by Noelle Adams
I’d made it through the evening. Nothing disastrous had happened. And I’d enjoyed seeing how much the other attendees liked and respected Jack, no matter how uncomfortable he was in his new suit.
I was starting to daydream about staying on a couple of extra weeks to go to the Renaissance art seminar my professor had told me about yesterday—and spend time with Jack a little longer—when I felt an arm slip around me from behind.
“Your hair looks darker pulled up that way,” Jack murmured against my ear.
He shouldn’t be touching me the way he was, but I liked it too much to pull away. “Yes. I, uh, had some more low lights put in.”
My hair is naturally blond like the rest of my family’s, and I’d always worn it very long. But I’d cut it to shoulder-length and added some low lights to make it darker when I moved to the States, thinking it might make me look different. That afternoon, after I’d gotten the text from Henry, I’d made a last minute appointment at a salon to darken my hair even more, and then I’d pulled it up in a tight bun at the nape of my neck so I’d look as different as possible from those pictures online.
So far, it seemed to have worked.
“Well, you look gorgeous either way,” Jack said. I could hear a smile in his voice.
I sighed and lowered my hands to his arms, thinking I would pull them away from me. But once my hands reached his forearms, they couldn’t do what they were supposed to do, so I ended up just holding onto him.
“What’s the matter?” Jack asked, when I didn’t say anything.
“Nothing.”
“Something has been wrong with you this evening. You’ve been…I don’t know, on edge or something.”
I’d hoped he wouldn’t notice my low-level of anxiety, but evidently that hope was futile. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not because everyone thinks we’re together, is it? You know how people are. If you’re someone’s date, they assume you’re a couple. But it doesn’t mean—”
“I know,” I interrupted, turning back to look at him. “It’s not that at all.”
“Then what’s the matter?” He’d kept his arms around me when I turned around, so now he was hugging me gently, staring down at my face. “Amalie, I want to know.”
I wanted to tell him. So much. But it would change everything and take away these last weeks I had with him. “You’re imagining things,” I said, smiling teasingly to lighten the words.
“I can tell when something’s wrong.”
“Can you? You don’t know me that well, you know.”
“Yes, I do. I know you very well.” He was smiling too, but the look in his eyes was still sober. He was serious about this, and it made my chest ache.
“We’ve been neighbors for a year and friends for less than a month. You can’t know everything about someone else in that length of time.”
“I know enough. Ask me anything about yourself.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Ask me a question about you, and I bet I’ll get the right answer.” His mouth was curling up at the corner now, proving his sober mood was lifting.
“What’s my brother’s name?”
“You can’t ask me about something you refuse to tell me. I’d know the answer to that if you’d ever opened up about your family.”
That was true. Entirely fair. So I didn’t argue with his objection. Instead, I asked, “What’s my favorite color?”
“Pink,” he said immediately. “It’s the color you wear the most.”
I gave him a playful scowl, since he’d gotten the answer right. “Who’s my favorite writer?”
“Jane Austen.”
I gasped. “How did you know that? I’ve never talked to you about books.”
He was chuckling now, his eyes taking on that soft look I loved. “But I’ve looked at your bookcase, and I saw which books got the place of honor between those fancy bookends.”
“Damn it,” I muttered, feeling far more affectionate than I should and trying to hide it. “Okay, you’ll never get this one. When did I lose my virginity?”
I’m not sure why I shifted the topic to sex. Or maybe I did know. But I recognized that smolder in his eyes, and it prompted a responding feeling in me.
“When you were nineteen,” he murmured thickly, after a few moments.
My whole body jerked. “How could you possibly know that?”
He laughed uninhibitedly, pulling me into a brief hug. “It was just a guess. I’m as surprised as you that I got it right.”
“But how could you guess?”
“I told you. I know you. You’re careful, and you’re private, and you’re really guarded about your heart. I figured you’d lose your virginity later than some other women, but you don’t seem like the traditional type, so I didn’t think you’d wait a really long time. It was just a guess.”
I gazed up at him, marveling that he actually did know me as well as he claimed. I hadn’t thought anyone but my family knew me that well.
And there were even some doubts about my family.
“What else do you know about me?” I asked, slightly breathless.
He cupped my cheek with his big, warm hand. “I know that you’re torn between what your family expects of you and what you really want to do. I know you don’t want to betray them, but that you also don’t think what they want for you is right. I think, at heart, you believe in doing what’s best for you, so I think you’re going to stay for that seminar.”
My eyes blurred over slightly. “I wish I could.”
“You can. You just have to be brave enough to do it. You’re braver than you know yourself to be, so I think you’re going to stay.”
My knees almost buckled from the wave of feeling that rushed over me. “Maybe I will.”
Jack was smiling as he tilted his head down to very gently brush his lips against mine. “If you need any help or encouragement, I’m your man.”
***
The following evening, I was sitting on the floor of Jack’s apartment, leaning back against his couch and eating a piece of pizza.
I’d eaten more pizza in the last month than I ever had in my life.
That was because of Jack.
This evening, I was dressed comfortably in yoga pants, a tank top, and a thin oversized blouse that I hadn’t buttoned up. Jack never dressed up for me so I figured there was no sense in dressing up for him.
I liked being comfortable. Growing up, it had only been in private when I’d been able to be comfortable.
The television was on at the moment because Jack wanted to see the score of a game.
I’ve never been a big fan of sports, except for football—or soccer as they call it here in the States—and that was only because my brother, Henry, had played all his life. But Jack liked to watch sports on TV, and I saw no reason not to let him at the moment.
I wasn’t paying any attention to the television anyway. I was still thinking about the painful conversation I’d had with my mother this afternoon, when I’d told her I was staying for two extra weeks to take the Renaissance art seminar.
“Stop brooding,” Jack said out of the blue. His eyes never strayed from the television screen, where an announcer was babbling enthusiastically. “You told her. The worst is over.”
“I’m not sure it was the worst. Once she has time to think it through, she’ll come up with some plot to get me to change my mind.”
Jack’s eyes shifted briefly to my face. “Is she really that manipulative?”
“Manipulative doesn’t even come close.”
“Nothing you can do about it, then. Just let her do her thing, and you do your thing.”
“It’s not as easy as that. She doesn’t let herself be ignored.”
“That’s not the real problem.”
“What’s the real problem?”
“You feel guilty, like you betrayed them or something.”
I sighed, realizing he was right. Of course I felt guilty. I loved my family
, and I wanted to make them happy—even my mother.
It was just that what they wanted from me wasn’t going to make me happy.
“And you’re scared because you’ve never lived without a safety net.”
I sucked in a quick breath as he added the comment in an almost lazy tone. “What do you mean?”
He met my eyes. “What do you think I mean? You’ve always had a fall-back plan, a safety net. And it’s scary to think of living life without it.”
“It’s not about that. It’s about not wanting to hurt my family. I love them, you know.”
“I’m not saying you should cut them out of your life completely,” Jack added, studying my face, as if searching for what I was thinking. “You can keep trying to make them understand. But I don’t think you should let them make you do something that doesn’t feel right for you.”
“I know. I’m trying not to. It’s just…hard, when you were raised to believe your whole purpose was duty to your family.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, and the corner of his mouth twitched up. “Your family is really kind of different, aren’t they?”
I couldn’t help but laugh, feeling better for no good reason. “Uh, yes, they are.”
Jack smiled at me before he turned back to focus on sports again. I noticed his shirt looked new. It was a short-sleeved gray crew-neck, and I was sure I hadn’t seen him wear it before. It looked good on him, stretching across his broad shoulders and making him look more well-dressed than his old T-shirts. Even his dress shirts were usually slightly wrinkled. I decided he should wear shirts like this one more often.
I had seen his jeans before, though. They were Jack’s favorites. They fit his trim hips, muscular thighs and long legs perfectly—not too tight or too baggy—and the denim had grown soft and thin from constant wear. He even had shoes on this evening, something he never wore in his own apartment. I might have thought he’d made an effort in his appearance tonight, but he looked bristlier than normal.
“Did you shave this morning?”
He blinked and idly rubbed his lower face with one hand—I could hear the grate of his whiskers against his fingers. “I think so.”
“It doesn’t look like it.”
He gave a half-shrug. “I always shave. Sometimes twice a day.”
“When you have a hot date?”
That made him shift his eyes to me, his expression changing almost imperceptibly. “Yes. That’s usually when I shave twice. Why?”
“I don’t know. I was just wondering.”
His attention was focused on me completely now, and the expression in his brown eyes grew warmer. “Just so you know, hanging out with you is as hot as it gets for me.”
Something about the way his voice thickened unsettled me. I leaned back, away from him. “We don’t do anything hot.”
“Maybe. But the more time I spend with you, the better my chances are of taking you to bed.”
I gulped and flushed hotly. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t touched me. All he’d done was look at me with that lazy, smoldering look.
But it was enough to make me melt into the floor. “You shouldn’t talk like that,” I mumbled, letting my loose hair fall over my shoulder so I could use it for a little cover.
His lips widened into an amused grin. “Why are you embarrassed? I’ve told you all along I’m interested in you.”
“I know. But I told you there’s no future.”
His expression relaxed into a half-smile. “Do you hear me asking for a future? I’m not suggesting we’re destined to be eternal soul mates.”
“You just want to have sex?” I stared at him, hardly able to process that this big, sexy man was sitting beside me, acting like it was normal to discuss whether or not we should sleep together.
He leaned forward, evidently having forgotten about sports completely. It was a minor victory, but one I was quite pleased about. “Whatever we do,” Jack said matter-of-factly, “we do it honestly, being up-front about our intentions.”
I was breathing more quickly now, and my cheeks were still painfully warm. He was talking like it was going to happen, like we were going to…
And I was getting nervous and excited, as if I believed it too.
“I’m not sure…” I swallowed hard. “I’m not sure I want to.”
“Don’t lie to me—or to yourself. We both know you do want to.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, torn between indignation and rising excitement.
Then he added with another wry smile, “But I get it. Having sex with me would blow your mind, and you might not ever get over it. I understand not wanting to take the chance.”
I burst into laughter at his unexpected words. “Would you stop it?” I gasped, reaching out to put a companionable hand on his chest. “You arrogant man.”
We were smiling at each other now, and the smile went on until something changed in the mood between us. My hand grew still on his shirtfront, the soft texture of the cotton oddly sensual, particularly when paired with the solid strength of the chest beneath it. I fisted my hand unconsciously, my fingers clenching around a handful of fabric.
When I realized what I was doing, I flattened my hand again immediately and slid it down toward his belly in a friendly stroke.
His abdomen was hard too. All of him was hard. And big. And masculine.
And so different from anything else I’d ever known.
I jerked my hand back and stared at the television, trying to slow my breathing. When I glanced over at him at last, I saw his gaze had turned hotter than ever.
I had to do something to distract myself from the desire that was starting to course through me, so I tried for a teasing tone. “Just so you know, I’m not into arrogant men.”
“Maybe not, but you are into me.”
I gave a little huff and formed my mouth into a pout for good measure, still trying to sustain the teasing mood.
When I slanted a quick look up at him, I thrilled at the hungry look in his eyes as he focused on my protruding lower lip.
“Don’t make that expression unless you want me to do something to that lip.” His words were a warning, but his thick voice sounded more like a promise.
My whole body washed with heat, and I couldn’t catch my breath. Without thinking, I licked my dry lips.
“Is that an invitation?” Jack had leaned forward slightly, his eyes studying my face now with real inquiry mingled with the lust.
I knew what I wanted now. I wanted him to make a move on me in a way I never had before.
I wanted to feel those big hands on my body. I wanted to press up against the hard strength of his muscular form. I wanted to feel the rough texture of his face, his hair, his palms.
I knew he wanted it too. I could see it in the heat in his eyes, the tension in his body.
But I also knew something else. He wasn’t going to make a move. He wasn’t going to do anything unless I asked him. He’d already made plenty of overtures, which I had turned down, so now it was up to me to change the dynamic between us.
I’d spent most of my life doing what other people wanted of me, but Jack wanted me to take what I wanted.
Even if what I wanted was him.
Unable to resist the impulse, I pushed him back gently until he was leaning against the sofa. Using his shoulders to brace myself, I crawled over him until I was straddling his lap.
“Amalie?” Something hotter, even more compelling ignited in his eyes, and his hands settled on my hips.
I figured I looked rather shameless. I was so turned on now that my nipples poked out through the fabric of my top, and a band of skin was showing between the hem of my tank and the top of my yoga pants.
He was aroused too—the tight bulge in his pants thrilling and increasingly evident. I rubbed myself against it until he groaned.
“Damn, princess, wait,” he rasped.
The endearment, more than his plea, caused me to cease the grinding of my hips.
“You really want this?�
�� Jack was searching my face as if he were trying to read my mind.
“Yes.” I knew he was serious about needing to know why, after I’d resisted for so long, so I managed to restrain my lust for long enough to explain, “I never do what I really want, so I want to do it now.”
I realized what a risk I’d taken in so many ways as my words lingered in the air, only the background noise of the television breaking the silence.
Then Jack’s fingers tightened in the soft flesh of my bottom. “Sounds good to me,” he murmured and pulled me down into a kiss. He wrapped one arm around me, pressing my chest against his. The position pushed my groin against his even more, and I groaned into his mouth at the delicious friction.
When our mouths tore apart, Jack grabbed the back of my head to keep my face close to his. He rubbed his skin against mine, the rough texture grating with a slight discomfort that was oddly erotic.
I gasped against his cheek, momentarily afraid I was going to lose it just from the pressure of his groin against mine combined with the friction of his jaw.
Whimpering softly, I fisted my hand in his hair, pulling on it in a way that must have hurt. “God, Jack! I’m dying here.”
He gave a hoarse chuckle and then a little buck up against me. “You’re not the only one.”
But he responded to my plea, sliding off my blouse and then hooking his fingers around the waistband of my pants to pull them down over my hips.
I lifted up and extended each leg in turn until we were able to get rid of my pants. My panties were little bikinis in pink cotton—not really intended for public viewing. But Jack’s eyes were warm and approving as he gazed down at me before I straddled his lap once more.
Instead of cupping my bottom, this time he cupped my groin with one hand.
I blushed when I realized that he’d feel how wet I was—my desire dampening the cotton.
“Damn, princess,” he rasped, arching his back slightly as he applied pressure on my pulsing clit with the heel of his hand.
