He stroked her with his cock, long and deep, building to a slow and steady rhythm that drove her already wrecked body to the final culmination. She climaxed again and with a hoarse shout, he followed her over the brink.

When Julianna surfaced, she found him sprawled halfway on top of her, one leg holding her down to the bed as if afraid she’d escape. She wiggled to a more comfortable position and he let out a groan, then rolled over.

“I think you killed me,” she said. She stretched one leg out, then another and wriggled her toes, still clad in stilettos.

“Part of my evil plan to keep you to myself.”

Julianna hesitated, unsure if he was joking. But he leaned over to drop a kiss on her nose, and gave her a smile. “Where did you learn to do all that?”

Jack laughed. “Let’s just say I’m glad you’re the beneficiary of my practice.”

She laid her head on his chest and wondered how she was able to give this man such a raw, honest response. She barely knew him. Julianna ached to ask a thousand questions, but fought the instinct and tried for casual. “What imported you from England to our humble town?”

He stilled beneath her. Jack remained silent for a few moments as if deciding how much to share. “My family owns a business and they want me to take over. I’m not ready to settle down yet, so I took off with my boat to do some travelling. Meet new people.”

Peter Pan syndrome. Just as she thought. “What did your parents think of your decision?”

“My father died recently, so it’s just my mom. She agreed to give me the time I need for myself.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know about your dad. Were you close?”

“Yes. We didn’t agree on certain issues, but he taught me how to sail. Taught me to be a man and take care of the things and people I love. I miss him every damn day.”

Her arms tightened around him and for a little while, she felt completely connected to the boy inside who just wanted his father back. “What’s your mom like?” she asked.

“Tough. Doesn’t let me get away with anything. Keeps the household and family together. Doesn’t take any crap.”

Julianna laughed. “A woman who gets the job done. Someone I can respect.”

“Was your mom always sick?”

She sighed, trailing her fingers down his chest. “When I was little, we had some great moments. She was spontaneous and fun and loving. She’d wake me up late at night and we’d sneak outside to lie on a blanket and look at the stars. She cooked fabulous six- course meals with sparkling china and fresh flowers. We dressed up in princess gowns and ate like royalty. I lived for those moments, but they came less often. I mostly remember not having lunch for school, or her forgetting to pick me up after a birthday party, or waiting outside her door because she spent days in her bedroom crying.”

“Who took care of you?”

She shrugged. “My dad. We had a few nannies, but they never stayed. Dad liked his privacy, especially since we never knew what mom would do. It became easier for me to take care of things. It was difficult for them when I went away at college my first year, so I ended up leaving at the end of the semester and finished my degree online."

“In poetry?"

“English literature with a concentration in poetry. I wanted to teach college, but for a full-time faculty job I’d need a PhD."

He grinned. "The first time I met you I thought, professor or accountant."

She made a face. "I know. I'm boring. Always was."

He grasped her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. Temper rippled from his figure, as if her last words irritated him. "What's your favorite poem?"

Julianna blinked. "I have many. Whitman, Moore, Lawrence—"

"Recite the first one that comes to mind."

She hesitated, then spoke slowly as the last few stanzas took shape.


This rare, rich night! For in here

Under the yew-tree tent

The darkness is loveliest where I could sear

You like frankincense into scent.


Here not even the stars can spy us,

Not even the white moths write

With their little pale signs on the wall, to try us

And set us affright.


Kiss but then the dust from off my lips,

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.