Loving Jack

'The object is for both of us to have what we want-or as nearly as possible. It's a big house.'

She lifted both brows as his eyes narrowed. That look, she thought again. That Jake look was hard to resist. Nathan's coming back when he did might have been the sort of odd bonus fate sometimes tossed out. Jackie was always ready to make the grab for it.

'I'm an excellent roommate. I could give you references from several people. I went to a variety of colleges, you see, so I lived with a variety of people. I can be neat if that's important, and I can be quiet and unobtrusive.'

'I find that difficult to believe.'

'No, really, especially when I'm immersed in my own project, like I am now. I write almost all day. This story's really the most important thing in my life right now. I'll have to tell you about it, but we'll save that.'

'I'd appreciate it.'

'You have a wonderfully subtle sense of humor, Nathan. Don't ever lose it. Anyhow, I'm a strong believer in atmosphere. You must be, too, being an architect.'

'You're losing me again.' He shoved the coffee aside. Too much stimulation, that must be it. Another cup and he might just start understanding her.

'The house,' Jackie said patiently. Her eyes were the problem, Nathan decided. There was something about them that compelled you to look and listen when all you really wanted to do was hold your hands over your ears and run.

'What about the house?'

'There's something about it. The minute I set up here, everything just started flowing. With the story. If I moved, well, don't you think things might stop flowing just as quickly? I don't want to chance that. So I'm willing to make some compromises.'

'You're willing to make some compromises,' Nathan repeated slowly. 'That's fascinating. You're living in my house, without my consent, but you're willing to make some compromises.'

'It's only fair.' There was that smile again, quick and brilliant. 'You don't cook. I do.' Jackie gestured with both hands as if to show the simplicity of it. 'I'll prepare all of your meals, at my expense, for as long as I'm here.'

It sounded reasonable. Why in the hell did it sound so reasonable when she said it? 'That's very generous of you, but I don't want a cook, or a roommate.'

'How do you know? You haven't had either yet.'

'What I want,' he began, careful to space his words and keep his tone even, 'is privacy.'

'Of course you do.' She didn't touch him, but her tone was like a pat on the head. He nearly growled. 'We'll make a pact right now. I'll respect your privacy and you'll respect mine. Nathan…' She leaned toward him, again covering his hand with hers in a move that was natural rather than calculated. 'I know you've got absolutely no reason to do me any favors, but I'm really committed to this book. For reasons of my own, I've a great need to finish it, and I'm sure I can. Here.'

'If you're trying to make me feel guilty because I'd be sabotaging the great American novel-'

'No, I'm not. I would have if I'd thought of it, but I didn't. I'm just asking you to give me a chance. A couple of weeks. If I drive you crazy, I'll leave.'

'Jacqueline, I've known you about twelve hours, and you've already driven me crazy.'

She was winning. There was just the slightest hint of it in his tone, but she caught it and pounced. 'You ate all your pancakes.'

Almost guiltily, Nathan looked down at his empty plate. 'I've had nothing but airplane food for twenty-four hours.'

'Wait until you taste my crepes. And my Belgian waffles.' She caught her lower lip between her teeth. 'Nathan, think of it. You won't have to open a single can as long as I'm around.'

Involuntarily he thought of all the haphazard meals he'd prepared, and about the barely edible ones he brought into the house in Styrofoam containers. 'I'll eat out.'

'A fat lot of privacy you'd have sitting in crowded restaurants and competing for a waiter's attention. With my solution, you won't have to do anything but relax.'

He hated restaurants. And God knew he'd had enough of them over the past year. The arrangement made perfect sense, at least while he was comfortably full of her blueberry pancakes.

'I want my room back.'

'That goes without saying.'

'And I don't like small talk in the morning.'

'Completely uncivilized. I do want pool privileges.'

'If I stumble over you or any of your things even once, you're out.'

'Agreed.' She held out a hand, sensing he was a man who would stand by a handshake. She was even more certain of it when she saw him hesitate. Jackie brought out what she hoped would be the coup de grace. 'You really would hate yourself if you threw me out, you know.'

Nathan scowled at her but found his palm resting against hers. A small hand, and a soft one, he thought, but the grip was firm. If he lived to regret this temporary arrangement, he'd have one more score to settle with Fred. 'I'm going to take a spa.'

'Good idea. Loosen up all those tense muscles. By the way, what would you like for lunch?'

He didn't look back. 'Surprise me.'

Jackie picked up his plate and did a quick dance around the kitchen.

* * *

Temporary insanity. Nathan debated the wisdom of pleading that cause to his associates, his family or the higher courts. He had a boarder. A nonpaying one at that. Nathan Powell, a conservative, upstanding member of society, a member of the Fortune 500, the thirty-two-year-old wunderkind of architecture, had a strange woman in his house.

He didn't necessarily mean strange as in unknown. Jackie MacNamara was strange. He'd come to that conclusion when he'd seen her meditating by the pool after lunch. He'd glanced out and spotted her, sitting cross-legged on the stone apron, head tilted back, eyes closed, hands resting lightly on her knees, palms up. He'd been mortally afraid she was reciting a mantra. Did people still do that sort of thing?

He must have been insane to agree to her arrangement because of blueberry pancakes and a smile. Jet lag, he decided as he poured another glass of iced tea Jackie had made to go with a truly exceptional spinach salad. Even a competent, intelligent man could fall victim to the weakness of the body after a transatlantic flight.

Two weeks, he reminded himself. Technically, he'd only agreed to two weeks. After that time had passed, he could gently but firmly ease her on her way. In the meantime, he would do what he should have done hours ago-make certain he didn't have a maniac on his hands.

There was a neat leather-bound address book by the kitchen phone, as there was by every phone in the house. Nathan flipped through it to the L's. Jackie was upstairs working on her book-if indeed there was a book at all. He would make the call, glean a few pertinent facts, then decide how to move from there.

'Lindstrom residence.'

'Adele Lindstrom, please, Nathan Powell calling.'

'One moment, Mr. Powell.'

Nathan sipped tea as he waited. A man could become addicted to having it made fresh instead of digging crystallized chemicals out of a jar. Absently he drew a cigarette out of his pocket and tapped the filter on the counter.

'Nathan, dear, how are you?'

'Adele. I'm very well, and you?'

'Couldn't be better, though March insists on going out like a lion here. What can I do for you, dear? Are you in Chicago?'

'No, actually I've just arrived home. Your nephew Fred was, ah… house-sitting for me.'