Unwrapped Bundle with You Don't Know Jack & Bad Boys in Kilts

by Erin McCarthy

  She wanted Jack.

  How dumb was that?

  Chapter 18

  Jack stood in the corner, choking on a piece of bruschetta. He had been minding his own business, stalking the door, waiting for Jamie, when he had realized something.

  He was going to have to give up all of his money if he wanted Jamie.

  The thought had come to him out of nowhere that if he donated every last cent, she would see that he was sincere. That he wanted Jamie for the long haul—for forever. For a marriage that lasted until death did they part.

  Pounding his chest with his fist, he dislodged the wayward appetizer and sucked in a startled breath. He must have thrown all common sense out the window to think that he and Jamie…that marriage to her…that she could…

  That he could give away the financial rewards of ten years of hard work for something that wasn’t a guarantee.

  Jack took a huge swallow of wine, dribbling some on his chin.

  He had only known Jamie for a couple of weeks. He couldn’t possibly love her enough to give up all his worldly possessions and live like a monk. Well, like a monk without the celibacy vow. No, no, he could not even be considering this. Living in a tiny walk-up. Selling his car. Cooking at home and having to fly coach class. My God, he couldn’t believe he’d do that for anyone.

  Yet that sack of pudding in his chest said otherwise.

  He’d do it. He’d shed all vestiges of his wealth for Jamie. He’d join a freaking commune if she wanted. Okay, so he wouldn’t go that far. But he would definitely take the subway for her. And tell Meredith a big fat resounding no on the job offer.

  Now so he could declare his intentions before he changed his mind and went to visit his mother’s therapist, Jamie and the other bridesmaids had to actually show up. The rest of the guests and the bride and groom had been mingling for fifteen minutes now and nibbling food off the trays of tuxedoed waiters moving through the room silently.

  The minute the limo had pulled up at the hotel and they had all entered the lobby, Mandy, Allison, and Jamie had disappeared. So Jack was staking out the door for when they walked in, which ought to be any minute now or they were going to risk being noticed as missing by his mother.

  He wanted to be nowhere near her if and when that happened.

  He hid behind a potted plant and tried to look nonchalant. By all accounts, he should be networking and shaking hands, not stalking the entry, but he was powerless to move away.

  Female voices rose in excitement. Jamie. She was coming through the doorway.

  “Oh, my God. Look at this place, y’all! It’s like a garden tent inside right here in Manhattan.” Jamie clapped her hand over her mouth as she came to a standstill in the doorway.

  The heightened hitch of southern in her voice made Jack smile. She was so unbelievably sexy.

  Her arm in the air was giving a mouth-watering rise to her chest, while her dress stayed in place where it was.

  Which was way lower than her chest. The exposed creamy, curving flesh taunted him.

  Jamie shook her head. “I sound like a total hick, don’t I?” she said.

  Allison nodded. “Yes, but that’s okay. I’m feeling a little plebian right now, too. This is a cool hotel.”

  “Oh, please,” Jamie replied. “You’re from Connecticut, and Mandy’s from a swanky British country estate. You may not be filthy rich, but at least y’all know which forks to use. I seriously don’t have a clue.”

  Jack came around the corner, not willing to let her escape him again. “You start from the outside and work your way in. Don’t worry. I’ve got your back, remember?”

  Mandy said, “Excuse us,” grabbed Allison by the arm and took off into the throng of wedding guests. He really liked that Mandy.

  “I didn’t know you were standing there,” Jamie said, swallowing hard.

  “I was.” He closed the remaining two feet between them and set his plate down on an end table, feeling as though what he said to Jamie tonight might be some of the most important words he’d ever spoken. He needed to go easy, exercise caution. Not scare the crap out of her by attacking her the way he really wanted to.

  “Would you like some wine?”

  “Okay. Sure.”

  “You like red, don’t you?”

  She nodded, so he handed her his glass. “Here, take this.”

  Their fingers brushed, her mouth slid open in surprise. He watched her lips as she drank the wine, running her tongue across the bottom to catch the stray drops.

  Her eyes darkened.

  Desire shot through him.

  All it took was a little tug, and they were together behind the potted plant. He obviously needed to work on that caution thing.

  She shook her head. “No, Jack, no, not here.”

  “Where, then?” He nipped that bottom lip, tasting the sweetness of the wine, the warm scent that was uniquely hers.

  That little hitch in her breath, the gasp escaping her, made Jack’s control start to slip. He tightened his hold on her.

  “Nowhere.” But she didn’t pull away, and she didn’t say no to his tongue tracing down to her neck, worshipping that graceful arch.

  “I miss you, Jamie. Whenever you’re not with me, I miss you.” He was aware that he was begging for trouble here. Begging probably being the key word. He felt capable of begging if she said no.

  But she wasn’t saying no and he had little ability to stop where Jamie was concerned. He groaned and forced himself to take a step back so he wouldn’t yank the top of her dress down and sink his teeth into that luscious flesh.

  “You miss the sex,” she whispered.

  “No.” He pulled back. “Well, yes, I do.” He smiled. “But that’s not what I meant. I meant I miss you. Your smile. Your laugh. The sweet, sweet things you say. The conversations we have. I like you, Jamie, is that so wrong?”

  She sighed. “No. I like you, too.”

  Then that was all he needed to know. That was enough for now.

  “It’s probably time for dinner,” Jamie said.

  “You’re right.” He smiled and set the empty wineglass down on the end table as they emerged from behind the plant. “Though I don’t think what I want is on the menu.”

  That’s what Jamie was talking about. How was she supposed to resist the man when he was being sweet, intense, tossing out sexual innuendos left and right?

  It was bad enough she was seated next to him at the dinner table, but every time she glanced at him, he looked ready to devour her.

  Or he came right out and said so.

  When he wasn’t throwing her off guard by asking her thoughtful and informed questions about her job or her childhood or whether she liked Thai food.

  It was getting on her nerves.

  Because she was unable to resist. She was talking with him, gushing really, if the truth be told, and enjoying every sappy second just like their night together.

  “So what do you miss about Kentucky?” he asked her, his thigh brushing against hers under the table.

  Wishing she were wearing a really thick dress, made out of say, upholstery, Jamie moved her leg to remove it from his reach.

  Now she could think. Somewhat. “My mother, of course. Green space. Horses, like I told you before.” She grinned at him. “And Derby pie.”

  “What’s Derby pie?”

  “Nothing but chocolate. Layers and layers of ooey gooey chocolate.”

  “What makes it Derby pie?” Jack cocked his head to the side, as if he were going to venture a guess, then thought better of it.

  “My mom always said because it looks like the track the horses run on at Churchill Downs, but to me it looks more like the infield where we always sat on blankets when I was a kid. Muddy and gross.”

  He laughed. “Sounds like fun.”

  Jamie pushed her fork around her plate, aware that she had paid attention only to Jack for the entire meal. She was virtually ignoring Steve on her right, but she couldn’t help herself. It was a sickness.<
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  “It was. And in high school we used to go with our boyfriends.”

  Jack reached over and stabbed the last shrimp on her plate and ate it.

  “Hey!”

  He smiled again, that slow, crooked, sinful smile that made her feel like she was having a menopausal hot flash.

  Then Jack moved so quickly she nearly fell backward out of her chair. He stood up and took her hand.

  “Dance with me.”

  “There’s no dance music yet. It’s background music.” She was forced to stand up as well since he was tugging her arm.

  “Well, what are they waiting for? Everyone’s done eating.”

  And as if the band had heard him, they began to announce the first dance, calling the wedding party up to open the floor.

  Jamie noticed with mortification that neither Steve and Mandy, nor Finn and Allison, were holding hands the way she and Jack were.

  And when they danced, neither of the other two couples was flush up against each other sharing oxygen.

  “Back up a little,” she said to him, trying to shrug away from him without getting off the music.

  She didn’t even want to consider the fact that three hundred people were watching them right now, including Caroline and Mrs. Davidson, who would have to be blind and stupid not to notice the sex vibes radiating off of her and Jack.

  Unfortunately, Caro and her mother were neither.

  In fact, Jamie peered around Jack and saw Caroline’s mother, his mother, studying them with eyes narrowed. Jamie broke out into a sweat and pictured all of her makeup sliding off of her face and onto her chest.

  “Jack, your mother is watching us.” Jack was already on the outs with his mother, and Jamie didn’t want to further contribute to that antagonism.

  “So?” His thumb traced circles on her back with his hand.

  What did he mean, so? It was obvious. “We don’t want her to think there’s anything going on between us.”

  “Why not? There is something going on between us.”

  He was not being reasonable about this at all. Jamie felt a little desperate, especially since his thigh was rocking into her, raising her temperature yet another five degrees. “No, there’s not.”

  “Yes, there is.” He bent over her, holding her snug against him, his mouth hovering inches above hers.

  Lord, he was going to kiss her right on the dance floor, like a groping teenager at a nightclub, while everyone else danced elegantly to this classical kind of music that she couldn’t identify. She closed her eyes briefly in anticipation, or mortification, she wasn’t sure which.

  But he didn’t kiss her.

  Instead he said hoarsely, “I want you, Jamie. I need you.”

  Yikes.

  But she could have stayed strong. She could have resisted that raw heat in his voice, until he spoke again.

  “All I want is a kiss. Just one, please. And a date. Promise me we can try that, see what happens. That’s all I’m asking. For now.”

  It was that erotic pleading that undid her. It left her limp against him, eyes still half closed as she confessed, “My head says this is a mistake. That there are too many negative variables making anything between us a poor risk. But my emotions are disagreeing.”

  “Listen to your emotions and tell your head to go kiss off,” he said coaxingly. “I can’t wait another minute. I’ve been wanting you since I woke up and found you gone.”

  The evidence was pressing against her. As was the knowledge that she, too, had spent two weeks suffering from Jack withdrawal. Right at the moment she felt like someone had been setting off pyrotechnics in her pricey bridesmaid’s dress.

  So despite the feeling that she had lost all common sense and decency, she heard herself saying, “There’s a room in the hall, called the retiring room or something like that your mom said. It’s meant for the bride and bridesmaids to use for their stuff—purses and for make-up checks and everything.”

  She took a deep breath and studied the tie on his tux. “Maybe we should go talk, get away from everyone.” Have hot sex.

  God, had she really just suggested they head somewhere private? That had a couch? What the hell was she thinking?

  Jack’s fingers tightened on her back, and he nodded once, as if he didn’t trust himself to speak.

  When the dance ended, he led her off the floor, dodging his mother, who looked ready to stop them, her mouth open to say something.

  “Jamie’s not feeling good, Mom, the room’s too hot. I’m taking her outside for some fresh air.”

  All Jamie had time to hear was, “Oh, dear,” from Mrs. Davidson before Jack whisked her away.

  She was sure even the roots of her hair were blushing. “I can’t believe you lied to your mother!”

  But Jack only shrugged, clearly unrepentant. “What am I supposed to say? That I’m taking Jamie out into the hall to have hot sex with her?”

  Now everything on her body was blushing, with the focus on parts south. “I said we could go talk! You said all you wanted was a kiss.”

  “You cannot convince me you suggested a retiring room so we could talk about pie and past love affairs.”

  “Well…” She hadn’t thought she was suggesting anything more, but it did seem pretty lame now.

  “So where’s the room?” He stopped in the hall and looked right and left.

  “First door on the right.” She let him half drag, half carry her down to the little lounge.

  She dug her heels into the carpet, plagued with second thoughts. This was tacky. They could get caught. She wasn’t the kind of woman who did things like this, and she wouldn’t embarrass Caro for the world.

  “I’m not having sex with you in this room.”

  Jack turned back and stared at her. “Okay. You can have sex with me in my apartment after the reception. Right now I’m just going to take a little taste, that’s all.”

  Well, if he insisted.

  Then he pulled her into the room, the door swung shut, and all hope of walking away disappeared.

  His mouth was on hers before she could catch a breath, let alone object again. In fact, she was just as aggressive as he was. They were both tasting and teasing and tugging, her arms in the back of his hair ransacking it.

  He was right. She had been waiting two weeks for this. For the pleasure of being with Jack again.

  For that perfect sense that they were right for each other. They belonged in each other’s arms.

  Their kisses deepened, wet and anxious, and their bodies crushed against each other, seeking, needing.

  Little taste. That’s all.

  Then they’d stop.

  Jamie slid her tongue over his, the red wine they’d both drunk mixing between them, swarming her senses.

  His hands gripped her head. Despite the majority of her rational brain cells going to sleep, Jamie was still cognizant enough to pull back and stop Jack from shoving his hands into her hair. “No! I’ll never be able to fix it like the hairstylist did.”

  He dropped his hands to her shoulders and pulled her against him, hard. “Feel what you do to me.”

  Everything about Jack was hard. And she wanted him. “I feel it. I want you inside me.”

  Gad, had she just said that out loud?

  The groan from him seemed to indicate she had.

  His hands were moving around her back, rushing up and down. “How do I get this dress off?”

  Aware that they were only two feet in front of the door to the hallway, Jamie said, “No, you can’t take it off.” Her sense of adventure didn’t extend to getting caught naked by some wayward guest.

  Besides, tossing satin into a heap on the floor probably wasn’t the best idea. “It will wrinkle, and I’ll never be able to get it back on right.” Wait a minute. She wasn’t going to take the dress off anyway, because they were Not Going To Have Sex.

  “We’re not having sex here.”

  “I never said we were.” He held up his hands, a mock look of innocence playing acro
ss his face.

  Then he reached out and popped her breasts right out of her bodice with one little flip of his wrists.

  “Doesn’t mean I can’t make you come.”

  Allison watched Jonathon rush Jamie off the dance floor as if someone had yelled fire, and felt something akin to jealousy. Not over Jonathon. She had been serious when she’d said he wasn’t her type. Too restless, too intense.

  There couldn’t be two divas in a relationship, and she had diva down pat.

  But a little sex before she died would be welcome.

  “It might be quicker if he just threw her over his shoulder,” Finn commented.

  “Hmmm?”

  “Your friend and Caroline’s brother. With him dragging and her digging in her heels, I’m just suggesting it might be easier if he picked her up.”

  Allison studied Finn. She wasn’t sure what Caroline found so objectionable about him. Besides the scraggly hair and the five-o’clock shadow that never seemed to disappear, he was attractive and filled his tux well. He hadn’t burped or told any off-color jokes, and Allison hadn’t caught him smoking a joint in the coat closet.

  Yet. “Is that what you would do? Go all caveman on a woman?” Personally, Allison thought she’d shove a stiletto up the ass of any man who tried to haul her anywhere. But that was just her.

  “Nah. I’m the moody, artistic type. I’m more likely to forget we even have a date in the first place. I get absorbed in what I’m painting and forget the real world exists.”

  Maybe that was what Caroline objected to. She revered punctuality and thought Thou Shalt Not Daydream should be a late addition to the ten commandments.

  “Do you sleep with your models?” Allison asked as they glided around to the longest piece of music ever composed. God, she hated dancing. But at least Finn wasn’t staring at her chin, the way it usually played out at weddings. She was convinced every man over five-foot-ten was married.

  There had to be statistics on it, with the proportion of men married decreasing with every inch under six foot. No woman wanted to look like an Amazon next to her man, and Allison thought it was damn rude that short women ran around snagging men ten inches taller than them, when in all fairness, those guys should have been left alone for the tall girls to pick over.