by Pat White
“Francine?”
The low and husky timbre of his voice danced across her shoulders.
“What?’’
“I brought you something.”
She glanced at him.
“Here.” He pulled a paper bag out of his jacket pocket and tossed it at her.
She glanced inside and her breath caught at the sight of three tins of her favorite peppermint candy.
“I figured you might need them,” he said.
He’d remembered her favorite brand, understood the importance of mints to quell her tummy troubles. She wondered if Bradley even knew she popped the candies.
“Francine?”
That voice, smooth as silk with a slight rumble, skittered across her nerve endings.
“Come over here and sit down,” he said.
“I can’t.” It was too dangerous.
“Please? The knee’s still kinda sore. I’d rather not get up.”
Taking a deep breath, she ambled to the opposite end of the sofa. She might be a liar, but she wasn’t completely inconsiderate.
“Do you accept my apology?” He searched her eyes.
She nodded, unable to speak.
“Good. I also came to warn you about the promo teaser, but I guess I’m too late.”
She nodded again, fingering the hem of her blue silk jacket.
“You okay?” He touched her shoulder.
“Sure.”
“Francine?” he pushed.
She swallowed hard.
“A friend once told me it’s okay to lean on someone,” he said. “Even a strong, determined woman like you needs to lean on someone once in a while.”
“Oh, yeah. I’m real strong.” A tear escaped the corner of her eye. He reached out and wiped it away with his thumb.
“Hey, come over here.”
She shook her head. If she went into his arms she’d bawl like a baby. Hadn’t she embarrassed herself enough in front of this man?
The couch shifted and she felt his arm slip around her shoulders. With a hand at the back of her head, he coaxed her cheek to his chest.
She came apart in his arms, sobbing, hiccupping, scrunching the cotton of his T-shirt between her trembling fingers.
“I did…I did everything right. I’m a good girl.”
“You are, you’re a good girl.” He stroked her hair.
She buried her face against his warm neck. “I always do the right thing...make the right choices.”
“Shhh. Everything will be okay.”
“It’s Uncle Joe’s fault. If only he hadn’t asked me to help.” Teary eyed, she leaned back and looked into Jack’s eyes.
Jack’s chest tightened with compassion. He wished he could wipe away the sadness dulling the rainbow of colors.
“What did I do wrong?” she said.
“Nothing, it’s not your fault. You love your uncle. That’s all.”
“I hate love.”
His heart ached. “Don’t say that. Love’s not a bad thing.”
“Well, it sure isn’t a good thing. Look at me. I’m a wreck.”
He knew the feeling. After she’d left his apartment earlier, the realization hit Jack like a brick of cement to the head: He’d fallen in love with Frankie McGee.
This feeling was different than anything he’d experienced before. It wasn’t just the explosive desire that threatened to eat him alive every time he touched her. No, this was about desire and much more.
“Jack?” She stared into his eyes. “Am I that unlovable that he couldn’t overlook this one little thing?”
She sniffed and buried her face against his chest. He rubbed her back. “Shhh, it’s okay, honey.”
Damn that stupid fiancé of hers. Didn’t he know how to hold on to a good thing?
She clutched his shirt like it was a life preserver. With every squeak, every whimper, his heart ached until he thought it would rip him apart inside.
“Frankie?” He gripped her shoulders and gently coaxed her off of him. “Look at me.”
When she did, the trust that sparkled in her eyes humbled him.
He cradled her chin with his forefinger and thumb. “You are the most lovable person I know, and I’ve known a lot of people in my lifetime. You’re smart and witty. You’re warm and compassionate. On top of that, you crack a mean whip.”
The hitch in her throat sounded like the beginnings of a chuckle. Good, he was on the right track.
“No more beating yourself up,” he said. “You tried to help and Sully got you into a mess. You’re still a good girl, better than most girls I know, anyway.”
“And you’re a nice guy.”
“So I’ve been told. But I don’t believe it.”
“Believe it.” She leaned forward to plant a kiss on his cheek.
At least, that’s where he thought she planned to kiss him. When her soft lips brushed against his, he broke apart inside, all restraint, all common sense completely obliterated.
He wanted her. More than he’d wanted anything in his life.
He closed his eyes and drank in the sensations, the warmth spreading throughout his body, the pounding of his heart. She threaded her fingers through his hair, and he let his head tip back in response to her gentle touch. He could barely breathe, his thoughts spinning like a top. What was happening? Should he stop it?
Of course you should, you idiot. She was a woman on the rebound, his complete opposite, and he was taking advantage of her.
He broke the kiss. “Frankie,” he breathed heavily against her cheek.
She nuzzled his ear, sending goose bumps across his shoulders.
“Jack…hold me.” She kissed him again with such desperation.
He knew desperation. He’d felt it himself…whenever he thought about Frankie.
Jack couldn’t give her his love because she didn’t want it. He couldn’t give her the perfect life because he’d never measure up to her idea of the perfect man. Hell, he couldn’t even promise her stability since he didn’t know what life had planned for him next.
He had nothing to offer her.
Except this, right here, right now. She needed him to hold her, touch her, and make her feel like the most desirable woman in the world.
Which was exactly what she’d become in Jack’s eyes.
She moaned against his lips wanting them to part and he surrendered to her assault, relaxing his entire body, letting her do whatever she desired. He leaned back into the sofa cushions and parted his lips, letting her in and savoring the crisp taste of peppermint. She cradled his face in her hands, and he thought his heart would split in two.
Tenderness. For Jack. Not raw and crude sex as he’d had in the past with a handful of women. No, this was different and amazing.
And probably the closest thing he’d ever get to love.
She suddenly sat back and looked into his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he rasped.
She blinked. “I’m scared.”
Relief coursed through him. She knew it, too. Frankie knew they were starting down a path more intense, more meaningful than basic lust.
“You’ve been with so many other women,” she said. “You’re so experienced, and I’m…well, a naive numbers cruncher who doesn’t get out much.”
His heart sank. That’s how she saw him, as some kind of male gigolo who beds a woman in every town? He started to let her have it, tell her that rumors are not necessarily based in truth.
Then he read the regret in her eyes, the insecurity. They could never be together but he could make her come alive in his arms and show her how special she was.
“You are the woman I want,” he said, trying to control his own desperation.
Taking the lead he gently coaxed her mouth to his and opened immediately, letting her taste his want, his desire. Tonight, he’d give her what she needed most. He’d cherish her and pleasure her in ways she’d never imagined. And when they were done touching, stroking, and loving, he’d step out of the way and let her get
on with her normal, safe life.
Only, he knew his life would never be the same.
She tugged his shirt out of the waistband of his jeans and slid her hands over his skin, her fingers tantalizing his flesh, making him hard with need. He gripped her hips and pulled her close, wanting her to feel the effect she had on his body.
“The bed,” she whispered against his lips. She pulled him to his feet and he leaned on her as he hobbled across the room to the bed.
“I should be carrying you,” he said.
“You’ll make it up to me.”
He glanced into her eyes and was mesmerized, unable to look away. Yes, he would make it up to her, even if it took all night.
Together they fell to the queen-sized bed, Frankie on her back, searching Jack’s eyes. Trepidation filled the rainbow depths, trepidation he’d wipe away with gentleness and promise.
“You’re a beautiful woman,” he whispered, reaching for the top button of her cream-colored blouse. Her chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, with each pop of a button through its hole. The fourth button came free and he spied a delicate lace camisole against her skin. He wanted his hand there, touching her, soaking in her warmth.
He trailed his fingers lower and spread the fabric of her blouse aside, taking in the beauty lying before him. The camisole enhanced her femininity, making him want to see more, feel more. He skimmed his fingers across her breast and her nipple peaked beneath his palm.
“Is this real?” she whispered, her eyes lit with desire.
“Does it feel real?”
His hand drifted lower, past her ribs, past her waist. He would do it right their first time, slowly, with painstaking tenderness.
“It feels…amazing,” she whispered as he unzipped her slacks and slid his hand lower.
He stroked the sweet spot between her legs and she arched against him, a whimper escaping her lips. Reaching down, she helped him peel off her pants.
“Jack,” she breathed, letting him touch her, pleasure her.
She sat up and pushed him back against the bed. With trembling hands she peeled the T-shirt up and over his head, then hesitated. He wondered if she’d changed her mind.
“God, this body.” Her eyes widened with appreciation as she ran her hands across his chest. Her thumbs grazed his nipples and edged down to unbuckle his belt and strip him of the tight jeans and boxers.
She slowly straddled him, opening to him, while her hands caressed his chest. And all he could do was lie there, humbled by her need, willing to give whatever she wanted.
She rocked forward and back. Each time with a little more intensity, as if she wanted something so bad she would burst into tears if she didn’t get it.
He knew that kind of wanting and knew how to give her what she needed most. With his left hand steadying her curved bottom, he reached forward with his right and grazed the inside of her thigh. He edged his hand down and found the soft, the tender spot, and massaged it gently. He watched her gasp for breath as she struggled to retain control.
“Let it go, sweetheart,” he whispered with another stroke. He could tell she fought it, he knew she would. Frankie wasn’t one to give up control.
She bucked forward again, squeezing his chest, claiming him for herself. Need coiled inside him. Incredible desire that had turned into love, something he never thought he’d feel.
The motion, the heat, and the sweet moans of a passionate woman as she teetered on the brink of climax did him in. She cried out and arched one last time, just as his body released its love inside her.
She collapsed against him, her soft, round breasts warming his chest, one leg wedged between his thighs. Only minutes later did her leg move, brushing against him in a way that awakened his need yet again.
Would he ever get enough of Frankie McGee? Would he ever satisfy his hunger for the one woman he could never have?
Chapter Seventeen
She was drunk. Not on liquor or wine or any kind of fancy cocktail.
Frankie was drunk on Black Jack Hudson. How many times had they made love? She’d lost count. Somewhere around three this morning they’d both passed out from exhaustion. She had no clue what time it was. She didn’t care.
All she cared about was Jack’s arm wrapped around her from behind, their bodies touching from his lips against her hair to their entwined ankles.
This was real, the warmth, the contentment. He’d been there for her, held her, made a kind of magic she’d never felt before. She’d been shocked by the new sensations at first. Then she welcomed them, losing herself in the beauty of complete and utter surrender. It only made sense that she’d experience this with Jack, an uninhibited man who shared himself freely, without reservation.
But it hadn’t always been that way. He’d changed during the course of their relationship. Then again, so had she.
He stirred and nuzzled her neck. She clutched his hand between her breasts. She couldn’t let go, not yet. Once she did she didn’t know what would happen.
Sure she did. Reality would slap her upside the head. She’d have to admit that Jack made love to her out of some kind of obligation or even pity. She hated the thought, yet she hadn’t cared about his motivations last night. All she knew was she needed him inside her, for as long as possible.
And he’d satisfied that need all right.
Opening her eyes, she stared across the room at the basket of silk flowers on the dining table. Fake flowers, not real ones, similar to the relationship she had with the man laying beside her: fake and temporary. It wasn’t as if they could be more than bedmates or wrestling partners. Could they?
With a breathless moan, he wrapped his arms tighter around her. She adjusted his hand to her breast and he automatically grazed her nipple with his thumb. His hardness pressed against her from behind.
“God, woman,” he rasped. “You’re going to kill me.”
She loved that sound, his voice thick with need. The power she had over him thrilled her. But thrills were cheap and fleeting. They didn’t last forever, nor did they make for a solid future.
Solid, dependable, and enduring. That’s the kind of relationship she’d dreamed of since childhood. The exact opposite of her mom and dad’s marriage.
Jack continued to brush his hand across her breast and her body came alive. One touch, one stroke and she fell apart. It might not be a stable relationship but it definitely had its perks, perks that would disappear the minute they rolled out of bed.
“Francine?” he whispered against her hair.
“Hmmm?” Her eyes watered. She didn’t want to admit she was already missing him. Or was it was guilt that tangled her stomach in knots? Last night she had nearly accepted another man’s marriage proposal, yet here she was in bed with Jack.
Guilt? More like confusion. She’d never been more confused in her life.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said.
“And when did you have time to do that?” she teased. At least she’d enjoy their last moments together with a smile.
“I’ll admit, you kept me pretty busy last night.”
He brushed her hair away from her ear and kissed the rim. She shuddered.
“We make quite a team out of the ring, don’t we?” he said.
She rolled onto her back and gazed into his eyes. Beautiful green eyes shining with desire, flashing with mirth.
“You…” She touched his stubbled jaw with her fingertips. “I don’t know what to make of you.”
“How about making love to me, again?” His cheeks dimpled with a mischievous grin.
“Don’t you have someplace to be today, Black Jack Hudson?”
“Not today, or tomorrow, or the next day.” He leaned closer, until their lips nearly touched. “I made a deal with my boss.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yep, only she doesn’t know it yet.”
A knock at the door interrupted their near kiss.
“Frankie? Are you there?” Bradley’s voice called.
> Panic flooded her body.
“Oh, my God!” She sprang from the bed, groping for her clothes. “Quick, pick up, hide, do something.”
Jack stared at her.
“Don’t just lie there!” she whispered, scooping clothes off the floor and tossing them in the corner.
“Sweetums? You okay in there?”
“In a minute, Nipper!” she called back.
“Nipper?” Jack raised a brow.
“Help me! Come on, pick up your clothes, get dressed, get out of here.”
“And where would you have me go? He’s blocking the only exit.”
“The balcony, there’s a balcony. I’ll keep him in the front room, but just in case, stay out there.”
Grabbing his arm, she pulled and he grunted. He finally tumbled out of bed, his manhood ready for action. Her body automatically reacted with a tingling sensation between her legs.
“Don’t ruin my life. Please don’t ruin my life,” she said, coaxing him to the balcony.
He froze and wrenched his arm from her. “Don’t ruin your life?”
The fire in his eyes burned straight to her heart. She read pain in his eyes, tempered with anger.
“I meant—”
“Forget it. I need clothes.” He ripped his gaze from her and scanned the floor.
Shoving his shirt at him, she slid open the balcony door. “You’ll stay…here?”
“No, I’m going to wing it to Aruba,” he said, planting his hands on his naked hips.
With a nervous giggle she slammed the door and whipped the sheers closed. There. Everything would be fine. Her life was fine, nothing to worry about.
She glanced at the balcony, regret tearing her apart inside for hurting Jack’s feelings. That was the last thing she wanted to do, but the comment slipped out. Call it panic or fear or just plain stupidity.
Call it survival. She wasn’t ready to give up her dream of a perfect life with a stable, responsible man like Bradley.
As she passed the bed on her way to the living room, guilt flushed her cheeks. What had she done?
“Francine?” Bradley knocked louder.
“Coming!” She tugged on the sheets, straightening them a bit, but not too much. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t get past the living room. She’d make sure of that.
