Page 46 of Unbound Boxset

“Fine. Nice to meet you.” He leaned over, placed a peck on her lips, and strode out the door.

Julianna stared at his retreating back, then glanced at the bar.

Jack stood with her empty martini glass in one hand, towel in the other. Ocean blue eyes burned across the room.

She raised her chin and met his gaze head-on.

Then turned her back and ran outside.

Gulping in breaths of saltwater air, she went round the back and leaned against the side wall of the building. Damn him. Damn him for getting her body tied up in knots. Marrying Tom would be an easy business arrangement, but the idea of sleeping with him, let alone bearing him a child seemed impossible. Not that he seemed interested in her. Maybe they’d each have their separate affairs like a true marriage of convenience. He was polite. He smelled like onions from dinner and had very weird eyebrows that sloped together into one, reminding her a bit of Groucho Marx, but she’d probably be able to stay at the Cliff House and only travel to New York on certain occasions. Actually, it seemed a perfect arrangement.

Despair hit her low and hard in the gut. Alone, she allowed herself to say the one curse word she loved and rarely uttered. “Fuck.”

“Didn’t know you had it in you, love.”

She whirled around. He stood behind her, framed in darkness. A bright orange glow appeared, and she watched him light a cigarette. He smoked with a lazy gracefulness that contradicted his working-class stature. Gardener, handyman, bartender. Yet he spoke like an English aristocrat and seemed above petty day-to-day frustrations. The liquor burned through her veins and heated her temper.

“You shouldn’t smoke.”

He shrugged. “Shouldn’t do a lot of things that are fun.”

“What game do you think you’re playing?” she hissed.

Jack grinned and crossed one foot in front of the other as he leaned against the wall. “I’m not the one with a checklist for a husband. Tom seems like a real fun guy.”

She tossed her head. “He’s lovely. We’ll be seeing each other again.”

His lips literally twitched. “Obviously. Make sure he waxes his brows before the wedding.”

“You’re an asshole.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Two curse words in one night. I must have broken all your records. Really, love, give yourself some more credit. Are you that hard up?”

“You’re fired.”

She spun on her heel to march away but he grabbed her arm and spun her right back. The delicious scents of rum and smoke and male arousal swam around her. He loomed tall and muscular and dangerous, and her body thrilled to the raw power. Her breath caught, her nipples rose, and her pussy throbbed with anticipation. He seemed to literally smell her arousal like a big bad wolf ready to mark his mate, and his nostrils flared.

“When are you going to let yourself go?” He lowered his voice to a hypnotic demand. “You teach poetry, for God’s sake. Too much control and the writing lies flat and lifeless. Look at you, you’re practically shaking with need. I can make you shatter just by slipping my hand down your pants.”

Julianna fought for breath, fought for control, fought for sanity. As if taming a wild stallion, he pressed his lips to her temple in mock gentleness, then spoke against her ear.

Sex contains all, bodies, souls,

Meanings, proofs, purities, delicacies, results, promulgations,

Songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery, the seminal milk,

All hopes, benefactions, bestowals, all the passions, loves,

beauties, delights of the earth…

She shook hard, on the verge of an actual orgasm. The slow slide of his tongue over her lobe teased and taunted, and Julianna clawed for control. His low wicked laugh told her he knew how bad she wanted him. Still, she refused to yield and forced out her words. “Where did you learn that poem?”

“Walt Whitman literally drips sex onto the page. ‘A Woman Waits for Me.’ I happen to be schooled in other things besides Dr. Seuss. But I guess I’m still not good enough for you. Quoting poetry and making you come means nothing without money.” With a sneer he stepped back. “Enjoy your night.”

He walked away and left her. Aching. Empty.

And alone.