Drive

by Stephanie Fournet

  After she’d laid out her deal, she forced herself to hold her gaze steady with his. Jacques stood perfectly still, his forearm still in her grip, his face oddly expressionless. Rainey swallowed.

  How could she think it would be a good idea to spend the whole night in the same room with him?

  But then again, if her only options were to let him pay for a separate room or, God forbid, sleep in his car, then it was a no brainer. Jacques would stay in her room, and she’d just have to keep herself from staring at him all night.

  At least until he fell asleep. Rainey knew from his nap in the car she’d probably take full advantage of staring at him then.

  Jacques’s eyes narrowed on her. “We split the room and call it even,” he said.

  The man was ridiculously stubborn when it came to money, but Rainey could be stubborn, too. It had just been a while since it felt so right to dig her heels in.

  “Sorry, Gilchrist. No can do.”

  His mouth twitched, and Rainey knew he’d call her bluff. With a movement that was both lightning fast and surprisingly gentle, Jacques extracted his arm from her grip and took two strides toward the exit.

  “I’ll see you in the morning, Rainey—”

  “Wait!” The urgency and the sheer volume in her voice made everyone in the lobby turn.

  Jacques blinked at her in surprise.

  “We split the cost of the room, but I pay the pet deposit.”

  She counted to three as he stared back at her, and it seemed like an eternity.

  “Deal.”

  She nearly deflated into a lifeless husk on the lobby floor her relief was so great. “Thank God,” she muttered.

  Then Jacques arched a brow at her.

  “What?” she asked, frowning.

  He tipped his chin toward her T-shirt. “I need my card.”

  Scalding blood raced to her cheeks. “O-oh… right.” Rainey slipped her thumb and forefinger into her top, down into her bra, and pulled out his card. She noted before she handed it over to him that it wasn’t cold anymore. In fact, nothing touching her body was cold. Every inch of her flesh seared hot with embarrassment.

  He took the card from her, eyeing it with a look that Rainey could only describe as bemused respect before handing it to Ashley.

  While he faced the counter, Rainey pressed her palms to her cheeks, willing the blood beneath her skin to recede. And it worked a little. By the time they stepped into the elevator, she was only scarlet red instead of vermilion.

  They rode up to the fourth floor in silence, only the sound of the poodle’s excited panting between them. When the elevator stopped with a ping, and the doors opened, Archie shot out as though he knew exactly where they were going, dragging Rainey to the left.

  Jacques stepped out behind her and pointed right. “It’s this way.”

  She tugged on Archie’s lead with a “C’mon, boy,” and they followed Jacques down the hall. With his duffle bag slung over his left shoulder and his acoustic case gripped in his right hand, he cut a figure that was impossible not to admire. His shoulders, broad and defined, drew her eye down to the sinews in his arms. She’d held his left forearm in her grip not three minutes before, and she could now recall how solid and muscled it felt. His tanned skin had been deliciously hot under her fingers.

  Rainey had touched his hands and his wrists, she’d held onto his shoulders when they’d kissed, but she hadn’t had the right opportunity to appreciate the structure and beauty of his arms. There was probably a great deal more about his body she’d never get to admire, but at the moment, it seemed to her a tragic waste that she hadn’t paid more attention to his arm when she’d held onto it.

  Suppressing a wince of regret, she watched him set down his guitar by the door of their room and slide the key into the little slot. With a beep, the door unlocked, and Jacques pushed it open for her. Archie bounded inside, passing up the little living space with its sofa and desk. He wasted no time springing to the first bed before darting in a circle, jumping to the floor, and then pouncing onto the second bed.

  He then proceeded to plant his head onto the bedspread and grind down with this head and shoulders, making erratic little snorting noises as he did.

  Jacques burst out laughing at the dog’s antics.

  “Archie, why?” Rainey bemoaned, but in truth she was relieved for the distraction he provided.

  Archie flipped onto his back and proceed to grind side-to-side, arching his body in crescent shapes as he did.

  “I guess if this is a pet-friendly suite, he’s gotta smell every dog who’s ever stayed here,” Jacques ventured, chuckling. “Little dude has to make his mark.”

  Rainey raised an eyebrow and addressed her dog directly. “As long as you don’t make any other marks,” she warned. She set her backpack on the bed next to Archie, who seemed unfazed by its presence. “I guess we’ve claimed this one, though I can’t promise he won’t give your bedspread the same treatment.

  “It’s okay,” Jacques said, turning back to the living area. “I was thinking about taking the couch.”

  Rainey’s eyes widened, and in spite of herself, her heart sunk a little. “But there’s two beds,” she heard herself saying.

  He gave a shrug. “Yeah, but this will give us a little more privacy.”

  Indeed, the sofa was tucked behind a partitioned wall that kept it hidden from view to anyone lying in bed.

  “Okay,” she said, hating the way her voice sounded small and disappointed and hoping he didn’t hear either. She looked around for something to do to shield herself from his attention, and she hoisted her backpack on her shoulder again. “I’m going to take a shower. Would you mind keeping an eye on Archie to make sure he doesn’t cause any damage?”

  Jacques’s eyes flicked from her to the bathroom door with something like panic. “Uh… Yeah. S-sure. Take your time,” he stammered.

  Rainey’s body tensed. “You sure? I can take him in the bathroom with me if—”

  “No, no. Archie’s cool,” he said, shaking his head. His words seemed at ease, but the tightness in his voice said otherwise. “He’ll settle down in a minute.”

  “Because you could go first if you wanted…” she offered.

  Jacques grabbed his guitar case and set it on the empty bed. “No. I wanted to work on some songs. You go… shower.” It was only when she watched him swallow that Rainey looked more closely.

  Did the intimacy of sharing a room rattle Jacques just as much as it did her?

  The thought was so arresting, Rainey had to push it from her mind in order to utter a word, and when she spoke, it came out more like a squeak. “Okay… I’ll just be a minute.” And then without looking at him again, she fled to the bathroom.

  She closed the door behind her and flattened her palms to it, her heart a wild rabbit in her chest. The urge to go back into the room and fling herself into his arms was almost overwhelming.

  But that would be disastrous. For so many reasons.

  She pressed her forehead to the cool wood of the door and listened for any sound of him. Nothing. No rattling guitar case or sounds of movement. Either the sound quality of their hotel was excellent, or Jacques was standing perfectly still where she’d left him.

  Rainey pushed herself off the door with a sigh and turned on the shower. After laying out her pajamas on the counter and placing her shampoo and conditioner on the edge of the tub, she stripped off her clothes and stepped in.

  The heavenly heat of the stream had her closing her eyes. But behind her lids the images she saw were all him: Jacques in profile, his right hand draped over the steering wheel, laughing as she tried to trick him with song lyrics; Jacques, sprawled in sleep in the cramped quarters of his front seat, deliciously muscled limbs pointing in every direction, his sooty eyelashes fanned out against the sculpture of his cheeks; Jacques, swiping a sweet potato fry off her plate with a wicked half grin.

  She’d spent eight hours looking at him. Exposed to such male beauty, she knew her re
tinas would never be the same. For the rest of her life, she’d close her eyes and see his face, just like one sees an afterimage of a camera flash or a lightning strike. But instead of fading in seconds, his likeness was bound to stay.

  Rainey opened her eyes, grabbed her shampoo bottle, and squirted a glob into her palm. She could probably spend all night under the shower stream just reliving their drive, but that certainly wouldn’t help matters.

  Yet even with the intention to push him from her thoughts, her mind snagged on the conversation they’d had about his father. And how Jacques had made no secret over the years of his anger and disappointment. Of how he had shunned him, yelled at him, even hung up on him at times.

  Rainey had complained about her father to everyone in her life — except her father. Her mother, Holi, Ash — even Jacques. They all knew how she felt. But she had never lit into Doc Dylan Reeves for the way he’d treated her mother during their marriage and the way he’d abandoned them after they lost John Lee.

  And until this moment — standing in the shower in a hotel room she would share with a man she wanted but couldn’t have — Rainey had never asked herself why. Why couldn’t she tell her father how angry she was with him? Why couldn’t she throw his measly attempts at connection back in his face? His two-minute phone calls or his yearly visits that lasted all of forty-eight hours? His monthly deposits into her bank account?

  Rainey only had one answer. She was a weakling. A scared, little weakling. In this as she was in every other aspect of her life.

  “Rainey?” Jacques was calling her through the closed bathroom door.

  Yanked from her own, private moment of self-loathing, Rainey stuck her sudsy head out of the shower.

  “Yeah?” she called back. He was calling from the other side of the door. A door, she now realized, she’d never locked.

  “Archie’s scratching on the door and whining a little. I’m gonna take him down for a walk. You okay with that?”

  Rainey blinked. Jacques was not about to open her bathroom door, locked or not. She knew this. He was far too much of a gentleman.

  But in her weak, little weakling moment, Rainey couldn’t be sure that she wouldn’t have preferred that he did.

  My God, get a hold of yourself.

  “Yeah, sure… Thanks!” she forced herself to shout.

  “‘Kay. We won’t be long.”

  She thought she heard the door to the hallway close. Rainey decided it might be best to be out of the shower and dressed by the time they returned. She rinsed, conditioned, and shaved her legs, aiming now to hurry.

  “Ow! Dammit!” she hissed, pulling back the razor to see the telltale crimson nick on the boniest part of her left shin. Rinsing it under the shower stream burned like the dickens, and she drew in her lips and stifled a squeal.

  Her leg was only half-done, of course so she propped it back on the edge of the tub and finished the job, all the while ignoring the streak of blood that moved down to her ankle and dripped off her heel.

  When she rinsed out her conditioner and turned off the shower, she discovered that her efforts had been for nothing. The gentle cords from Jacques’s guitar told her they were already back, and he’d settled in to work on his music.

  With a smile, Rainey admitted to herself that she wasn’t all that upset. Though he didn’t sing, she sensed by the rhythm that his song was playful, easy, and the sound of it brought her comfort.

  She wrung out her hair, wrapped a towel around her head, and dried off enough to step out of the tub and attempt to staunch her bleeding shin with a wad of toilet paper. She bent over the tub, turned the hot water on full blast, and soaped up her washcloth before scrubbing the basin as best she could. The last thing she wanted was to leave a morbid streak of blood for Jacques to find whenever he showered.

  Suppressing a groan, Rainey held up her meager pajamas. When she’d packed, she hadn’t even considered the possibility that she and Jacques would be sharing a room. So, her nightwear consisted of the usual: tiny PJ shorts, a tank top, and fuzzy socks. When she put these on and eyed herself in the mirror, her stomach tightened. A whole lot of thigh was showing, but the worst part was the tank top. With her hair damp and cold against her back, her taut nipples budded against the thin cotton of her top in a lewd display.

  Stalling, Rainey towel-dried her hair with rough scrubs, combed it out, and then strategically loaded her arms with her backpack and shoes so she could dash with some modesty to the bed and dive under the covers. She opened the bathroom door to find Jacques on the little couch with his guitar in his lap and Archie curled up at his side.

  And when he looked up at her, his eyes bugged.

  “Thanks for taking him—”

  “You’re bleeding,” Jacques’s startled announcement halted her sprint to the bed, and she froze in front of him. He pointed down to her shin, and when Rainey followed his gaze down to her leg, she saw that her makeshift bandage must have fallen off while she dressed, and now a lurid streak of blood painted her leg.

  “Oh, crap,” she muttered, and she wheeled back in the direction of the bathroom.

  “Hang on. I have a first-aid kit,” he said, getting to his feet. “Put your stuff down and sit on the bed.”

  Rainey stood immobile for a moment as Jacques rifled through his duffel bag, but then she took the opportunity to dump her belongings at the foot of the bed and grab a pillow before sitting as instructed.

  Once she did, she hugged the pillow to her chest, covering her flimsy tank top. Jacques emerged from the living area with a small red pouch bearing the iconic white cross, but he stopped when her saw her pose, his brow knitted.

  “You afraid it’s gonna hurt?” he asked, nodding at the way she clutched her pillow. Rainey’s cheeks prickled with heat.

  “Oh, no, I…” She paused, grasping for what to say. “…I know you won’t hurt me.”

  At this, Jacques’s brow drew up in a look of surprised gratification, and he gave the faintest of nods. Her words hung between them with unintended significance.

  “You just remember that,” he murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed near her legs. He opened the kit and began rifling through its contents, and it was only then that she realized he could have just as easily handed it to her and let her tend to the cut on her own. But that clearly was not Jacques’s intention. He tore open an alcohol wipe and began delicately cleaning the spreading streak of blood.

  “I can’t believe you have a first-aid kit,” she said, talking to blunt the intimacy the moment forced on them. “I didn’t realize you were such a Boy Scout.”

  She watched his mouth quirk as he opened a tube of antibiotic cream and applied it to a cotton swab.

  “Oh, yeah,” he deadpanned. “I’m full of surprises.”

  And then one of his hands grasped her gently under the calf, steadying her leg. She could feel the heat of his palm and every finger. He leaned closer to her cut, his breath tickling her skins. Rainey’s breath stuttered in response.

  “Hold still. I’ll be gentle,” he murmured, mistaking her response for nerves or squeamishness.

  With the lightest of touches, he painted the cut with the ointment, his eyes narrowing in concentration on the task. Watching him was almost hypnotic, his feathery eyelashes, the strong bridge of his nose, the honeyed glow of his skin.

  He was so beautiful.

  Rainey’s trance was broken when he sat back, tossed the swab in the trash, and peeled open the bandage. He bent in close again and gently pressed it against her cut, smoothing down the tabs with his fingertips.

  “There. All better,” he said, a wry smile on his lips.

  “Thank you, Dr. Jacques,” she said, her light tone belying the way his touch and attention had softened her from head to toe. When was the last time someone else had dressed a cut for her?

  After he returned the first-aid kit to his side of the room, Jacques stepped back with a small bundle in his hand.

  “Gonna take a shower. I won’t be long.”<
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  He didn’t lie. The water ran for all of four minutes. And by the time he emerged from the bathroom three minutes after that, Rainey had switched on the TV, grabbed her crochet work, and was safely tucked under the covers with a clear view of the bathroom door. It was the perfect spot to watch him fill the doorway in a white T-shirt that clung to his every sinew and a pair of gray, drawstring shorts, the bottom half of his legs and his feet seductively bare. Her crochet hook stilled in her hand.

  She should pull her eyes away.

  Rainey knew this, but she couldn’t even begin to fathom how. Instead, she watched him cross the living space until he disappeared behind the partition, and her heart plummeted. Before she knew it, words flew out of her.

  “Want to watch some TV with me?”

  He poked his head out behind the partitioned wall. “Sure. Whatcha watchin’?”

  They both eyed the TV. What had she been watching? The car insurance commercial gave her no clue. And even though she sat dumbly, Jacques still walked into the room and stretched out on the bed opposite hers, his long legs claiming its length and crossing at the ankles. He took two of the bed’s pillows and stuffed them behind his neck as he leaned against the headboard, and Rainey realized her mistake.

  How could she look at him when she was supposed to be watching TV? She tore her eyes away and focused on the screen. The commercial ended, and a syndicated episode of The Big Bang Theory resumed.

  Oh, yeah…

  Jacques sniffed a quiet laugh of approval, but it was loud enough for her to hear, so she relaxed a fraction. At least it hadn’t been an episode of Gilmore Girls.

  They watched in silence. Or at least, Jacques seemed to be watching. Rainey could not focus on the antics of the awkward pack of geniuses on the screen or on the bundle of yarn in her lap. Although her eyes were aimed there, all of her other senses and the parts of her being beyond sense were trained on Jacques.