by Vanessa Vale
I pulled back from the kiss, put my forehead to his. My breathing was rough, labored. “Jack, you're leaving.”
His thumbs brushed over my nipples through my sweater, shirt and bra. I felt him hard against my lower belly. “Give me a minute and I'll be coming.”
I put my hands on top of his with the intention of moving them off of my breasts. It wasn't a good idea because I only pushed his palms against me harder, brushing him over my nipples in a way that had me almost coming, too.
No! I felt my heart melting—various places on my body as well—and I had to resist. With a moment of clarity, I pulled him from me, opened my eyes. “I can't do this. You're leaving in a few hours,” I repeated, my breath ragged. “To Florida. Remember?”
Jack took a deep breath, exhaled. “You climbed on my lap. I was just reacting. Want me to get the bag of sex toys you made for me?”
I slid off Jack's lap onto the couch beside him, threw an arm over my eyes to block him out, to try to block out the feelings brought on by his touch. By him just being there. Then I thought about the ridiculous gag gifts I'd put in his bag and cringed at the idea of putting them to use. Tame or not. “I know I climbed in your lap. And no, don't even look in the gift bag. I made that when I hated you,” I grumbled. My brain was telling me to play it smart, but my body was definitely not in agreement. “Stopping might not be the easiest thing, but it's the right thing to do.”
“Do you always do the right thing?” Jack asked. He looked a little cranky. I didn't blame him. I felt a little cranky, too. An orgasm would solve that problem. But no, my stupid brain had to pull me back from the brink.
I considered his question. “I guess so. If I didn't, we'd be naked right now.”
Jack groaned as he rubbed his hand over his jaw, stubble rasping against his palm.
“Do you?” I asked. My heart rate was finally returning to normal range. “Do the right thing?”
“I used to.” Jack sighed, closed his eyes briefly.
“So what happened?”
He lifted a brow, remained quiet.
“Oh,” I whispered. I had a pretty good idea when he’d lost all direction in his life.
“Do you really want me to say it?” he asked, his voice rough.
I bit my lip and nodded. I didn't, but I needed to know what had gone so wrong that he never came back.
“You and Uncle Owen were the only ones who saw the real me. Made me want to be a better person. When you...I mean Violet, pulled that switching stunt, I thought it had all been a game to you.”
I saw Jack's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. He turned and looked at me. Really looked at me with those fathomless blue eyes. I saw ten years of emotion there. Heartache, bitterness, anger. “I loved you, Miller. You were the one. Even if I hadn't told you, even if I hadn't gotten up the nerve to ask you out. I knew. Even at seventeen.”
Tears filled my eyes, a painful lump lodged in my throat. He'd said loved. Past tense. Knowing he'd loved me and then stopped was crushing.
“I realized maybe my parents had been right in leaving me. That I wasn't worth it. I thought the way you'd toyed with me that you didn't think so, either.”
I gasped, realizing how cruel Violet had been. How cruel he'd thought I'd been. An inconsequential thing for Violet to do had affected Jack so deeply.
“After, there was nothing left for me here. Bozeman was just a crappy town to me after graduation. Uncle Owen understood I had to leave and he let me. I took the scholarship for the University of Miami and ran.” Jack laughed humorlessly. “Ten years later, I'm still running. Still bitter.”
14
“Jack,” I whispered as I sat up and straddled his lap again. Felt his hard thighs, his cock, now hard, between us. I took his face in my hands and kissed him. Kissed him with all the passion I'd held back. My tongue met his, tangled, just like I’d written about in my romance book. Ten years of need built between us, Jack's hands running up over my body, caressing, and learning.
Running my fingers through his hair, I nipped at his jaw, my lips sensitized by his rough stubble. “Jack,” I whispered again.
Before I drew another breath, he lifted me about the waist and placed me back on the sofa away from him. I lay there, looking at him, my breathing ragged, my need unmet.
“Jack?”
“Jesus, Miller.” Jack ran his hand through his hair. Through the layers of clothing, I could see he was trying to catch his breath, too. “For the first time in ten years,” he said, his voice rough with need, “I'm going to do the right thing. I want to slide you underneath me and fuck you until we can't figure out where you start and I end. But like you said, I'm leaving.”
His gaze slashed to meet mine. A wildness I hadn't seen before was there, banked by years of anger. Betrayal. Frustration.
The visual of his naked body pressing down upon me, into me, made me flush all over. My nipples tightened impossibly harder beneath all the layers of clothing.
“The one time I want to do the wrong thing,” I said, still cranky. But right then, right there on Uncle Owen's couch, I fell in love with Jack. All over again. There was goodness in him, and Jack was just discovering it was still there, buried under years of hurt.
Jack lifted my feet up and onto his lap so I laid across the length of the couch, my head on a throw pillow at the far end. “The one time I want to do the right thing.” His lip curled up into a half-hearted smile. “I've lost my mind.”
I needed to think about something else besides his hands on me, how my body pulsed in special places. For him. Just for him. “Why...why did you come back?”
His gaze turned to the TV, but I knew he wasn't watching it. There was much more to his trip to Bozeman than just his uncle's house calamity.
“I got fired from work.”
His thumb brushed idly over my arch through my thick wool sock. I doubted he knew he was doing it. I did. Small little circles of pleasure spiraled around at the bottom of my foot. I had no idea it was such an erogenous zone. I imagined what it would be like if we weren't covered head to toe in enough clothes to be Sherpas to Mt. Everest…and if that thumb was circling my nipple instead.
“The company I worked for dealt in high end divorces. Rich and powerful people who didn't want their exes to get a dime. It was my job to make sure that happened.”
“It doesn't sound very ethical,” I commented.
Jack shook his head, his jaw tense. “It wasn't. For five years it didn't bother me. I didn't think twice about what I was doing. What was right or wrong. About whether what I was doing was right or wrong.”
Now I understood his earlier words. “Doing the right thing.”
Jack nodded. “I helped a woman use her kid as leverage to get the millions she wanted. She never cared about her son. After the husband forked over the money, she refused to give up the kid so she could get child support.”
This didn't sound good. “What happened?” I whispered.
“The crappy mom got a ten-million-dollar settlement, put the kid in a boarding school in Switzerland, and pocketed thirty thousand a month in child support.”
“Wow.” I couldn't fathom that kind of money, or that kind of selfishness.
“The boy's seven.”
“Holy shit.” I couldn't imagine a seven-year-old in a foreign country, all alone. Then I thought about Jack's childhood.
“He reminded you of yourself, didn't he?”
Jack turned his bleak eyes to me, nodded. “My parents never cared. It didn't matter because I had my uncle, but this kid has no one now. The court's made it so the dad can only see him once a month, supervised, and that's when he's in the country.”
I felt a pang of sympathy for the little boy, but also for the little boy Jack had been. He said it didn't matter. I doubted that. What little kid could handle rejection from their parents at so young an age? Uncle or not, Jack's parents' actions had affected his life. And not in a good way.
“Why did you get fired? Sounds like you won the
case.”
Jack clicked off the TV with the remote, tossed it onto the coffee table with a loud thunk. “I did. The husband filed a claim with the Ethics Board about the tactics my company used. My company threw me under the bus, putting all the shady investigating, and the backhanded deals, on me. Said I was the one all these years who bent the ethics rules to meet my clients' needs.”
I propped myself up on my elbows, stunned. “What? You?” I was so angry for him. “Did you?”
Jack took a deep breath. “Yes.”
“Did they?”
His dark eyes blazed with anger, his hands squeezed my feet harshly. “Yes. It doesn't matter. They're now in the clear. I, on the other hand, may not be able to practice law again.”
“And Uncle Owen? How did he know?”
“It's all over the news in Miami. I think he heard about it and faked an illness to get me out of there.”
I smiled, thinking about Uncle Owen and how kind he was. “He's really amazing. He cares about you enough to bring you back, and smart enough to leave his house renovation to you.” I looked around us. The living room looked normal, other than the fact that it was cold enough we wore winter-wear inside. The kitchen needed at least two weeks before it was usable again.
Jack smiled. A thin, weak one, but still a smile.
“When do you go back?” There was no question he would return to Florida.
“You heard some of the phone calls with my lawyer. And yes, before you ask, a lawyer needs a lawyer sometimes. Especially in this shitty situation. I was going to leave in the morning, but with this crazy lady on the loose, I'm not leaving you alone until she's put away.”
His words felt good. They softened a place in my heart I knew might never heal once he left. Jack was doing the right thing. Again.
“What about the Ethics Board?”
“I got it postponed.”
* * *
I woke up once again in Jack's arms. It felt pretty darn good to have him hold me through the night, his heart beating beneath my ear. What didn't feel good was the crick in my neck, the pain in my hip from being wedged into the couch in an uncomfortable position. We were tangled together, arms and legs intertwined, buried beneath the thick down comforter. We fell asleep watching a bad movie on TV, deciding it was safer to stay away from the guest bedroom. Even if he wasn't leaving in the morning, he was still leaving. Jack admitted he had no willpower if there was a bed involved and my own willpower wasn't strong enough to fend him off.
The more I learned about Jack, the more I was intrigued. He'd been through so much in life: abandonment, rejection and most recently, deceit. Deep down, I saw the goodness in him, his interest to stay in Bozeman and help me with the crazy lady in the pink jacket. He could head back to Miami right away, deal with the mess of his life, but he chose to stay here longer, help me—and his uncle—instead.
We stopped by the drive-up Java Hut and picked up some extra tall, black coffees to go. The dark aroma filled the van. The sky was gunmetal gray, the clouds thick and low. Snow was coming. Jack opened the door to Violet's house, peeked in. “All clear,” he said to me as I stood back from him about five feet, ready to run if the snake decided to make a break for it.
We went into the living room, my steps tentative. Jasper was coiled up inside his terrarium, looking full and content. No mouse in sight.
“Wow, good job,” I said, impressed. Relieved. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
Jack put the top back on the terrarium and we picked up, putting the room to rights. Not being particularly keen on Violet at the moment, I didn't put my heart into it. She could clean her own house when she got home.
“First thing on the list today is to get rid of Jasper,” I told him, tossing a throw pillow back onto the couch.
Jack eyed me funny. “Get rid of how?”
“No matter how much I dislike snakes, I don't want to hurt one.” I pointed at Jasper. “He's going to a different teacher's house. You carry him out to the van, I'll drive.”
I locked the door behind us, Jack holding the large glass terrarium in his arms. I cringed when I looked at Jasper, coiled up tightly on top of his hot rock. It’d be a cold ride for him since it was unplugged, but he’d survive the short drive. We headed down the shoveled walkway and saw Scary Lady get out of a car. It was an older model Oldsmobile, silver but rust eaten in many spots. There was a crack in the windshield and the antennae was bent. Both she and her car had seen better days.
“Hurry up and open the back of the van. I can't do anything with this in my arms,” Jack said, his voice hard. His eyes were on the woman walking up to us.
I dashed to swing the back doors open, helped Jack load Jasper in next to the plumbing tools, and closed the doors with a slam. Scary Lady approached.
“You!” She pointed at me, her hand wrapped in loose gauze that dangled down around her wrist. She was blonde, but had serious roots showing. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, lank and in need of a wash. She wore the same pink puffy coat, but up close I could see small holes all over the left side, little fluffs of white down falling out.
“Me?” I pointed at myself. “Do I know you?”
The woman sputtered, surprised. “No. But you know my husband.”
Jack looked at me, confused. I shrugged my shoulders.
“Who's your husband?”
She rolled her eyes. “Ronald.”
I thought for a moment. “Nope, doesn't ring a bell. Are you all right? It looks like something's wrong with your coat. It looks like—”
“You were shot,” Jack finished. He stood there, feet wide, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as if ready for a fight. It would be pretty uneven given Jack had seventy-five pounds on her, but it was never wise to underestimate the insane.
“That crazy old man!” she pointed to Old Mr. Chalmer's house. I had no doubt he was watching.
Crazy Lady turned to Jack. “Who the hell are you?” Before he could answer, she continued. “If you think this woman's going to stay with you, you've got another thing coming.” She hooked her thumb toward me. “Honey, she only goes after married men. Are you married?”
Jack stood there, stone faced, but I saw the corner of his lip twitch and I knew he was trying not to laugh. “No,” he answered.
“I'd find a new woman to fool around with. She's a home wrecker.”
“Hey!” I said, insulted.
“I'm keeping my eyes on you!” Again, she pointed her injured hand at me. “I don't want you anywhere near Ronald. He's all mine.”
“You can have him,” I grumbled. “Listen, we've got to go. Nice meeting you, um, what's your name?”
“Lorraine.”
“Lorraine, it's nice meeting you.” I turned and walked to the driver's side of the van. “I think,” I whispered to myself.
Jack and I climbed in and peeled out of there as fast as the van and compacted snow would let me. George the Gnome tipped over on the floor. I winced at the thunking sound of ceramic against floor mat. “Pick that up, will you? It’s got enough cracks already. If it breaks, I'm in big trouble with a seven-year-old.”
Jack picked him up without questioning and put him in his lap.
“Who the hell is that woman?” Jack asked after we'd gone two blocks. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the Oldsmobile following at a distance.
“I have no idea. But I guess I know her husband, Ronald.” I wracked my brain trying to think of a Ronald. No luck. The last guy I dated was a Chris and he definitely wouldn't have been married to Scary Lady Lorraine.
Jack was quiet for a moment. “Maybe she's not interested in you.”
I glanced quickly at Jack, my eyes on the road in front of us. It had started to snow, that light fluffy stuff that meant a good powder day at the ski resort. It also meant it had warmed up. When it was bitterly cold, the air was usually too dry to snow because of some high pressure meteorological thing. A front must have moved in, bringing wetter air and froz
en precipitation.
It also meant the streets were icy. In the moment my eyes were off the road, I hit a patch of slick stuff. I took my foot off the accelerator and steered the van into the turn. After years of driving in wintery conditions, I knew not to slam my foot on the brake. We only slid about ten feet, but enough to have my tools and pipes clamor around in back. Since we were on the side of the road anyway, I put the van in park and turned to Jack. It seemed I did this a lot with him, these side of the road chit chats.
“Not interested in me?” I stared at him, trying to figure out what he was talking about, when it hit me, like a two by four between the eyes. “You mean...” I sputtered, and then slammed my palms down onto the steering wheel. “You mean she might be thinking I'm Violet,” I said angrily.
“Do you know a Ronald?”
I crinkled my forehead. “No.” I pulled my cell from my coat pocket, dialed Violet, groaned. “Voicemail.” I listened to her message then answered, “Violet. Any chance you know a guy named Roland?”
“Ronald,” Jack said, looking over his shoulder into the back of the van.
“Ronald,” I repeated into the phone. “A guy named Ronald? Because his wife thinks so. Call me.” I pressed End. “She is such an annoying, meddling sister! I know, Reid, you can't appreciate the fact that I love her and want to kill her at the same time.”
I looked into the side view mirror, eased back onto the road, kept my pace Montana slow.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jack glance at me.
“No. My parents bailed. My uncle's all I've got,” he replied.
“You left him after graduation and haven't been back,” I countered.
Jack's face got hard. “I brought him to Florida, and other places, to visit. We see each other a couple times a year. But coming back here? Bozeman holds too many bad memories for me.”
