“Somehow I think that screws up the scientific experiment, but okay.” She tried to sound dispassionate before his lips came down on hers. This was a full-bodied kiss, and she thrilled at the feel of his arousal. For a moment, the idea of messing up his tidy bedroom seemed viable, even imperative, but then he softened the kiss, put a little air between them, and let her go.
She wondered if she looked as fuzzy around the edges as she felt. “I’m confused. Is this a romantic date or a sex date?”
“I say it’s romantic. I’m trying to seduce you into lo—”
“Don’t you dare use the L-word. I’m not kidding. It makes me mad, and I really don’t want to be mad at you.” She wanted some dinner, some sex, and then she’d go home happy.
That really changed his mood. He morphed back into the judge. He checked his watch. “I need to get back to the kitchen anyway.”
They walked out to the landing. “Okay, but what are those rooms?” She stopped in front of a closed door. “May I?”
Why was she prying into his life? For one thing, her curiosity was revved up. Plus, she was annoyed that he’d morphed back into Blackjack and not in a good way. He nodded his permission and she opened the door. And almost immediately closed it again.
It was a nursery, painted a sunny yellow and decorated with a hand-painted mural. She avoided looking at Jack as she opened the final two rooms—a bathroom and another guest room.
They went downstairs in silence. She didn’t dare ask the obvious question. Why did he have a decorated baby’s room? Was that left over from the previous owners? Had he—? But no, he couldn’t have a child. Someone would have reported gossip that juicy.
Blackjack McIntyre’s Love Child
.
Elise felt guilty. All the playfulness had been sucked out of the evening. Jack went back to chopping whatever he had been chopping—something green, that was all she knew—and she sat on one of the swivel chairs pulled up to the other side of the island.
“Look, I—” he started.
“Jack, I’m so—” she began, then stopped when she heard his voice. He stopped too and just looked at her. “I was going to say, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”
“I wanted you to.”
She shook her head a little, not sure what he was telling her.
“I don’t think I planned it, not consciously, but maybe I did.”
He went back to his chopping. Then he stopped and poured them both some wine without even asking if she wanted some. She skipped the routine lecture about his presumption. She was more interested in what he was going to tell her. She took a sip. It was nice wine, she guessed. Well, of course it was. Jack had selected it. She took a larger sip.
He ignored his own glass while he looked at her, unsmiling but focused. That resolve scared her. He was going to say something she wouldn’t like, and then they’d never get back to the sexy kisses and toe-to-toe verbal jousting. She wanted more of the sexy kisses and, yes, the verbal jousting too.
“It’s those damned turtles’ fault.” His mouth crooked on one side. His wry smile made her feel sad, and even guiltier. Stop talking, she wanted to yell at him. Stop talking so they could rewind the last fifteen minutes. Or better yet, fast-forward to eating a nice meal…? She smelled dinner, something meaty in the oven, and her stomach reminded her it had been a long time since lunch. Food and sex were so much more basic than a sunny yellow nursery.
He must have taken her silence as encouragement. “The turtles in Fitler Square. Remember? Last week, when you had that problem with your fireplace, you met me on the edge of the square?”
She nodded.
“I’d been sitting on the park bench near the turtles. An adult and two babies. And it hit me that if this—” He gestured between them. “If we don’t work as a couple, I won’t have children of my own.”
“Jack, that’s absurd. Of course you will. You’ll meet someone and—” She stopped when he held up a hand.
“Please.” His face had that stony look again. “Respect me enough to acknowledge that I believe what I believe. If I’m wrong, I’m wrong. If it doesn’t work out, then it doesn’t. But you won’t convince me that I’m confused, and you insult me when you try.”
That stung. She sat up straighter and took her medicine. “You’re right, of course. I’m sorry.” Now her expression was equally stoic. They must look like a pair of statues on Easter Island.
He drank some wine. She could see his shoulders relax slightly. He took a deep breath. “Anyway, I could have stopped you from opening that door. I’m sure I should have. It’s not what you think, by the way. I’d given Joyce—that’s the decorator—carte blanche and told her to do the entire house. I only cared about certain rooms, like the study and here,” he said, pointing his knife at the kitchen cabinetry and appliances around him.
“When she showed me the plans for the nursery, I was tempted to stop her, but she made a good point, which was that it was more likely than not I’d marry and have children, so why not get it done. Also, she’d found a muralist who didn’t know yet how good she was. Joyce was always finding ways to save a few dollars when the entire job cost a fortune.” He flashed that half smile again.
“How old were you when you bought this place?”
He’d gone back to cooking. “I didn’t. I inherited it.”
Elise tried to hide her surprise. “Okay, when did you inherit it?”
“Ten years ago. My sister and I are Fitzgeralds on our mom’s side. This was my grandparents’ home for forty or fifty years. When they died, their estate came to Stacy and me. She didn’t need the house—they’d already moved to Boston with the twins—so I got it. Honestly, I’d have sold it if it hadn’t been remarkably convenient for the office. Still is.”
One aspect of this story was still giving Elise chills. “You’re a Fitzgerald? As in
Dorian
Fitzgerald?”
Jack looked a little surprised. “My great-uncle. Bit of a black sheep, actually. At least the way Granddad talked about him.”
Elise twisted her face into a parody of tragedy and wiped away an imaginary tear. “Yeah, because three Oscar nominations but only one win—that’s really shameful.”
“I’m pretty sure Granddad’s poor opinion of his brother was more about Dorian’s four wives and at least one bastard child.”
Elise threw her hands in the air. “Okay. I give up. You win—on one aspect, at least,” she said hastily when his face brightened. “I was going to leave, earlier—you know, with the whole turtle story. I mean, c’mon, that was pure bathos. Except, it doesn’t matter because you aren’t real. You’re not human—you’re too perfect. You cook, you’re a media darling—” she ticked the items off her fingers, “—you look like a movie star because you’re actually related to a movie star—”
“Not directly descended from one, though—pretty sure Dorian didn’t get my mother pregnant.” He grinned at her.
“Whatever.” Elise looked at her left hand, which had three fingers up. “Let’s see. What else? Oh, you have a stunning home, you’re well-versed in wine, you’re going to be a wonderful jurist, you—”
He grabbed her right hand, which was about to tick another finger. “There’s only one thing I want to be good enough at.”
She looked into his eyes. She figured he was talking about sex, which was pretty much the only thing she felt qualified to judge him on. Again, he surprised her.
“Do I make you laugh?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Oh, sure—about as often as I make you laugh, and that’s got to be way less often than either of us infuriates the other.”
Jack hesitated, nodded, then picked up his knife. “It’s a start.”
As he served them both at the kitchen table—no formal dining room for his Elise—Jack wondered if he’d made progress or lost ground with her. Showing her—well, letting her see—the nursery was a huge mistake, he knew that now. His desire for children with this woman was clearly not a selling point. Of course he wanted marriage and kids, but he’d settle for living together, just the two of them, if a ceremony or kids bothered her. What mattered was the commitment to a future.
He wasn’t going to think about it. If the nursery and subsequent discussion of children had made Elise uncomfortable, mysteriously Dorian Fitzgerald’s colorful marital history had helped. Jack would take his successes from any source.
“Any black sheep great-uncles in your family tree?” he asked.
“None with an Oscar, that’s for sure.”
“Do you have family nearby?”
She speared some asparagus and cut it into tidy logs before answering. “Ah, yes, the ritual exchange of family data. My dad, his second wife and their sons are all living in and around Cleveland. Dad’s a vet, and Robbie, the middle brother, is preparing for veterinary school. They’ll probably end up in practice together. My stepmother works for the city government. And Greg, the youngest, is at Ohio U. Biochemistry, I think, but I’m not sure. He’s the smart one in the family.”
Jack let that pass. She didn’t need him to tell her she was smart. “And your mother? Is she alive?”
Elise pushed the asparagus logs around with her fork. “She’s in Oregon. She never remarried.”
Her stoic face startled him. Angry or laughing, aroused or sleepy, Elise was always vibrant and expressive. This…this blankness worried him. And her matter-of-fact delivery told him nothing, which was maybe the point. Whatever Elise thought about her family, she didn’t want to share it.
“How did you end up in Philadelphia?”
“You know—well, actually, no, you wouldn’t know.” She laughed. “But for mere mortals, there’s a sticky process called getting a job. I interviewed with firms from D.C. to Boston, and Fergusson offered me a job. I like it here. I find Philly to be a very livable city. I’m relieved that I didn’t end up in New York.”
“Why’s that?”
“Too big. Too expensive. Too many people. Too far from the real world.”
“Most New Yorkers would say that the five boroughs comprise the real world.”
“And that’s why they live there and I don’t. I like it here, where you can drive an hour—assuming decent traffic on the Schuylkill—and you’re in the country for the weekend.”
“Jersey Shore? Pennsylvania Dutch country? The Poconos?”
“Each of them at one time or another. I usually pick a B&B that looks nice and take myself off. It’s cheaper than trying to own a second home, and I’m not tied down to one area.”
He leaned back in his chair. He wanted to ask if she made these trips alone, but he wouldn’t like the answer either way. If she’d gone with a boyfriend, which was a reasonable supposition, he’d feel jealous. If she went alone, he’d worry about a loneliness he was pretty sure she didn’t feel. She didn’t need rescuing.
She put down her knife and fork. “That was delicious, really. May I help clear?”
After they’d loaded the dishwasher, he started a pot of decaf coffee. They wandered out to the living room. “And I have a surprise for dessert.”
Elise curled up at one end of the couch.
“I like surprises.” Then she eyed him with suspicion. “Most surprises,” she amended.
“I think you’ll like this one. But I need you to indulge me.”
“Sure, what do you need? Help in the kitchen?”
“No,” he said slowly. She was expecting something flashy, like cherries jubilee flambé or baked Alaska. This wasn’t that sort of surprise.
“I want to arrange some of the components for dessert, so while I do that, would you go up to my bedroom and make yourself comfortable on the bed?” Wow. Just picturing her in his bed made him hard. Full arousal in about ten seconds. That was a first.
Elise’s face registered surprise all right, and then her eyes narrowed, perhaps distrusting his motive.
“This is still a romantic date, right?” she asked. “You’re not going to do the nasty and then tell me next week I forfeited my right to a sex-only date?”
“Of course not. In fact, I have no explicit sexual intentions, although I concede that delivering the surprise in the bedroom puts a rather titillating flavor on dessert.”
“I’ll say.”
He smiled.
Elise stared at him, still unconvinced. He gave her his best give-nothing-away-to-the-other-side-in-court look and she frowned. Finally she shrugged, as if she really didn’t care where they ate dessert.
When she turned toward the stairs, he said, “One more thing. You’ll find a blindfold on the bedside table. Put that on. And as you’ll be blindfolded, this dessert could get a tiny bit messy. When you get to the bedroom, take off as many clothes as you wish to keep clean.”
Her cheeks went pink and those magnificent eyes seemed very dark and piercing. Jack guessed she was also getting aroused, which was a good thing because he was hard as a rock. No way dessert didn’t end up with them naked.
“What about your bedding?”
“All washable.” As if he cared.
“Well, I’ll say this—you’ve already succeeded at the surprise part of this dessert.”
He heard her climbing the stairs and then silence. He wished he could watch what she did with the blindfold, but he needed to get to work in the kitchen.
It was quiet when he got to the bedroom a few minutes later. Elise was stretched out on the bed. She’d pulled the duvet, blanket and top sheet down so that she lay on the plain navy bottom sheet. She wasn’t naked, but she’d stripped down to her bra and panties, the pale pink sisters to the set she’d had on a week ago. The bra was lacy but so sheer he could see her dusky nipples, very tight and eager.
The blindfold, a silk scarf he’d bought specially for the occasion, was tied around her head, with the knot above one ear so that she could lean comfortably against the pillows. He smiled. Trust Elise to know the best way to wear a blindfold in bed.
He set the tray down on the bedside table, which he’d earlier cleared of its usual detritus.
“Before we get to dessert, I want a little appetizer.” He reached underneath her and unhooked her bra. Once that was off, he took a nipple into his mouth.
“Ah! Jack,” she breathed.
He reached over and sucked on the other nipple, poking at it with his tongue. Elise writhed on the bed, but didn’t use her hands.
“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” he apologized.
“We could skip dessert and just go for the sex.” Her husky voice teased his resolve.