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But perhaps Mr. Know-It-All’s investigation had missed that fact, since she wrote under a pseudonym. Despite Will’s warnings that his brother would pull out all the stops, the very idea that he had investigated her—spied on her—made her blood boil.
“You’re the last person on earth I’m interested in impressing, Mr. Bradshaw,” she replied smoothly.
“But just so your facts are straight, you can note that I have other sources of income.”
“I’ll bet,” he said in a harsh, accusing tone. “Like my brother, for instance?” he added harshly. “Well, as of tonight, you can strike Will Bradshaw from your balance sheet. You’ll have to find some other wealthy boyfriend to set you up in the affluent style to which you obviously aspire. Clearly, your tastes exceed your income, Ms. Price.”
Georgia stared at him, too shocked to speak.
“Of course, with your looks, it shouldn’t be too hard to find another rich sap,” he added before she could reply. “With that face—and body to match— I’m not surprised you had a guy like Will twisted around your little finger.” His hot, appraising glance swept down her thinly clad figure, making her feel practically undressed.
While she knew she was decently covered, she instinctively clutched at the neckline of her robe. Then she turned on him, her temper exploding.
“You have some unbelievable nerve! Waking me up in the middle of the night. Raving like a madman. Coming into my home and insulting me in this outrageous manner!”
She knew she was only playing a part, but how dare he accuse her—accuse any woman he’d barely met five minutes ago—of trading money for romantic favors. Besides, if Will wanted to give his girlfriends gifts, even if those gifts included money, it was hardly his older brother’s business.
“Yes, play the part of the outraged maiden, why don’t you? The sensitive, innocent flower, trampled and slandered by a brute. An absolute beast,” he added in a mocking tone. “Have I bruised your tender sensibilities so harshly, Ms. Price? Well, let me put it to you another way then. As far as I can see, you are—as they’d say in the good old days—a fortune hunter, madam. Plain and simple, one who is after my brother’s money. If you think you’re going to marry him, think again,” he shouted at her.
“I’m sure you’re the one who needs to think again, Mr. Bradshaw,” Georgia replied, echoing his cutting tone. “Your brother is an intelligent, responsible adult who can and will choose who he wishes to marry. And without your grandiose, overbearing interference or approval, I might add.”
“You will not marry him,” Jackson Bradshaw countered. He stared at her from across the room, where he stood silhouetted against the long frame window. He was an intimidating man, some part of her brain noted. Intimidating, infuriating—and even now—disturbingly attractive.
She felt right now as if she despised him—not just for her own sake, but for the sake of her sister, as well. Will had been right. Dear gentle Faith would never have been able to stand up to this man. Georgia, who considered herself far tougher, knew she was having a time of it herself. How dare he judge her on such thin evidence—her worn-out couch and fledgling business. She couldn’t abide people who tallied up a person’s worth in such a superficial, materialistic way.
But at the same time that she despised him, some powerful undercurrent of attraction, compelling and electric, arced between them. It was a force that tugged at her, forcing her to meet his gaze as he slowly moved toward her, across the dimly lit room.
Finally he stood before her. Inches away. She thought to step back, but her legs felt rooted to the spot. All she could do was stare up at him, studying the hard lines of his too handsome face, his large, dark eyes, his wide, soft mouth….
“Go ahead. Just try to deny it,” he challenged her.
“Deny what?” she asked, genuinely confused. Her thoughts had wandered. His nearness had totally distracted her, short-circuited her rational mind.
“Deny that you plan to marry my brother,” he insisted. “Tomorrow, in fact, at the First Church.”
“I have no intention now, nor have I ever wished to marry your brother,” she answered honestly. Though she could not deny that for the purposes of throwing Jackson Bradshaw’s private investigators on the wrong scent, she, Will and Faith had done all they could to create a convincing, false trail, including taking out a marriage license in town and printing a phony engagement announcement in the local paper. All in the hopes of luring Jackson to Texas while Will and Faith were off to some mystery location, tying the knot.
“Don’t lie to me—” he replied in a low, threatening tone.
He moved even closer and Georgia tipped her head back to look up at him.
“I know,” she said, interrupting. “I’ve been warned. You can’t stand pretense—especially from a female.”
He didn’t say anything. Just continued to stare down at her, a grim, unreadable expression on his face. Deep in his eyes she saw a flash of fire—was it anger? Or desire?
When she felt his large hands grip her upper arms she wasn’t surprised. His hold was firm, and she felt the warmth of his hands through her robe. She had the sense that if she struggled against him, his grip would tighten. But somehow the thought didn’t scare her.
“I can’t see you with my brother,” he said in a low, intimate tone that made her heartbeat race. “You’re not his type. Not at all.”
“Oh, really?” Georgia replied, vaguely amused. “Am I too tall do you think? Too…brash?”
“You’re a handful. The kind who needs a stronger man than my brother at the helm, I’ll tell you that much.”
“But we’ve only met, what…? Ten minutes ago? How could you have any idea what type I am?” Georgia insisted.
“Oh, but I do,” he assured her in a deep, quiet voice. “I know all about you, Georgia Price. All I need to know. Believe me,” he promised.
Had he pulled her imperceptibly closer? Georgia couldn’t be sure. Yet she was suddenly conscious of his nearness, the heat of his body, the scent of his skin.
She couldn’t hold his gaze any longer and suddenly looked away. She felt in over her head. Way over her head.
“Are you blushing?” He cupped her chin in his hand and turned her face back toward his so that she had no choice but to look at him. “Hmm, you are. How charming,” he said sweetly. “Didn’t take you for the blushing type. Or is this some further performance? Hoping to find my sympathetic side?”
“Your…sympathetic side?” she stammered.
“You sound surprised. Don’t you think I have one?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Once again, she tried to pull away from his grasp, but he held her firmly, forcing her to look directly in his eyes. Somehow, she’d managed to sound calm and unmoved, she thought, despite the tremors that shook her within. His face was so close to hers, barely a breath away, and as his gaze dropped down to her mouth some inner alarm sounded, warning that he was about to kiss her.
“Ridiculous…yes, of course,” he murmured in a husky tone, still staring hungrily down at her lips. “I assure you, Ms. Price, I’m trying very hard not to be…”
Then his dark head dipped toward hers, and his hand lifted her chin. Georgia thought to pull away, to make some forceful protest, but all she could do was lift her hands and press them again his chest. The sensation of his firm muscles against her fingertips wasn’t the dash of cold water she needed at the moment. To the contrary, making contact with his hard, warm body had just the opposite effect, shutting down her powers of reasoning completely.
Georgia sighed and closed her eyes—as much a sign of pure frustration with herself as a sign of her surrender. It was all the encouragement Jackson needed, and in a heartbeat she felt herself pulled into his hard embrace, her mouth covered by the seeking, seductive touch of his lips.
It was shocking.
It was wonderful.
It was a pure revelation.
Despite all rational and moral objections Georgia might have voiced in saner moments to kissing a man she barely knew—especially this man—she found herself swept away by the moment, giving herself over to the wave of sensual pleasure that suddenly crashed over her, body and soul.
Her arms moved up to circle his shoulders, her fingertips toying with the thick, damp strands of his hair. His mouth glided over hers, coaxing, tasting and teasing until she couldn’t help but respond. She moaned quietly in the back of her throat, and the small sound inspired him with a new surge of ardor.
Heavens, it had been months—no, years—since she’d been kissed like this. Had she ever been kissed like this?
Then, just as Georgia began to call a halt, she was saved. A small voice sounded from the top of the stairs, and Georgia heard it as if it echoed from miles away.
“Mommy?”
Noah. He’d woken up.
Georgia sprang away from Jackson’s hold as if she’d been stuck by a cattle prod. She ran over to the staircase and started up, toward her son, some part of her mind reflecting that it was funny how a child might sometimes sleep through a tornado—then wake up to the sound of a toothbrush dropping on the floor three rooms away.
“It’s okay, honey. Everything’s all right,” she assured him. “Go back to bed. I’ll be up in a minute to tuck you in.”
He rubbed his eyes sleepily but didn’t budge until she reached him at the landing. “I heard voices. It sounded like you were talking to someone…. Is someone here?”
Georgia wondered for a moment if she should tell one of the little white lies that help adults survive parenthood, for she could make Noah believe all he had heard was the TV. Then she thought best not to, realizing that Noah could easily get out of bed again and see Jackson Bradshaw.
With a hand on Noah’s shoulder she gently guided him back toward his bedroom. “Mommy has a visitor. But he’ll be gone in a few minutes.”
“A visitor?” Noah sounded confused. And rightly so. Georgia rarely dated and never had men over for the night, out of consideration for her son. “Who’s here?”
“Just a man who got lost in the rain on the road,” she said. The explanation satisfied her as it wasn’t a total fabrication, from what Jackson had told her of his journey. “His car broke down near our house and he needs to call up for a ride to town.”
There, that should appease even Noah’s eight-year-old, insatiable mind, she decided.
She flipped back the comforter on Noah’s bed. “Okay, back to bed now.”
“How is this man going to get a ride to town?” Noah protested as he climbed back under his quilt imprinted with the infamous Curious George. “He’ll never get a ride into town in the middle of the night, Mom,” Noah assured her.
“Hmm, we’ll see.” Georgia tugged the quilt up over his small body and dropped a kiss on his forehead.
As she descended the stairs again, she realized that Noah was correct, as usual. The only way Jackson Bradshaw could get back to town at this hour was if she packed up Noah and drove him or lent him her vehicle. She guessed the time to be close to 2:00 a.m., and neither solution seemed appealing.
When Georgia entered the living room, Jackson was standing at the far end, gazing out at the rain again, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He turned to look at her with a bland, distant expression, and it was as if their intimate encounter had never happened.
Just as well, Georgia decided. She was quite happy to skip any commentary or analysis. The moment had seemed like a dream, a wild fantasy. She couldn’t begin to understand her reaction to him—no less explain it.
“Is your boy all right?” he asked politely.
“He’s fine,” she assured him.
“I’m sorry I woke him. I hope he wasn’t scared, hearing a strange voice in the house in the middle of the night.”
His consideration for Noah surprised her. Was it an act, designed to put her off guard? Had that impetuous kiss been a ploy, as well? she suddenly wondered.
“I explained that your car got stuck on the road and you walked here for help. He said he didn’t think you’d be able to get a ride back to town tonight.”
“From the looks of your town, I suspect he’s right. If I’d sneezed while driving down Main Street, I might have missed it.”
“It’s not quite that dinky,” Georgia protested. “But Sweetwater doesn’t have a twenty-four-hour taxi service. We don’t have any taxi service at all, actually,” she admitted.
“And I suppose that, even if I could find a ride somehow, there probably aren’t any motels around here, are there?”
“Sure, there’s a motel,” she replied agreeably. “The E-Z Rest. About thirty-five miles north on Route 6. The truckers seem to like it.”
She tried to picture Jackson Bradshaw spending a night at the E-Z Rest. The image made her secretly smile. Well, it certainly was not the Ritz….
“I might have guessed,” he replied in a grim, resigned tone. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Well, maybe you could kindly lend me an umbrella, then. It looks as if it’s still raining a bit, and I do have a rather long walk back to my car.”
“Your car? I thought you said your car wasn’t working.”
“That’s correct. And the rental agency can’t get a replacement out here until sometime late tomorrow. And that’s only if the rain stops.”
“Well then, why, may I ask, are going back out to your car? If you’ve left any valuables there, you needn’t worry. This area may be a backwater, but we are just about crime free.”
“I’m pleased to hear that, Ms. Price. At least I won’t fear for my life, sleeping out on the roadside. Do you have an extra umbrella or not?” he queried.
She suddenly understood. The poor man. He thought she was going to toss him back into the rain and make him sleep in his car. As if she could treat her worst enemy in that fashion. She almost wanted to laugh, but restrained herself.
“Don’t be silly. You needn’t sleep in your car. You can stay here, on the sofa.” As if on cue they both glanced over at her old couch. The lumps looked even larger than usual to Georgia and she had no doubt that his feet would hang well over the edge. She might feel sorry for him…if he wasn’t such a bullheaded pain in the neck. Besides, it certainly beat his alternatives. After the way he’d insulted her tonight—all in the name of his “quest”—he was lucky she’d allowed him to stay at all.
He must have been thinking the same. “Thank you. That’s a kind offer. All things considered.”
“Yes. All things considered, it is, isn’t it?” She brushed by and headed up the stairs to get some bedding. Then she remembered that his clothes were probably still wet and would be horribly uncomfortable. “Would you like a dry T-shirt or something?” she asked, stopping halfway up the stairs.
“Uh…sure. That would be excellent,” he replied, seeming surprised at her thoughtfulness. “That is, if you can find one that will fit me.”
“I think I can dig up something,” Georgia replied as she continued up the stairs. She had some super-large T-shirts on hand that she used for cover-ups while exercising or when she took Noah to the town pool. One of them should be large enough to fit her unexpected houseguest, she thought. There might even be some baggy sweatpants around, too.
She gathered the necessary bedding, clean towels, some toiletry items she thought he’d find useful and also a large black T-shirt and grey sweatpants. She returned with her armload to find Jackson in the rocking chair, his head tipped back, his eyes closed.
He was breathing heavily—practically snoring, she noted. But in sleep, his stern expression had relaxed, displaying his appealing features to full advantage. He’d opened his shirt to the waist, and Georgia felt herself blushing as she surveyed the contours of his muscular chest, covered with whorls of dark hair down to his flat belly.
Easy girl, she coached herself, as she pulled her gaze away. She released a small, quiet sigh, dumped her burden on the armchair, then quickly made up the bed.
She left the towels and other necessities on the end table, then stood next to Jackson. He was sleeping so deeply, she wondered if she should wake him. Then she thought she should, since she knew he’d wake up with a permanent dent in his back if he spent the rest of the night in that rocker, which certainly would not improve his cranky disposition.
She leaned over him. “Jackson?” she called quietly.
He didn’t open his eyes immediately, though she did notice a small smile shape his lips and guessed he had heard her.
“Come on, Jackson. Time for bed,” she called again, leaning closer.
“Georgia…” he murmured. She liked the way he said her name. As if he’d been calling to her in a dream. But when he added, “Yes…let’s get to bed, honey…” She straightened to her full height.
He suddenly blinked, coughed and stared up at her, his relaxed, soft smile replaced by a guarded look. “Guess I fell asleep,” he mumbled. He rubbed his face with his hand.
“Guess so,” she agreed. “The couch is ready, and there are a few things you might need on the end table. The bathroom is that way, just go left at the kitchen.”
“Left at the kitchen,” he repeated groggily. “Don’t worry, I’ll find it. Thanks again for the bunk…. No need to tuck me in,” he teased.
“That’s a relief,” she replied under her breath. She turned on her heel and started for the stairs. “See you in the morning.”
“Yes, tomorrow,” he echoed ominously. He got up from the rocker and stretched his long arms and legs. “Your wedding day. Of course, maybe my arrival on the scene has put a damper on the plans? Either way, I’ll guarantee you that you won’t be rid of me until I find my brother. I’ll camp out in your living room if I have to.”
“What a thought,” Georgia replied. She met his determined gaze, then looked away. Oh, dear. He was back on that again, was he? She honestly didn’t know how long she could keep up the charade.
She was suddenly tempted to admit all, then decided to leave her confessions for the bold light of day. There was no predicting how he might react. He might take off in the dead of night, still determined to hunt Will and Faith down.
No, let him stay right here in her living room, where she could keep her eye on him. And let him believe that she was the hopeful bride.
After all, Georgia reasoned, a man like Jackson Bradshaw deserved at least one torturous night on her sofa for trying to prevent her dear sister’s wedding.
Two
