couldn’t stay off drugs, no matter how many times she said she’d quit. After a while, she stopped trying.”
“But you never stop trying, do you?” Madeleine asked softly.
“I guess not. Anyway, your father pretty much funded the operation. He never made a big deal of it—just quietly contributed half the operating budget every year.”
Warmth flared in her heart. “Ah, Daddy,” she said with a sigh. She looked at Jack. “I might cry.”
“What?”
She couldn’t believe what she’d just said to him, but she said it again. “I might cry. It just sounds so much like something Daddy would have done—I—might—”
The tears came then, like a silent flood, and the next thing she knew, Jack Riley’s arms were around her. She forgot that he was a slob who said hateful things abouther and who held her entire life-style in disdain. He was simply a warm shoulder to cry on, and for a moment, that was all she needed. He smelled of clean laundry and something she could only call maleness. His arms were firm and solid, his hands soothing—and somehow, achingly familiar.
This was crazy. Was she really attracted to him or did she simply need comforting on the rebound? Yet it seemed to be more than that. Despite her hurt over John Patrick, Jack was filling her life up.
After a few moments, he riffled around under the end table and produced a box of Kleenex. She was surprised to see that he looked completely flustered. “You okay, Madeleine?”
She nodded and helped herself to a tissue.
“Just when I think I’ve got you figured out, you surprise me.”
She smiled wanly. “I could say the same about you. Now. The funding.”
“Your dad was a great guy,” Jack said. “But it looks like the board of trustees of the paper was only too eager to put a lid on the charity.”
She dabbed at her eyes. “I attended the last meeting, and nothing was said about—” She snapped her fingers. “Wait a minute. I had a memo just the other day. Something about a decision of the executive committee. I haven’t had time to look it over.”
“Somebody put it through without your signature, doll,” Jack said. “Because starting the day after Christmas, the center’s history.”
“Sorry to douse your righteous rage, Jack,” she countered, “but you’re wrong. I’ll make sure the center gets all the funding it needs to stay open. Same deal my father made you. In perpetuity.”
He stared at her. Then, like the rising sun, a grin spread across his face. “Damn, Miz Langston,” he said, the teasing note in his voice oddly welcome. “Financial prowess is so … so
sexy
. Especially to the financially challenged like myself.”
She burst out laughing and flung a throw pillow at him. “You’re shameless, Jack Riley. Shameless!”
“But I get what I want.” He threw the pillow back at her.
Still laughing, she asked, “And what
do
you want, Riley?”
“Besides your money? Well—” He leaned forward and whispered something else, something that made her feel like he had lit a match to every nerve ending in her body.
She gasped. “I think you just singed my ear.”
“I’ll make it better.” He kissed her ear, and before she knew it, his commanding mouth had captured hers in a long, deep kiss that was as demanding and earthy as Jack Riley himself.
She was shocked to find herself responding, arching toward him, opening her mouth. The taste of him, the searing intimacy, took command of all her faculties, and she stopped even trying to think or resist. He pressed her back on the sofa until they were half reclining, his hands moving over her soft angora sweater with a compelling mastery that left her breathless.
It took all her willpower to make a single sound of protest, to turn her head away. Her hands shook as she pressed against his chest, pushing at him.
Her cheeks flaming, she said, “Riley, don’t.”
He ran one finger down the side of her throat. “Aw, come on, Madeleine. We both want this.
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