Wild Revenge. Sandra Marton
gasp of pleasure.
“I’ll help you think of something,” he whispered.
And he did.
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.