Lucky Stars

by Kristen Ashley

  She was so in a trance, she barely moved when he hooked her with his arm around her waist, hauling her to his body and his mouth crushed down on hers in a kiss so mind-boggling, it was a wonder her trance didn’t turn into a coma.

  When his head came up, he demanded, “Fucking wake me before you get out of bed.”

  He sounded not loving morning fresh but irritated.

  “What?” she breathed, still not over his kiss.

  “Wake me before you get out of bed,” he repeated.

  “But,” she whispered idiotically, “that’s rude.”

  His face got close. “It isn’t rude if I ask you to do it.”

  “But,” she went on, still idiotically, “what if you need your sleep?”

  His other arm circled her. “After last night, Belle, I need my sleep. I still want you to wake me up.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “It doesn’t matter why,” he returned and his hand came up, tangling in her hair then he went on to command. “Just wake me, kiss me, tell me good fucking morning and then you can get out of bed.”

  “Oh… kay,” she replied hesitantly but not happily.

  Most of his demands were bossy, definitely, but also somehow sweet.

  This one was just weird and very concerning.

  She dropped her eyes to his shoulder and felt her stomach clench.

  His hand tugged gently at her hair, her gaze went back to his and she saw his face had gone soft.

  “I’ll get used to it, having you,” he explained and his voice had gone soft too. “Right now, I’m not used to it.”

  It dawned on her that she’d run away from him the first morning after they’d been together. Since then she had been either avoiding him or escaping him on a regular basis, including crawling out of bed in the mornings before he woke.

  Therefore this particular beast was a beast of her own making.

  She pressed closer and wrapped her arms loosely around his waist.

  “I’ll wake you,” she promised.

  He gave her a squeeze and warned, “You should probably know, even when I’m used to it I’ll still want a kiss before you leave our bed.”

  “That won’t be hard to do,” she assured him.

  That’s when he grinned.

  That was it then. He was done. No yelling, threatening, throwing things or hitting her.

  She felt secret relief.

  Then she grinned back.

  “Do you want eggs?” she asked.

  He looked to the counter saying, “I’m starved.”

  She gave him a squeeze and when his eyes came back to her, she smiled at him with genuine, unabashed excitement and cried, “Great!”

  She exuberantly tried to pull away but got about an inch before he hauled her back against his body.

  When she looked at him, he called, “Belle?”

  She tilted her head in enquiry, still smiling happily and returned, “Yes?”

  His eyes shifted to her mouth for a moment before going back to hers.

  “My Belle?” he asked.

  The question made her breath catch and she didn’t know the answer but she knew what she hoped it was.

  He also had a strange look on his face, warm even tender but also like he too was in some sort of trance (but apparently, during his trances, he could actually talk, he just couldn’t say much).

  “Are you okay?” Belle queried.

  “Are you okay?” Jack queried back.

  She smiled again and answered, “Yes.”

  “You seem pretty excited about eggs,” he remarked cautiously.

  She tilted her head again and leaned into him. “You haven’t had my eggs.”

  Then she gently pulled out of his arms, got him a cup of coffee, pulled out two skillets then the butter, put the toast in the toaster all the while babbling.

  “My Dad taught my Mom how to make eggs. Then they got in a competition about who could make them best. When I was old enough, they both taught me how to make them. Everyone agrees mine are the best of them all. Even me and I try to be humble but I can’t be about my eggs, they’re that good. And anyway, I get to cook for you. Elaine, or whoever, cooks for you and I don’t get to do anything. Boiling some veg and grilling some steaks isn’t the same as really cooking. So, yay!”

  She threw butter in one skillet, slices of bacon in the other, turned on the burner under the bacon, so busy she hadn’t felt the air turn velvet all around them.

  When he didn’t speak, never looking at him, she kept babbling.

  “You should know, by the way, if Dad should show up, which he might considering the pictures in the paper, that Mom and Dad didn’t have a nasty divorce. They still love each other. They hook up every time they get together. They just got a divorce because Dad’s kind of wild and Mom knew it would drive her bonkers so she let him go rather than let it get ugly.”

  “Your Dad is wilder than your mother?” Jack asked in a voice that said he found that hard to believe.

  She threw a grin at him over her shoulder. “Yes. Definitely. He’s nuts.” Then the toast popped up, she whirled around, snatched it from the toaster, began slathering it with butter and asked, “Would you get the jam out of the fridge, please?” she paused and then added, “And the grape jelly.”

  “Grape jelly?” he enquired and she threw him another grin.

  “It’s an American thing. Mom sends it to me.” She looked back at the toast and kept talking. “We have grape jelly. We have grape candies too. We don’t do black currant.” Belle gave a shiver at the very thought of black currant.

  She heard the fridge open and Jack said, “I’m guessing you don’t like black currant.”

  “No,” Belle replied in a way that left nothing to the imagination about how much she detested black currant and she heard him chuckle.

  “You eat jelly for breakfast?” he asked.

  She finished buttering the toast, put more bread in the toaster, picked up a wooden spatula and turned to him.

  “It isn’t English jelly, we call that jell-o.” Belle put great emphasis on the “oh”. “It’s jelly-jelly, like jam, without the bits in.”

  Her kitchen was small, Jack’s big frame made it smaller but it became tiny when he suddenly closed the fridge door, took a wide step toward her and got right in her space.

  She leaned back as he leaned in and his arms slid around her.

  She looked up at him and saw the warmth was definitely in his face as was the tenderness, also definitely, but there was something else there. She couldn’t put her finger on it. It was partially amusement but the rest of it she didn’t know.

  But it made him look… happy.

  It was, incidentally, his best look ever.

  Even so, breathless and feeling a trill up her spine even as a strange spiral of fear curled in her belly, Belle said softly, “Jack, I’m making eggs.”

  “I switched her on,” Jack replied bizarrely.

  “What?”

  His face dipped closer and he repeated, “Somehow, I switched her on.”

  It was then Belle realised what she was doing, how she was behaving and just how much she was talking.

  Her eyes slid to his ear and his arms grew tight as he gave her a firm but gentle shake.

  “No, love, stick with me,” he said.

  “I need to make the eggs,” she muttered to his ear.

  “Look at me,” he demanded, her eyes slid back to his and his head bent so his forehead could rest on hers. “I’m looking forward to your eggs. I’m also enjoying learning about your father and grape jelly.” Somehow, even though he was as close as you could get, he managed to get closer when he went on, “You can be this woman with me. You don’t have to switch off, poppet.”

  Belle didn’t speak.

  Jack didn’t either.

  Finally, Jack moved, touched his mouth to hers and then his lips drew away an inch. “Or you can be whoever you want to be.”

  At his words, Belle’s soul sighed.

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nbsp; Then he let her go, went back to the fridge, bent into it and she watched him pull out the grape jelly.

  He put it on the table, walked to her, put his hand to her jaw, slid his thumb across her cheekbone, dropped his hand and walked out of the room.

  Belle dazedly turned back to the eggs.

  Then, slowly, she smiled a small smile at them.

  By the time Jack returned, the eggs, bacon and toast were done and she was serving them onto warmed plates. He’d put on his shirt, partially buttoned up the front but his feet were still bare.

  Silently, she set the plates on the table.

  Jack sat, as did she.

  They started eating.

  After about a minute, Jack called her name and she lifted her eyes to his.

  His hand came back to her jaw and he said solemnly, “These are the best eggs I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Really?” she asked softly.

  “Really,” he answered just as softly.

  He took his hand from her jaw and continued eating.

  Belle took in a breath for courage and queried, “Are you going to try the grape jelly?”

  “No,” he answered immediately, taking a bite of bacon.

  “Why not?”

  His gaze came to her and he said in all seriousness, even though his eyes were dancing, “I have a rule. I don’t eat purple food.”

  She felt a giggle bubble up inside her and she let a little of it escape.

  “Grapes are purple,” she informed him.

  “Grapes are naturally purple. That,” he indicated the grape jelly with a jerk of his head, “is not a colour nature intended. Therefore, I amend my rule. I don’t eat chemically-induced purple food.”

  Another giggle bubbled up inside her, it was softer, quieter and she let it free.

  After she was done giggling but before she’d resumed eating, Jack’s hand came toward her again. This time it didn’t go to her jaw but around her neck. He pulled her forward, leaned forward himself and he kissed her.

  It wasn’t long and it wasn’t hard.

  It was soft, sweet and thorough.

  When he was done, he let her go, sat back and resumed eating.

  Belle studied him a moment then asked shyly. “Do you want to know more about my Dad?”

  “Is it going to frighten me?” Jack asked back.

  “Probably,” Belle answered honestly.

  He looked at her and smiled. “Tell me about your Dad.”

  So, she did.

  * * * * *

  Belle sat in the Jag as Jack drove them to The Point.

  They’d showered at her place (as in, together, which she’d never done with a man and it was nice). But she didn’t have extra supplies of makeup and stuff for her hair (and he didn’t have anything), so he had to take her to The Point then back into town once she’d gotten ready for her day’s work.

  Alone he’d walked across St. Ives to collect his car, leaving Belle at the cottage with orders not to leave the house even if she saw his car in front of it. He would, he informed her, escort her through the cameramen.

  He drove back, parked in front of her house and collected her at the door.

  Even though the street was narrow, her steps were right on it and it was about a ten foot walk, as he said he’d do, Jack escorted her to the passenger side, closing the door after she’d settled in.

  Then he drove them out of St. Ives.

  Belle watched the scenery and wondered what life had in store for her now that she’d taken this, what she considered the ultimate risk.

  Then she decided not to wonder about it.

  Whatever would happen, would happen.

  This was so not Belle Abbot, it wasn’t funny.

  But she had enough to worry about, what with a baby on the way and ghosts to send to heaven.

  She’d worry about it later.

  “Can we do that again?” she asked Jack.

  “What, my love?”

  “Stay at the cottage, just you and me?”

  His reply was instantaneous. “Absolutely.”

  “You’ll need to bring some clothes,” she told him and when he didn’t reply, she added, “and the dogs.”

  She heard his chuckle and looked out the window toward the sea.

  And Belle Abbot, worrier extraordinaire, felt at peace.

  Chapter Fifteen

  All Right

  Jack

  Later that evening, Jack drove Belle back to The Point.

  She’d called him that afternoon to inform him that they could not, again, spend another highly enjoyable evening alone together in her quiet cottage. A cottage which was simple, inviting and subtly feminine all of which, Jack thought, was very Belle. A cottage where he found almost instantly he was completely at ease.

  Instead, Belle was under strict orders from Lila to come home that evening.

  They had, in the overwhelming fullness of their reconciliation, forgotten to call home, not that it even once crossed Jack’s mind. He was not used to being accountable to anyone for his whereabouts.

  Also, as said reconciliation had been intense and thoroughly engrossing, they hadn’t heard Belle’s phone ringing in her bag or Jack’s which was muted by his clothing.

  Therefore Lila and Rachel had spent the evening wondering where they were and not liking being engaged in this activity.

  This was what they learned upon arrival at The Point that morning.

  Lila, followed by Rachel then, far more slowly (because she was likely only lending moral support or being polite) followed by his mother, confronted them in the hallway when they walked through the front doors.

  It had been short and to the point.

  “Belle Ursula Abbot,” Lila said in a severe voice, addressing her like she was ten years old and Belle’s hand went to her mouth.

  “Holy heck,” Belle muttered under her hand, her eyes adorably huge with guilt then she took her hand away and breathed, “I forgot to call.”

  “That you did,” Lila declared then stomped away.

  “We’ve been worried sick,” Rachel added then she stomped away.

  Belle and Jack looked to Joy.

  “I told them not to worry,” Joy said casually.

  Jack and Belle made no reply.

  When they didn’t, Joy smiled and asked, “Did you two have a nice evening?”

  “We were also having a nice morning,” Jack returned.

  “That’s lovely,” Joy’s smile deepened, “Have you eaten? Do I need to call Elaine?”

  Jack assured his mother they’d eaten and she’d given them another smile and wandered away.

  Now they were on their way to The Point at Lila’s command.

  In other words, they were in trouble and being punished.

  Jack found it entirely unacceptable that he was a thirty-eight year old man escorting his thirty-five year old pregnant girlfriend home because they’d spent the night having unbelievably great sex and forgot to call thus they pissed off her grandmother.

  He was not used to doing anything other than what he damn well pleased.

  He’d been doing exactly what he damn well pleased for over twenty years.

  And what would have pleased him was to pack a bag, load up his dogs and spend the fucking night at the cottage with Belle who he’d make absolutely certain was naked the vast majority of the time.

  However Belle felt it necessary to perform this act of contrition.

  He found this odd, he didn’t like it but he’d speak to her about it later.

  At that moment, he had another mountain to climb.

  “Belle,” he called and he felt rather than saw her eyes turn to him from their study of the landscape.

  “Yes?”

  “I spoke to Elaine today,” he told her.

  There was silence then a hesitant and somewhat confused, “That’s good.”

  “About your things,” Jack went on.

  “My things?”

  “She’s moved them into my room.”
/>   He heard her sharp intake of breath.

  “Jack –” she began.

  Jack cut her off, “There’s no longer any reason why you or I have to roam the halls in our pyjamas every night.”

  “But…” she started and trailed off.

  He glanced at her to see she was staring at him. He saw she looked that annoyed confused or a confused annoyed, he again didn’t know which.

  He still thought it was adorable and wanted to grin but he bit it back, looked at the road and asked, “Can you give me a reason?”

  “A reason for what?”

  “A reason why you or I need to be roaming the halls at night.”

  There was more silence then a quiet, “No.”

  “Good. That’s settled then,” Jack declared decisively.

  “Jack!”

  “Belle,” Jack said to the windshield.

  “What will Elaine think?” she asked and Jack couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing.

  When he glanced at her swiftly again, the confusion was gone. She was still staring at him, definitely now just cross, before turning his eyes to the road.

  “Poppet, you’re pregnant. I think Elaine has guessed by now we’ve been sexually active.”

  There was another moment of silence, she sighed then she asked, “Don’t you think it’s too soon?”

  “What’s too soon?”

  “Any of it. All of it,” she replied.

  He knew what she was asking.

  Jack looked to her lap, reached out and took her hand then his eyes turned back to the road. He brought the back of her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips against her knuckles.

  Then he dropped their hands to his thigh and kept hold of hers.

  “No,” he stated simply.

  “You’re sure?” she whispered.

  At her question, a number of memories rapidly tore through his head. They included that tendril of hair against her neck the first night they met. The way she responded to his first kiss and every one since. Last night, the third time he’d had her, after they ate, when she was on top, moving on him but bent forward, her face in his neck, the sexy noises she made sounding direct in his ear while he felt her sleek, tight wetness sliding against him. And that morning, her excitement about eggs and her resulting, adorable chatter.

  “More than I’ve been of anything in my fucking life,” he replied firmly.