Wild Revenge: The Dangerous Jacob Wilde / The Ruthless Caleb Wilde / The Merciless Travis Wilde. Sandra Marton
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do you know until I say it?”
“When I was in college, I took a class in Platonic dialectic. I’m not going to get dragged into this discussion.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “I took a class in contract negotiation. Does that make us even?”
It was difficult not to laugh. He was quick, and he was funny.
As if either thing mattered.
“Here’s the bottom line,” Addison said. “We have nothing to talk about.”
“What about last night?”
“What about it?”
“We need to talk about that.”
“We already did.”
She was right; they had. And the excuse he’d given himself when he’d been here fifteen minutes ago wasn’t valid, either.
He hadn’t come to confront her.
He’d come because he just plain wanted to see her.
What if he told her that?
“Captain?”
Jake nodded. Looked up. “I’m still here.”
“And I’ve just proved that there’s no purpose to your visit. So do us both a favor. Go away.”
“I probably should.”
“There’s no ‘probably’ about it.”
“I would, if I were smart.”
“Yay,” she said, and he tried not to laugh when he heard her clapping her hands together.
“But I’m not smart. If I were, I’d have done the right thing last night.”
“What did I say? I do not want to talk about—”
“I’d have told you,” he said gruffly, “that I wasn’t sorry we’d made love—”
“Goodbye, Captain.”
“—because,” he said quickly, before she could close the window, “because the truth is, I wanted you more than I’ve ever wanted a woman. And what we did …” His smile was slow and intimate and she could feel it, straight into the marrow of her bones. “What we did,” he said, “was fantastic.”
Addison stared at the man looking up at her from the porch.
What did she say to that blunt admission?
That blunt, incredibly sexy admission?
The man was a puzzle. He confused the hell out of her.
Just looking at him was confusing.
No uniform today. Instead, he was dressed like a, well, a cowboy. Faded shirt. Faded jeans. Boots that she could tell had nothing to do with style. Even here, in the heart of ranching country, she’d seen a lot of that. Style, no substance.
And, of course, he was wearing that eye patch, hiding what the war had done to him from the world.
He looked—there was that word again—beautiful. And so masculine she was finding it difficult to remember how much she despised him.
It was quite a combination. Arrogance and vulnerability in one gorgeous package …
She’d never known a man like him. And the sex—the sex, she thought, almost hearing the italics in her head—as for that …
Why lie to herself?
It had been … there had to be a better word than fantastic.
Sex was okay. But it wasn’t mind-blowing.
Until last night. Until he’d taken her in his arms. Was that why she’d heaped all the blame on him? Because it was less embarrassing than the truth?
Those moments when he’d been inside her, when their mouths and bodies had been fused …
“Okay.”
Addison came back to reality. Jake was still looking at her but he’d gone down the steps, even backed up a couple of feet.
Now that he had, she could see that he had a bouquet of flowers in his arms.
“You don’t want to talk to me,” he said, “I guess I can’t blame—”
The window sash fell into place. The dishwater-gray curtain swung back to cover the glass.
He put the bouquet down on the porch. Then he tucked his hands into his back pockets and headed for his car.
And felt a moment of ineffable loss, and wasn’t that ridiculous? He’d apologized. She’d refused the apology. End of—
“Hey.”
Her voice was soft but it stopped him in his tracks. He turned and saw her in the open doorway.
His gaze swept over her.
No black silk dress.
No stilettos.
She wore oversize gray sweats. Her feet were bare. Her hair hung loose around her face, a shining curve of darkness.
Something seemed to turn over inside him.
As beautiful as she’d been last night, she was even more beautiful now.
The sight of her made him wish they could start over, even though all they’d have was today.
She cleared her throat.
“I was just going to make some fresh coffee. Would you … would like some, Captain?”
Jake looked at her for what seemed forever.
“It’s Jake,” he said gruffly. “And coffee sounds … it sounds great. Thanks.”
He retrieved the bouquet. She took a step back as he climbed the porch steps. When he reached her, she felt her pulse leap.
“Actually,” she said, “actually, it really won’t be great. The coffee, I mean. The pot I found in the kitchen is—is just about as—as antiquated as the rest of the—the rest of the—”
“Addison.”
The way he spoke her name, the way he was looking at her, told her everything she wanted to know, including the fact that coffee was the last thing on his mind.
Or hers.
“Jacob,” she whispered, and he dropped the flowers as she stepped into his arms.
JAKE KICKED the door shut behind him.
The interior of the house was dark and cool; the silence of the empty rooms was all around them. There was a scent in the air—her scent. The scent of flowers he hadn’t been able to define.
“Addison,” he said softly.
She turned her face up to his. Her eyes filled with him, and a rush of something primitive and possessive swept through him.
“Be sure,” he said in a rough whisper as he tunneled his fingers into the silken darkness of her hair. “Because once we start—”
She rose to him and pressed her lips to his.
“Make love to me, Jacob,” she said.
Jake groaned, drew her hard against him and claimed her mouth with a deep, possessive kiss.
Just that quickly, last night’s hunger blazed inside him again. His big body shuddered; his blood beat hot and heavy in his ears. The driving need to make Addison his was all that mattered….
No.