by Pat White
“I wouldn’t be any good to them anyway,” he muttered.
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m tired and cranky. Not what they’re used to.”
“Surely they wouldn’t bother you. You’re off duty.”
“I’m a celebrity, not a cop. There is no off duty, or haven’t you noticed?” He nodded toward the door.
The hallway scene replayed itself in her mind.
“Oh.” Sadness washed over her. The man had no privacy, no piece of his life saved just for him. Frankie couldn’t imagine living that way, belonging to everyone all the time.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” she said.
“In a minute.” He glanced back out the window.
She practically inhaled the steak and took a few bites of corn. Now that her tummy was full she felt much better. Her common sense was firmly back in place.
Jack, on the other hand, ate only half his dinner and nursed one beer. She noticed he’d ordered three.
“You done?” he asked, reaching for her tray.
“Yes, unless you think I’m going to eat the plate, too.”
A faint smile creased his lips. “Are you still hungry?”
Hungry. Yes. But not for steak.
Her pulse pounded in her ears. What the hell happened to her common sense?
“Francine?”
That word again, her full name, spoken from his lips was nearly her undoing.
“No, I’m not hungry.” She stood and walked to the window. “You can take the bed, I’ll take the floor.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. That bed’s big enough for four adults. There’s plenty of room.”
“No, really, I insist.”
“What, you afraid I’m going to touch you?”
I’m afraid you’re not going to touch me.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” she said.
As he placed the tray in the hallway and double locked the door, her heart pounded in her chest.
“Listen, kid,” he started. “I’ll be uncomfortable if you sleep on the floor and more uncomfortable if I sleep on the floor. So lighten up and let’s get into bed.”
He untied his robe and she slapped at the light switch. The overhead went out, leaving the room bathed in candlelight. She could still see his body, rippling back muscles and firm buns clad in knit boxer briefs.
She squeezed her eyes shut. She’d sleep in the Jacuzzi and cushion the tub with towels. No problem.
“It’s safe,” he said.
She opened her eyes. He was stretched out beneath the sheets.
“It’s not like I don’t trust you or anything,” she said.
“Sure.” He rolled over, his back to her. “Come on, get in bed. I’ll probably be asleep before you climb under the sheets.”
Twirling a strand of hair around her finger, she glanced across the room debating her next course of action. Her gaze landed on a rather colorful print of a man on his knees, his face buried between a woman’s thighs. A hand to her forehead, her back arched, the woman had completely surrendered to the obviously amazing sensations.
Frankie gritted her teeth. If sleeping with Jack didn’t drive her insane, the prints covering the walls would. Well, it was either stare at the erotic scenes or close her eyes and go to sleep.
Should she blow out the candles? No. Lying in complete darkness next to Black Jack Hudson would certainly fry her circuits.
“What’s the matter? Afraid you won’t be able to resist me?” he mumbled from the other side of the bed.
What an arrogant, egotistical jerk.
Marching to the bed, she double knotted the satin belt of her robe and slipped under the sheets. He was right. There was plenty of room. She could go the whole night and then some without noticing the man in her bed.
She took a deep breath and stared up at her reflection in the mirror. Never in a million years would she have dreamed up a scenario like this: in bed with Black Jack Hudson, in bed with any man except Bradley. It’s not like she was one to give her heart or body away to just anyone. No, her heart was meant for the man who met all the qualifications, the man who would provide her with a stable, perfect life.
Jack rolled onto his back and their eyes connected in the mirror. Her pulse quickened.
“So, what’s he like?” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Your fiancé. What’s he like?”
Had he read her mind? And how could she talk about Bradley while lying in bed with Jack? It seemed wrong and disloyal, yet maybe the best thing to do under the circumstances. Talking about Bradley would keep her mind off the tempting Adonis lying beside her.
“He’s actually my pre-fiancé. He’ll officially propose when he gets his promotion.”
“A pre-fiancé? Huh. What does he do?”
“He’s one of the top accountants at Lundstrom, Marks, and Beetle. He’ll make partner someday. He’s smart and hard-working. Bradley knew since he was eight that he wanted to be an accountant. He’s so driven and determined. He’s a visionary in the field.”
He studied her through the ceiling mirror and her body lit on fire. So much for using Bradley as a shield against the sexual awareness arcing between them.
She cleared her throat and searched her brain for all the reasons why she and Bradley were the perfect couple. Talking about Bradley would make him more real, and right now she needed him to be real to keep her sexual hunger at bay. Intense physical attraction was exciting, sure, but it always ended up in a train wreck, as did love. Look at what her mother had gone through because she loved Frankie’s deadbeat father—always taking him back, always making excuses.
Crying late at night when she thought Frankie was asleep. And Frankie cried right along with her outside the bedroom door.
Physical attraction and love be damned. She knew the sensible and forthright Bradley was the man for her. He would provide her with the security she’d always needed, a sensible life, a perfect life.
A life without emotional pain.
Looking into Jack’s eyes through the mirror above, she forged ahead.
“We’ll take three weeks vacation a year including an educational trip to Europe,” she continued, hoping to quell the budding awareness between them. “Then, maybe in six or seven years we’ll have a child, if we can manage it around my career. Bradley will make an exceptionally good father. He’s already got his eye on the right crib that meets all safety specifications from the American Academy of Pediatrics.” She took a breath and studied Jacks eyes in the semidarkness.
“Kids. I’ve thought about that,” he said.
“You have?”
“Sure. I hope to give it a try someday.”
He’d give it a try? He made it sound like he’d given it as much thought as trying sushi or bungee jumping.
“Yes, well, that’s our goal. Successful careers, investments and children, if it works into our plan.” She glanced at him. “I guess that sounds pretty boring to a man like you.”
“No. It doesn’t.” He rolled onto his side, away from her. “It sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”
An empty feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. “Jack?”
“Good night, kid. We should get some sleep.”
“Oh, okay.” For some reason she didn’t want the conversation to end. She wanted to get him talking and ask about his life, his dreams.
They lay still, bathed in silence for a good five minutes.
“Francine?” he said.
Her heart raced. “Yeah?”
“When we were on the catwalk?” he paused. “I wouldn’t have dropped you. I wanted you to know that.”
Chapter Eleven
The taste of peppermint lingering on his lips, Jack ambled to the bathroom and tapped lightly at the door.
“Who’s there?” she called, her voice muffled by the hard spray of the shower.
He pushed open the door. “The big”—he untied his robe—“bad”—he pulled the show
er curtain aside—“wolf.”
Arms crossed to conceal her voluptuous breasts, Frankie giggled and stuck her fanny out for him to grab. “My, my you have big teeth, Mr. Wolf.”
Her rainbow eyes sparkled and she shot him a mischievous grin. He stepped inside the shower, gave her a love tap on her round bottom and nuzzled the nape of her neck. “The better to taste you with, my sweet little thing.”
Sliding his hands across the front of her slick, soapy body, he edged them up to cup her breasts. He massaged her nipples.
“Jack,” she moaned, locking her fingers around the back of his neck.
“What is it, baby? What do you want?” His fingers trailed lower, circling her hip bone, then down to graze the sweet nest of curls between her legs.
“Jack.” She dug her fingernails into his neck muscles.
“Talk to me, Francine. Tell me what you want.” He massaged her inner thigh and she bent her knee to give him better access. “Do you like this, baby? Does it feel good?”
“I need…”
“What? What do you need?”
“Jack...I need...” She arched again and he slid his hand between her legs, cupping the feminine mound with as much tenderness as he could.
Back and forth. Slowly, methodically. Water pounding against his back. He kissed her shoulder, her neck. She tasted of flowers and magic, and he found himself humbled by her surrender.
She arched, opening completely, surrendering to his touch.
Trust. Need. She needed him, not Bradley the accountant. Not anyone but Jack. This was something only Jack could give her.
“Jack!” she cried.
“It’s okay,” he whispered into her ear, then feathered kisses along the rim. “Let go, baby. Just let go.”
“AAAAHHHHHH!” she howled and fell limp against his chest.
He closed his eyes, savoring the moment, thrilled that he could give her this.
“I need…” she whispered.
“What baby? What do you need?”
“I need you. Inside me.”
Breaking free of his grasp she turned to face him. His gut clenched at the sight of her, dressed in a leopard-skin bikini, wielding a black whip in her hand. She smiled and fangs gleamed from beneath the black mask.
“Francine?” He spit water from his mouth and took a step back, rubbing at his eyes to clear his vision.
“I want you inside of me. Now! And the name is…Tatianna.”
She cracked the whip and it sliced open his chest, right above his heart.
“No!” He gasped. Couldn’t breathe. Nothing working. Had to fill lungs. Had to—
“Jack?”
He glanced over his shoulder at the source of the voice and nearly jumped out of his skin. Frankie clutched the covers to her chest with one hand and reached out to him with the other.
“What the—!” he cried, leaping from the bed. Red satin sheets tangled between his legs, sending him facedown on the floor. He kicked and sputtered, heaving desperate gulps of air to crush the panic. It was no use. The more he struggled the tighter the sheets bound his legs.
“Aw, hell.” He surrendered, laying belly up on the floor. Unbelievable. He could body slam a three-hundred-pound opponent, but lost in the first round with a set of linens. He was surely losing his mind.
“Are you okay?” She leaned over the edge of the bed, holding what remained of the sheets up to her neck.
What difference did that make? He’d been naked with her in the shower, touching and stroking her most intimate places.
The mental fog cleared and reality hit him like a semi truck: It was a dream.
“Did you have a nightmare?” Concern filled her eyes as she slid a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Yeah. A nightmare.”
“You scared me.”
Not like you scared me, baby.
“I’m fine. Just embarrassed.” He sat up and flailed his arms to detangle himself.
“Here, let me help.” She threw the sheets aside. Her white robe parted slightly in front exposing the curve of her breast.
“I’m fine.” He sprang to his feet, stumbled to the corner of the room and clutched the top sheet to his chest.
“Are you sure?” she said, tugging her robe closed in front.
“I’m fine. Sure. Perfect. A-OK.”
“It sounded like you couldn’t breathe. Do you have allergies?”
“No allergies. I’m fine. Fit as a fiddle, right as rain.” He sounded like a complete idiot. “We’d better get dressed.”
“But it’s only two in the morning.”
“Oh.” He didn’t move. Now what? He sure as hell couldn’t get back into that bed. Not with her. Not with the dream still fresh in his mind. He placed his hand on his chest to rub away the lingering sting from her whip.
“I know what you need,” she said.
“What?” He backed up against the wall.
“A drink of water. It guarantees you won’t have another nightmare.”
She paced to the bathroom. He heard the water go on. He took a deep breath and glanced at himself. What a pathetic sight, cowering in the corner.
What the hell was happening to him?
Frankie McGee, that’s what. He pushed away from the wall and paced to the window. Damn, he had to get a handle on his emotions. She didn’t pose a threat to him, not physically, and not emotionally. She was an impossible woman, a stuck up, judgmental, bossy—
“Here, drink up.” She walked up to him, holding a glass of water in her hand.
“I don’t need—”
Shoving the water to his lips, she tipped the glass. He had no choice but to drink it or push her away, which meant he’d have to touch her.
Thank God the water was cold. Very cold.
He downed it in three swallows. There. Now maybe she’d leave him alone. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
She placed the glass on top of the dresser. “Better?”
“I told you, I’m fine.”
“It’s okay. Even big, tough wrestlers are allowed to have nightmares.”
He gritted his teeth. She was making fun of him. Wasn’t she?
“Should we try to sleep again?” She ambled to her side of the bed and sat on the edge.
He crumpled the top sheet between his fingers. The least he could do was give her back the covers.
“Guess you’ll need this.” He unwrapped himself and flung the sheet across the bed, tucking it between the mattress and box spring. He glanced up, long enough to register the look of appreciation in Frankie’s eyes. Normally not modest, Jack realized he was parading in front of her in nothing more than tight, knit boxers.
His body tingled in places that were going to embarrass him even further in a minute.
Damn, he had to get his mind off this woman.
Snatching the television controls from the bureau, he sat on the edge of the bed and punched the “on” button.
“I’m going to flip around for a while. It helps me relax,” he said.
“Okay.”
The bed shifted, then stilled as she got under the covers. He surfed the channels hoping to find something to distract him from the unwanted desire burning through his body.
Why this woman? Why now? She was totally wrong for him. He’d fantasized about finding an easy going, nurturing woman to share his life with. He knew damn well Frankie McGee was the definition of disaster since she was committed to her career and her perfectly planned life.
The mattress shifted. She must be finding a more comfortable position, or maybe the sound of the television was keeping her up. He should leave the room and find a nice quiet spot in the lobby to spend the night.
Wouldn’t that look great in next month’s issue of Wrestlers Wisdom Magazine—Jack spending his honeymoon night on the couch. Readers wouldn’t exactly be writing in for marital advice, that’s for sure.
The sound of a woman moaning and groaning drew his attention to the TV. A naked woman filled the screen,
long blond hair cascading down her back as a naked, semi-hard man sprayed her obviously implanted breasts with whipped cream.
“Hell.” Jack clicked the button and landed on a channel featuring two actors dressed as Annie Oakley and Wild Bill Hickok having sex on a horse.
He clicked off the tube and tossed the controls on the bureau. Well, it was the honeymoon suite. They probably aired all-night sex shows to get keep newlyweds in the mood.
“Nothing good on?” Frankie mumbled.
“Nope.” He started for the bathroom.
“Where are you going?” She propped herself up on her elbows.
His chest ached at the concern in her voice. It sounded like more than concern for the talent. Now he was fooling himself.
“I’ll go read or something until I get tired,” he said.
“Still spooked by the nightmare, huh?”
“You like rubbing that in, don’t you?”
“No,” she hesitated. “I’m sorry if it sounded that way. Actually I think I can help.”
I’ll bet.
“I’ll pass, thanks,” he said.
“Okay.” She lay back down, but not before he read hurt in her eyes.
Why the hell did he care? He didn’t. Not one bit.
He ambled to his side of the bed and sat on the edge. “Okay, what’s your idea?”
“Lie down. Get comfortable.”
Any requests other than the impossible?
Stretching out on top of the sheets, he interlaced his hands over his chest. His gaze drifted to the mirror. The candles were still burning, and the soft light cast an angelic glow across her face.
He swallowed hard. “I’m ready.”
“Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Come on, do it. Trust me.”
He closed his eyes and felt the bed shift. He peeked through his lids, but she’d rolled to her side, propping her cheek on an upturned palm.
“Okay, now take a deep breath. In through your nose, out through your mouth, then another.”
Humoring her, he followed orders, planning to feign sleep in the hopes she’d give up the psychotherapist act. That wasn’t completely true. He was complying with her request because he couldn’t stand the thought of hurting her feelings.
Man, he was in trouble. Big time.
