To his surprise, she moved closer, draping her arm around his shoulders. “Are you jealous, Jack Baker?” Her laughter filled the air and she moved even closer, grazing her breasts against his upper arm. Her actions stirred his loins, awakening his desire.
“Yes, I am, Isabelle.” He paused a moment and shook his head. “I don’t like the idea of another man touching you.”
Her fingers journeyed up his shirt and popped the top button. Making room, she slipped her hand inside to caress his bare chest. His breathing intensified.
“I can’t see past you, Jack.” Her declaration, a mere whisper, brought chills as she raked her tongue over his ear. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
Jack laughed at her analogy of the situation. “Is that your way of saying you only have eyes for me?” he asked, hoping that was the case.
Her hand deserted the bare skin of his chest, pausing outside his clothing. “You ever had sex in a car, Jack?” she asked, her fingers trailing toward his lap.
What? Was she kidding? Was this some kind of joke? A yearning to do just that awakened with the light touch of her fingertips. Desire surging through his body, he rested his hand on her knee before slipping it beneath her dress and inching up her leg.
He pulled the car over. The streets were empty this time of night. If someone did drive by, they wouldn’t be interested in what he was doing.
He cut the engine and moved the seat back, giving himself plenty of room to shimmy his pants to his knees and pull her into his lap.
He meant to take his time, to pleasure her first. But she insisted on getting right to it, rubbing her moist folds over him, and he slid inside her. He sought to stop it, holding her still, but she began rocking over him, seeking satisfaction. And Jack meant to oblige.
He slid his hands up her legs, grasped her buttocks and drove himself into her.
She gasped with a vocal screaming sigh. He drove her trembling body over him and he grew harder, like the hardest steel. She was enjoying their tryst, but Jack didn’t know how long he could hold out.
Her body quaked as he rammed her down on him. Her juices drained over him and he exploded, pouring into her. She collapsed against him, breathless, as small tremors rippled with after-effects. She seemed to enjoy it, giggling and squirming with each vibration. But Jack knew it meant retreat for him, no matter how hard he fought it.
After awhile, Isabelle moved to his side. She draped herself against him, letting her hands roam at will. Jack let out a hearty chuckle, filled with pleasure, as he started the engine.
“Tell your friend,” she whispered as he pulled the car into the street, “that I am not available.”
Izzy figured Jack must have a lot of pull with his friends. Either that or the bungalow was legally his. He’d rushed James and his girl out onto the street, giving her little time to dress. She didn’t know which bothered her more, Jack being the ringleader of the illicit little getaway, or, throwing someone out in the middle of the night.
“Hey...” She reached for Jack’s hand, watching James and his girl sitting on the stoop. “Let them come back inside. I can’t in good conscience put someone out on the street.”
Jack’s gaze questioned Izzy.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” she said with a slight shrug. “Just because I’m having issues, that’s no reason for me to disrupt everyone else’s lives that I come into contact with.”
Once Jack coaxed the couple back inside, she insisted that they return to the bedroom. Izzy wasn’t going to touch the bed until they’d attained fresh bedding anyway.
After James and his date disappeared into the bedroom, she perched her hands on her hips and glanced around the living room. The two couches lining opposite walls suggested a party atmosphere. The kind of parties Izzy got the feeling she wasn’t used to attending.
“Why don’t we put the couches together and make a bed?” She suggested they make use of the illicitly intended décor.
“Huh?” Confusion colored his expression. Clearly, he didn’t get it.
After a bit of coaxing, Jack helped her push the couches together, making a decent bed for the two of them. They spread fresh bedding, grabbed a blanket and settled into a night in each other’s arms.
A strong knock rattled the front door, waking Izzy and Jack at the same time. She forced her eyes open but the sunlight in the far window compelled her to shut them again. She turned to Jack, blinking awake and looking for some inclination of who might be at the door.
He gave her a beats me look, reached for his pants and stood, sliding into them. Zipping his fly, he strode toward the door. He returned seconds later with her sister by his side.
Jeannie glared at her. “Isabelle, what are you doing?”
“I was sleeping.” Izzy still hadn’t found the mood she was convinced she’d need to deal with Jeannie, a sister she couldn’t remember.
Jeannie shot Jack a sharp glance. “Can you give us a moment?” She didn’t waste time on him. The chill in her tone chased him outside and she turned back to Izzy.
“Isabelle, have you lost your mind?” Jeannie’s voice cracked and she sat down on the arm of the closest couch.
Izzy tried to contain her exasperation, but big sis’s mother-hen approach was growing thin. “Look, Jeannie, as my sister, I understand that you’re worried about me, but I’m a big girl. I’m over twenty-one, and the last time I checked, I’m free to do as I please.”
“Izzy, I don’t particularly care what you do, or who you do it with. Although, your husband might.”
Isabelle slipped outside at a snail’s pace, her face had paled to a ghost-white color. She looked spooked and Jack didn’t like that. He leapt to his feet and moved toward her.
“Sugar, what’s wrong?” Trying to corner her gaze was about as hard as tailing a BF109, catching it took a lot of patience and instinct. Using evasive maneuvers, he reached for her hand.
She yanked away.
“Isabelle, you’re scaring me.” His voice cracked. “What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t know,” she said, her tone soft and vague. Her eyes darted up, as if seeking something from him. He just didn’t know what. “I swear to God, Jack, I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t know? You didn’t know what?” Urgency rattled his voice.
Pausing, she pointed toward the house. “She said...” Isabelle began to sob. “She said I’m married!” Her tears broke free. “My husband is a flyer like you. He’s overseas right now, on clean-up duty.” Izzy sank to the bungalow’s wooden stoop and cried.
He should walk away. But he surprised himself, drawing her into the arms. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
He lulled himself into a false sense of security, but he knew it was a lie. If Isabelle was married, nothing would ever be okay again.
CHAPTER 11
JEANNIE’S PURPOSE, as all soul snatchers, was collecting souls for her master. Finally, her hard work had begun to pay off. She’d been getting choice, high profile assignments lately. This one, Satan had said, was a special case. He wanted the mystic’s soul in the worst way. And Jeannie aimed to deliver the ghost-busting idealist on a platter.
Leading Izzy up the front steps of the boarding house, she marveled at the ease of this mission. The girl had cried the entire way home and Jeannie would have found it annoying had it not been for the ramifications. The distraction was going to make Jeannie’s job that much easier.
She followed Izzy up the stairs to their small apartment, encouraged by the latest turn of events. She’d heard of instances such as this, but she’d never seen it personally. The ghost whisperer had no clue that she’d traveled through time. Given that development, infiltrating the timeline as her sister was clever. Jeannie was sure that the big man downstairs would be pleased.
Jeannie’s target didn’t know where she’d come from, much less why she was there. Add that to the latest distraction—a husband that didn’t really exist—and Jeannie’s job was almost too easy.
That hazard scared away most prospective entities, but not Jeannie. Instead of worrying about what she couldn’t do, she chose to use the elements given to her and honed her influential powers of persuasion.
Typically, it took her a few days to convince her target and claim their soul. This one though, she sensed had protection. That made sense. Why else would Satan desire her soul so badly?
Claiming Izzy Miller’s soul might not be as easy as her other assignments, but Jeannie had a few tricks up her sleeve. The husband angle, one of her first dishonest tactics, was brilliant. One she was sure Satan himself would be proud of.
CHAPTER 12
JACK STRODE along the sidewalk that would eventually lead to Hangar 21 and his plane “Beautiful Betsy”. He needed to walk Isabelle Miller off. If that didn’t do the trick perhaps “she”—the plane—would.
Isabelle was off limits now. He told himself what they’d done wasn’t wrong because neither of them knew she was married. His self-assurance didn’t help much. He’d fallen in love with a woman he couldn’t have. A woman he still wanted.
He had to fix that. He knew he’d never be able to get her out of his heart, but he could force her out of his head. And he’d start by staying away from the Cool Cat.
Yes! A fine idea. That was the one place he was bound to run into her, so now it too was off limits. If she was out of sight, eventually she’d end up out of mind.
He entered the hangar with a spring in his step, encouraged that his plan was going to work. It had to.
“Hey, Baker.” Squadron mate, Jim Perkins, greeted him with a devilish grin spreading across his face. “What you got going on tonight? You seeing that dish again?”
“Nah...” Jack shook his head as if Isabelle were a trivial matter. “That didn’t work out, see.” He withdrew one hand from his trousers’ pocket and laid it against the plane’s cool steel. “Beautiful Betsy” was the only thing that stood a chance of taking his mind off Isabelle.
“So, you up for a little fun?” Perkins asked. “A bunch of us are going to Aunt Flo’s tonight.”
The urge to laugh overcame Jack. Clearly, Perk thought Aunt Flo’s—the local house of ill repute—was the place to be.
“Hm...I think I’ll pass.” Jack backed away before Perkins insisted that he go. He scaled the side of the P-51 Mustang and dropped into the cockpit with ease. Settling into his seat, Jack reached for the towel he’d stuffed down on the side and began swabbing the instrument panel. It was a therapeutic tactic, one that had worked well in the past. He hoped it wouldn’t let him down now.
A little fun tonight wasn’t a bad idea, but not at Aunt Flo’s. Maybe he’d cruise over to Charlie’s, a little tavern on the other side of town from the Cool Cat. He had to be as far away from that place as possible. After a beer or two, he might be tempted to wander in.
Jack would fight this thing, and he intended to win. Might be the hardest thing he’d ever do, but his choices were limited.
Even so, he struggled with the urge to select an option that was unavailable to him. How could he stop himself from wanting a woman he couldn’t have?
Simple. He couldn’t. He couldn’t help who he loved, but he was in complete control of how he reacted to those feelings. He would find a way to bury them, somehow. Even if he had to resort to drastic measures.
Sunlight peeked through the sheer curtains, waking Izzy. She wanted to find a hole, crawl inside and die—except she didn’t have the desire to get out of bed.
Jack avoiding the Cool Cat last night was a devastating wakeup call. It hadn’t taken much for her to decide she was going to divorce her husband so she could be with Jack. But he obviously had other ideas. Ideas that included avoiding her, hence his decision to stay away from the Cool Cat.
“When are you going to get out of that bed?” Jeannie’s voice invaded her thoughts.
“About an hour before I have to go to work,” she said, her voice lacking interest.
“Get up.” Jeannie yanked the covers back, exposing Izzy dressed in a man’s tee shirt.
Izzy rolled over, turning her back, making no move to leave the bed. “I thought he cared. I thought I meant something to him.” Izzy’s words dripped with self-criticism.
Jeannie sat on the edge of the bed and laid a gentle hand on Izzy’s shoulder. “I’m sure you do. But Jack is trying to do the right thing. That’s probably why he’s staying away.”
“But I love him.” Izzy floundered in agony, tears flowing freely.
Jeannie tugged at her, coaxing her to turn over. “And you’re married.”
“To a man I can’t remember.” Izzy turned back toward the wall and dragged the bedcovers over her head.
“It is what it is.”
“But it doesn’t have to be.” She argued her point from beneath the covers. “I can get a divorce.”
“Are you willing to do that to Jack?” Her judgmental tone rattled Izzy, even from behind.
“Do what?” She rolled over, facing Jeannie finally.
“Best case scenario...he’ll get kicked out of the Army. Worst case...he’ll go to prison.” Jeannie paused, glaring at her. “Home wrecking is a big deal in the Army.”
Izzy’s lips sealed shut in disbelief. Studying Jeannie through narrowed eyes, she pondered the validity of her accusation. “That’s not true,” Izzy said, shaking her head.
“I’m afraid it is.” Jeannie’s voice softened and a sorrowful smile covered her face. “Look, I know you didn’t set out to do something wrong. Your loss of memory is a cruel game that fate’s playing on you. But now that you know...you have to do the right thing. You have to forget about Jack.” She paused, breaking into a helpful, friendly smile. “We’ll just forget this ever happened. There’s no need to tell Harry.”
Izzy didn’t try to hide her skepticism or distaste for Jeannie’s insinuation. She let it all hang out in her single-word response. “Harry?”
“Your husband.” Jeannie’s exasperation suggested that her patience was wearing thin. She glanced at the clock on the side table, reached for her purse and stood. “I have to go.” Jeannie smoothed her skirt and took a couple of steps toward the door. Glancing over her shoulder, a thoughtful look crossed her face. “Why don’t you meet me at Woolworth’s for lunch?” She let her purse dangle at her side and sauntered the rest of the way to the door.
“All right.” Izzy gave in with a twinge of disappointment even though she’d lost the urge to fight long ago. Accepting defeat, she let it wash over her, but fear of the unknown scared it away. “Wait—” The urgency in her tone stopped Jeannie at the door. “Where is Woolworth’s?”
Without a word, Jeannie crossed the room and paused at the small table in the corner. She grabbed a pencil and pad and scribbled something on it. “Here you go.” When she was done, she let the pencil fall from her fingertips and it rolled across the table. She hurried toward the door and slipped out into the hallway, leaving for work.
Izzy, on the other hand, sank back down in the bed and tugged the blankets up over her head, as if that’d cover up her woes. Too bad she couldn’t cover up a husband.
And who forgets a husband anyway? A big fat loser, that’s who. How was she ever going to live with herself? With a man who wasn’t Jack?
Izzy opted for a booth at the back of Woolworth’s eatery to avoid the other patrons and their ogling stares when they entered the restaurant.
What she wouldn’t give for a decent pair of sunglasses to hide her red and swollen eyes. Maybe after lunch she could find some. If not here then maybe somewhere else. She’d ask Jeannie when she arrived. Surely she’d know where to find sunglasses.
She grabbed a menu off the stand and scanned it. A figure, more like a silhouette, en
tered her peripheral vision but she didn’t look up right away. She thought it was the waitress. “Can I get an iced tea with lemon?” she asked, hesitating a moment before glancing up.
Jack loomed over her and flashed a sad sort of smile while trying to hold her gaze.
She looked him over with a magnifying glance, seeing the aviator sunglasses hanging from his shirt pocket. The glasses teased her, and she wanted to ask if she could have them, but she didn’t want to confess it was to hide the tears she’d been shedding—over him. If he could toss her aside so easily, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of admitting that she was bothered by the sudden, abrupt end of their fledgling relationship.
“Hi, Jack.” Propping one elbow on the table, she rested her chin in the palm of her hand and tapped her tangerine fingernails of the other hand on the Formica tabletop, hoping to appear aloof and unaffected.
“Isabelle, are you okay?” he asked, sliding into the seat opposite her.
“Be my guest.” She reached across, snapped the sunglasses from his pocket and slipped them on, feeling better once she’d covered her eyes. “How’s it going?”
“I’m worried about you.” He propped his forearms on the table and leaned slightly toward her.
“Yeah, I saw that last night when you showed up at the Cool Cat to check on me.” She hoped he found her words as chilled as she’d meant them.
“I’m sorry.” His apology fell on deaf ears and he glanced away. “I’m having a hard time with the idea that you’re someone else’s wife, see.” Finally he looked back at her, his dark eyes smoldering with regret.
“You and me both.” She paused, scanned the restaurant and set her sights back on him. “Tell me something...can you really get into trouble for consorting with a married woman?” She’d give anything for that to be a lie.
“Yes, Isabelle, I can,” he said, softly, calmly, regrettably.
Incredible Dreams Page 11
