In Jack's Arms (Fighting Connollys)

by Rivera, Roxie

  "Give me fifteen hundred."

  She shook her head and poked through the rings and chains. "I'll give you eight."

  "Eight! That's robbery."

  Abby's lips pursed. "Sir, you came in here to ask me to buy your jewelry. I didn't ask you to come into my shop and cause a ruckus. All right? Now," she blew out a breath and sorted through the jewelry. "I'll give you two for this one, fifty for both of these, two for this one and three for this ring. That's it. Take it or leave it."

  "Well I need more than that!"

  "If you want to pawn instead of sell, I can go to twelve."

  He considered her offer and then reached up to his mouth. He pried free his gold grill and held it out to her. "What about this?"

  Abby stared at the slimy jewelry thrust toward her face. "Are you for real? You want me to price your grill?"

  "It's gold."

  She stared at the item for a few seconds before sliding to the left and crouching down to retrieve a roll of paper towels. After ripping a handful free, she reached out for the grill and wiped it clean. Holding it with another towel, she lifted her jeweler's loupe from the chain around her neck and examined the item. "How much did you pay for this?"

  "Two thousand."

  She lifted her gaze. "Seriously?"

  "Yeah. Why? You gonna tell me those ain't real diamonds or gold now?"

  "The diamonds are real," she said, "but they're small. We're talking ten points and low quality." She dropped the loupe and took the grill to the gold testing spot along the counter behind her. With the ease and efficiency of a skilled appraiser, she scraped the metal and dripped nitric acid onto it. "The gold is real but it is 10 carat."

  "What? No. No. No. That's 14 carat."

  Abby sighed and carried the grill back to the customer. "It's not. It's exactly what I said it is, and the retail value is probably five or six hundred bucks. I'd offer you, like, two hundred if you want to sell and maybe three hundred to loan."

  "This is bullshit! You're a thief! Trying to rip me off and take my gold!"

  "I'm a thief?" Shaking her head, Abby dropped the grill onto the pile of jewelry. "You know what? Take your stuff and get out of my store."

  "I ain't going nowhere, lady. You're gonna give me what I want."

  Abby chortled and rolled those gorgeous brown eyes. "Or what?"

  "You don't wanna see what I got under here, bitch." That scrawny bastard reached toward the front of his pants, sliding his hand under his shirt.

  Seeing red, Jack reacted on instinct. He bolted across the shop, snatched the back of the guy's jersey and jerked him upright. Gripping the little shit's wrist, he dragged it toward the center of his back. A loud thunk echoed amid gasps as a wicked looking knife dropped to the floor. Jack kicked it behind him and then smashed the threatening prick's face down against the glass of the jewelry case.

  "Man, get off me!"

  Dropping his mouth close to the other man's ear, he hissed, "No one talks to Abby that way." He pushed the bastard's thumb back and drew a yowl of pain. "You're going to take your cheap ass chains and get the hell out of here."

  The man slapped at the counter with his free hand and gathered up his goods. Still holding him by the back of the shirt, Jack walked him out of the shop. The security guard closest to the door held it open for him. Jack jerked his head toward the knife on the ground. "Put that away some place safe and call the police."

  Out in the night, he dragged the would-be attacker to the corner. Before he let go, he made sure to give the man one final warning. "If I ever see you around here again, I'll rip that nasty grill out of your mouth and shove it up your ass. Understood?"

  With a rough shove, he sent the skinny asshole stumbling forward. The kid straightened up and fixed Jack with a menacing stare. "You done made a big mistake, man. Huge!"

  A harsh laugh erupted from Jack's throat. "Kid, I lived through two tours in Iraq and another two in Afghanistan. I've been shot. I've been blown up. I've survived a helicopter crash and a firefight. There ain't shit that you and your loser friends can do that scares me."

  All bravado fled from the kid's face. Had he finally realized that he was dealing with a different breed of man? Jack meant every word he had said. He didn't make idle threats, not when it came to the safety of the people he cared for most. This prick was lucky he was getting away this easily after trying to hurt Abby.

  My Abby. The possessive thought burned through him. It was one he could no longer deny. It was one he was determined to make a reality.

  Hitching up his pants, the wannabe gangster pivoted on his heel. Jack watched him walk away until he disappeared around a corner. Heading back into the shop, he discovered Abby in a heated discussion with Dan while Mattie methodically cleaned the smudge created by that jerk's face on the glass case. Not liking the way Dan talked down to Abby, Jack forced his feet to remain frozen to the spot. Abby didn't need him riding to her rescue all the time. She was perfectly capable of handling her employee.

  "We'll discuss this tomorrow, Dan. It's been a long day, and we're all on edge."

  "It's theft, Abby."

  Back ramrod straight, Abby looked like a viper ready to strike. "Are you seriously going to stand there and say that?"

  Jack quickly read the situation and realized it was about the watch now tucked into the pocket of his jeans. He quickly ate up the floor with long strides and retrieved the watch. Holding it out, he said, "It wasn't theft. It was an honest mistake. I'm happy to pay for it."

  "It's already been paid for," Abby informed him. "I covered the full retail price of the watch we would have assigned to it when it went onto the floor. The shop made plenty of money off this watch." Glancing at Dan, she added, "Which you would have known if you had let me speak to you in the morning."

  The older man's ears turned red. "You could have said—"

  "I don't have to say anything, Dan. It's my shop. I don't have to clear every single move I make with you." With an irritated huff, she spun away from the night manager and stalked back to her brother.

  With his face puffed out and just as red as his ears, Dan muttered under his breath and stormed away to the line of cash registers. Still surprised by that waspish tone Abby had used, Jack slipped the watch back into his pocket and made his way to the jewelry counter Mattie had just finished cleaning. Taking in Abby's tired eyes and tense posture, Jack decided that she needed dinner, a hot bath and a massage.

  "Abby." He spoke firmly but softly. "Get your purse and head home. Mattie and I are going to grab dinner. We'll meet you there."

  "Jack, I don't need—"

  "You need to get some rest. You need a hot meal and some time to unwind." He cupped her beautiful face with one hand, loving the way her darker skin looked against his tanned fingers, and gently brushed his thumb along the apple of her cheek. Her eyes widened fractionally, and she inhaled a surprised breath. In all the years they had been friends, it was the first time he had ever touched her so intimately.

  It wouldn't be the last.

  "Let me take care of you tonight."

  An expression that seemed suspiciously close to panic crossed her face. "I can take care of myself, Jack."

  "I never said you couldn't." He let his thumb trace that pouty lower lip of hers. He wanted nothing more than to dip his head and finally claim her mouth but this wasn't the time or place. Later, he would get that kiss he wanted so badly. It would be the sort of kiss that left her trembling and panting. "Abby?"

  She swallowed hard. "All right. I'll get my stuff and meet you at the house." She glanced back at her brother who looked on curiously. With a slant to her mouth, she added, "I'm sure he's going to make you chase down that taco truck he loves so much but don't let him bamboozle you into believing that it's okay for him to order that atomic hot sauce. He'll be up all night with heartburn."

  Jack smiled. "I'll take that under advisement."

  Abby dared to touch his chest. Her small hand felt so damned good rubbing that circle. He
wanted to feel her skin against his without the thin cotton barrier between them. "Thank you, Jack. I appreciate you stepping in with that loser."

  "He won't bother you again."

  "I hope not."

  "I'll make sure of it." He had never wanted to draw her close and kiss her forehead more. Fighting the urge to claim her so publicly, he let his hand fall from her face. "Where's the knife?"

  "Pete locked it away in the safe and called Santos while you were dragging that guy outside. He'll pick it up in the morning and review the security tapes. He has a feeling he knows who that jerk was."

  Jack had always been impressed with the detective and trusted he would handle the problem. "Get your stuff. I'll walk you out to your car."

  She nodded, disappeared into the back and returned with her purse a short time later. He noticed the way she gave Dan a wide berth. He suspected the friction there existed because the older man had expected to take a more prominent role in the business after Mr. Kirkwood had passed. Jack wasn't sure why the man would have thought such a thing. It had been clear to anyone who had known Abby's grandfather that he had always planned for Abby to take his place, just as he had taken his father's in the family business.

  With Mattie and Abby in front of him, Jack trailed them outside. He tried to keep his needy gaze from lingering on that fine, taut ass of Abby's but those jeans she wore were too tempting. Every Wednesday night during his self-defense class, she tormented him in workout pants that hugged her bottom so tightly. More than once, he had been forced to move to the back of the class while the women practiced their moves because Abby caused such a wild response in him.

  He made sure Abby got into her car before sliding behind the wheel of his truck. Mattie was already buckled in and tapping at his phone screen, no doubt using that app Bee had created to help him track down the food truck. "Jack?"

  "Yeah, bud?" He eased out of the parking space.

  "Do you like Abby?"

  His gut clenched. Shit. What if Mattie didn't approve? "Yeah, I like Abby."

  Mattie was silent for a moment so long that Jack's stomach actually pitched with anxiety. "That's good."

  Releasing a pent-up breath, he said, "I’m glad you think so. Now—where's this truck?"

  Mattie showed him the map and the blinking icon. Jack quickly oriented himself and turned right at the next stoplight. They drove along for another minute or so before Mattie spoke again. "Hey, Jack?"

  "Yeah?"

  "You owe two dollars to the swear jar now. You said a-s-s."

  Remembering some of the language he had used outdoors, Jack laughed. "We better make it five bucks, kid."

  Chapter Three

  Bumping hips with Jack in the kitchen of my childhood home felt so strange and yet in some way oddly familiar. Side by side, we arranged the leftovers from our feast of Asian-influenced tacos while Mattie stacked plates and silverware in the already full sink. Our dishwasher had been on the fritz for weeks, but I hadn't had the time to get it repaired. Seeing the stack of dishes waiting for me was yet another reminder that I really needed to get on that.

  My fingers brushed against Jack's when we both reached for a container of the crunchy shortbread cookies Mattie loved so much. The accidental touch reminded me of the deliberate and gentle way he had stroked my cheek back at the store. After watching him expertly handle the situation with that knife-wielding nut, I understood that there was a darker, dangerous side to Jack Connolly, one that he kept well-hidden.

  For me, it seemed, he had been willing to unleash that frighteningly skilled beast. I couldn’t quite describe the way that made me feel. No man had ever come to my defense like that. Jack's actions made me feel…special.

  "It's 9:15," Mattie announced. "I have to go."

  I glanced at the clock on the microwave and noticed the late time. My brother stood next to the sink overflowing with dishes and wrung his hands. Knowing only too well how he needed his routines, I smiled and shooed him off. "Go on to bed, Mattie. I'll get the dishes tonight."

  He relaxed instantly and leaned over to kiss my cheek. "Night, Abby."

  I gave him a quick hug. "Night, Mattie. Make sure you set your alarm and plug in your cell phone to recharge."

  "Okay." He grabbed the small container of polvorones.

  "Don't eat those in bed. You'll get powdered sugar on everything."

  He exhaled with frustration at my nagging. "Okay, Abs."

  I held up both hands. "Sorry."

  After grabbing a handful of paper towels to guard against crumbs, Mattie stood in front of Jack with such indecision playing upon his face. Making up his mind, he gave Jack a very manly but less than forceful punch to the arm. "Night, bro."

  Jack grinned and clapped Mattie on the back. "Night, bud."

  Mattie made it all the way to the arched doorway before he turned back. "Jack, you forgot to put five dollars in the swear jar."

  "You're right. I sure did." Jack tugged his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and retrieved a five dollar bill that he promptly deposited into the swear jar sitting on the counter.

  Satisfied that Jack had played by the rules, Mattie left the kitchen. Amused by the way the two men interacted, I shot Jack an appreciative smile. "Thank you."

  "For?" He loaded up his arms with the plastic containers of leftovers and carted them to the refrigerator.

  "For treating Mattie like any other guy," I explained and opened the icebox for him. "Most people just see his Down Syndrome. Sometimes they treat him in an almost patronizing way. It makes my skin crawl. You don't do that. You treat him like any other younger brother."

  "I treat him exactly the way I would want someone to treat Finn or Kelly." Jack closed the refrigerator door. "So 9:15?"

  "It's the routine he prefers. He showers, changes into his pajamas and watches two episodes of his favorite television show. After that, it's his prayers and bed."

  "Every night?"

  I nodded and moved to the sink. "Every night."

  Jack tapped the dishwasher. "What's wrong with this?"

  "It stopped rinsing a few weeks ago, but I found a tutorial online that helped me fix that one. Now it won't fill with water at all."

  "I'll take a look at it tomorrow afternoon. If that's okay?"

  I laughed. "Like I'm going to turn down a free handyman?"

  Jack chuckled and pushed his hip against mine. "Scoot down. I'll wash if you'll rinse and dry."

  Not at all surprised that he was willing to pitch in, I moved to stand in front of the empty sink and grabbed a dishtowel and sponge from the drawer while Jack rearranged the stacks of dishes, cups and silverware. When the sink was brimming with sudsy water, he reached for the sponge and got to work.

  I couldn't stop staring at those big, strong hands of his. He wasn't as stocky as his youngest brother Kelly, but he was taller and leaner than Finn. Jack had an incredible physique with muscular forearms and biceps that stretched the sleeves of his T-shirts. This close to him, I relished the incredible heat and that intoxicating, woodsy scent that followed him everywhere. It had to be his soap. Jack didn't strike me as the type of guy who misted himself with cologne just to hang around his gym.

  Our fingers touched every time he handed me a dish to rinse and dry. I tried to ignore the illicit thrill that sparked deep in my core, but it was impossible. My thoughts kept turning back to the way Jack had so tenderly cupped my face and traced my lip. His action left no chance for misinterpretation. Jack wanted me. I didn’t know why or even when that had happened, but it was clear as day.

  I practically vibrated with giddiness at the discovery. Me. Me. Me. He wants me.

  "Abs?" He waved a plastic tumbler. "You zoned out there for a second."

  "Oh. Sorry." Flushed, I reached for the cup and rinsed it quickly. Trying to get a grip, I searched for a safe discussion topic. My gaze landed on the tattoo marking the underside of his left forearm. It was the first time I had been at the right angle to read the Latin inscription inked on
his skin. "Fortune favors the bold, huh?"

  Jack glanced at me with surprise. "You know Latin?"

  "Catholic school," I explained.

  "Really?" He seemed even more surprised by that.

  "I went to St. Mary's."

  "The private school?"

  "I was a scholarship kid." The all-girls academy was the best in Houston and had a rigorous curriculum that sent all of its graduates to good colleges. "Actually, I was in the same class as Lena Cruz. Erin Hanson and Cassie Roberts were in the year below us." Knowing that Jack had recently had trouble with Cassie's boyfriend John Hagen, I didn't mention the connection. Instead, I asked, "Do you know Erin?"

  "Ivan Markovic's new wife?"

  "Yep."

  "I know her by sight. She's really pretty—and not at all the type of woman I would ever expect a man like Ivan to marry."

  "Their wedding was really beautiful. They seem to be madly in love with each other."

  "She must love him to take on that history," he muttered. Scrubbing a plate, he asked, "What about Bee Langston and her friends?"

  "You mean like Hadley Rivera?"

  "The one who draws comics?"

  "Graphic novels," I corrected. "She was a year under me and in the same class as Vivian Valero. Er—I guess she's Kalasnikov, now. Bee Langston and her bestie Coby, the DJ, were a year behind those two. Caitlin Weston went to school with us for a while, but she graduated really early, even earlier than Bee. Pips Barlow Bennett, the oil heiress who hangs around with Ty Weston, was in the same year as Lena and Erin too."

  "Jesus," Jack breathed with a tinge of awe. "You've just listed the who's who of Houston."

  "The program attracts the best. We've all stayed in touch, networked and supported one another."

  "I guess Beyoncé was right about girls owning the world," he said with a playful wink.

  I rolled my eyes and flicked suds at him. "I never pegged you as the Beyoncé type."

  He splashed me back. "What can I say? I'm a well-rounded guy."

  I giggled and dabbed at my cheek with the dishtowel. Looking at the bold ink on his arm, I asked, "So why that motto?"