Wild Revenge: The Dangerous Jacob Wilde / The Ruthless Caleb Wilde / The Merciless Travis Wilde

And he knew it. Just look at how he was grinning.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” he said, “how about sharing it with me?”

“That was …” She cleared her throat. “It was … nice.”

“Nice? Nice?” He scowled, rose up on one elbow and looked down at her. “You know how to hurt a guy, McDowell.”

He was teasing her. And she loved it.

Who’d have thought sex could involve laughter?

He grinned. Rolled her on her back. Caught her wrists, pinned her hands high over her head.

“Admit it.”

Oh, the feel of him against her. All that hard, lean muscle …

“Admit what?” she said breathlessly.

“Admit this was better than nice.”

“Maybe,” she said, teasing him back.

“Maybe, the woman says.” He shifted a little. She bit back a moan. He was becoming aroused. She could feel him against her belly.

“Lots better than nice,” he said in a low, sexy whisper.

She wanted to say something clever, but all she could manage was a soft moan.

He kissed her mouth. She returned the kiss.

He moved. She did, too.

The engorged head of his erection was between her thighs. It brushed against her sensitized flesh.

“Please,” she said.

“Please, what?” he said, and then he was inside her, moving inside her, and the world tilted and spun away.

This time, after he withdrew, he wrapped them both in the duvet.

Then he drew her into the warm shelter of his arms and kissed her temple.

“Sleep,” he said softly.

She couldn’t. She was lying on her right side, and she never—she never—

When she woke, there were long shadows in the room, and a fire leaping in the hearth.

Jake, wearing only his jeans, squatted beside it, feeding wood to the flames.

Addison sat up, the duvet clutched to her chin.

He looked around, smiled when he saw her.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She shoved her hair back from her face.

“What time—” Her voice was hoarse. She cleared her throat, started again. “What time is it?”

He looked at his watch.

“Almost five.”

Her eyes widened. “Almost …”

Jake rose. His beauty made her heartbeat quicken. His skin was tanned, his muscles the kind a man got from hard work, not from a gym. His jeans were zipped but unbuttoned; she couldn’t keep her gaze from going to the arrow of dark, silky hair that disappeared behind his fly.

“Don’t tell me,” he said, as he came slowly toward her. “You have an appointment with a can of paint.”

“A can of …” She laughed. “You can still smell it.”

“Uh-huh.” He sat down next to her, leaned in, gave her a long, lingering kiss. “You painted this room all by yourself?”

“I’m a painting expert. Do you have any idea what painters charge in New York?”

“A frugal woman.” He clapped a hand to his chest. “Be still, my heart.”

“A broke woman. Tuition loans. A condo mortgage.”

“According to Caleb, all lawyers are rich.”

“I’m an indentured servant, in my second year at Kalich, Kalich and Kalich.”

He grinned. “An imaginative name for a law firm.”

“Especially,” Addison said, “when you consider that the last Kalich toddled off this mortal plane twenty years ago.”

Jake laughed, leaned in and kissed her again. This time, she sighed and sank into the kiss.

“So,” he said, curving a hand around the side of her face, “you went to Home Depot—”

“Sears. They had paint and stuff for the floor and all the other things I needed.”

He shook his head. “Old man Chambers would be horrified.”

“Horrified? That I cleaned up this—this—”

She was indignant. Jake tried not to laugh.

“Keeping the place a disaster area was a point of pride with him. The summers I worked here, I used to offer to deal with more than the fences and the horses. He’d always get this look on his face and tell me to mind my own business.” He shrugged. “But I don’t think he really let it all go to hell until the last few years, while I was … away.”

Away. Addison looked at him. Away seemed a strange way to describe being in a war, getting wounded, doing something heroic enough to win an important medal.

“How long were you away?” she said softly.

A muscled knotted in his jaw.

“Too long,” he said, after a minute. “And maybe not long enough.”

He turned away from her … and her breath caught. A series of vicious scars pocked his right shoulder. Without thinking, she reached out and touched her fingers gently to the raw-looking flesh.

He jerked back, grabbed his shirt from the floor, shrugged it on and reached for his jeans.

“Oh, Jake, I’m sorry. Did I hurt—”

“I’m fine.”

Addison reached out to him but his posture was unyielding. Instinct warned her not to touch him.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I just don’t want to talk about it.” His words were clipped as he rose to his feet. “I’m going to make coffee.”

“Jacob. Wait—”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Go on. Get dressed.”

Moments ago, they’d been part of each other. Now …

Now, she grabbed the duvet and dragged it to her chin.

She was entirely naked. Not just her body. Her soul. Her heart. In less than twenty-four hours, she’d become terrifyingly vulnerable, something she had spent most of her life avoiding.

She must have made a sound. A whimper. Something, because he swung toward her.

“Goddammit,” he said. “Honey, I’m sorry.”

She shook her head without looking at him.

“No. No, that’s okay. I just—I just—”

Jake cursed, strode back to her and gathered her tightly into his arms.

“It isn’t you. It’s me, honey. I don’t talk about it. What happened. I don’t talk about it to anybody.”

She nodded. “I understand.”

He almost laughed.

She didn’t. She couldn’t. Hell, he didn’t understand it, and he lived with it.

“I flew Blackhawks,” he said. “Do you know what they are?”

“Helicopters?”

“Yeah. Big, bad birds. They can carry damned near anything to a battlefield. Troops. Equipment. Anything.” His voice roughened. “And they can carry things off a battlefield. They can do medical evacuations, provide cover and get men who’ve been pinned down, men who are dying, out of harm’s way.”

“Jacob, don’t.” She put her fingers lightly over his mouth. “You don’t have to—”

“Sometimes things went right. I was lucky. Sometimes, I wasn’t.” His mouth twisted. “After a while, you start keeping score, you know? Two saved. Two lost. Two bastards taken out, permanently. That kind of thing.”

“It must be awful. To lose men. To have to wonder what will happen next.”

“Yeah. But, like I say, you keep count. As long as your numbers stay ahead, you stay sane.” He paused. “And then,” he said, in a low voice, “then, one day …” He shuddered. “I can’t talk about it. Just—just leave it alone.”

“Whatever you want,” she said softly.

He stared at her while the seconds swept past. Then he groaned and wrapped her in his arms.

They sat that way for a long time. The fire in the brick hearth burned down to cinders.

Finally, Jake sighed.

“That’s more than I’ve ever told anyone,” he said softly.

He hadn’t told her anything, not really, but she knew what he meant. He’d let her see beyond his wounds, to his pain.

“So,” he said, and she could see how hard he was searching for something to lighten the moment, “so, one confession deserves another.”

She smiled. “You think?”

“I know.” He smiled, too; the smile was almost real but it still had a way to go. “For instance … it’s late, we haven’t eaten all day. So, I’ll let you in on a Wilde secret.”

She sat back and widened her eyes.

“You turn into a werewolf at midnight.”

He laughed.

“I know how to cook.”

Addison clapped her hand to her chest.

“Be still, my heart.”

“Just tell me what you want for breakfast, or lunch, or whatever in heck this meal is, and I’ll go down to the kitchen and put it together.”

“Hmm. How about pancakes?”

“How about Jake Wilde’s famous scrambled eggs and onions? Or Jake Wilde’s dee-licious fried cheese sandwiches? See, the real confession is that I can cook, but only those two things.”

She laughed.

“Okay, your turn. You have to confess something to me.”

You’re wonderful, she thought, but she didn’t have the courage. Besides, she knew it had to be something that would make him laugh.

“My name isn’t Addison.”

Jake touched the tip of her nose with his finger.

“No?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Huh. What is it, then? And how come you changed it?”

“If I were to tell you what it is, you’d understand why I changed it.”

“What’s this ‘if’ stuff, McDowell? You’re supposed to be telling me something here, not just telling me your name isn’t Addison.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“They are, huh?” His smile turned masculine and sexy; he pushed her back on the bed and kissed her mouth. “Well,” he said softly, “I guess I’ll just have to find a way to unseal them.”

She let him do just that. Then she smiled and linked her hands behind his neck.

“Okay. You’ve worked your magic. Bend down so I can whisper my secret.”

Jake complied. He put his ear against her lips … and, suddenly, what she was about to tell him didn’t seem so funny anymore.

Nobody knew her real name. Why would she admit it to him?

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said.

“No?”

“No. Because I figured it out. Your real name is Rumpelstiltskin.”

That did it. She laughed. And said, “My name is Adoré.”

Jake didn’t laugh.

“Adoré,” he said softly. “Adoré,” he said again, as he gathered her to him. “It’s a beautiful name, sweetheart. Almost as beautiful as you.”

She blushed.

“You think?” she said with girlish delight, and he tumbled her back against the pillows.

“What I think,” he said gruffly, “is that food can wait.”

“What am I going to do with you, Jacob Wilde?”

Jake bent his head, tongued a tender pink nipple. Addison’s laugh became a gasp of pleasure.

“I’ll help you think of something,” he whispered.

And he did.

CHAPTER NINE

ADDISON STOOD in the kitchen, wearing a robe that came down to her ankles, and stared blankly at the old clock ticking away above the stove.

“Midnight?” she said. “It can’t be midnight!”

Jake, dressed only in jeans that rode low on his hips, stood leaning against the door frame, arms folded, bare feet crossed.

She was a delectable sight, and all he could think about was taking her back to bed.

But it was late, they were both hungry, and grabbing a bite to eat seemed a smart thing to do when he had every reason to keep up his energy.

The night wasn’t over yet.

She looked at him. “What does your watch say?”

He looked at his watch, then at her.

“The little hand’s on the twelve,” he said, deadpan. “So’s the big hand. Where I come from, that means it’s either midnight or high noon, honey, and considering the fact that it’s pitch-black outside, my best guess is midnight.”

“Midnight. I just don’t see how—”

She bit her lip. And she blushed.

Damn, he loved that about her! Hours in his arms, hours spent exploring each other, and she could still turn pink as a schoolgirl.

And yet, she had all the confidence a man could want in a woman, in bed or out. You’d never be able to take her for granted; she’d always be an exciting challenge.

You could build a future with a woman like Addison McDowell.

Jake frowned.

What kind of nonsense was that? This was about terrific sex with a terrific woman. End of story.

“You’re right,” he said, taking things back to where they belonged. “Where could the hours have gone?”

The color in her lovely face deepened. Jake relented, straightened to his full height, walked slowly toward her and took her in his arms.

“Either we get some food in our bellies or they’re gonna find just two piles of bones on old man Chambers’s magnificent linoleum floor.”

Addison leaned back in his arms.

“Not a fan of linoleum, huh?”

“Frankly, I can’t tell linoleum from marble. Well, yeah, I can, but it’s that shade of green makes my stomach lurch.”

“It’s called chartreuse.”

“Even worse.”

She slid her hands up his naked chest, loving the feel of his skin, the silkiness of the dark hair across his sternum, the strong beat of his heart.

“We had linoleum in the kitchen when I was growing up. Not green. Pink. We had pink everything. Walls. Rugs. Bathroom.” She smiled up at him. “But I got even. Every single thing in my apartment, walls to floors to furniture, is white.”

“Aha.”

“Aha, what?”

“Aha, that explains old man Chambers’s bedroom.”

“My bedroom,” she said softly.

“Damned right,” Jake said, his voice a little rough.

Addison locked her hands at the nape of his neck. She could feel the very edge of his scar under the tips of her fingers. She wanted to slip behind him, press her lips to the scar, but she knew better.

Jake hadn’t mentioned it again.

Still, she knew it was some kind of concession that he hadn’t put on his shirt when they finally left the bed, especially since he had not once removed the black patch from his eye.

He was hurting. Not outside. He was hurting inside and she hurt for him. It was a helpless feeling, not to be able to do anything to help.

“Such deep thoughts,” he said, brushing his mouth gently over hers.

Somehow, she managed a quick smile..

“Chartreuse linoleum will do that every time.”

“I agree. So, how about we eat something fast so we can get out of this room just as fast?”

“A brilliant plan, Captain. What would you like?”

He gave a soft, sexy laugh. She blushed again and he drew her even closer and kissed her.

“I’m serious, Jacob.”

“So am I,” he said, and kissed her again.

The kiss went on for a long, lovely time. Then Addison stepped out of his arms and opened the fridge.

“Let’s see—I have some cheese….”

“Excellent. I’ll make us those fried cheese sandwiches.” When she looked over her shoulder at him, he raised his eyebrows. “What?” he said innocently. “You’re not in the mood for fried cheese?”

“Tell me you made that up.”

“It’s an old Wilde recipe.”

“I bet your sisters would disagree.”

“Well, okay, it’s an old Wilde Bunch recipe.”

She laughed. “You, Caleb and Travis? The Wilde Bunch, huh?”

“That’s what the town called us.” Jake tucked his hands into the rear pockets of his jeans and admired the delightful shape of Addison’s backside as she bent to the bottom shelf. “Although, to be accurate, fried cheese is Trav’s specialty.”

“Thank goodness for small favors,” she said, pushing a couple of small containers aside.

“Mine’s fried hot dogs.”

That brought her upright.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“You northerners are so judgmental.”

“I’m afraid to ask what Caleb contributes to these feasts.”

“Marshmallows. Not fried,” he added quickly. “Charred. You know. In a fire. Crispy on the outside, melted on the inside.”

“Actually, I don’t know.”

“What? You never sat around a campfire and toasted marshmallows?”

“Nope.”

“Ah, honey,” Jake said, with genuine regret, “you missed a lot.”

“Charlie used to say the same thing.” And even as she asked herself why she’d mentioned Charlie, the answer came to her.

It was time to know how Jake felt about Charlie and the ugly gossip.

“Charlie,” Jake said—and he wondered how he’d sounded, saying the name.

Curious? Well, he was.

Any man would be, when a rich guy left a woman a couple of hundred thousand acres of good Texas land, no matter how tumbledown its condition.

Jealous? No. Of course not …

“That’s it? Just ‘Charlie’?”

Addison shut the refrigerator door and turned toward him.

“Charles Hilton.”

Her tone was wary, maybe even defiant. So was the look in her eyes.

Okay. Now Jake knew exactly how he’d sounded.

Like a man biting back a mouthful of jealousy.

“He was my friend.” She waited. “I told you that, remember?”

“Hey. I didn’t say—”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Addison. Honey. That’s not fair. I only meant—”

He frowned. Why was he explaining himself? They’d met, what, two days ago? One day ago? He was losing track. She had her own life, just as he had his.

Hell. Be honest, Wilde.

Plain and simple, he wanted to know if she was carrying the torch for a dead guy.

“I meant,” he said slowly, “did you love him?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? He was my friend. My God, you’re like all the rest, believing what you want to bel—”

Jake cursed, dragged Addison to her toes and kissed her.

Not gently.

Not tenderly.

His kiss was demanding and possessive, and yet so sweet it took her all of a heartbeat to respond to it. Her lips parted; her tongue slid against his. And when he took the kiss deeper, she put her arms around his neck and gave herself up to the feel of him against her.

“I’m sorry, Adoré,” he said. “I believe you. And even if you had loved him—”

“I did love him. Like a father. And he loved me like a daughter.”

Jake nodded. “Good,” he said thickly. “Because I don’t think I could handle his ghost haunting you and this godforsaken ranch.”

There was a silence. Then she gave a soft laugh.

“Jacob. That doesn’t even make sense.”

It made perfect sense to him. Or maybe not. Hadn’t he just told himself that he’d only met this woman a day ago? That he had no claim on her?

More to the point, he didn’t want a claim on her. On anybody.

Why would he, when he was moving on?

“Jake?”

“Yeah.” He expelled a long breath. Stick to the facts, he told himself. Facts were always safe. “So, what kind of guy was he?”

She smiled. “You’d have liked him. He was very down-to-earth.”

“Was he your boss?”

“A colleague, but a thousand times the lawyer I’ll ever be.”

“I’ll bet you’re Clarence Darrow in a skirt.”

She laughed.

“If I’m any good at all, it’s Charlie’s doing. He was my mentor.” She smiled. “I used to call him my hero.”

A muscled flickered in Jake’s temple.

“There are no such things as heroes,” he said, “except in fairy tales.”

Addison touched her hand to his face.

“You’re a hero,” she said softly.

“The hell I am. I did what I was trained to do.”

“Sometimes,” she said, even more softly, “doing what you’re trained to do is what heroism is all about.”

Jake snorted. “That’s media B.S.”

“No, it’s the truth.” She hesitated. “My father was a fireman.”

“Yeah, well, no question. Those guys are heroes.”

“He was trained to go into burning buildings. The last time he went into one, he died.”

“Hell, Adoré. How old were—”

“Six. And I still remember how I loved him, and how brave he was.”

“This isn’t the same.”

“It is. You saved lives.”

His jaw tightened. “You, of all people, should know better than to believe every story you hear.”

“Jacob—”

He moved past her, opened the refrigerator door.

“I thought we were going to get something to eat.”

Addison couldn’t see his face but she had a clear view of his scar, and of the rigidity of his shoulders, as if he’d been cast in stone.

She’d touched a nerve, and she—she cared for him too much to touch it again.

“Right,” she said briskly. She stepped in front of him and made a show of checking the shelves she’d checked five minutes before. “Let’s see. I have yogurt. Cottage cheese. Wheat bread. Tomatoes and lettuce and, oh, some tofu …”

Nothing. She could feel him standing behind her, something—anger, pain, despair—coming off him like waves of heat.

“Tofu, then,” she said brightly. “Mixed with granola. And toasted wheat bread topped with cottage—”

Jake reached past her and shut the door.

“The basic food groups,” he said, turning her toward him.

The darkness was gone. His posture had eased. There was even what might have been the beginning of a smile on his lips.

She smiled, too, and offered a silent thank-you to the gods for giving women the instinctive knowledge that the mention of fermented milk and soybeans could drag a man like Jacob back to reality.

“I’m going to buy you dinner.” There it was, a real smile, and it made her heart lift. “Or breakfast. Or lunch. Or whatever meal this is supposed to be.”

“At midnight? In the middle of nowhere?”

“Get that look off your face, Adoré. Anybody would think you’re suggesting Wilde’s Crossing can’t hold its own with the gourmet dee-lites of the Big Apple.”

She snorted. Jake’s smile became a grin.

“How about a small wager?”

“Fifty cents. And, just so we have the ground rules straight, McDonald’s won’t do it.”

“Fifty cents,’ he scoffed. “You call that a bet?”

Addison cocked her head. “Suggest something.”

He put his arms around her, laced his hands together in the small of her back.

“How about if I win, we’ll replace that yogurt with whipped cream?”

A rosy pink glazed her cheeks. “Whipped cream and granola?” she said, batting her lashes in feigned innocence. “I don’t know.”

“Whipped cream and you,” Jake answered, his words low and gruff. “Your mouth. Your breasts. Your thighs.”

Addison rose on her toes and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

“Deal,” she whispered, “just as long as we save some of that whipped cream for me to use on you.”

He groaned. She laughed. And before he could push her back against the refrigerator door and show her that they didn’t need whipped cream at all, she slipped out of his encircling arms and headed out of the kitchen, her hips swaying with what he knew was deliberate, teasing provocation.

He laughed….

But then his laughter died.

In its place was a sensation he’d never felt before. He wanted to go after her, scoop her into his arms and make love to her, sure.

But he wanted more.

More than taking her to bed.

He wanted her in his heart, in his life….

You? a cold voice inside him said. Don’t be stupid, man.

“Come on, slowpoke. Get your shirt … Jake?”

He blinked. She was waiting for him just outside the kitchen. She had a sweater over her arm.

“Hey,” she said softly. “What’s the matter?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“You sure? Seriously, I can scramble some eggs if you don’t want to—”

He was beside her in a heartbeat; she was in his arms in less than that and when he kissed her, the kiss was so deep, so intense, that she let the sweater fall to the floor so she could cling to him for support.

Something was wrong. She knew it. And she could only hope that he would tell her what it was because whatever it took, she’d help him.

How would a woman not help a man once she realized she was falling in love with him?

It turned out, he couldn’t wear his shirt.

“No buttons,” he said, and gave her a solemn look. “People see me wearing a shirt without buttons, they’ll know you tore them off.”

That rated another blush.

Thankfully, old man Chambers had not been one to toss things out. The ancient equipment in some of the outbuildings, the sagging furniture and antique appliances in the house, were testament to his frugality.