by Vanessa Vale
Boom!
“See?”
Jack had that intense look of someone who handled panic well. Reasonably well, at least. His pupils were dilated, jaw clenched tight.
His breath was warm, his chest solid, his leg wedged between mine with his thigh brushing against me in all the right places. I was warming up quickly, especially when he shifted and he bumped against that one spot that made me feel oh, so good.
“It's Old Mr. Chalmers,” I gasped, trying to calm him, and keep from focusing on our compromising position or the very big bulge pressing into my belly.
“Who?” he asked. “Who the hell is that?”
I pushed at his chest and he rolled off me. I felt my nipples pebble, as if they craved Jack's body pressing into them. Sighing, I stood up, but Jack yanked on my wrist to pull me back down. His hand was freezing.
I looked at him, tried to reassure him we weren't under siege. “He lives across the street. It's okay. He only has bird seed in his shotgun.”
“Only bird seed,” Jack repeated. He tentatively stood up and peeked through the front window into the darkness. Boom! Jack ducked back out of sight.
“Why is he shooting at me?” He ran a hand over his face, took a deep breath. “How the hell do you stop him?”
I patted Jack's hand. “Relax, Reid. I'll go talk to him.” I was actually enjoying call him Reid. It was a blatant taunt, kind of like poking the hibernating bear, but there was more to Jack than he was sharing. Goldie had gotten a little bit of his life story out of him, but not enough. Maybe pushing his buttons would get him to open up.
“Oh no, you won't!”
Jack's protectiveness was very endearing—especially when he laid on top of me—but misplaced. I went to the door, pulled it open about a foot and yelled out. “Mr. Chalmers, it's me, Veronica!”
“Veronica?” I heard Mr. Chalmers holler back from across the street, most likely standing on his front porch in his long johns. It was too dark out to see much of anything.
“Yes, Mr. Chalmers. Everything's all right!”
“I saw a man going into the house.”
I looked at Jack and lifted an eyebrow. “See?”
Jack scratched the back of his head in a gesture I was starting to recognize as frustration. “No, I don't fucking see a thing.”
“He's crazy,” I replied as I circled my finger around by my ear.
Jack looked at me as if I was crazy. “I'm aware of that. Tell me something I don't know.”
“Hang on,” I told Jack. “Mr. Chalmers, it's just Jack Reid, Owen Reid's nephew!”
There was silence, then, “Owen Reid's nephew?”
I opened the door all the way and went out onto the porch, hugging my arms around me to stay warm. The bitter air bit into my cheeks. I pulled the sweatshirt's hood up onto my head. Coldness seeped through my wool socks. I shifted from foot to foot to keep them warm. “Mr. Chalmers, it's too cold to stand outside. Everything's all right. Thank you for watching out for me. I'll be safe with Jack Reid.”
I wasn't really so sure about that. Between having his skull bashed and being shot at, he might actually be a bit dangerous. And knowing what it felt like to be beneath him, our bodies aligning perfectly for a variety of naughty things, I wasn't sure of anything anymore.
“All right then,” Old Mr. Chalmers shouted back. “I'll check on you in the morning.”
I waved into the darkness then went inside and closed the door, grateful for the heat.
Jack still stood where I left him, shaking his head, most likely in disbelief. “Got anything to drink?”
“Beer in the fridge.” I slipped the hood off and rubbed my hands together. Beer might be good at a time like this, but I was cold. And that called for hot chocolate. I joined Jack in the kitchen.
Jack leaned a hip against the counter and took a big swig of beer from the bottle. He was wearing a heavy jacket and winter boots. Someone must have gone shopping.
“Explain,” he said.
I poured milk into a mug and put it into the microwave to heat. “You don't remember Old Mr. Chalmers?” I thought for a moment. “No, you wouldn't. You didn't live downtown.”
Jack had lived with his parents a few miles south of town until he was fourteen when they'd pretty much dumped him on his uncle. They'd gone off to Europe or some foreign destination and never came back. At least I'd never seen them and my mother would have told me if they had.
“He's a Vietnam vet who didn't come back the same. He thinks Violet and I are his long-lost daughters.”
Jack eyed me over his beer.
“He doesn't really have a daughter, but since we look the same, he thinks he has two. Odd, but it makes sense to him.”
The microwave dinged and I carefully put the mug on the counter. “Violet and I watch out for him, make sure he gets his mail and newspaper. Just stop by and talk with him. Another neighbor helps him with the snow blower and, in the summer, the yard work. He's the same one who loads his shotgun with bird seed. The Colonel takes him to the American Legion activities.”
I opened the pack of cocoa, poured it into the hot milk and stirred.
“It's a small town so we all help him out. He's really a sweet man,” I added, hoping Jack might think so, too.
“When he's not shooting at you,” Jack grumbled.
I picked up the mug and warmed my fingers. “Right, when he's not shooting at you.”
“I'll come in through the back yard from now on. Recycling?” He waved the empty bottle in the air. I pointed to the plastic tub on the side of the fridge. “I'm going to bed.”
Oh, right. Bed. “Um, there's only one bed.”
“Couch?”
I shook my head. “The living room's too small for a big one.”
Jack smiled. “Miller, it looks like we're taking the term roommates to a whole new level.”
I paused for a moment to calm the butterflies in my stomach. “Um, what?”
He pushed off the counter leaving me standing there with a steaming cup of cocoa and a kick-started libido. “Do you sleep on the right or the left?” he called from the bedroom.
I didn't need the drink for warmth anymore. I had a little bit of lust and a whole lot of anger taking care of that. Violet's bedroom was small, the double-sized bed taking up most of the space. It was ample enough for one person, but two....
Putting the mug on the counter, I stalked into the bedroom. “What are you talking about? You're not sleeping in my bed.”
Jack tossed the extra pillows I'd been leaning against onto the floor. He looked at me across the bed. “It's not yours, is it?”
My mouth dropped open. “Um, no.” I wouldn't be caught dead with a man in my bedroom with a bright fuchsia comforter, turquoise flannel sheets and throw pillows in a weird Muppet-type fur.
“We'll think of it as a hotel. There's no way I'm sleeping in a chair. It's too cold, and I'm too sober to sleep on the floor,” he said dryly.
“You expect me to sleep in a chair?” I asked. No way, no how.
“No. I expect you to control yourself and keep your hands off me.” He winked at me.
My eyebrows went up to my hairline and I put my hands on my hips. “Control myself?” I sputtered.
“Fine. We'll make a pillow wall between us.” He bent down to pick up the pillows he'd just tossed on the floor and built a pseudo wall down the middle of the bed. Jack eyed his handiwork, then clearly satisfied, grabbed his bag and headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
I just stood there like a complete idiot. Frozen in place at the horror. I was going to sleep in a bed with Jack Reid. I was going to sleep in a bed with Jack Reid. Holy shit! My heart fluttered wildly at the thought. It had been a dream of mine and now it was going to happen. Right now!
Then I sobered as if I was doused in cold water. There was a pillow berm in the middle of the bed. That wasn't in my fantasy. I realized my lusty thoughts weren't sleep in a bed with Jack Reid, it was sleep with Jack Reid. The differenc
e between reality and my fantasy was that we were actually going to sleep. And the only time I was going to find myself beneath Jack's rock-hard body was if someone was shooting at him.
10
Light streamed through the gauzy curtains, waking me from a delicious sleep. I was warm and cozy, under a thick down comforter. My head rested on a hard chest, soft hairs tickling my chin. One of my arms was thrown over a flat, rigid stomach, my leg wedged between two of—
I launched myself bolt upright when the intimacy of my situation dawned on me. Holding myself up on one hand, I looked down at the sleeping Jack. His chest was tan with dark, springy hair sprinkled across the middle leading down to his belly button, and from there in a happy trail that led to the edge of his boxers. Somehow, he wasn't covered with the comforter, nor the sheet, and I was able to look my fill.
“So much for the pillow wall,” I mumbled.
“If you'd wanted to lie on top of me all night, why did we build one in the first place?” he asked, his voice rough. So much for a sleeping Jack.
My mouth fell open, and then I closed it with a click of my teeth. How dare he? As if I'd wanted to sleep on top of him! The annoying jerk. There was no answer to that question that would be in my favor. So, I took another tack.
“Why do you have ducks on your boxers?” I rolled my eyes, wishing myself anywhere but in bed with Jack. Had I just asked him about his underwear?
Jack lazily opened his eyes, took in my most-likely crazy bed head, my pink tank top I’d had on beneath my hoodie and flannel pajama bottoms. One finger snaked out and tugged gently at the elastic waistband of my pants.
I swatted his hand away before he saw anything important.
“Why don't you wear any underwear to bed?” he asked, his eyes on my breasts. I looked down. My nipples were hard and obscenely visible through the stretchy cotton. I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Oooh,” I squealed and climbed out of bed, grabbing clothes willy-nilly from the folded pile in the laundry basket, and stalked into the bathroom. I heard Jack chuckle before I slammed the door.
An hour later, we were bundled up against the weather, Jack headed to his rental, me to the van. I turned over the engine and cranked the heat. Jack appeared beside my driver’s side window and I rolled it down.
“Car won't start,” he said. He yanked on the collar of his jacket and pulled it up higher about his neck.
“So?” I grumbled. I was so frustrated with him. He brought out the absolute worst in me, pushing every button I had to make me angry, annoyed, and horny. Damn the man for making me hot for him!
Jack rolled his eyes. “So, give me a ride to my uncle's until it warms up enough for the rental to start.” Ten below was not good for cars left outside. More often than not, when it was this cold, they didn't start. Without a garage to keep a car warm, most Montanans had a block heater retrofitted onto their engines so they could be plugged in at night. It kept the engine warm enough to start, in any arctic climate, like my van. Jack's rental didn't have this kind of set-up.
I sighed, and then nodded. “Fine, get in.”
I rolled the window back up while Jack dashed around the hood, climbed in the passenger side. He picked up the gnome and placed it on his lap.
“What's this?” he asked. Our breaths came out in fluffy white air about us. Jack smelled clean like Violet's soap, but also something spicy and manly.
“That's George the Gnome. Jane West's son, Zach, wants him to go to work with me.”
Jack eyed the ceramic gnome, contemplated it. “Huh.”
I put the van in gear and drove off. Little did Jack know we were both headed to the same place.
“We're going to have to work on the sleeping arrangements,” Jack said, filling the silence between us. “I'm surprised you're throwing yourself at me like you are. You weren't interested in high school.”
I swiveled my head to look at him. “What?” Had he slipped and hit his head again? “Throwing myself at you? What woman in their right mind wants to sleep with a complete jerk?”
Jack crossed his arms over his chest with a rustle of nylon coat. “You were the one lying on top of me, sweetheart. If you want to sleep with me, just say so.”
“That's it!” I shouted, looking in my rearview mirror before pulling off to the side of the road with a slam of the brakes. Tools in the back rattled around. I put the van in park and turned to look at him. “Let's get the air cleared now, shall we? Why should I”—I pointed myself—“want to sleep with someone who's already been with my sister? My identical twin sister. I'd think it would be a case of been-there-done-that. Or do you just want to compare?”
Jack's head jerked back as if I'd punched him in the face. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I waved at the air between us. “You know, Reid, that time in high school when you slept with Violet?”
“I never slept with Violet.” Jack's voice was flat and cold. “You sent Violet on your date with me.” It was Jack's turn to point. “You sent your sister as a trick,” he spat out the words. “Your identical twin sister because you didn't want to go out with me.”
My mouth fell open. Nothing came out for a few seconds. “I never did that!”
“Then who the hell did?” Jack's voice was as loud as mine in the confined space.
The answer hit me like a ton of bricks, or a Triple Smacker paddle. “Violet. That little—”
“Bitch,” Jack answered. The look on his face changed from anger to something else entirely. I wasn't sure what it was, but I knew he wasn't upset with me anymore. “Let's take a stroll down memory lane. I asked you out about a month before graduation. That was you, right?”
I nodded at the memory. I'd been so happy, over the moon thrilled that a guy like Jack would be interested in me. “Yes. But the night before the date, Violet told me you asked me out by mistake, that it was her you wanted to date. Not me.”
“Violet?” He shook his head and looked as if he thought the very idea insane. “Hell, no. I wanted to go out with you. The girl in my science class, the one who always twisted her hair up in a pencil.”
I smiled at that memory. “My hair always got in the way in Biology and Mr. Blonsky made me put it up so it wouldn't catch fire from the Bunsen burner. I'd forgotten about that.”
Jack's eyes moved to my hair, most of it tucked up underneath my winter cap except for a long braid down my neck. “I haven't. You wanted to go out with me. I wanted to go out with you. Violet got in the way.” His voice was much calmer now.
“I thought you wanted Violet instead of me. My feelings were crushed when she told me,” I said, my voice soft. I remembered the horrible feeling, the rejection. A young girl truly devastated by her first crush.
“The date was really weird.” He looked out the front windshield through the frozen ice and foggy glass. “You weren't acting anything like yourself. I didn't even want to kiss you. I'd dreamed of it all year long and when the time came, I didn't want to do it.”
“You didn't sleep with her?” I crossed my mental fingers. I didn't sleep with anyone who'd been with Violet.
“I didn't even kiss her.”
I beamed, inside and out. The weight from the past ten years had been lifted. He hadn't wanted my sister instead of me. He'd wanted me.
“You didn't change your mind and send your sister to mess with me.” It wasn't a question, but a statement. Jack's gaze moved to my mouth.
I shook my head. “Never,” I whispered.
He leaned toward me. I leaned toward him, closing the cold space between us. Our lips met, gently, tentatively as if not believing the moment was real. My eyelids drifted shut at the pleasure. Jack's mouth was incredibly soft against mine, his breath minty from toothpaste. He brushed his lips back and forth, ever so sweetly as if learning me. It was like we were both savoring the moment. I'd longed for his kiss since I was sixteen. It was a surprise it was actually happening.
“Miller,” Jack whispered. Now, the nickname sounded e
ndearing.
“What?” I whispered back.
“This gnome is jabbing into my ribs,” he said, our breaths mingling.
He pulled back from the kiss, lifted George out of his lap. The beady gaze, the snarky leer of the bearded little man was all but telling me to go for it before being placed on the floor out of sight. Turning back to me, Jack smiled, looked in my eyes. I hadn't seen that look—longing, lust, need—since Biology class. He wanted me. Me! He lifted a hand to circle around behind my neck, his fingers warm against my nape. Pulling me to him, our lips met once again. This time it wasn't gentle, but we weren’t kids anymore. Jack's tongue thrust into my mouth and I let him. This was a grown-up kiss. Not a kiss of love-struck teenagers.
“Miller,” Jack murmured.
“What?” I asked again, my voice—and body—filled with frustration. My nipples were hard and lower down, I ached with anticipation.
“What about your date?”
“What date?” I had no idea what he was talking about. I hadn't been on a date in too many months. My brain had steamed over so I didn't know much of anything at the moment.
Jack's breath was hot on my neck. “The guy you went out with yesterday.”
I froze for a moment, recalling my little white lie. Oh yeah, George. “Jealous?”
“Hell, yeah.” His voice was rough, possessive.
I smiled, then let Jack off the hook. I now had him, literally, within my grasp and I wanted nothing to get in the way. Especially an imaginary date with a garden gnome. “Didn't work out,” I replied and pulled his mouth back to mine.
The heater finally kicked in and hot air blasted us from the vents. Jack's dark scent filled the van and my senses. We kissed for an indeterminate amount of time in our steamy cocoon, making out like teenagers. If it weren’t for the layers of winter clothing, I had no doubt Jack would have made it to second base…and I’d have let him.
Jack rested his forehead against mine. “I could kiss you all day. Hell, I want to take you back into Violet's house and have my way with you. Do everything I dreamed about when I was eighteen. And a few things I’ve learned since then. But I've got to meet the plumber at my uncle's house and I don't want to be late.”
