Love Me Anyway by Jennifer Probst
Chapter Four
“Can I help you?Oh, hi, love. What’ll you have?”
Julianna stared at the man behind the bar and pursed her lips. “Where’s Mike?”
Jack just grinned at her obvious annoyance and lowered his lid in a naughty wink. “He had a thing he needed to go to with his wife. I told him I’d cover his shift. Let me guess. White wine? Pinot Grigio or Chardonnay?”
Julianna bit her tongue. Hard. “Martini, extra dry, extra olives.” She swore she’d drink the whole damn thing if it killed her, and tried not to look longingly at the bottle of white wine she preferred.
He lifted a brow. “You got it. Not driving, are you?”
Julianna bristled and turned to her companion, who she forgot when faced with her irritating, sex god gardener. “Tom, this is my handyman. What would you like to drink?”
“Stout, please. Guinness.”
Jack poured, shuffled glasses, and served with an economy of motion and grace. The scents of perfume, heat, and alcohol burned through the air as the crowd thickened in the late evening hour. The marina bar courted a tourist crowd. Julianna scheduled this first meeting in a public place where she wouldn’t have to worry about the locals. After all, Tom was the first official response to her ad. So far, dinner had been a polite, quiet affair with no sparks. She figured a crowded bar may loosen him up a bit, so she’d suggested a quick drink before ending the evening.
Unfortunately, her companion sat on the bar stool, tight-lipped and unsmiling. He glanced around the rustic, slightly dirty waterfront bar as if he smelled something bad. When he paid for the drinks, he didn’t tip. Julianna squirmed and quietly pushed a five-dollar bill across the bar while Jack wasn’t looking.
“Interesting place,” Tom said. “I prefer the New York scene, of course. Happy hour is always quite raucous.”
She nodded. “Yes, I’ve always wanted to see Manhattan.”
“You should. There’s a myriad selection of cultural events to experience, from museums, plays, and art.”
She pushed away the slight irritation at his arrogance. He acted as if Newport was beneath him. “I assume you haven’t done any sailing?”
“I prefer creating opportunities with concrete under my feet. Sailing seems like such a wild sport. Tennis is more my style. Have you been to Wimbledon?”
“No,” she said.
“A pity.”
An uncomfortable silence fell. She needed to come up with better conversational topics. This entire date was crumbling in failure.
Someone screamed with laughter and Julianna turned to take in the scene. A curvy blonde leaned across the bar, lips open with invitation as Jack poured a shot into her mouth.
Obviously, Jack had met many new women this past week. A crush of females gathered around him, cooing over his English accent, their faces giving off obvious vibes that they’d be available after his shift. Julianna twitched her nose in disapproval. She’d been right with her initial estimation. The man didn’t seem to care who shared his bed, as long as she was warm, female, and willing.
The realization made her straighten her shoulders, even more intent to make this meeting with Tom work. Jack had finally stopped sniffing around her place and she was glad. She’d never allow herself to be used and tossed aside for sex, no matter how pleasurable the time. Much better to keep her dignity and be disciplined with her unruly body. Her parents had always taught her pride must be saved at all cost.
It seemed to be the only thing she had left.
She drank the rest of her martini and a pleasant heat buzzed through her, allowing her to relax a notch. Tom finished his drink, then stood. “Well, I have to get back early in the morning so I better say good night.”
She fought past the disappointment. “Of course.”
Jack suddenly appeared. “Refill?”
“No, thank you, we were just leaving.” To prove a point, she grabbed Tom’s hand and forced a merry laugh. She went to walk him out, but he stopped her at the doorway.
“I’ll email you and we’ll discuss possible arrangements for marriage.”
Julianna blinked. The beat of the jukebox blared and pumped out Nelly’s “Hot in Herre.” “I thought—I thought we’d meet once more before making a decision.”
Tom shrugged, obviously bored. “I need a wife in order to climb up the corporate ladder. Damn company’s only promoting family men. I want someone who’ll stay out of my life but be there for work events. I can give you the money for the house and we can arrange a wedding in the city. No big deal.”
She twisted her hands and fought off sheer panic. “Umm, well, email me and we’ll see.”
“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.
Jack took a long pull of beer and gazed out at the ocean. Feet propped up on the back deck, the schooner cut through the water with steadfast smoothness and grace. The sails hugged and caught the wind, and the lights of the horizon flickered in the distance.
He wanted her.
The knowledge twisted his belly with disgust. The irony was almost too much. He searched for a woman who’d love him for himself. Yet, he bodily craved one who was the literal poster image of a greedy, shallow socialite wanting to marry for the exact wealth and title he possessed.
She pissed him off. Her date barely looked her in the eye, let alone bothered to see past that horrible outfit she wore. For God’s sake, jeans and a tank top would have looked sexier than that buttoned-up floral number. The fabric covered her from neck to ankle.
He cursed under his breath. Why the hell did he care? He had a dozen contacts stored in his phone from this past week. Some were more suited to one night, but the other half might point himself right to his future wife. Julianna Waters was a dead end.
Why did she call to his sense of challenge? He wanted to be the first to claim her virginal lure. The hunger in those seething dark eyes made him crave to touch her and bring pleasure. He yearned to wipe the polite façade from her face and unearth the glimmer of passion and rawness hiding beneath. When he quoted Whitman, he’d almost had her. The connection surged hot and strong, and she’d been ready to crumble. But his temper reared. For God’s sake, her mission to marry a man with money trumped all other impulses—even pleasure. She was the culmination of everything he despised and was trying to escape. A woman who revered money and title over passion and love.
He put the beer down and focused on retacking the sail to change direction. The tangy scent of salt water calmed his nerves. The ocean roared in his blood since youth, and often when he was uneasy or needed to clear his thoughts, sailing was the only activity to bring him calm. Once he married and the company had the necessary stability, he planned on traveling for most of the year, especially to the ports in the US where his heart now lay. Newport soothed his soul. He missed his father, especially out on the water when he felt a piece of himself was missing.
Time to rebuild. Time to step up, claim his heritage, and be the man his father always wanted. If he found someone to love within the marriage, his life could be complete. If not, he’d do his duty, but crave his soul mate for the rest of his life.
Jack finished his beer and headed back to the harbor.
An image of half-parted lips and sleepy dark eyes haunted him. He fought the impulse to hunt and bury his aching cock inside her.
There would be no sleep tonight.