Therefore, his voice was rough when he urged, “Belle, I want you to kiss me.”
Her eyes looked into his, he saw the struggle she was waging with her mind then her lids grew heavy, her stormy gaze grew dazed and he knew he had her.
Her head tilted and she pressed her parted lips against his.
That was all he made her do. Jack gladly took it from there.
He knew his end game before she put her mouth to his.
He had no intention of fucking her on the couch as much as he wanted to do so.
He had every intention of making her desire spin out-of-control.
He was going to make her want him so badly she couldn’t hide it from him or, more importantly, herself. She couldn’t deny it and she definitely couldn’t walk away from it.
He was not, however, going to leave her wanting.
Using his hands and mouth, his vivid memories of the delicious places where she was most vulnerable and the innate understanding that she’d been abstinent the last four months, relentlessly Jack took her to the edge in very little time.
They were facing each other on the couch, side by side, his mouth was on hers, their tongues dancing, her hand was up his shirt at the back, fingers digging into his flesh. He’d pulled her skirt up around her hips, his hand was in her panties, fingers pressing into a place that forced those sweet, husky, unbelievably sexy noises from her throat.
This was when Jack, somewhat vaguely, recognised the flaw in his plan.
For he might have no intention of fucking her on the couch, he had the forceful desire to do just that.
He controlled his craving with an iron will and, when she pressed her hips into his hand, he ended their kiss and murmured against her lips, “Tell me what you want, poppet.”
He thought this would take some effort.
He was, with masochistic indulgence, looking forward to it.
Therefore he found it surprising, and infinitely satisfying, when it took no effort at all.
She pressed her torso to his and her free hand slid into his hair as her hips ground down on his hand.
Then she lifted beautiful, dazed eyes to his and whispered, “You.”
At her easy but delightful capitulation, he slid his finger inside her and watched her lips part and her neck arch as his hand moved.
Jack loved the sleek, wet feel of her and the sound of the noises she made. He’d only had them for a night, four months ago but having them again made him realise the raw intensity with which he missed them.
As her reward for giving them to him again so freely, he pressed his thumb to the heat of her and circled.
The noises she made quickened. He knew she was close and his mouth came down on hers and absorbed the soft, sweet mew of her climax.
He broke his mouth from hers and tucked her face in his neck as he coaxed the final tremors from her body, her breath coming fast against the skin at his throat.
When she was finished, gently, he pulled his hand away from her. When he felt the swift intake of breath between her lips, he decided that instead of righting her skirt as he intended, he’d slide his hand over her bottom and press her soft hips to his hard ones.
And this was what he did.
She remained pleasantly docile in his arms and only when he felt the stiffness of embarrassment creeping in did he speak.
“Don’t,” he ordered gently.
“I can’t believe –” she whispered against his throat.
“Don’t, Belle,” he repeated on a squeeze of his arms.
She grew silent.
Then, hesitantly and very softly, she said, “You didn’t –”
Jack cut her off again, “When I have you again, poppet, it’ll be in my bed.” He paused. “Or yours.”
“But why –?” she began again and he interrupted her again.
“I was impatient to make things more complicated.”
He felt her tip her head back to look at him and when he dipped his chin to meet her eyes, he noted she hadn’t moved her arm from around his back and the fingers of her other hand were still in his hair.
This made him inordinately glad.
As this feeling stole over him, he watched her eyes change, that radiance from earlier in the day came over them but she remarked, “You get impatient a lot.”
“This is probably true,” he agreed.
“It’s definitely true,” she whispered shyly and he grinned.
His head bent further and he touched his mouth to hers.
He only moved away an inch to say, “Then it’s only fair to warn you, after that magnificent display, I’m feeling even more impatient to make things vastly more complicated.”
“Jack –”
He cut her off again by saying simply, “Belle.”
Her eyes skittered to his ear. He felt a mild annoyance that he lost her even for a moment before what she said next, in a voice that was so quiet it was nearly imperceptible, made this annoyance melt away.
“You don’t think I’m a brazen hussy?”
He stared at her long enough for her eyes to come back to his in anxious enquiry and when they did, he burst out laughing.
Her body went stiff but he knew it wasn’t in embarrassment. It was irritation.
Even so, his arm tightened around her, his hand at her ass pressing her hips deeper into his and he held her close to him until he controlled his amusement.
When he dipped down his chin to look at her, it was not difficult in the slightest to read that she was cross.
Her next words and the way she uttered them, including using his full name, proved her expression true.
“You laugh at very strange things, James Bennett.”
“I’m not sure you realise how amusing you are, poppet,” he returned.
“I wasn’t meaning to be amusing. In fact, nearly every time you’ve laughed I wasn’t meaning to be amusing,” she shot back.
He loved it as well when her shyness disappeared and her spirit emerged (but not nearly as much as the noises she made when she was reaching orgasm).
He decided for her sake to try to be serious although he found this difficult considering the subject matter.
“All right, love, obviously this means something to you so perhaps you can explain to me how exactly you’ve behaved like a brazen hussy.”
He could barely say the last two words without chuckling but he managed it.
Just.
Her mouth dropped open before she said tartly, “Well, let me see. I had sex with you within hours of meeting you.”
His head dipped close and he brushed his lips against hers before muttering, “Yes, that was nice.”
Her hand left his hair and she slapped his bicep.
“Jack, I’m being serious,” she snapped.
He moved his face away from hers and fought back a grin. “Of course, my apologies. Carry on.”
Her eyes widened at his invitation then they narrowed then she hissed, “Carry on? Do I need to remind you that I also spent the night with you, I was dating your brother at the time and, icing on the cake, I got pregnant. Now, I’m adding ice cream, whipped cream and sprinkles by fooling around with you on your couch.” She emphasized the last three words then, as if his study was open to the public and they were on view, further stressed, “In your study.” She waited for his response to this damning information and when there wasn’t one she finished, “If that doesn’t define brazen hussy, nothing does.”
Jack made a guess and knew, intuitively, it was no risk.
“Have you ever had sex with someone the first night you met?” he asked.
“No,” she answered instantly.
“Have you ever had sex with someone when you were dating someone else?” he went on.
“No!” she responded rather more forcefully.
His hand drifted up her spine and he continued light-heartedly, “Have you ever fooled around on a couch in a study with the father of your child?”
He felt her body tense then
relax before she said, “Jack –”
He didn’t let her continue.
“What that means is you aren’t a brazen hussy.” His face got closer to hers and his voice dipped lower. “What it means, my love, is that I’m a very lucky man.”
“Jack –” she began again, he had no idea what she intended to say but he didn’t care.
He again didn’t let her finish.
Instead, he changed the subject by saying, “Thank you, poppet.”
He watched her head jerk and her face grow confused before she asked hesitantly, “For what?”
He moved, using his body to push hers back into the couch so he was mostly on top of her, tangling his legs with hers but protectively avoiding resting any of his weight against their child in her belly.
His lips went to her neck as he tugged down her skirt.
“For letting me make you come,” he answered on a murmur.
Her hands moved to rest against his chest and, even as he felt her tremble, she suggested, “Maybe we should have that talk now.”
His head came up and his hand moved to frame the side of her face.
He watched her a moment and then asked softly, “Do you feel safe with me?”
She blinked then wet her lips but she did not answer.
His thumb traced her lower lip while he muttered, “That’s all right, it’ll come.”
“Jack –” she started yet again but he dipped his head and kissed her, thoroughly. He didn’t break from her mouth until her hands slid from his chest, her arms were tight around him, her body was pliant under his and he knew, at least for that moment, she was his.
Then he rested his forehead to hers, his thumb stroking her cheekbone and he commented, “I think I’m going to very much like Sunday afternoons.”
She tipped her chin up, pressing her own mouth against his.
Jack smiled in triumph against her lips and slanted his head to deepen the kiss when a sharp, urgent knock came at the door.
Both of them froze. Jack with extreme irritation. Belle, he suspected, with something else entirely.
Jack moved first, knifing away from her. He leaned down, pulled her to sitting and fully righted her skirt.
Then he turned to the door, wondering with unamused annoyance if he needed to resort to placing a do not disturb sign on the knob.
He pulled open the door to see his mother standing outside and this surprised him.
She knew better.
“What’s –?” Jack started but Joy talked over him.
“Darling, we have a wee problem.”
“And that would be?” Jack asked impatiently as he felt Belle arrive at his side.
Jack looked down at Belle to see she’d tidied her ponytail and was wearing an enquiring expression but her mouth was swollen from his kisses and her grey eyes were soft and languid.
She looked, exactly, like she’d just had an immensely pleasurable orgasm.
Jack had seen that look before. He very much liked it and it gratified him that he’d given it to her.
However, he didn’t like sharing it.
Especially with his mother.
His mother looked at Belle then at Jack and she bit her lip before she said, “I’m sorry to interrupt.”
Jack was sorry too.
More than he could say.
However nonverbally he spoke volumes and he knew his mother read his face because she nervously kept biting her lip.
Jack slid an arm along Belle’s shoulders and pulled her close, suggesting to his mother, “All right Mum, maybe you’d care to explain why you’ve interrupted.”
“Well, see… erm…” she stammered.
“Mum,” Jack warned.
Quickly, not looking at Belle, she whispered, “Rachel’s seen Myrtle and Lewis and she’s a bit…” her eyes slid to Belle then back to Jack, “upset.”
Jack sighed and asked a question to which he already knew the answer, “You explained they don’t exist, didn’t you?”
Joy Bennett had been “seeing” Myrtle and Lewis for forty years. It was sporadic and infrequent but she claimed the first time she saw them was within days of moving to The Point after she married Jack’s father.
Therefore Jack was relatively certain, since Joy believed they existed, that she wouldn’t explain to Rachel, who was a sight more odd, loud, if not more dramatic than his mother, that she didn’t.
“Erm…” his mother mumbled, answering without actually answering and Jack clenched his teeth.
Then he looked down at Belle. “Did you tell your mother you’d seen them?”
Belle shook her head as Joy asked in a breathy voice, “You’ve seen them?”
Belle nodded at Joy. “Yesterday,” when Joy didn’t respond, Belle added, “they weirded me out.”
“Oh dear. They usually aren’t this active. Sometimes its years between times I see them and I saw them only the other day, twice. And they’re pretty choosy who they show themselves to.” Joy’s eyes moved to Jack. “What do you think this means?”
“I think it means I need to hire a counsellor to come to The Point for a group session,” Jack answered dryly.
“Jack!” both Belle and his mother cried.
“There are no such things as ghosts, Mum, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t fill Belle’s head with that rubbish,” Jack returned.
Joy gave him her patented affronted mother look. “I haven’t uttered a word.”
Jack was about to speak when Belle put in, “She hasn’t.”
Jack looked down at Belle to assess if she was lying in a misguided attempt to assist his mother or if she was serious.
With one look, he knew she was serious.
He found this mildly surprising.
However, considering the sum total of melodramatic femininity which was currently housed under his roof, he didn’t find it troubling.
“I didn’t say anything to Rachel or Lila either,” Joy added. “You, and your father before you I might add, always get so foul tempered when I even mention it. So I usually don’t bother.” She turned to Belle and added conversationally, “Though, it’s a fascinating story.”
“Mum,” Jack warned when he felt Belle’s body tense at his side.
“Well, it is,” Joy defended.
“It doesn’t matter. They scare Belle and I don’t want you saying another word,” Jack asserted.
Joy turned to Belle. “Oh darling, there’s nothing to be scared of. I promise, they’re actually quite –”
“Mum!” Jack clipped sharply and Joy jumped.
“Um, I hate to interrupt your chitchat but my daughter is freaking out!” Lila called from down the hall while walking toward them. Her eyes were on Jack. “And you better do something about it, my man, because she’s upstairs, in Belle’s room, packing her things, mumbling about haunted houses and how her pregnant daughter was getting as far as she could from this creepy place.”
“Fucking hell,” Jack muttered.
At the same time, Belle mumbled an alarmingly experienced, “Uh-oh.”
When Lila arrived at their group, Jack made a swift, acutely irritating but necessary decision and asked, “What does she drink?”
Lila blinked up at him and parroted, “Drink?”
“Rachel,” Jack went on with slipping patience. “What does she drink?”
Lila looked at Belle and mumbled, “Better question is what doesn’t she drink?”
Belle giggled, it wasn’t with humour but with nervousness and Jack’s patience slipped further.
“Lila,” he said low and her gaze snapped to him.
“I’d say this was a tequila moment,” Lila answered.
“I think we have tequila,” his mother informed them quickly.
“Get it,” Jack ordered and looked at Lila. “You get Rachel.” Then he told them both. “Meet us back here in the study.”
“Gotcha, big man,” Lila said breezily and moved down the hall.
Joy looked at Jack and asked, “What are yo
u going to do?”
Jack pulled Belle closer to his side and answered, “I’m going to do nothing. You’re going to tell the story of Myrtle and Lewis.”
Before she could think better of it even in the face of Jack’s visibly slipping patience, Joy exclaimed excitedly, “Oh goody, I’m going to call Yasmin.”
“If you call Yasmin, I’ll break your fingers,” Jack clipped out his empty threat with as much menace as he could muster which was rather a lot at that juncture.
Joy ignored the considerable menace and smiled radiantly at him. “No you won’t, darling.” Then she looked at Belle and confided, “Yasmin loves this story. She’s never seen Myrtle and Lewis but she’s dying to. She’ll be so jealous.”
Then Joy hurried away in search of tequila.
Jack looked down at Belle and saw her face was pale and her eyes were locked on his mother’s departing back.
“Poppet,” Jack called and her head tipped to look up at him.
“Do you think the baby could withstand a shot of tequila?” She paused briefly before finishing, “Or three?”
“No,” Jack replied instantly.
Belle’s gaze dropped to his throat.
“I didn’t think so,” she muttered with disappointment.
In any other mood, Jack would find this amusing.
Considering he’d just been interrupted in his continuing efforts to win Belle’s trust at the same time making their situation significantly more complicated, so complicated it was a knotted mess from which she could never extract herself, he was not in such a mood.
Therefore Jack guided Belle back into the study wondering if he could politely rid The Point of his mother, Lila and Rachel without overly upsetting Belle.
At the very least for Sunday afternoons.
Chapter Twelve
The Thunderstorm
Belle
Belle stared out the window of Jack’s study, both her hands resting on her baby bump.
The white-capped waves were rolling out as far as the eye could see and the wind had picked up. Even though there were only fluffy, white clouds in the sky, Belle knew from ten years of living in England, five of those in Cornwall, that the weather was going to turn.
Lucky Stars Page 20
