Jump Start (Texas Hotzone Book 1)

by Lisa Renee Jones

  Suddenly, a furry, big-eared kitty was on top of her, purring with demand. “I know, Julie. You want your special morning food.” Jennifer ran her hand over the kitty’s fur, though at one year old, she was hardly a kitten anymore. A big, pampered baby was more like it.

  She hugged her friendly pet. The two J’s. Jennifer and sweet kitty, Julie. Them against the world, and Jennifer was okay with that. Right. Okay. With. That. No Bobby. Mark and Marcie, the two M’s, slid into her mind.

  With a sigh, Jennifer set Julie on the floor. Julie gave her a demanding meow, followed by several more, as in ready for that food—now. “Well,” she murmured, “you do have demanding down well.”

  Julie meowed louder, as if proving that point.

  Sternly, playfully, Jennifer warned, “Wait, you little fur ball!” She quickly reset her alarm, and snatched her cell phone from the nightstand. Reluctantly, she turned it back on.

  Marcie had called a good half-dozen times last night but Jennifer had nothing to say to Marcie. Not now. Not until she cooled off. Obviously Marcie thought her upcoming wedding gave her the right to do whatever she wanted. To some extent that was true, but within limits. And Bobby hit every limit Jennifer owned. Of course, with the party tomorrow night, she’d have to face her sometime then, but that gave her a day with her work to get past any remaining hurt feelings.

  Jennifer shoved her feet into hot-pink slippers, glad for a small smile Julie produced as she attacked one of them. Jennifer grabbed her hot-pink, knee-length robe, a shade lighter than her cotton boxers and tank top, and slipped it over her shoulders.

  She didn’t do lack of sleep well, but when she was forced to, she did cranky exceptionally well. In fact, she could almost feel the crankiness rolling off her in big, powerful waves. Easier to deal with than the emotion beneath it, the ache of facing Bobby, and realizing, despite all he’d done to her, she still reacted to him. Still wanted him. She quickly brushed her teeth and considered the shower.

  “Coffee,” she murmured, heading to the navy-blue, rectangular-shaped kitchen. Its shiny compact prettiness had sold her on the condo, despite her lack of skill in the cooking department. She eyed the dishes in the sink she’d forgotten the night before. “Lots of coffee. I’m going to need lots of coffee.” Thank goodness, despite sleep deprivation, she would have her animals to keep her busy and force more smiles today.

  And on that note, Jennifer put the meowing kitty out of her misery, and filled her food bowl. Next, she snagged the coffeepot and headed to the sink.

  Holding it under the water, Jennifer froze when a knock sounded on her front door.

  Jennifer set the pot down on the counter and turned off the water, the thundering of her heart exploding in her ears. Another knock and she steeled herself to answer the door. She pulled the sash to her robe into place and tied it a bit more firmly than necessary. As if a cotton tie would somehow protect her from what—correction, who—was waiting for her on the other side of that door. She could do this. She could face Bobby and be strong. She was strong. She was happy. Bobby showing up didn’t change anything.

  And because she was a smart girl, who’d lived alone her entire adult life, she did the smart thing, not to mention the thing that gave her a chance to stall, but that was beside the point—she called out rather than opened the door. “Who is it?”

  “Man bearing gifts,” came the all-too-familiar voice, all-too-richly buttered with memories and heat. The kind of heat only one man had ever conjured in her. That he still got to her, that he stroked her into arousal so effortlessly, with a simple spoken word filled with memories, agitated her almost as much as the idea of a gift. Did he really think a present would erase seven years of silence?

  “Go away, Bobby,” she said, her voice irritatingly raspy with uncontained emotion. “Whatever it is, I don’t want it.”

  “You want this,” he assured her. “I guarantee it.”

  “I don’t,” she said sternly. But I want you, she added silently, hating him for having power over her after all this time. She firmed her voice. “Go away, Bobby.”

  A beat of tension-laden silence followed before he replied, “Venti White Mocha, no foam, no whip, extrahot.”

  Her eyes went wide, jaw slack. The nerve of him to bring her favorite drink, to use the past against her. This was manipulation, and it was wrong.

  Jennifer forgot the robe, the hair sticking up, the lack of makeup. Forgot the hidden fear of facing Bobby again and somehow shattering into the emotional wreck she’d promised herself she was not. She yanked open the door, fully intending a verbal attack and falling flat on her proverbial face the moment she brought Bobby into focus.

  He stood there, a mere few feet away, dangerously sexy. Denim clad—God, how the man made denim look delicious—light blond stubble shading his jaw, crystal-blue eyes twinkling with awareness and mischief, holding a Venti Starbucks, a box of her favorite donuts and, damn it, her heart. He still had her heart. And she knew, in that moment, he’d had it for far too long. He didn’t deserve it. Not after the way he’d left her.

  His coming home for the wedding was a good thing. Good because now she could face him and get over him. Now, she could take back her heart, once and for all.

  3

  HOT ON THE SPOT. That was Bobby when Jennifer opened her door in her skimpy robe, displaying miles of leg and sexy, slender curves. In fact, he was so hot, the Texas sun might as well have been at high noon—because he sure was. Hot. Hard. Aching with need well beyond the physical. With memories of Jennifer waking up in his arms, in his life.

  “Peace offering,” he explained, indicating the coffee and the box of chocolate-covered Krispy Kremes she so adored. “For showing up unexpectedly last night. I have jelly-filled in the car for Marcie. She’s pretty upset at me for getting her in trouble with you and she’s still letting me stay at her place. She didn’t know I was coming into town early, Jen.”

  She bit her lip, the full bottom one he’d like to bite himself. Oh, yeah. He remembered nipping that lip, then softly licking it. His gaze lingered on her mouth, then on the slow rise and fall of her chest.

  “This isn’t going to work,” she said flatly.

  His gaze lifted to the stubborn set of her jaw, the one telling him how desperately she was clinging to resolve to keep him at a distance. Translation. This was working.

  He offered her a gentle smile and a verbal nudge. “Oh, come on, Jen,” he urged. “Let me in.”

  She gave him a dubious look, and finally said, “Letting you in my door means I want the coffee and donuts. Nothing more.”

  Yes. That was yes. “Understood,” he agreed, stepping forward before she could change her mind, with every intention of making this morning about far more than coffee and donuts.

  Crowding the doorway, he forced her to either accept his nearness or back away. As predicted, she backed away, but not before his nostrils flared with her soft, floral scent, laced with jasmine. A scent he’d imagined a million times over the past seven years.

  Once he was in the hallway, Bobby resisted the urge to turn to her. She was close, so close. But even if his hands weren’t full, reaching for her now, no matter how tempting, would be premature, a mistake sure to backfire. The time for that would come—sooner rather than later.

  For now, he charged forward, down a short hallway, determined to reach deeper into her life, starting with the intimacy of being inside the place she called home. He wanted to know what her life had become, what she had become. Besides being more beautiful than ever, even at this early hour.

  “Bobby!” she objected from behind him, a moment before the door slammed shut. “You can’t just barge in like this,” Jennifer said, sounding a bit breathless and a lot sexy, as she caught up to him. “We can eat the donuts at the kitchen bar.”

  Bobby sauntered down a short flight of stairs to a sunken living room with Pergo floors. His chest tightened as the cozy little room drew him in, surrounding him with
rich navy blues. Jennifer loved blue. Navy mostly, but all shades. Her dorm room had been a navy blue she’d insisted was “velvet blue.”

  His lips twitched as he remembered kissing her and telling her that her lips were velvet soft, and then making love to her on the “velvet blue” comforter.

  Bobby sat down on the overstuffed couch, placing the donuts and coffee on the table before him, and then ran his hand over the cushion. “Is this navy blue or velvet blue?”

  Her eyes went wide and a pink flush touched her pale perfect skin, telling him she remembered that day on her velvet bedspread as much as he did. “Come sit with me,” he urged, rescuing her from a reply.

  She crossed her arms in front of her, staring at the couch, his hand and the coffee. “Why are you back, Bobby?”

  Why was he back? That was a loaded question. He could say for Marcie’s wedding—which was partially true—but overall, a copout, and they’d both know it. He’d never lied to Jennifer, and he wasn’t going to start now. Besides, there wasn’t an easy answer anyway. Aside from—he had to come. He had to see her. Still, too much too soon, he decided.

  Instead, he simply replied, “What’s wrong with old friends sharing coffee and donuts?” And then added in a soft plea, “It’s getting cold.”

  “Old friends,” she said softly. “Is that what we are?”

  Their eyes locked and held, tension, both sexual and emotional, stretching between them. “Aren’t we?” he challenged. Friends and so much more.

  Indecision flashed across her face. “I should go put on some clothes,” she said, clearly avoiding his question.

  “I won’t complain if you stay in your robe,” he teased gently.

  The pink in her cheeks flushed redder, as if he hadn’t seen her naked a million times over. “Bobby,” she chided.

  “Sorry,” he said, meaning it. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. But he did want her. “I couldn’t resist. I promise not to look.” She gave him a disbelieving gape. He lifted a defeated hand. “Okay, I won’t look—much. Or I’ll try not to. Really.” Not really. He scrubbed his jaw in further defeat. “How about I promise not to stay long?”

  She tilted her head, studied him. “I don’t know if I should grab something and throw it at you or just drink the coffee and eat the donuts.”

  “While I’m sure throwing something at me might hold a certain degree of pleasure,” he commented, “I recommend caffeine consumption before making that judgment.”

  “Valid point,” she conceded, and walked to the other end of the couch. “For the record, I reserve the right to throw something, or many things, at you, one or more times, during the next two weeks.”

  He smiled. “I can live with that though your father will probably do it for you after the wedding.”

  “True,” she agreed happily.

  Her father was protective. Bobby had hurt her. He’d have some things to say to Bobby and Bobby guessed she wasn’t feeling too inclined to stop him. Jennifer picked up the coffee and sipped. Her lashes fluttered, dark circles on creamy white skin as she added, “Okay. For the moment, the coffee is way better than throwing something at you.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  She blinked several times. “Thank you. I so needed this.”

  “That’s what you used to say every morning.”

  She breezed past the comment. “I’ve never been very human without my coffee, I guess,” she admitted and grabbed a donut.

  “I guess some things never change,” he teased, barely containing the urge to reach for her. He wanted to kiss her. To taste her. To lay her down on that couch and feel her close.

  She bit her bottom lip. “Bobby—”

  “You have chocolate on your mouth,” he said. Taking advantage of her hands being full—one with coffee, one with a donut—he reached over and ran his finger to swipe off the offending icing, when he longed to use his tongue. He licked his finger. “Good.” Her. Not the chocolate.

  “Stop,” she objected, setting the donut on the box and the coffee on the table. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

  He arched a brow. “Which would be what?”

  She glowered. “Bobby—”

  He leaned a little closer. “I like hearing you say my name. Even when you’re mad.”

  “I’m not mad,” she said and pushed to her feet. “And I’m not having sex with you. I’m not some two-week, wedding fling.”

  He stopped. “Wait,” he said. “We’re talking about sex, and I don’t know about it? But okay on the two weeks.” He lowered his voice to a velvety-blue shade. She looked adorable, all flustered and ready to take his head off. “Two weeks would never be enough.”

  Her eyes went wide and she opened her mouth to speak when her cell phone rang, from what sounded like the pocket of her robe. “You know it’s Marcie,” he said. “You should talk to her. Put her out of her misery. She thinks you’re mad, too.”

  “I am mad, at her,” she said, her brows dipping.

  “She didn’t know I was coming,” he said.

  “I know,” she said.

  He narrowed his gaze. “Why don’t I believe you?”

  “She didn’t know you were going to be there last night,” she said. “But for ‘years,’ she admitted, you two talked and I never knew.” Her voice cracked, lifted. “And it shouldn’t matter she was talking to you and I didn’t know, but clearly Marcie was smart enough to know it would matter, because here I am, standing in front of you, wanting to throw something again—because it matters.” She flung her hands in the air and let them drop. “I’m going to shower. Please don’t be here when I get back.”

  It mattered because she cared. Which meant Bobby had two options. Let her go and give her space, as Marcie had declared was necessary. Or he could do what he would have done in the past and launch a full-out assault. Make his intentions clear.

  Bobby went for the all-out assault. He was on his feet, pulling her close in seconds. And though not his intention, before he could stop himself, he was kissing her.

  She gasped into his mouth and he swallowed it, drinking her in like sweet honeyed tea on a sizzling summer day. And though she tried to resist, holding herself stiff, unyielding, the minute his tongue stroked hers, she surrendered. His hand slid up her back, molding her close, if only for a moment, when her cell phone rang again.

  Bobby reached into her pocket and pulled it out, forcing himself to end the kiss. “Talk to Marcie,” he said. “You’re mad at me, not her. She needs you.” He pressed the phone into her hand, stared down at her, and then turned and headed for the door.

  “Don’t come back, Bobby,” she called behind him.

  He paused and turned to look at her only long enough to vow, “I’m already back.”

  Bobby passed the kitchen, certain Jennifer wouldn’t follow him to the door. Not after that flipping amazing kiss that said they could easily rekindle the bedroom bliss and a whole lot more. Jennifer would wait for him to leave, and then analyze and plan a way to deal with him. For now, Bobby had to settle for repairing her friendship with Marcie.

  But tomorrow was another day. And after that kiss, he was certain, he had to have another. For the first time in seven years, there was more than a mission, and some unnamed enemy. He felt like more than a machine. He felt alive.

  4

  “YOU KNOW YOU STILL WANT HIM,” Marcie declared.

  It was near dark, hours after her encounter with Bobby, and Jennifer stood in Marcie’s kitchen, stirring chocolate mousse for the next night’s bachelor/bachelorette party. The two acres sprawling Lake Travis property, with the ranch-style house, that had once been Mark’s parents’ place, was a perfect location for such fun.

  Jennifer grimaced and pointed at Marcie with the spoon. “I do not still want him. And I wouldn’t have called you to apologize if I’d be coming over here to be abused.”

  Marcie reached over the counter and scooped some of the mousse off t
he spoon a moment before it would have dropped on the counter. She tasted it. “Hmm. Good stuff.” Her eyes twinkled. “And yes. You would have apologized. Because you might be stubborn, but you’re a good friend. And yes, you do still want Bobby.”

  Jennifer glared at her, and because she couldn’t deny either of Marcie’s claims anymore, she ignored them and did the only respectable thing to do under fire. She licked the chocolate-covered spoon and had the naughty idea of licking the same chocolate off Bobby. She dropped the spoon into the sink as if it were on fire. “We need to have Mark bring in the rest of the champagne from our cars.”

  “So you can have your car back and run away from this conversation?” Marcie challenged. “Forget it.” She leaned on the counter, smiling evilly. “Why don’t you just have sex with Bobby and get it out of your system before the wedding? It might be easier on all of us.”

  “Would you stop?” Jennifer demanded, pressing her hands to her jeans-clad hips, her favorite black pair that matched her black tank top with a pink heart in the center—the jeans she had absolutely not picked because they made her butt look smaller than the blue ones and Bobby might show up to see said butt.

  “If you stop avoiding,” Marcie countered. “Deal with Bobby and move on.” She held up a hand the second Jennifer started to speak. “And don’t tell me you have, because we both know you haven’t. You never got closure, Jennifer. Now you have a chance. Sleep with him, girl. If for no other reason but the satisfaction of knowing you can do it and walk away. You, not him this time. Sexual energy is very healing.”

  “Oh, good grief,” Jennifer blurted. “Enough with the healing energy.”

  “Okay,” Marcie said, grabbing a champagne bottle from a case sitting on the floor. “No healing energy. Let’s try alcohol-induced courage. Why don’t we pop one of these babies open and loosen you up?”

  Jennifer pressed her hand to her face before fixing a glare on Marcie. “I don’t need to loosen up, because I told you,” she said, glaring, “I’m not sleeping with Bobby.”