“Did I read somewhere that real estate is in bad shape now?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes, you did. But this would be for entry-level or second-time buyers. That’s the group who wants a chance at the American dream. I have contacts with mortgage companies and construction outfits. With this combination, I think I can give these people a chance at getting a shot at owning their own homes.”

He was so fervent, so positive. She admired his confidence and decisiveness and wished she had a fraction of it. “You sound like you have it all planned out.”

“A lot of it,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about this for years. I bought the property, and I’ve just been waiting for the opportunity to move ahead.” He met her gaze and gave a wry laugh. “I never dreamed I’d get the chance by marrying the hottest girl in Texas.”

Her stomach twisted and tumbled. It gave her a thrill to think that she could help make Jackson ’s dream come true. He was so strong, so independent that she couldn’t imagine him ever really needing her. “You would have found a different way to get your funding. I was just in the right place at the right time.”

“You have a lot of confidence in me,” he said, cupping her jaw with his hand.

“You’ve earned it,” she said and wondered if or when he would ever have the same confidence in her. If or when she would have the same confidence in herself.

Chapter Eighteen

Geoffrey read half of Huckleberry Finn; then Maria kicked him out of her room so she could sleep. Since he couldn’t sleep, he spent most of the night at the piano. The next morning, Maria woke up as her snappy kick-ass self and insisted on performing her regular duties despite Geoffrey’s protests.

After dinner, Geoffrey sulked for a bit, but since Maria just ignored him, he gave up on that and returned to the piano. Feeling the keys beneath his fingers and the vibration of sound throughout his body usually calmed him. But not tonight. He was so incredibly torn.

He wanted Maria with every cell in his being. How could he possibly marry Lori? His stepmother had called again today and left several threatening messages. What a bloody mess.

Raking his hand through his hair, he sighed and began to play the piece Maria had inspired. He played everything he knew of it so far but felt as if there was another line. The sensation was like having a word on the tip of his tongue that he couldn’t quite summon.

The door creaked open behind him, interrupting him. He knew before turning who it was. Maria. He began to play a different song, one someone else had written. One to which he knew the blasted ending, which was more than he could say for his own composition.

“Why did you stop playing my song?” she asked, sliding beside him on the piano bench.

“You were listening?” he asked, glancing at her, feeling his stomach dip, his chest tighten, and something else grow hard. “I thought you were ignoring me.”

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she shot him a sideways glance. “That was because you were pouting.”

“Because you’re doing too much today. You should have rested more.”

“It’s my body,” she said. “I’m the best judge of that. So why did you stop playing my song?”

He decided not to look at her. The woman made him a mess. “I’m stuck. I don’t know what the ending is.”

“Ah,” she said.

“I know there’s something else, something more-” He frowned in concentration. “But I just can’t hear it. Yet.”

“Maybe I can help,” she offered.

“I thought you said you didn’t know much about music,” he said.

“I don’t play a musical instrument, but I know what I like.”

He nodded. “True, but how can that help?”

“There are other ways I could help,” she said.

“How?” he asked, still not wanting to look at her. She was too distracting. He wanted her too much. It was bad enough that her thigh was against his and he could almost feel the brush of her breast against his arm. She was one gigantic tease. From his peripheral vision, he saw her stand and straddle the piano bench so that she was facing him.

“Maybe I could inspire you?” she said and slid one of her hands over his thigh.

Geoffrey immediately felt his mental and emotional circuits crackle. His erection grew and his heart stopped. She lifted her head and rubbed her wicked mouth over his cheek, a caress that somehow managed to combine affection and seduction.

He couldn’t move a muscle, at least voluntarily.

“You’re not saying anything. You don’t like-”

Panic raced through him. Please, don’t stop. “I do like very much,” he managed through his tight throat.

She lifted her hand to his jaw and swiveled his head so that he was forced to look at her. Her lips were curved upward in a tempting smile, her eyes lit with promises he prayed she would keep. “Tell me what you like about me.”

“Everything,” he blurted out. “Every bloody thing.”

Her smile grew, and she lifted her mouth to his, nuzzling his lips. “I want a list,” she said. “Give me a list.”

He squeezed in a breath of air. “I like your hair,” he said. “It’s long and wavy, but soft.” He lifted his hand to touch, but she pushed his hand aside.

“Not until you finish the list,” she said playfully.

He wondered what kind of game she was playing but would do anything to keep her hand on his thigh or anywhere else, so he went along with her. “I like your eyes. They’re sexy.”

She squeezed his thigh and moved closer, brushing her breasts against his arm. Geoffrey was immediately consumed with thoughts of her breasts, touching them, caressing and kissing her nipples.

“Go on,” she said.

Fortitude, my man. Fortitude. “I like the way you wrinkle your nose when you’re displeased about something.”

She lifted her eyebrows in surprise. “I do?”

“Yes, you do, and you look down your nose at people when you get impatient with them.”

“I do not,” she said and wrinkled her nose. Realizing what she’d done, she wrinkled it again and removed her hand from Geoffrey’s thigh. He almost died. “Okay, maybe once in a while. What else?”

He cleared his throat. “Could you put your hand back on me?”

She met his gaze for a moment, then a realization crossed her face and she gave a wicked smile. “Does it help with the list?”

He nodded. She returned her hand to his thigh, this time higher, and he sighed in a combination of agony and expectation.

“More,” she said and rubbed her breasts against his arm.

He could say the same thing. More. Please. Now. He closed his eyes for a moment. “I love your mouth. It gives away your emotions. The way you talk, the way you smile. The way you laugh.” He sighed. “The way you kiss, although I don’t have nearly enough experience.”

A beat of silence followed, and he felt her lips on his jaw, moving down to his neck. Her tongue darted over his skin, scoring him with her heat, then he felt her open mouth on his neck and he shuddered with pleasure. She squeezed his thigh and he turned to take her mouth, but she backed away, shaking her head.

“The list,” she whispered, but he saw a hint of arousal in her eyes that gave him hope.

“I don’t like how you got your scar,” he said. “But I like what it says about you. You’re strong. You’re a survivor.”

Her gaze turned solemn. “For a stuffy, self-centered Englishman, you see a lot.”

Affronted, he sputtered. “Stuffy? Self-centered? I am neither stuffy nor self-”

“I know. Just wanted to see your reaction,” she said and smiled again. “Anything else you like about me?”

Dammit, she was pushing him to the edge. “Obviously I like your body. You could make every clock in England stop. I like everything I’ve seen, but I haven’t seen everything. I want to see more,” he said and decided to hell with it. “I want to feel more. Do more.”