Love Me Anyway by Jennifer Probst
Chapter Eight
Jack settledhimself at the counter and watched while she pulled out a griddle pan and baking mix. The open space boasted polished floors, impressive 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. A dining table in antique wood easily sat a dozen people, with high-backed chairs and a crystal vase filled with flowers as the centerpiece.
But he spotted the wear and tear underneath the surface. The paint was faded and chipped; the floors scratched, and tired weariness seemed to pulse from the mansion’s aura. As if it, too, felt trapped—caught between its past historical beauty and the tired march of time, aching to be restored to its true self.
Much like its owner.
Jack wondered why this woman intrigued him. Clad in her shabby white terry cloth 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 makeup, a smattering of freckles across her nose, Julianna moved around the kitchen gracefully, and a 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 only marry 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 Friday evening at the dock.”
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, then 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.
“Now take off your robe. I feel like a different type of breakfast.”
A beat passed. Challenge sparked the air, and he waited for her decision.
The robe slid off her shoulders and fell to the floor.
Jack smiled and moved toward her.
Bryce tossed down the report and looked up at his private investigator with irritation. The squat, bald man waited patiently, as he always did. Bryce detested the man’s appearance, as he detested anything not pleasing to his eye. But at least the man was loyal and kept his mouth shut. Blackmail and money bought a lot of favors. He’d had Peter do his dirty work for years now, and no one ever suspected.
“What’s the missing piece?” Bryce asked. He stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought. “Jack needs to marry in order to inherit. He’s sniffing around the lovely Julianna, yet she needs to marry someone with money to save the Cliff House.” He gave a rich laugh he knew was quite pleasant to the ears. “Priceless. My dear cousin is playing pauper and she has no idea she’s sleeping with a prince. Why wouldn’t he tell her? He could have his lover and a wife and inherit it all.”
As usual, Peter didn’t speak, just waited for Bryce to figure out his own thoughts. A strange idea floated past. “Could it be he wants to find someone who loves him for himself? My God, he’s more foolishly romantic than I thought possible. She’s not telling him she needs to secure her home by marrying, and he’s not telling her he needs to marry to secure his own kingdom.”
Bryce threw his head back and roared with laughter. “Sheer perfection. Now I just need to decide how I want to play. Jack doesn’t know I’m here. What better way to spring it on him than having him discover us in public? Peter, secure an engagement ring. I’ll propose by the end of the week. She’s kept me off the radar for now, but that’s about to change. I’ll make sure we dine down by the wharf near Jack’s boat. I need everyone to know I’ll be proposing, and I need Jack in attendance. Do whatever you need to have him there at the correct time. My next date with Julianna will be one very amusing revelation.”
He slapped his hands together. “This calls for a celebration. Pour us a drink, Peter.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And get me a woman tonight. Not as weak as the last one. Her whining got on my nerves.”
His investigator paused in pouring the drink, then spoke tentatively. “Umm, sir, there’s a problem. The last prostitute was high-end, and the news of her, umm, condition, got out. You’re blacklisted from that particular establishment.”
“Are you telling me a two-bit whore is crying foul play? She was paid dearly for her time. They make me sick. Find me someone young. You know where to go. And make sure she has no firm ties to any family around here.”
Peter cleared his throat. “That may be a bit difficult.”
“Have her here tomorrow night. I’ll need something to look forward to after another boring dinner with my cousin’s slut. The only thing getting me through it is my anticipation of breaking her in while Jack watches.”
“There’s something else, sir.” Bryce motioned for him to go on. “I finally got a copy of the contract Mr. Woodward drew up in his will. It does state Jack needs to marry to inherit, but there’s one other clause we discovered.”
“What clause?”
Peter hesitated. “If you marry first, you trump his inheritance. That’s what Lady Victoria has been trying to hide.”
The world suddenly righted itself. Victory thrummed through his veins, and all the hate and jealousy coursed freely as he realized he would finally get everything he deserved. On his terms.
Bryce smiled. “You’re getting a fat bonus, Peter.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Set up the arrangements. And get me a girl. Do whatever you need to do.”
“Yes, sir.”