Free Smooth Irish (Book 2 of the Weldon Series) by Jennifer Saints Page B

him. She closed her eyes against the potent suck of desire
making her want to pull him to the ground and love him till time
ceased to exist. When she opened them again, he was gone, only the
roar of his truck echoed in the night. Jackson had forgotten his
coat.
    Warm silky fur rubbed against her
ankle and a plaintive meow dispelled the feel of Jackson’s
lingering touch. Nan sighed, bent down and picked up
Shakespeare.
    “ No Romeoing for you
tonight, sir. Seems as if there’s enough of that going on already.”
After locking the door, she wandered into the kitchen to feed
Shakespeare. Now that Jackson was gone, her common sense seemed to
be returning. She’d done the right thing three months ago. She
didn’t need a relationship going nowhere.
    “ Remind me to make it to
the grocery store tomorrow.” She dumped a can of tuna in
Shakespeare’s dish, then scoured the refrigerator for something for
herself, but nothing seemed to satisfy.
    Shakespeare finished his meal and
adjourned to her bedroom. Nan followed. The nights had become
longer since she’d stopped dating Jackson; she’d eaten less, slept
less, and worked more.
    Shakespeare groomed himself on the
slipper chair next to her bed. Nan cleaned up and settled into
reading “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” But her concentration eluded
her. She closed her eyes to drift to the land of dreams and lovers,
where Puck’s fairy dust made the impossible happen.
    Jackson’s kiss lingered upon her lips
and thoughts of him plagued her all throughout a restless night.
The devil stood on her doorstep. She had her hand on the doorknob,
and her eye at the peephole, looking at him for all she was worth,
and he looked good. Come morning she knew she was going to let him
in the door.

CHAPTER SIX
    At five a.m. Nan rolled out of bed groaning. Even
after coffee and a shower, she didn’t manage to get both eyes open
until the doorbell rang.
    She hurried to answer it, her mind a muddled maze.
Wet hair wound up in a purple towel and her damp body wrapped in a
fuzzy robe that had seen better days, she peered through the
peephole and blinked twice. The devil had arrived.
    Juggling several lunch bags, Jackson ran an
impatient hand through his hair and rang the doorbell again, then
rapped his knuckles on the door for good measure. Eye pressed to
peephole, Nan jumped at the sharp sound.
    She cracked the door open and stuck her nose into
the slit. “Jackson?”
    “Morning.” He grinned enough to
flash the dimple in his left cheek. The rough edge of very little
sleep laced his deep voice; its intimacy conjured up images of
waking in his arms on a lazy morning. After making love.
    “What . . .” was the only word she could manage to
say as she furrowed her brow.
    He held up the white bags and dangled a set of keys.
“Breakfast and transportation. Remember?”
    “MMMM.” Nan drew a deep breath, catching the scent
of cinnamon and fresh soap. His black hair gleamed damply in the
porch light, giving evidence he’d recently showered. A dark shadow
on his square jaw let her know he’d skipped shaving, as a man in a
hurry might do. The morning air hung heavy with the essence of
spring and still carried a whispery breath of winter’s chill.
Jackson wore his customary dress, a snug fitting black T-shirt,
muscle-hugging jeans, and mirrored sunglasses. Her mouth watered at
his appetizing appeal.
    “Well, sugar? As much as I’m enjoying your interest,
it’s chilly and I like my buns at least warm if not hot.”
    “Buns? Oh, my. Um, I forgot to give you your jacket
last night.” Nan unlatched the chain and pulled the door open.
    “Jacket wouldn’t help these." He
held up the scrumptious smelling bag. "Though, I like the direction
of your thoughts.” Jackson brushed his way in before she could move
back. He grinned like a man who had decadent things on his mind as
he waved the bags under her nose. “Cinnamon buns, darlin’. You
know, of the big, hot, sticky, sugary variety you eat