Chapter 7 #2
“Yes. We didn’t agree on certain issues, but he taught me how to sail. Taught me to be a man and take care of the things and people I love. I miss him every damn day.”
Her arms tightened around him and for a little while, she felt completely connected to the boy inside who just wanted his father back. “What’s your mom like?” she asked.
“Tough. Doesn’t let me get away with anything. Keeps the household and family together. Doesn’t take any crap.”
Julianna laughed. “A woman who gets the job done. Someone I can respect.”
“Was your mom always sick?”
She sighed, trailing her fingers down his chest. “When I was little, we had some great moments. She was spontaneous and fun and loving. She’d wake me up late at night and we’d sneak outside to lie on a blanket and look at the stars.
She cooked fabulous six course meals with sparkling china and fresh flowers.
We dressed up in princess gowns and ate like royalty.
I lived for those moments, but they came less often.
I mostly remember not having lunch for school, or her forgetting to pick me up after a birthday party, or waiting outside her door because she spent days in her bedroom crying. ”
“Who took care of you?”
She shrugged. “My dad. We had a few nannies but they never stayed. Dad liked his privacy, especially since we never knew what mom would do. It became easier for me to take care of things. It was difficult for them when I went away at college my first year, so I ended up leaving at the end of the semester and finished my degree online.”
“In poetry?”
“English literature with a concentration in poetry. I wanted to teach college, but for a full-time faculty job I’d need a PhD so I’m an adjunct."
He grinned. “The first time I met you I thought, professor or accountant.”
She made a face. “I know. I’m boring. Always was.”
He grasped her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. Temper rippled from his figure, as if her last words irritated him. “What do you love so much about poetry?”
No one had ever truly asked her the question.
Her father waved it off as a harmless hobby, and her friends had told her it wasn’t practical.
She tried to put it into words he could understand.
“When I was young, I stumbled upon Leaves of Grass by Whitman. It was so alive, as if each word danced off the page, and the stanzas together created a mystery I wanted to solve.” A smile touched her lips at the memory of that young girl so full of hope and dreams. “I began to read anything I could get my hands on. When my mom had her episodes, I’d retreat to the poets and feel as if my emotions were theirs—it was a great release for me. ”
Embarrassed at her admission, she cleared her throat and backtracked. “Of course, I was young then. As I grew older, I realized poetry was a critical element of literature students needed to study.”
“No, don’t do that. Don’t back down now.”
Startled, she stared at him. A frown creased his brow. “I don’t understand.”
“You hide your true feelings. Pretend you don’t care.” She fell silent, not sure what he wanted from her. “What's your favorite poem?”
Julianna blinked. “I have many. Whitman, Moore, Sexton, Lawrence—”
“Recite the first one that comes to mind.”
She hesitated, then spoke slowly, as the last stanzas took shape.
Kiss but then the dust from off my lips,
But draw the turgid pain
From my breast to your bosom, eclipse
My soul again.
Waste me not, I beg you, waste
Not the inner night:
Taste, oh taste and let me taste
The core of delight.
Her breath caught as the sheer vulnerability of her poetic confession shook her. God, she’d practically confirmed her helpless need for his continued touch.
“What is it called?” he asked with a husky drawl.
“‘Liaison.’ D. H. Lawrence.” She forced a small laugh. “I thought it was appropriate with our situation.”
Raw emotion flickered over his face. “Out of all the poems, you picked one with physical passion. Openness. And truth.” He ran his finger gently down her check. “Don’t ever tell me you’re boring again, love.”
Entranced by his intensity, she lost her footing and gazed at him like a love-struck teenager. Jack continued with his questions. “So, you’ve never really left this house?”
It took a moment for her to regain her balance. “No. I was able to teach a few night courses for money here and there, but my father needed full-time care.”
“Did you ever just want to run away from it all?”
Julianna caught a wistfulness in his tone, an underlying question that seemed more serious than he posed. A thousand regrets and wants and dreams raced through her mind, then settled. “Yes. But I chose to stay. I made a promise to my father and I intend to keep it.”
“Even at the expense of yourself?”
Her fingers stilled on his chest. “Yes,” she said softly. “Even at the expense of myself.”
“What did you promise?”
“Nothing important.” She rolled off the bed, kicked off the shoes, and grabbed a long terry cloth robe. “Are you hungry?”
He watched her cover up her nakedness and firmly belt the sash. “For food?”
God, he was gorgeous. All lean muscle and tawny skin. He reminded her of a predator temporarily sated, but his eyes still gleamed with lazy warning, reminding her he could strike at any time. Heat speared down her belly and her thighs clenched in anticipation. “Yes, food. I worked up an appetite.”
“Sure. But I’m not done with you yet.”
Julianna shivered at the delicious threat and led him into the kitchen.