by Crowe, Liz
“Smells good in here,” he called. She scowled at the sound and walked into the kitchen. His large torso gleamed with a sheen of sweat from his run.
“Hey,” he turned and tried to pull her into an embrace. She ducked to the side.
“Gotta go,” she said, unwilling to engage in any level of conversation with him, unsure what she might say. She glared at his confused look. He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest still heaving with exertion.
“So soon?” His voice was noncommittal.
Infuriated beyond reason, Sara turned to him.
“Yeah, lover,” she spat out. “Sounds like you should rest up for tonight.”
His brow furrowed in confusion he followed her gaze to the phone at his elbow. Grabbing it, he stared at the screen and rolled his eyes.
“Oh shit, honey, this woman is like a stalker.” Sara held up a hand.
“Don’t bullshit me you ass,” Sara insisted. “It insults me.”
“I’m not bullshitting you Sara,” he insisted, his eyes darkening. “But I guess since you’re used to being right, you won’t believe me so,” he turned and pulled a coffee mug out of the cabinet, his stance nonchalant. She stared at his broad back and resisted the extreme urge to wrap around him, cover him with kisses and forgive. Old Sara held her back, kept her distant, kept her angry.
He sipped his coffee, not speaking. Sara raised her chin at him, about to say something, anything to recover what she thought she had with him, but when Blake’s horn sounded outside it brought it all back. All the rumors, the innuendo about him, her own stupidity thinking she’d had any effect on him beyond physical. When would she learn? Letting her body lead, letting him control her, it was all so lame. She turned on her heel and left without saying another word, slamming the heavy front door behind and flopping into Blake’s car, tears squeezing from her eyes.
“Don’t talk.” she gritted her teeth at her brother. “Get me to my car and away from here,” she looked up to see Jack standing in the doorway, coffee still in hand, staring at her.
Her brother pulled out of the long driveway and drove her home, where her car waited, like yesterday and all its extreme drama had never happened. Blake kept a hand on her clenched fist, his touch warming and comforting.
*
Walking back through her own door had been a relief — more so than she thought it would be. After an hour-long soak in the tub she emerged, revitalized, and reached for her phone anticipating a message from Jack but saw nothing on her screen. Disappointed in her own weak need to hear from him, she fielded a call from Blake. He did his usual big brother fussing over her, scolding her for staying at Jack’s, reminding her she shouldn’t consider him a “boyfriend” in any sense of the word, and invited her over for dinner. She smiled but put him off, wanting some time to herself.
She lay down and slept on the couch for most of the day, her body still processing the extremes of the previous forty-eight hours. When she awoke her mouth dry and empty stomach rumbling her phone buzzed with a call.
“Sara,” Craig’s voice was as soft and soothing as she remembered.
“Hey you,” she curled up on the couch.
“You home?”
“Yeah,” she twirled a lock of damp hair around her finger. “I just slept the entire day away. I’m starving” Talking to her rescuer made some of the residual anger and frustration with Jack fade ever so slightly.
“Funny you should mention that. I happen to have a spare peach pie with me.”
Sara sat up straighter.
“Peach pie? That’s my favorite,” she smiled at the coincidence but had to wonder why the hell a grown single man would have a “spare” peach pie on him.
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “And if you’ll open your door, I can hand it to you.”
She jumped up and pulled the door open to find a smiling blond man, clad in plaid shorts and soft white plain t-shirt, closing his phone and holding a boxed pie imprinted with Blake and Rob’s restaurant logo. She rolled her eyes and leaned on the doorjamb, appreciating the young, fit and tanned vision in front of her.
“And here I thought you went and baked for me,” she motioned for him to enter.
He shrugged and walked over to her kitchen placing the pie on the counter.
“All I know is I’ve been smelling this thing for the last fifteen minutes and have got to have some or I will kill somebody.” He leaned on the counter and looked at her, his loose-limbed stance sexy and comforting all at the same time. She pushed him aside so she could reach for plates and forks and encountered that just-washed smell on him. It brought Saturday’s drama crashing back to the forefront of her brain.
The kitchen walls closed in her and she felt the jerk’s hand ripping her shirt, smelled his stink, then, Jack’s words, face and body, owning her, making her admit things she shouldn’t have. She let out a sob.
Craig put an arm around her waist. “Hey, you okay?” She turned to him and he held her close as her body shook. He ran his hand down to the small of back, which had a direct effect on her state of mind. She relaxed into his touch and reached out to grasp his shirt with both hands to hold herself upright. He was not an exceptionally tall man, and she liked how she could fit herself against him.
His lips grazed her ear. “Shhh, it’s fine, relax.” He continued to knead her lower back, his hands circling her hips and Sara was mortified to feel her nipples harden. Images of Jack rose in her brain and she started to pull away, letting go of the fabric that she’d bunched up between her hands.
Craig kept her close, and she let herself be held, arms curled between them, head turned to face his neck. God he smelled so clean. She closed her eyes but opened them in surprise when lips covered hers.
“Mmmph,” she started to pull her head away and speak, but Craig put a hand under her hair and held her in place. His impossibly soft and full lips firm, his tongue caressed her, was gentle yet confident. He made a noise in his throat and pulled away.
“Sara, I’m sorry,” his hoarse voice stayed low. “I,” he kissed her exposed collarbone and she leaned her head back. Her nipples pressed against the worn felt of her robe. “Oh hell, I didn’t mean to make this more complicated.” He let go of her.
Sara held her elbows, suddenly cold and shivering. The doorbell rang, making her nearly jump out of her skin. She took one last look at him standing there, hands on hips, head bent, avoiding her eyes, before she turned to take the few steps to her front door. She glanced out the peephole to see her friends Val and Cathy, brandishing a pizza and a bottle of wine. She pulled her robe together, took a deep breath and opened the door. They burst in, made their familiar way to her kitchen and stopped dead at the sight of their latest office heartthrob holding a plate of pie keeping himself behind the tall counter Sara knew to disguise what had to be a still-bulging zipper. She grinned to herself but stopped.
What the hell are you playing at with him, Sara? New Sara chided her. He is not what you want. Don’t use him to cover what you really need — Jack. Back in your arms.
The girls popped open the wine and started pouring everyone a glass but Craig put his plate in the sink and begged off, giving Sara a chaste hug on his way out. She followed him to the door. As he was going to take the single step down to the sidewalk, he turned, walked back up to her, pulled her out onto the tiny front step and planted a firm kiss on her lips, one arm around her waist. He ended the kiss before she could wrap herself around him. “I’m actually not sorry,” he said. “Can I call you?” She nodded, stunned and quivering and watched him fire up his ten year old SUV and screech out of the parking lot. She pulled her hair up off her neck and sighed. The girls had piled in behind her and were staring, open mouthed.
“What,” she asked them as she breezed past back into her home.
“No fair, Sara,” Cathy complained before they clinked glasses. “You get both Stewart hot guys?” Sara rolled her eyes.
Apparently, she did. Now what?
CHAPT
ER ELEVEN
The next few days were a blur of business and gut-churning denial for Jack. The urges he’d resisted for years, the need to control and dominate, to be responsible for the emotional and physical satisfaction of a woman roared through him, coloring his every waking and sleeping moment. Sitting down and writing out in an email to Sara how sorry he was. explaining away Heather’s texts the day she’d left, had gotten him some forgiveness, at least online, but he hadn’t actually seen her since. He was sick with worry after what she’d been through. Needed her to need him. Yet he left her alone, thinking that was best for someone as strong-minded as Sara. But it sucked; every single minute of it.
“Jack.” He tore his eyes from the computer screen and focused on his assistant.
“What.” He stood, stretched, felt the pleasant soreness in his limbs from a punishing ten-mile run earlier and let Jason walk him through the next couple of days. He zoned at one point, completely unlike him, but unable to stop images of her eyes, her ass offered to him, her down on her knees in front of him.
“Yo! Dude!” Jason snapped his fingers. “Stay with me, there’s a lot going on.”
“Nope, sorry, I’m no use to anybody today.” Jack grabbed his suit jacket from the chair and pulled it on. “Send me an email with all details. I gotta get out of here.” He breezed past agents, secretaries and others. His vision had darkened, tunneled, and he knew if he didn’t get out he’d rip into somebody who didn’t deserve it, or worse.
Without thinking about it, he found himself at Evan and Suzanne’s brewery, sitting in the car, trying to catch his breath. Closing his hand around his phone, he bit down on the urge to call her, to reach out somehow. No. She needed to come to him this time.
He took a seat in the already busy tap room, not meeting anyone’s eyes, unwilling to engage in conversation other than the one he came here to have. Suzanne brought him a beer without a word, sensing his need for quiet. Evan emerged from the brewery, wiping his hands on a towel and tossing instructions over his shoulder. His smile widened at the sight of his friend. Jack raised his glass to him.
“What brings you here on a Wednesday?” Evan grabbed a glass and leaned across the bar.
“I need you to tell me I’m not losing my mind.”
“Huh.” Evan grinned at him. “Need me to help you put on your make up too? How about adjust your tampon.”
“Fuck. You.”
“No. Thanks.”
Jack knocked back the rest of his beer and pushed the glass at his friend. “What are you standing there for? Serve me.” Evan raised an eyebrow then turned and refilled the glass with the amber hoppy brew Jack liked. “You just blew your tip.” Even flipped him off but smiled.
“You are not losing your mind. You’re just readjusting. I know. It was tough for me too.”
“Whatever, man, it is killing me.” He shifted, trying to release the skin-crawling sensation he’d sustained for four days. Four days of not seeing her, not even talking beyond some email and text exchanges while she “worked out” how she felt about him. “I’m obviously no good at this. I told you that the last time.” Evan rolled his eyes. A soft feminine hand on his shoulder made Jack jump and nearly spill his beer.
“Dude, relax.” Evan smiled over his shoulder, and Jack saw his face settle into familiar lines, happy ones. “She won’t bite. Well, unless you want her to.”
Jack smiled at the stunning blonde woman who’d captured Evan’s heart, kissed her lightly on the lips and looked back at his friend. “Dude,” he emphasized the word. “You let this gorgeous creature out in broad daylight for anyone to see? I mean, really. I’m disappointed in you.”
Julie’s laugh was light. “Yeah, keeps him on his toes.” She accepted a glass of deep brown lager. Evan brushed his fingers across her lips before leaning back over to Jack. Suddenly struck deep by the bond between them Jack couldn’t tear his eyes away. It was as if he could actually see it, a thin, strong strip of light from Evan’s hand to her. He shook his head. Damn, next thing he’d know he’d be crying and would need a tampon adjustment.
As Julie leaned back on her bar chair, Jack saw it. Around her neck. Just a flash of metal he knew would be platinum, forged with a single connection that took a small key to release. He sucked in a breath, visions of Sara again bombarding him, her wearing his collar, his ring, anything, to prove she was his. He ran a hand down his face, suddenly exhausted.
“You have to let it happen. Otherwise, it will eat you alive. I can tell it already is. It’s who you are — who we are. You’ve been denying yourself this for too long.” Evan’s low voice spoke the truth he needed to hear. Jack looked up at the ceiling.
“You’re right. But…” Evan held up a hand.
“No. No excuses.”
“Fine.” He stared to rise, feeling trapped again, claustrophobic and bone tired.
“We’re going to the club this weekend.” Evan nodded at Julie. “I think you should come.”
“I don’t know, man.”
“I do. But can you get Sara to come too? Even if you can’t, you should join us. I really think it will help you.”
His phone buzzed with a text at that second. He glanced at it and he felt his vision darken slightly at the sight of Sara’s name. Mine.
“Speak of the devil.” He sat back down. “But no, she isn’t ready for that. Especially, not after what happened to her last weekend.”
“Yeah, you may be right. But the invite stands.” Jack watched as Evan and Julie exchanged a silent bit of communication. Julie was a fiercely independent woman — a successful pharmaceutical sales manager. It really proved what he’d always known. A true submissive had to be strong in order for the relationship to thrive. Choosing to submit took strength. A weak-willed personality, who wanted nothing but to be topped day and night, did not lead to success in a situation where so much depended on the strength of two personalities. He sighed. Jenna, in a nutshell. Weak-willed while pretending to have strength. It had been her fault, but also his as he’d been young and untested, just going with his natural rookie instincts.
“Hey” he stared at the single word she’d sent, realizing it spoke volumes about where she was in her head regarding him. He smiled and typed.
“Is your pussy bare and ready for me?’
Sara grinned at Jack’s text in spite of herself. “Busy” she shot back.
“Big Deal. I’m having a beer but thinking of you and your bare pussy — multi task with me”
She waited about thirty minutes before sending back: “Well my bare pussy and I are about to sell a million-dollar house so there.”
“Cool Remember, don’t push. Million-dollar buyers need more handholding than you think.
Then after about an hour:
“What are you wearing?”
She really was trying to show these houses and get one sold, but could not help but smile as she responded while her buyers traversed the current gargantuan house.
“Skirt, blouse, shoes, you know the usual”
“No, underneath”
“Nothing, except a sheer bra”
“Nice. Just the picture I needed to get me through the rest of the day.”
Sara carried on until about five p.m., when she was with another set of buyers before her phone alerted her to another text: “I want to lick your nipples.”
Her scalp tingled.
“Might be awkward right now, with people”
“Let em watch — something tells me you’d like that as much I would.”
The email he had sent her the night after she’d bolted from his house, explaining away the “Heather texts” again, reminding her that he was new to the “relationship thing,” had gone a long way towards melting the ice forming around her heart. Telling her he meant what he’d said, but that he thought they both needed to “take it slow” was something she could relate to, especially since he was the one to say it first. She’d kept reading about the lifestyle Jack had once lived. Realized they were a n
early perfect fit. She was willing, practically compelled to submit to him. Something in her psyche needed it. But it was so far outside the realm of her reality, she needed more time to adjust. She sensed he was easing back into something very powerful, something he needed to re-learn how to control.
His email had been long, eloquent, and heartfelt. She’d read it about a hundred times before responding. They’d engaged in a long back and forth that night and, Sara believed, had worked through some stuff.
She frowned, waiting for the intolerable buyers to finish wasting her time. Craig had been ignoring her for the bulk of the week, avoiding her eyes when they passed each other in the hall, asking for advice from other agents instead of her, like he used to. She was conflicted, aggravated at them both and herself.
A final message, around six pm:
“Hey, you going to this thing your brother is hosting out on Strawberry Lake or wherever?”
She reddened, but was not that surprised he knew about it. She would have given anything to stroll into the party on Jack’s arm, his attention only for her, and have her brother accept it.
Fat chance, on both counts.
After the heartfelt email, he hadn’t ignored her or anything, but seemed unwilling to revisit the conversation. It made her nuts, this not knowing, but she reminded herself she should take what she could get from him, and what she wanted more than anything right now, was his hands on her body.
Funny, this addiction to him. No, not funny. Fucking annoying.
“Of course. He invited you? Really?”
“Sure. I’m the life of any party”
“Whatever. I’ll be there.”
“Wanna ride — I can show you my new wheels.”
“I guess — not sure I’m safe with you though.”
“You’re as safe as you want to be Sara”
“Pick me up in half an hour, my place”
She finished their texting session.
