EXPECTANT BRIDE-TO-BE Read online

  "Do I have a choice?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow as she glanced at him.

  "None at all," he answered with a wicked grin.

  "All right, then." Looking away, Abby smiled, too.

  She could have found a way to refuse his offer—she probably should have. But he only had her best interests at heart. And, quite frankly, she liked walking down the street arm-in-arm with Jack Randall. The way he moved along, close beside her, made her feel … treasured. Walking to her mother's house alone on a night like tonight would have been downright miserable in comparison.

  They made the short drive in relative silence. Abby gave directions and Jack followed them, driving at a moderate speed in deference to the weather and the dark, narrow streets.

  "I can't believe you considered walking all this way alone," he said when they had only gone about half the distance, the merest hint of anger in his voice.

  "It wouldn't have been the first time," she replied quite honestly, causing him to mutter something unintelligible under his breath.

  Abby wanted to remind him that not everyone had had parents to drive them wherever they wanted to go, not to mention wheels of their own from the age of sixteen on, but she didn't want to spoil what little time they had left with a lecture.

  At the house, Jack pulled into the driveway behind her rental car, then caught hold of her arm as she started to unfasten her seat belt.

  "Don't even think about getting out of the car until I come around and open the door for you," he said.

  "Believe it or not, I've gotten out of cars on my own quite a few times, too." She glanced at him with a slight smile. "I've even walked up to the front porch and let myself into the house alone without any problems."

  "I'm sure you have. Tonight you're with me, though. And it's my duty, as a gentleman, to see you to your front door. As your old friend, Jack Randall, it's also something I'd like very much to do."

  "In that case, I promise not to budge until you say so."

  As good as his word, Jack helped Abby out of the car and walked with her to the front porch, one hand resting gently at the small of her back. Then he waited patiently as she fit her key into the lock and opened the door.

  As she turned to say goodbye to him, Abby was glad she'd remembered to leave the outside light on. At least she had the chance to get one last look at his handsome face before they finally parted—a look she would remember always.

  "Well, thanks … yet again," she said, smiling despite the sudden ache in her heart. She could be as reasonable as she wanted about the snowball's chance in hell she had of ever running into Jack Randall again, but that didn't make it any easier to accept. "Tonight was just … wonderful."

  "I thought so, too." He gazed at her searchingly, then looked away as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket. "I'm sorry to see it end."

  "Not half as sorry as I am," Abby admitted, parroting a comment he'd made earlier in the evening, her tone only half-teasing.

  "You know, we don't have to say good-night just yet." He faced her again, his green eyes glinting hopefully. "You could offer me a drink. I'd accept."

  Abby couldn't think of anything she'd rather do, but prolonging the agony of their eventual parting was getting harder and harder for her. She had braced herself for the moment several times already, hiding her true feelings behind a mask of casual nonchalance.

  Too much longer in his presence, and she just might throw herself at his feet—

  "I know you have a lot to do," Jack added, seeming to sense her hesitation. "So if you'd prefer not to, I'll understand."

  "Actually, I'd like you to stay," Abby said, tossing common sense to the wind without a second thought.

  What was another hour or so in the general scheme of things? Especially when Jack was merely postponing the moment when he'd have to go back to his parents' empty house. She wasn't in any big hurry to be alone herself.

  "Really?" he asked, his green eyes gleaming with pleasure.

  "Yes, really," she assured him, smiling as she took him by the hand and led him into the house.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

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  Jack followed Abby into her mother's small, woodframe bungalow, trying not to feel too embarrassed by his neediness. He had fully intended to see that she got home safely, then be on his way. But by the time they got to the modest neighborhood where she'd grown up, he could hardly bear the thought of spending the rest of the evening alone.

  Being with Abby had brightened his spirits enormously. In fact, he couldn't remember enjoying a woman's company so much since he'd been on his own. Odd, because Abby wasn't anything at all like Cindy. She was smart and funny in her own very special way—a way that appealed to him even more than he'd originally anticipated.

  Taking Abby out to dinner hadn't turned out to be quite as casual an affair as he'd intended—at least not for him. Her presence across the table had filled him with a warm glow of contentment. Selfishly, perhaps, he'd wanted to hang on to that long-forgotten feeling.

  He'd coerced her into offering him a drink before he could think better of it, and he'd been so relieved when she agreed. Just a quick drink, then he'd go. Or so Jack had told himself until the moment she took him by the hand and led him into the house.

  The first flicker of an altogether different, not to mention far more intimate, yearning sizzled along his nerve endings, while low down in his belly, another kind of warmth began to uncurl. And no matter how insistently he told himself to ignore it, he was intrigued by the heretofore unthought-of possibility that suddenly came to mind.

  He should leave now. He should, but hell if he could—

  "Is something wrong?" Abby asked, looking up at him with a slight frown. She had stepped into the tiny entryway, still holding his hand, while he stood, as if rooted to the spot, on the threshold.

  "No, not at all," Jack assured her, making a valiant effort to pull himself together as he joined her.

  "You don't have to stay if you've thought of something you need to do instead," she added, letting go of his hand.

  He had, but not in the way she meant. And though she'd given him an easy way out that he should gratefully take, he wasn't going to do it. He had resigned himself to living what had become a very lonely life. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed the feelings now coursing through him—the comfort of companionship laced with the heat of desire, the wanting and needing, ignored for so long, that had reared up when he was least expecting it.

  "No, there's nothing." He looped an arm loosely around her shoulders, a first foray into territory he was suddenly, unashamedly desperate to explore.

  Abby seemed a bit startled by his gesture, but she didn't pull away.

  "Well, then, let me take your jacket."

  The entryway of the little house opened directly into the living room. With the flick of the light switch on the wall, Abby lit the lamps on a pair of glass-and-brass end tables framing an old sofa upholstered in a faded rose and green floral print. The multicolored lights on the Christmas tree, standing in the far corner, lit up, as well, adding a poignant warmth to the room. An easy chair and ottoman, covered in a green and beige pin-striped fabric, a brass and glass coffee table and matching étagère filled with an assortment of books, porcelain figurines and framed photographs completed the furnishings.

  Though Jack was accustomed to more elegant surroundings, he was immediately drawn by the coziness of the room. Here was a place where two people could sit together, close enough to touch, and talk about anything their hearts desired.

  "This is nice," he said, reaching back with his free hand to close the front door.

  "Thanks," Abby murmured as she stepped free of his hold.

  Before he could offer his assistance, she slipped out of her coat and hung it on the old-fashioned, carved oak coat tree that stood off to one side. Then she turned back to him, a quizzical look on her face.

  "What?" he asked, not quite sure what was expected
of him.

  "Your jacket." She smiled slightly. "Unless you've decided not to stay, after all."

  "I'm staying." He returned her smile sheepishly as he shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up himself.

  He'd been so caught up by the way she'd moved around the entryway—coming so near to him in the close quarters, yet not quite touching—that he'd been able to think of nothing but pulling her into his arms, pushing her up against the wall, kissing her senseless and … more than likely, scaring her half to death. Cursing silently, he gave himself a firm mental shake.

  "I'd planned to take down the tree last night, but I just couldn't seem to make myself do it," Abby explained, a hint of apology in her tone as she led him toward the sofa.

  "I could give you a hand with it now," Jack offered, glad to take on any task that would not only allow him added time with Abby, but also keep his hands occupied. "Unless you'd rather tackle it alone."

  Abby eyed him consideringly for several moments, then glanced away.

  "I hate putting you to work when all you were expecting was a drink, but I'd really appreciate the help. As long as you're sure you don't mind."

  "I wouldn't have offered otherwise, and it won't take us long, working together."

  "At least let me get you a drink first."

  As she headed toward the doorway on the left, Jack saw that it led to the kitchen. He followed after her, pausing in the doorway as she turned on the overhead fluorescent light.

  "I know there's a bottle of scotch and a bottle of gin in here," she continued, opening one of the lower cabinet doors. "There's tonic for the gin, too, and some brandy of indeterminate age."

  "The brandy sounds good to me."

  "Me, too," Abby agreed, taking the squat, brown bottle from the cabinet and setting it on the counter.

  She found a couple of small snifters in an upper cabinet, poured a generous measure of the liquor into each of them, then offered one to Jack.

  Raising her glass, she sniffed tentatively, and smiled. "Smells okay."

  Jack, too, inhaled the heady aroma and smiled. "Very nice." He touched the rim of his glass to hers with a faint clink. "Cheers."

  "To you, too."

  They each took a sip and agreed that it was actually pretty good. Then they walked back to the living room with Abby leading the way and Jack, brandy bottle in hand, turning off the kitchen light as he followed.

  Abby set her glass on the coffee table, crossed to a small closet and took out several cardboard boxes. Jack set his glass and the brandy bottle on the table, as well, then walked over to give her a hand.

  "I can manage the boxes," she said. "But can you bring the stepladder over? We'll need it to reach the ornaments at the top of the tree."

  While Abby arranged the boxes on the coffee table and opened their flaps, Jack positioned the ladder near the tree.

  "Ornaments first?" he asked as he climbed the three steps.

  "That would probably be best. Then we can figure out how to unwind the strands of lights."

  "Why don't I hand you the ornaments? That way, you can pack them up the way you want."

  "Sounds good to me," Abby agreed.

  They worked quietly for almost thirty minutes, developing an assembly-line kind of rhythm as Jack passed the various ornaments to Abby, who carefully tucked away the nostalgic mix of Santas, snowmen, brightly colored glass globes, and cookie-dough cutouts of all sizes and shapes. Then Jack eased the tree away from the wall and unwound the strings of lights while Abby coiled them into neat bundles.

  "That wasn't bad at all," he said as Abby closed up the last of the boxes.

  He was inordinately pleased by all they had accomplished together. Taking down the Christmas tree was a job that usually left him feeling sad, even during the best of times. But sharing the job with Abby had actually lightened his spirits.

  A glimpse of her somber expression as she carried one of the boxes back to the closet, however, warned him the same wasn't true for her. Of course, it wouldn't be. Not when she'd just lost her mother.

  "Let me put these away for you," he said, picking up the two remaining boxes.

  "Thanks." She offered him a slight smile, then sat on the sofa, cradling her brandy glass in her hands as she stared at the bare tree.

  Jack figured Abby was probably ready for him to leave, but he had no trouble talking himself into staying just a little while longer. She might think that she'd rather be alone with her memories of happier days, but he understood all too well how depressing that could become. He wasn't about to grab his jacket and go just when his company would do her the most good.

  He put away the stepladder, then eyed the tree consideringly, hands on his hips.

  "I'm guessing I should take this out to the curb for the next trash pickup," he said.

  "That would be great. But you don't have to do it right now." Abby patted the sofa cushion beside her. "Come and finish your brandy first. Otherwise I'll feel even guiltier than I already do for making you work so hard."

  "There's no need for you to feel guilty at all," Jack assured her as he sat down. "I was glad to help out."

  "It was really nice to have the company." Tucking her legs up under her, Abby shifted on the sofa so that she faced him.

  "Nice for me, too." Jack sipped his brandy, enjoying the way it warmed him. Although the glow he suddenly felt deep in his belly could have just as easily been ignited by the sweetness of her smile. "I'd forgotten how much fun a chore can be when you share it with someone special."

  Abby's eyes lit with surprise, then suddenly, she seemed embarrassed. Blushing, she looked away, took a swallow of her brandy, then another.

  "That's very kind of you, Jack, but—"

  "Not kind at all," he cut in, reaching out to touch her cheek. Her smooth, soft skin was wonderfully warm against his fingertips. Gently, he turned her face until she met his gaze again. "Honest … I was just being … honest. You're a very special person, Abby Summers. To me, you always have been."

  "You've always been special to me, too," she murmured.

  Acting purely on instinct—an instinct, old as time, that was deeply rooted in every human being's soul—Jack eased his hand into Abby's hair. Leaning closer to her, he tilted her face up, bent his head and feathered the lightest of kisses across her lips.

  Startled, she drew in a sharp breath and started to say something. Before she could speak reason, Jack quickly silenced her, taking her mouth in a deeper, more possessive way that fed the growing hunger pulsing through his loins.

  With a barely audible moan, Abby melted against him, her hands clutching the fabric of his turtleneck sweater as she gave herself up to his not-so-tender ministrations. Urged on by the intensity of her response, Jack skimmed his hands over her shoulders, then down to her breasts. Through the layers of her clothing, her nipples pressed hard against his palms, making him hard, as well. So hard he could barely keep from crying out at the almost painful pleasure of it.

  As Abby's hand drifted down to the buckle of his belt, then lower still, Jack wanted to make himself stop her—stop them. He tried to tell himself that he hadn't invited himself into her house because he hoped to have sex with her, but he knew better.

  He had been aching for just this kind of release longer than he could remember. And Abby, too, seemed to want, to need, the same affirmation of life their mating would provide. So, instead of pushing her hands away, he offered himself to her with a subtle thrust of his hips.

  But you hardly know her, and she's so vulnerable now, his conscience warned.

  For one long moment, Jack hesitated, grasping almost desperately for his normally cool self-control. He couldn't, shouldn't, make love to her. She would read more into it than he was capable of offering her or any woman.

  Then Abby's fingertips traced the rigid length of his erection, and he gave up the battle. He had to have her—had to have her now or he would go mad.

  With a low groan, he took her hands in his, then broke off their kis
s. Immediately, she stiffened and started to pull away.

  "Abby, please," he muttered, trailing tiny kisses along her jaw as he put his arms around her. "I want to make love to you, but not on the living room sofa. I want to take you to bed—if you'll let me—so I can do it properly."

  She clung to him wordlessly for what seemed like an eternity, then nodded her head. She drew away from him, stood and held out her hand.

  Silently, Jack stood, too, took her hand and walked with her to the dark narrow hallway that led to the back of the house.

  One last time, his conscience reared up, demanding that he stop before he made a terrible mistake. Then he was standing with Abby in a tiny room, next to a quilt-covered bed that looked barely big enough for the two of them, and suddenly he was reaching out for her, dragging her hard against him and kissing her with a desperation that seemed to know no bounds.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

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  For Abby, all the years of longing for what she'd so firmly believed she would never have rose up inside her as a mighty tide, and swept away all her inhibitions the moment Jack kissed her. When she had been a freshman in high school, she had accepted that he could never be anything except her friend, but suddenly…

  Suddenly, she realized that they could have a deeper, more meaningful relationship now. The kind of relationship that could last a lifetime. Jack was free to love again, and surely he must love her, if only in a new and tentative way, or he wouldn't want to take her to bed.

  He had never seemed like the type to use a woman casually to satisfy his sexual needs. And after the hours they had just spent together, talking, she knew he hadn't become that type, either.

  Which meant she could finally reveal her love for him without fear of being rejected.

  As Abby led Jack into her bedroom, she had no second thoughts at all. Jack wanted her with a fierceness so obvious it had taken her breath away. She'd felt it in the pressure of his hands as he'd touched her breasts and her buttocks, and she'd tasted it in the wild, unrelenting passion of his kisses.