of heat and he licked her breasts and took her mouth and started to move inside her with a strong, pulsing rhythm that stole her breath.

  How could she have missed what she’d had for only one night? How could she have missed it so intensely? He bit on her earlobe and spoke low and hoarse at her ear. “Last time I marked you here.” He thumbed the soft skin of her throat. “And every day I wanted to shift your hair and see. To know it was real. That you’d been mine.”

  The elemental, possessive message blazed through her body, as hot as the skin beneath her hands, as intense as the expression on his face, as savage as the edges of her control.

  “I’m real.” She bit at his skin, then lathed it with her tongue. “And I’m yours.”

  The burning intensity in his eyes consumed her. The sound of their ragged breathing wrapped them in a sultry cloak of need. And their joining grew teeth, barely contained, barely civilized, until he thrust fierce and deep and they shattered together.