by Jen Doyle
And no one ever came back at her with anything after she mentioned him, something she’d come to count on. She could shut down pretty much anyone, any time, in fact, by just saying Dave’s name.
But among her churning thoughts had been the regret that Dave could never understand why she wanted to live here, and that if he’d still been alive, this wasn’t a chance she’d ever have. There were no silver linings about his death. Never did she want even just the thought of “but at least” to cross her mind. She’d been dangerously close, though, and only by forcing much more pleasant thoughts—okay, yes, Jack with no shirt—had she been able to get past it. No way in hell, though, was she about to let Jack in on that secret.
“He looked damn good without a shirt,” she snapped and headed toward the house and away from Jack. “Let’s go.”
She went up the steps to the front porch, realizing only after she’d opened up the front door that she hadn’t had to skirt around the rotted out boards. The second she stepped inside she stopped short and actually gasped.
Jack came in behind her, stepping to the side, his eyes on her with laser-like focus. “I’ve been taking it down to the studs,” he said. “Nate said you’d let me know what you wanted, but I wanted to get start—”
“Yes,” she said, cutting him off but not capable of saying much more. She’d have loved to be able to explain it away by pretending it was the conversation about Dave. It wasn’t, though.
For so long she’d had a dream about this house. A crystal clear picture of the rooms inside, a staircase up the middle and a big long farm table running along the left side with French doors opening up onto a patio and the garden beyond it. The right side would be a huge open space with the kitchen in the back, and then couches and big, overstuffed chairs throughout. And the focus of it all would be the front wall, with windows looking out onto the porch and then on to the fields beyond it.
The first time she’d stepped in after Nate had given her the keys she’d wanted to step right back out. It had been dark and musty and crowded inside, something she’d known logically would be the case given when it was built and that it had sat there unused for so many years. But it had nearly broken her heart. It hadn’t deterred her enough to not want it, she’d just had to set her expectations low enough to remind herself it would be years before she could make it into the space she wanted it to be.
Except with the walls open it was so close to what she’d envisioned, she could practically feel it at her fingertips. Even the fireplace, stuck right in the middle of the living room wall, looked right in place since there were now two bookcases made out of bricks and boards, one on each side. Something shifted inside her. When she saw the walls on either side she was afraid she might actually be dreaming. There were drawings. They were very faint—done in pencil, most likely. But someone had sketched transom windows over the bookcases. And scenes of the ridge and the fields off behind it through what was meant to be the glass.
“Did you do that?” He couldn’t possibly have. Jack Oxford, the Iceman who could be so cold and immoral as to sleep with his best friend’s fiancée, could not possibly have created such whimsical—it was the only word she could use to describe them—drawings or share even a glimmer of the vision she had. But he was the only one coming in and out of the house these days, and from the guilty look on his face it was obvious that, yes, the drawings were his.
“I, uh...” He ran his hand through his hair, looking bashful, almost. “I didn’t want to get too ahead of myself with the demo. Sorry, I might have gotten a little carried awa—”
“It’s fine,” she managed, trying to keep her voice even. She couldn’t let him know how fine—how close it was to the way she’d always seen this room. How much she’d always wanted to share her ideas with Dave, but couldn’t without causing a fight of some sort.
She couldn’t let anyone know.
“Perfect.” And because she was far too close to saying something that felt like a major betrayal of Dave, she steered conversation back to safer territory. “So, Mr. Iceman... Superstar pitcher by day, architect and contractor by night?”
It seemed to bring him back into his comfort zone as well. “Hardly.” He shook his head. “Nate made me help some neighbor of yours rebuild a barn one year when I was visiting, and I’ve been doing Habitat for Humanity for years. I’ve picked up a lot, but you’ll definitely need someone who has some real skills.”
“You aren’t worried about getting hurt?” Lola had always thought Nate took way too many risks, given his line of work. But it pissed him off to say as much since he didn’t like to be set apart from the rest of the people around here. Jack struck her as more calculated about his career.
But Jack only shrugged. “It pissed my dad off.” Then he grinned. “Still does.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “How incredibly mature of you.”
“You haven’t met my dad,” he answered, moving forward into the room. “Of the options I have, trust me, it is the most mature thing I could do. Want to take a look upstairs?”
“Sure.”
Upstairs was closer to what she’d expected the downstairs to be—cramped and dark. He hadn’t done nearly as much work up here. She stumbled at the uneven step at the top, and his hand went to her elbow to steady her. It lingered there for one or two seconds longer than necessary, which was at least an hour shorter than what she’d like it to be if she were being truly honest with herself. But she wasn’t being honest with herself, so that was neither here nor there.
“I didn’t touch anything up here,” he said. “Wasn’t sure if you’d want to keep the bedrooms the same or if you were planning to open them up and make them a little bit bigger.”
Bigger. Most definitely bigger. The family who’d lived here when Lola was growing up had raised six kids in this house, but they’d done so in very close quarters. It was more than a little disheartening.
She must’ve worn it on her face, because Jack jumped in. “You’ve actually got some decent square footage up here. It’s just the way it’s broken up that makes it feel tight. You could easily manage four bedrooms and two, maybe three bathrooms. And the attic has a lot of potential.” He went on about access, plumbing...and she wasn’t hearing a word.
“Do you really know how to do this kind of stuff?” He was a professional baseball player from Connecticut. Not exactly the guy she’d call to hang a picture, much less help renovate a house. Then again, Nate had put him here to work and Nate generally knew what he was doing.
Still, it didn’t help when Jack gave answers like, “I’ve got a great phone. I can look up how-to videos from pretty much anywhere.”
She frowned at his grin. “You’re really not worried about your hand?” Pissing his father off was one thing; ruining his career another entirely.
“Don’t you worry,” he said, his smile turning wicked. “My hand works just fine when it needs to.”
Trying not to let on that his smile had hit her right below her belly, she threw her hands up in the air. “Does everything you say have to be some kind of sexual innuendo?”
“I was talking about pitching.” He cocked his head. “Wait, you were talking about sex?”
He wasn’t talking about pitching. She wasn’t that out of practice. But it had been long enough for her to be entirely off her game. The best reply she could come up with was a snorted, “You wish.” Except the second she said it, she snapped her mouth shut, because he looked at her in a way that made her wonder if maybe the whole flirty thing he had going on wasn’t just a way to get under her skin.
No. This was just a game to him; it had to be. He couldn’t seriously be interested.
Except then he swallowed hard and looked away.
Lola’s heart was racing and it felt harder than it should to breathe. But they were both adults here; they each knew exactly how bad an idea
it would be to let this go further. And so at the same time they both turned to leave the room. The problem was that they bumped into each other in the process.
“Oh, shit,” he muttered as his hand came down to steady her yet again.
Her thoughts exactly. It was just that it had been so long since she’d touched a man—accidental stumbling excepted—and she wanted so badly to feel that again. He was the wrong person to be thinking this about. Yet she couldn’t stop herself from looking up at him.
Everything was suddenly clearer. Sharper. Even the way he stood, although he hadn’t moved so much as a muscle. His gaze bored into hers, then traveled past her jaw, between her breasts, right down the center of her before coming back up. She felt the heat rise through her, as she dropped her gaze to his lips. She’d done a lot of kissing in her life, but only with Dave. Would Jack taste different? Feel different?
“I’m not a good guy, Lola. You deserve a lot better than me,” he said, his voice gruff as he straightened up a little. But all that did was bring their bodies closer into alignment—close enough for her to feel exactly how aroused he was.
She wasn’t sure what she deserved. She’d been a good wife to her husband. She’d always thought she and Dave deserved to live a long and happy life together. That hadn’t been meant to be. Was it wrong to want so badly to feel a man’s touch, even if it wasn’t Dave’s? To want to touch a man so badly?
“Lola...” he said. Groaned, really. “This is a horrible idea.” But instead of moving away from her, he straightened up all the way, which meant they were now separated only by centimeters. She could feel his heat surrounding her.
“Horrible fucking idea.” This time he spoke more to himself.
But it didn’t stop him, either.
Instead, his hand came up and after a moment of just hanging there, he cupped her jaw, and just the touch of his hand to her skin had her nearly whimpering in longing. This was what it felt like to have a man touch her again. This was what it felt like to have her whole being reawaken. She put her hands on his chest. Everything inside her was humming. Throbbing in the most delicious and frightening of ways. She needed to be listening to what he said because he was absolutely right. And yet she brushed his lips with hers.
He stared down at her for a few seconds as she pulled slightly back. And then in one swift motion, he picked her up and spun them so her back was against the wall as his mouth took possession of hers.
The kiss consumed her. Had kisses always been like this? Needy and desperate and possessive and raw? She couldn’t get enough of him. She brought her arms up around his neck, tangled her fingers in his hair and tightened her legs around him. Anything she could do to get closer. His hand went to the nape of her neck, tugging at her hair for a better angle. The hand at her hip tightened, holding her steady while he pinned her there with his body.
His teeth skimmed the column of her throat just as he thrust against her and, oh, God, she nearly came right there. She held his head against her as the shudder ran through her. And this was what it felt like fully clothed. Holy good Lord. Three minutes ago, a kiss would have been enough. Ten minutes ago, it would have been all she’d hoped for. But that was now an eternity ago. He’d opened up the floodgates and she wanted more. She pulled him closer while at the same time reaching for the hem of his shirt, just so she could feel his skin. He bucked against her when her hand made contact with his fly instead.
“Christ,” he muttered, trapping her hand between their bodies with his hips. “Holy fucking Christ.”
Fighting off her own wave of, yes, please, she pushed against him with the heel of her hand. His whole body jolted, and he was just leaning forward for another kiss when there was the unmistakable sound of a door slamming, and then Nate’s voice calling, “Jack? Lola? You guys here?”
Given the circumstances, Lola wouldn’t have been surprised if Jack had dropped her and put as much distance between them as possible. It was what she was inclined to do. Instead, he cradled her head and tucked it into his neck. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his hand tightening in her hair as his lips brushed her forehead. “So sorry.” Then he eased her down gently. He gave her one last look, before stepping back.
And then he became a different person. It was like watching a transformation on a screen. His eyes went colder as his body relaxed and that easygoing-yet-distant mask slipped into place.
“Up here,” he called out, and walked away without a second glance.
Jack had exactly one minute to get himself together before Nate made it up the stairs. Otherwise, this whole resurrect-the-career thing would be over before it started.
Christ, he was spun. The idea of kissing her had been enough to unbalance him over these last few days. He’d imagined what it would feel like to sink into her; to be surrounded by all of that warmth, even if just for a moment. What he’d never imagined, however, was the way she’d come to life under his hands. The way she’d transform into this fiery creature, shimmering with enough life to breathe it back into him.
Holy hell, his hands were shaking.
“Hey,” Nate said, from the hallway outside the bedroom. “Shit, you work fast.”
It took Jack a moment to realize Nate was talking about the work downstairs and not what had happened up here. Nate walked past Jack and into the room to give Lola a hug.
“So how’s it going?” he said to her. “You think this guy can get the job done?”
“Jury’s still out,” the woman said, appearing entirely unruffled.
It was good, Jack supposed. Nate would have been on him in a second if he’d had any idea what had just happened. Jack could take what Nate dished out—he’d welcome it. He’d been preparing himself for over a year, in fact, since the moment he’d woken up naked in his hotel room, a woman’s perfume lingering in the air and the vague memory of far too many shots with Courtney. The problem was that he couldn’t quite process what had just happened. Just being in Lola’s presence did something to him; she messed with his control, that kiss being a prime example.
He wasn’t a big fan of kissing women. Fucking them, yes. Being involved in everything else that led up to the fucking, absolutely. But kissing wasn’t his thing. Not like that, at least. Never like that.
And what the fuck was he doing kissing Lola? He needed to be mending fences, not smashing them to pieces. His career meant more to him than the need to satisfy some inconveniently timed physical response. Nate meant more to him.
As nonchalantly as possible, Jack put his hands in his pockets. “You two should talk about how you want to proceed. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
Jack was a big boy. He could deal with this. It was just like any other game. Tune it out, put it away, and focus on the next pitch. And one of the first things any decent pitcher learned was, if there’s a pretty girl in the stands behind home plate, you concentrate on the ugly mug in the catcher’s mask in front of you.
By the time they were coming out to the porch fifteen minutes later, he’d changed into the workout gear he’d brought along with him. It had been pure survival. Listening to her laugh upstairs, even knowing Nate was more brother to her than anything else—and deeply in love with his fiancée—hadn’t helped one bit.
The cold weather had. Doing an entire change of clothes outside, even if in the shelter of the barn, put a damper on things very quickly.
Tipping his chin to Nate, Jack avoided looking at Lola entirely. “You guys figure it all out? Is there a plan?” Because that’s how they did things. Nate made the calls; Jack threw the pitches Nate wanted. Same strategy, different game. He just had to keep in mind that the balls in play were a lot more personal.
“Lola’s going to meet with an architect for the bigger stuff,” Nate answered, “but we figured that between dropping off her kids and her schedule at the bar, the best thing would be for you to touch base every morni
ng around nine for an hour or so. You and I can meet up for training after.”
“Sounds great,” Jack said, noticing Lola hadn’t said a word. “I was thinking I’d head out for a run, but why don’t you give me my marching orders first? I can take it from there.”
“That’s okay,” Lola said. He could feel her eyes on him even though he wasn’t looking her way. “I think I’ll take the rest of the day to think it through now that I’ve seen the place. We can start tomorrow.” Then her voice got so accommodating, even Jack knew it was entirely unlike her, and he’d only known her for a few days. “I mean, if that’s okay with you, Jack. I wouldn’t want you to bite off more than you can chew.”
He took the chance and glanced over at her. The woman was going to get him killed, no doubt about that. The devil shining in her eyes made him want to take hold of her again and show her exactly how good his bite could be.
But no. This couldn’t happen again. “I’m good. Tomorrow works.”
“Great,” she said with a big smile on her face. “I’ll see you then.” Careful not to let any other emotion show, Jack nodded as she stood on tiptoes to give Nate a kiss, and then gave Jack a little wave before getting into her car and driving away.
After a few more seconds of finding his Zen, he turned to Nate.
He never saw the punch coming. Just a flash of motion and then his jaw exploded. He stumbled back, only managing not to fall by grabbing the side of the truck. Bending over, he raised his hand to his jaw, shaking his head a few times to clear the stars. “Holy shit.” The man could punch. Jack had seen it before; just never been on the receiving end.
Every instinct screamed for him to hit back. But the only thing he could do was look up to make sure Nate wasn’t coming at him again. Nate was just standing there, though, flexing his hand. “Goddamn, that felt good.” And then he gave Jack a hard stare. “Don’t fuck with her,” he said. “I will fucking kill you if...” His voice trailed off as he shook his head and leaned back against the truck next to Jack. “I can’t even give you an if because she’ll kill me if I do... Just, whatever you’re about to do, don’t.”
