“Sure she is. Until she gets back from this so-called trip, I'll be on you like a fly on shit.”
I cringed at the lovely metaphor. She and Goldie should get together.
Jack threw an arm around my shoulder and leaned in close so only I could hear. His breath was warm on my ear. I smelled his skin, manly and spicy and dark. Goose bumps rose and it wasn't from the cold. “Remember the saying, 'Keep your friends close but your enemies closer?' We might just want to go along with her here. I think she's one step away from losing it.”
We both looked at her. Bandaged hand, shot out coat, gimpy leg. The woman was not having a good day. And as far as she was concerned, I'd slept with her husband. Jack was right. It wasn't a good idea to mess with a woman scorned.
“Lorraine, do you need help getting your car out of the ditch?” I asked in my sweetest voice. If we were doing the whole metaphor thing, then I wanted to be the honey, not the vinegar.
“Hell, no. Let that piece of shit rot, for all I care. I'll take your van.” She stalked past us toward the van.
“What? No way! It has all my tools, my entire business in it,” I said, outraged.
“Tough,” Lorraine said, running faster than I figured considering her injuries. I made a dash for her, slipped on some ice, but Jack was there to grab my arm and keep me from falling on my ass. Unfortunately, that small window allowed Lorraine to hop in the driver's seat and smack a hand down on the lock.
I was winded, full of adrenaline from my near slip. I pounded on the window with my palms, but the sound was muffled with my mittens. “Lorraine!”
Through the window I heard her cackling, turn the engine over. It was obvious she had the upper hand and she looked thrilled.
For some reason, I thought of Jasper, slithering around the floor of the van. My gaze shot to Jack's. “Where's Jasper?” I asked.
“I was able to get him off your seat belt, but he slipped out of my hand and went beneath the seat where I couldn't reach him.”
I stared at him dumbly. “You mean he's still loose?” I shivered at the idea.
Jack only shrugged.
I turned to shout to Lorraine through the window. “Um, you might not want to—”
“To what?” Lorraine yelled, her eyes beady. “Don't mess with me.”
I glanced to Jack, who shrugged again and said, “Short of breaking the window and strangling her, there isn't much we can do.”
I held my hands up. Hopefully, she'd ditch the van somewhere I could find, and without damaging it—or any of my expensive tools. My entire livelihood was in there and I hadn't finished paying off my dad yet. I didn't need a crazy lady blowing my career now.
We stood there and watched as Lorraine pulled away, leaving us behind, snow silently falling, forming a white blanket around us. If we weren't stranded on the side of the road, it might have been romantic. But it was just cold and damp. The van made it about five hundred feet before the brake lights came on, it fishtailed wildly, did a one-eighty in the middle of the street and came to a stop. Luckily, no other cars were coming.
Jack looked at me, I looked at him, and we dashed toward the van. He made it there first. His legs were longer. He banged on the window yelling, “Lorraine, unlock the door!”
She did, shakily, and Jack had the driver's door wrenched open, helping her out by the time I got there. I was out of breath and much warmer than a minute ago.
Lorraine was mumbling something about being attacked by a gnome, her hand covering her nose. From my spot next to Jack, I could see blood trickling around her fingers.
I thought about what I had in the truck, dashed to the back and opened a door, eyes darting around for Jasper. I reached in quickly and grabbed an old t-shirt I had saved to use for work and quickly shut the door.
“Here, hold this to your nose.” I gave Lorraine the rag.
She took it woozily and hissed when she pressed it against her nose. “There was a fucking snake in there!” Her eyes were wild as she looked back at the van.
“Take her to the side of the road. I'm going to move the van out of the street.” Jack climbed in and steered it carefully over to the berm.
I waved to a driver who slowed to help, thanked him and told him we were fine. “How did you hit your nose?” Putting one arm around her bony shoulder, I guided Lorraine over next to the van and away from the street.
“This snake climbed up onto the passenger seat and I freaked. I lost control on the ice,” she swallowed, clearly flustered from her ordeal, “the van swerved hard and this garden gnome came out of nowhere and clocked me in the face.”
George. I tried not to smile at the perverted humor about the situation. The poor woman couldn't get a break.
Jack rejoined us. “We'll take you to the ER to get you checked out. You might have a broken nose.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” she said, her voice all nasally. “Oh, no, not in that thing!” Lorraine pointed, wild eyed as I guided her toward my van. “What the hell's a snake doing in there?”
“He's a first grade class pet. I was taking him to someone's house to be watched,” I answered.
“I found Jasper and put him back in the terrarium,” Jack said reassuringly. “He won't get out now. I put the tool box on top and wedged it all in the corner. Come on, pile in. It's freezing cold and the snow's going down my neck.”
“I want to see the snake in the cage before I climb in,” Lorraine commented nervously.
I did, too. No way I'd tell her that, but Jasper needed to be in his terrarium before I even considered getting back inside. No fucking way was I getting back in that van without the snake on full lockdown.
Jack opened the back door, showed us Jasper happily back in his home. I decided to suck it up and we piled in and drove to the ER in silence, Lorraine and I sharing the passenger seat. George the Gnome in my lap, his sly grin still in place.
I felt kind of bad for Lorraine. I could completely relate to the whole loose snake scare. Jack and I were lucky we hadn't been dive bombed by George like she had. And back to her original reason for stalking me, she had every right to be mad, to go crazy, if Violet really had slept with her husband. Didn't sound like something Violet would do, but there was the whole high school thing with Jack that made me consider it a possibility.
Lorraine climbed out at the hospital entrance, favoring her leg and staunching the nosebleed.
“I know you don't believe me, but I really do have an identical twin.”
She eyed me skeptically over the wadded up t-shirt.
“I can see why you're angry. I'd be mad, too. If you want to keep following me, I understand. I'll be heading out around nine tomorrow morning.”
Lorraine barely cracked a smile. “I'm the fly, you're the shit, remember?”
I nodded, then rolled the window back up as she headed through the sliding glass doors.
“I'm the shit,” I repeated to Jack as we drove off.
Jack shook his head. “I forgot how crazy it is around here. And how nice people are.” He looked directly at me, realized who he was referring to, and felt my cheeks blush.
I bit my lip, wondering if he thought being nice was a good or bad thing. “Just because Lorraine's annoying doesn't mean I shouldn't be nice.”
Jack considered that as he fiddled with one of the heat vents. “Most people who are stalked by others have them arrested. You give them your itinerary. Unbelievable. You always do the right thing, don't you?”
***
Jack drove to Chris Sprague's house, and we left Jasper with him. I'm sure the Houdini reptile was happy to be rid of us as much as we were to be rid of him. Okay, I was definitely so much happier to be rid of him. I was going to have nightmares of snakes slithering up my shirt for weeks.
After, we drove to Jack's uncle's in silence. I was just relieved to see the tail end of Jasper. Jack, I wasn't quite sure what he was thinking. His face held no expression and that probably was a bad thing. He did a pretty good job of keeping his emotions i
n check. His cell rang on the way, he glanced at the screen and let it go to voicemail.
“My lawyer,” he grumbled under his breath when I glanced over at him.
I left him in front of Uncle Owen's house, standing by the side of the road, snow falling, shoulders hunched up against the cold, looking miserable and probably mentally preparing himself for the return call. I had no doubt things were worse than Jack was telling me. I wanted to help him, as Jack said, helping others was in my nature, but unfortunately, there was nothing I could do to help him with his Florida issues. I continued on to Goldilocks for work, knowing he had to solve this problem on his own.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Marcus knew knots. As a sea captain, he wrapped her wrists in a way he knew she couldn't escape. Arms forced above her head, she was his for the taking. He looked over her luscious body. She had melons for breasts, ripe, sweet and juicy. Lower, too. Beneath the velvet skirts, he knew she was pink and wet. Ripe and juicy there as well.”
I read the next installment in Goldie's book. “There's a lot of ripe fruit in here,” I told her from my spot behind the counter at Goldilocks. It was dinner time, all was quiet in the store, no customers. Goldie ate from a Styrofoam to-go container. Chinese.
Delivery wasn't a service the restaurant offered, but they made an exception to the rule for Goldie. Whatever Goldie wanted was brought within thirty minutes of ordering. Every time. It may have been because she was such a sweet person that the owner did this just for her, but I thought it had more to do with his proclivity for ladies lingerie and a very specific genre of porn flicks. Confidentiality was Goldie's stock in trade, but the man figured it probably couldn't hurt to grease the wheels with Moo Shoo Pork, just in case.
“I want her to be desirable, to let the reader know how she's ripe and ready for him,” Goldie informed me about her unusual writing imagery.
“She's ripe all right,” I commented dryly. I wasn't sure how to tell Goldie her writing sucked. So I didn't. “I like the wontons,” I told her instead, picking up a fried crab one from a container, dipping it in some spicy sauce. I didn't get the opportunity to pick on Goldie very often, but by getting Chinese food, she'd provided me with the fodder I needed.
Goldie pursed her lips, looked at me over her fancy, spangled reading glasses as noodles dangled from her wooden chopsticks. “Very funny.”
Beep. I reached in my bag behind the counter for my cell and read the new text. You're good to go. The house is all yours.
“Yes!” I said, giving Goldie a quick hug. “I can move back home.”
“Finally,” Goldie added. “What about your story?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I haven't written anything else.”
Goldie's shoulders slumped, clearly disappointed. “Oh, I thought surely you and Jack would move things along.” She liked happy endings in real life as much as in her romance novels. Or she was fishing for me to kiss and tell.
“He's leaving tomorrow sometime.” I tried to hide the sadness from my voice. Goldie could pick up on that better than a bomb-sniffing dog and explosives.
“Tell him to stay,” Goldie said.
“It's not that simple.” I idly stirred the fried rice around in the white container. “He has things to take care of. To work out. Goldie, he's got ten years of issues to deal with. I can't solve his problems for him, no matter how much I want to help. No matter how much sex we might have.” Besides, I’d already told him I wanted to be a reason he’d stay, and he obviously hadn’t listened.
Saying the words made me sad. My life was here. His was two thousand miles away. To top it off, we hadn't even had sex. If Goldie knew, I'm sure she'd make him stay long enough for me to at least have a male-induced orgasm.
***
“Where are you?” Jack asked when he called me several hours later.
I was happily settled back in my own house. After leaving Goldilocks, I'd quickly picked up my things from Violet's and headed home. Home. Thrilled didn't come close to how I felt to be back. My own bed, my own everything. I cranked the heat so it was warm and toasty then climbed into my bathtub filled with tons and tons of hot, scalding water. Oh, how I loved my hot water heater.
“At my house.”
“Your house? It's all fixed?” He sounded surprised.
I smiled to myself as I played with the bubbles floating like islands in the tub. “Yup.”
“What's that sound? It sounds like you're doing dishes.”
“I'm in the bath.”
I heard a strange noise over the phone. “Jack?”
“Sorry, I think I just swallowed my tongue. What's your address?”
Excitement raced up my spine. I told him. The line went dead.
***
“You're supposed to be in the tub. My fantasy driving over here was of you in the tub,” Jack said when I'd unlocked the door for him. He stood there with thick snowflakes in his hair and on the shoulders of his coat, his eyes raking over me, taking in my painted toenails, my just-shaven legs, my ratty robe, my wet hair.
Smiling, I stepped back and let him in. “How were you planning on getting in then?” I asked, my hands pulling at the lapels on my robe, shivering. The floor was chilly beneath my bare feet.
“I was going to break in. It didn't really matter as long as you were still in the tub.” His eyes moved once again over my body as if searching for contraband.
With one foot, he kicked the front door shut behind him. With both hands, he grabbed hold of the ends of the tie about my waist and pulled me into him. The weak knot I had holding the front together came loose, the robe parting down the middle. Goose bumps rose across my body as my exposed skin was pressed against his cold jacket. And lower. His lips descended to mine in a quick, searing kiss. There was nothing gentle about the man that stood in front of me. He appeared to be on a mission and did not intend to fail.
His tongue circled with mine, delved deep before his lips moved to kiss my eyes shut, my jaw, my neck, all the time his hands holding tightly to my sash, keeping me from moving away. Not that I wanted to.
“You're wet,” he said, his voice a rough whisper by my ear. “I know it.”
I tilted my head back for his mouth, which had found a delicious spot halfway down my neck.
“No...no, I dried off in the bath—”
Jack laughed against my neck, his hands found my waist and I gasped at how cool they were. One hand slid down past my belly button, lower still until he plunged not one, but two fingers into me. “Here. You're wet here.”
I cried out at his surprising touch. My inner walls clamped down on his fingers, wanting them to stay deep inside me. My knees crumpled beneath me as he slid in and out. The lightning quick pulses of pleasure radiated out of my core to every part of my body. Jack's scent swirling around us, his lips on my neck made me lose all practical thought.
Jack pulled free, picked me up in his arms, my robe gaping open. I looked down at myself. One breast was exposed, just like the first time I saw him, the nipple tightening from the cool air, and Jack's gaze. He kept staring when he asked, “Where's your bedroom?”
His voice was dark and gravelly.
I pointed in the general direction, lost in a fathomless need. My body craved his touch. It had for years. I'd fought him for days—at least mentally—and knew when it was time to throw in the towel. Or, in this particular situation, maybe my old, frayed robe. Yes, he was leaving. Yes, it was going to hurt when he was gone.
But this was Jack Reid. The Jack Reid of every one of my fantasies. What woman in her right mind turned down a hot, smart, hot, kind and did I mention hot, man who carried you to the nearest bed? I'd put up a good fight against the oh, so tempting Jack Reid, but I was just a mere woman. For once I wanted to do the wrong thing. And the wrong thing felt so right.
Jack laid me down on the bed and spread the sides of the robe apart, exposing me to his gaze. For the first time. I'd dreamt of this moment and it was everything I'd imagined, and then some. He looke
d enthralled, lost, as if he was memorizing my every curve.
“You're so beautiful,” he murmured, running his finger gently over my stomach, moving up to circle the curving slope of one breast, then the other. I watched his finger move, hoping, longing for it to brush over my nipples. His hand was so tan, so rugged next to my Montana pale skin.
“I'm leaving tomorrow. Going back to deal with all the stuff I've done,” he said roughly as he caressed me with a tenderness that was my undoing.
Jack closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath. He fought an inner demon. “But I've got to touch you. Make you mine. You've always been everything that's right with the world.” He looked into my eyes. Pinned me in place with his storm swept, sea colored gaze. “I've been in love with you since I was sixteen. Seeing you again made me realize I hadn't stopped.”
His fingers finally brushed over my nipple. He paused and watched as it pebbled hard beneath his touch. I arched my back and my breast lifted up into his palm, wanting, craving every part of him. He said he loved me. Had always done so. Those few words were like a balm, they filled up every nook and cranny of my heart and it overflowed. Just for Jack.
“Please, Veronica, please tell me not to stop.”
Right then, whether he knew it or not, he was doing the right thing. He was stopping. Waiting. Letting me dictate what happened next. He didn't have to ask, he could've just taken what he wanted and he knew I wasn't strong enough to stop him.
I placed a hand to his cheek, felt the rasp of his stubble, the hard bone beneath. He turned his head and kissed my palm, took hold of my arm and kissed the pulse point at the inside of my wrist.
“Jack,” I said, my voice clogged with emotion. “Look at me.”
He turned his eyes to mine, but held my wrist to his mouth still. His breath fanned hot against my skin.
“You're a good man. No matter what you did, you're a good man. Your past doesn't dictate who you are. It's what you do in the here and now. You'll go and do the right thing.”
Jack laughed silently, but it didn't show in his eyes. There, beneath the desire, was a bleakness that made me ache for him.
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