“Thank you,” she said, feeling parched now that she saw the cold-looking water.
He even opened the bottle for her and she carefully took it, not wanting to touch him in the transfer process. But then he lifted his bottle of water to his lips and her mouth fell open as she watched the muscles in his neck while he drank down the water, her lips aching to kiss the tanned skin on that neck, explore the Adam’s apple there and move ever so slowly downwards to touch the ridges in his abdomen.
She jumped when he said, “Not thirsty?”
“Um…” she hesitated for a split second longer, then tore her eyes away and looked at the bottle of water. She hurriedly lifted the water to her lips and took a long, cooling draw, wishing it could cool down her suddenly raging libido.
“Thank you,” she said, carefully wiping her mouth. “I was thirsty and didn’t think to bring any water out here.”
“Most people don’t realize how long the driveway is.”
“Why is it so long?” she asked, more curious about this man standing in front of her than her hopeful employer at the moment. “And why isn’t it wide enough for a car to get through?”
The tall man shrugged slightly, drawing her eyes back to those spectacular, broad shoulders. “It’s more private this way, I suppose. People still find their way down here though.”
She flushed, realizing that she’d come here uninvited herself. “Yes, well…I’m on a mission,” she explained, smiling up at him with a return of her determination. “Emerson Watson is one of the best investment bankers in the industry and I’m determined to become his next intern.”
The man’s dark eyebrows went up and he leaned against the bannister of the front porch. “Why would you want to do something boring like that?” he asked. “Wouldn’t it be nicer to work outside in the sunshine or take a long walk down the coast?”
Rachel laughed. “I’ve done quite enough exploring in my life, thank you,” she answered, thinking of her childhood in rural Virginia. She’d hated living out in the country with nothing to do, no neighbor for several miles and boredom kicking in from the moment she woke up in the morning until she went to sleep at night. If it weren’t for books and reading as well as her best friends Nikki and Brianna later on in elementary school, she would have gone crazy a long time ago. “I much prefer the city life.”
“You live in New York now?”
She grimaced slightly, but was thrilled that he would think that of her. “No. I wish. I actually work in Washington, D.C.,” she replied. “There’s a pretty active investing world down there as well. As is the case in most major cities.” She blushed, wondering why she was explaining the investing world to this man. It seemed odd somehow. “K Street in downtown Washington, D.C. is busy with the area being surrounded by tall buildings and lots of hustle and bustle, but it’s nothing like Wall Street.”
“And you want to be on Wall Street, I take it?”
She smiled and nodded her head. “I think that would be the ultimate joy, being among all those people who know how to make the financial world move and shift. It must be fabulous to hear all those rumors floating around, to figure out how to use those rumors to make money for one’s clients or just to see the determination in everyone’s eyes and know that you’re just like them. Just as hard driving and efficient.” She shrugged slightly, her fingers gripping the water bottle nervously. “K Street is fine. But I want the real thing. I want Wall Street and the fastest way to get there is to be taught by the best.”
“And Watson is the best?” he asked.
Rachel laughed. “He has no equal. So even if he is the worst person in the world, I think I could still learn a great deal from him.” She blinked, realizing that she hadn’t even introduced herself. “I’m sorry! I’m Rachel Carson,” she said and extended her hand. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your day with my silly story,” she said with a smile, almost bracing herself for his touch.
Emerson looked at her delicate, tiny hand and wanted to shake her. What she wanted existed, but he knew that she would hate it. Hell, he’d been reading people all his life, knowing what made them tick just from a short conversation. It was one of the reasons he was so successful. And he knew instantly that Rachel Carson would die a slow, painful death in New York City. “You can call me Jack,” he said and enfolded her tiny hand in his large one, holding her still, feeling the warmth and vitality of her skin.
Rachel looked down at their hands, her heart pounding so rapidly it almost felt like it was about to burst out of her chest with the contact. She tried to pull away, but he held her hand firmly and her eyes glanced upwards, colliding with his blue ones once again.
“I have to go,” she whispered, praying that he would release her hand. She didn’t like this feeling, didn’t like knowing she was helpless, controlled by the power of his touch.
He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just stood there, holding her hand in his larger one, feeling the trembling and resisting the urge to wrap her into his arms and tell her to run as far away from Wall Street as possible. Instead, he held her tiny hand with the delicate bones, trying to suffuse her body with his strength. “Why?” he asked softly, his curiosity about this woman growing.
Why? She searched her mind frantically, not remembering where she was much less what she was supposed to be doing at the moment. And then it came back to her in a rush and she cringed inwardly at how ridiculous she must appear. “Because I have to find Mr. Watson. It’s urgent.”
The man’s smile only increased the painful pounding of her heart but, adding her wobbly knees and trembling limbs, she felt like she might just pass out. From a man’s touch? That sounded ridiculous, she told herself. Pulling her hand out, she stepped back from the man.
“I have to go,” she said with more force, shaking her head and forcing the wisps of hair out of her eyes. “Is his house that way?”
The tall, tanned and still fascinating man named Jack smiled slightly. “If you go down this road a bit more, you’ll run into another house.”
“And that’s where Mr. Watson lives?” she asked hopefully, desperate for clarification after this encounter.
The man shrugged those massive shoulders, still holding the half-empty bottle of water. “I’m pretty sure he’s not home but you’re welcome to go ring the doorbell. Molly might be there.”