The Truest Thing: Hart's Boardwalk #4

by Samantha Young

  The prosecution asked Jack why he’d worked for his father, and Jack replied that his father was abusive toward his mother and sister and it was made clear that his loyalty and obedience would save them from that abuse.

  Jack had warned me this would be his answer. That his mother and Rebecca had discussed it and they’d agreed to be deposed, backing his claims. The prosecutor mentioned this, handing over Rosalie’s and Rebecca’s written statements.

  My stomach churned for Jack when the defense attorney stood. I knew the state provided this attorney, but that didn’t mean he might not be an excellent litigator. As he interrogated Jack, trying to insinuate that Jack had a lot more to do with the racketeering charges than he claimed, my skin flushed with indignation. The urge to jump to Jack’s defense was real, even more so when the defense moved on to Jack’s claims that he was protecting his mother and sister.

  “Other than this written statement, we have no other evidence that these claims of abuse are true. No hospital records, no police reports. And frankly, a written statement from a young woman facing charges for aiding and abetting a murder is hardly reliable. Isn’t it true, Mr. Devlin, that you are lying about your father abusing your mother and sister to cover up the fact that you were a willing partner in your father’s business ventures? That you were the one who convinced your father to take more unlawful steps forward in the business?”

  I guffawed in outrage as the prosecutor called, “Objection! Leading the witness. And might I remind the court that Mr. Jack Devlin has been cleared of all charges and he’s not the one on trial here.”

  The judge nodded. “Sustained.”

  The defense gave a nod of acknowledgment. “Let me rephrase. Mr. Devlin, are you lying about your father abusing your mother and sister?”

  Expression hard as flint, Jack’s gaze moved toward Ian. The loathing was difficult to miss. “No. I’m not lying. Ian Devlin mentally, emotionally, and physically abused my mother and sister for years. I did what I could to protect them. As you can see, neither of them is here today because they can’t stand to be in the same room as Ian.”

  The court rang with that truth.

  The defense attorney quickly changed tact and began trying to trip Jack up on specific incidents of racketeering and blackmail he’d recorded in his witness statements. Jack remained stoic and unflappable. But I wished I could be up there, holding his hand.

  When that day’s session ended, I waited for Jack outside the Wilmington courthouse. He wore a strained expression as he walked to me in his tailored suit. He’d shaved off his scruff, and I missed it. What I didn’t miss was the exhaustion that pervaded him.

  “I could drive,” I offered as he approached.

  Jack shook his head as he reached for my hand. I let him take it without resistance, slipping my fingers through his and holding on tight.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure, Em.”

  I pressed into his side as we walked toward the parking lot. “You did brilliantly, Jack. You were so calm and collected.”

  “It took a lot,” he admitted gruffly. “I wanted to throw a punch at his smug face.”

  “I wouldn’t have blamed you. I wanted to punch him too.”

  “You already shot him,” Jack reminded me with a wry smile.

  I grinned, glad to see some lightness in his eyes. “I did, didn’t I?”

  Jack pulled open the passenger door of his truck and helped me up. “I’m just glad you don’t have to face him in a trial for that.”

  Me too.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked as Jack got into the cab and started the engine. “We could go to The Boardwalk. I haven’t dined there yet, but Bailey and Vaughn said the food is great.” Other than my eventful dinner with Sebastian at Iris and Ira’s, I hadn’t seen the chef out and about at all. It would appear he’d been telling the truth when he said he was a workaholic.

  “I’m wiped, Em. But if you’re hungry, we could grab something and take it back to yours.”

  “Okay.”

  Silence fell between us as Jack drove home. It was comfortable, although I was worried about him.

  He looked so melancholy and distant.

  I didn’t like it.

  We stopped at a drive-through sandwich place closer to town and then Jack drove us to my place. Despite my concern about how distant he was being, I didn’t want to push him. And I thought after a day of constant interrogation, the last thing Jack needed was someone badgering him with questions. Instead, I offered to turn on the sports channel—Jack shot me a tender look. I handed him the remote.

  And although I didn’t want to appear as if everything was about me, when we sat on opposite sides of the sectional with our food, I voiced my concerns. “If there’s even an infinitesimal part of you worried about how I feel about what I heard in there today—about the blackmail and everything—Jack, I don’t blame you. All I kept thinking was, God, it must’ve been awful for you, being forced to be a party to those things. I hurt for you. I wish I had known back then so I could’ve been a comfort.”

  His tired eyes moved to me from the screen and something eased in his expression. “You were a comfort.”

  We shared a small smile. Sensing we were okay, that Jack was genuinely exhausted, I let silence fall between us. Once we’d eaten, I removed all my jewelry and placed the silver on my coffee table. I caught Jack watching me. He did this a lot—watched me take off my jewelry. As if the familiarity satisfied him in some way.

  I ignored that possibility because it made me feel weirdly needy for him.

  I casually reached for my e-reader and while I read, Jack watched a rugby game between New Zealand and Wales. My father liked rugby. I remembered him taking me to a match when we were in England as part of a European summer vacation. I was ten. Dad had done a ton of business while we were abroad that summer, so the game was my fondest memory of my father. It was one of the few times he was focused on me, trying to teach me the rules of the game. My mother thought rugby was inappropriate for a young girl, and I don’t recall my father ever taking me again after that.

  As I was talented at doing, I drowned out the TV and fell into my book.

  I didn’t know how much time passed before I realized I needed to use the bathroom. Uncurling myself from the sectional, I glanced over at Jack and faltered.

  I’d missed him stretching his long body on the couch and he’d fallen asleep on his side, his head on an oversized cushion. My sectional had deep, wide seat cushions, and the urge to tuck myself in beside him was real. He’d taken off his suit jacket and tie when we’d come into the house. The buttons of his collar were opened, and he’d rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing his tan, corded forearms.

  I felt more than a tingle of need in all my good places and glanced away guiltily. The last thing Jack deserved was me ogling him. With a sigh, I got up quietly and went to the restroom. The art deco clock on the wall above the dining table said it was only eight forty-five. It was still fairly early and yet, it might as well have been midnight for how tired I was. On my return, I yawned as soon as I looked at Jack.

  That urge to curl up beside him and sleep grew stronger.

  My hand automatically moved to my stomach.

  The three of us cuddled up together sounded so nice, tears pricked my eyes.

  Scoffing inwardly at my nonsense, I put the emotion clogging my throat down to the difficulty of the day. Being pregnant, I did find myself in need of more naps than normal. There was absolutely nothing wrong with taking a nap with Jack. It would be my way of offering him comfort, even in his sleep.

  Mind made up, practically itching to feel him pressed against me, I switched off the television and tentatively laid down beside Jack. I held my breath, worried I’d wake him. But Jack must’ve been completely out of it because he barely even moved as I pressed my back to his front and rested my head on the cushion beside his. His chest pushed gently into my back as he breathed.

  It was nice.


  More than nice.

  I closed my eyes and listened to Jack breathe and followed him quickly into sleep.

  35

  Jack

  It took awhile for the warm, soft body pressed against Jack in his dreams to pull him out of unconsciousness and gradually into waking.

  Before he opened his eyes, he felt the soft curves of her ass against his groin. His arm was settled over a slender waist, his fingertips touching what he discerned was the lower curve of a breast.

  Her scent invaded him.

  Emery.

  Jack’s eyes flew open, adjusting to the dark.

  Where am I?

  Then it hit him. Crashing at Em’s after the trial because he was so exhausted.

  His lips and nose were settled in Emery’s soft hair. Her shoulders rose and fell with light breaths as she slept.

  He remembered lying down on her couch as he watched rugby. He must’ve fallen asleep.

  Which meant Em had deliberately curled up beside him.

  Feeling her breast sit heavily on his fingertips, her magnificent ass against his pelvis, inhaling her, memories of their night together flooded him.

  Blood rocketed to his dick and his erection pushed against his suit pants and into the crest between Em’s ass cheeks.

  Jack turned his head into the cushion to muffle his groan of need.

  Then he heard it.

  The swift intake of breath, seconds before she pushed her ass into his dick.

  “Em,” he grunted, cupping her breast in his hand and squeezing the full, lush globe.

  She whimpered and clutched his hand, drawing it away from her breast and down her stomach. If it was possible, he hardened even more at the feel of the gentle rise of her belly where their baby was growing. She moved his hand over and down to the tight gap between her closed thighs.

  Euphoria and arousal made his voice hoarse. “Is that where you need me, sunrise?”

  She tensed. And then Jack felt a cool breeze waft over him as Emery flew to her feet. She swayed as she whirled around to glare down at him.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Her cheeks were flushed hot.

  Indignation rushed through him. “Me? I didn’t fall asleep with you next to me, darlin’, you did that.”

  “That wasn’t an invitation to stick your”—she gestured to Jack’s still-visible erection—“in my ass.”

  God, the very thought of doing just that only made him harder. He sat up and pressed his fingers to his eyelids. “Fuck, Em, could you not?” Then he dropped his hands and glared up at her. “Why do I feel like a bad guy here? I woke up, you were in my arms, that tends to make me hard, yeah … but I wasn’t the one who rubbed her ass into my dick or put my hand between her legs.”

  In the moonlight spilling through the windows, he could see she was bright red with mortification. “I was asleep! I thought I was dreaming!”

  Oh, really? “So, you dream about me?”

  “Screw you, Jack!” she yelled with a lot more anger than Jack felt the situation warranted. “You can see yourself out!” Before he could reply, Em rushed through the doorway that led to the staircase.

  Jack launched himself off the sectional and hurried after her. “Em, why are you making a big deal out of this?”

  “Don’t follow me!” she screeched.

  Jesus Christ.

  Jack followed her. “Sunrise?”

  “Don’t come in here,” her voice commanded.

  Jack ignored her and strode into her bedroom where she stood, arms crossed over her chest, glowering at him.

  It was a cover.

  She was embarrassed. She was mortified she’d touched him.

  What the hell?

  “Em, what’s going on? So you were dreaming … okay. Fine. Disappointing for me,” he teased, “but it shouldn’t embarrass you. Or make you pissed at me.”

  Remorse softened her expression. “I’m sorry … I’m just …”

  “You’re just what?”

  Emery threw her hands up. “I’m frustrated!”

  Confused, he frowned. “Frustrated?”

  She glanced around the room, like she couldn’t meet his eyes. “Frustrated. As in … sexually,” she whispered.

  And Jack was fighting not to get hard again.

  Fuck me.

  “Apparently it happens with some women when they’re pregnant. And it’s happening to me. A lot. So much. Nearly all the time.”

  The woman he loved, who was carrying his baby but didn’t want to be in a relationship with him, was standing there telling him she was horny.

  So this was what hell looked like.

  “I see,” he choked out.

  Her eyes moved back to him reluctantly. “I think we should take some space.”

  No fucking chance. “Nope.”

  “But you’re the problem,” she blurted.

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s you!” She gestured to him in exasperation. “With your throat and forearms and sexy hands and that swagger.”

  Thrill coursed through Jack as he approached her. “Are you telling me you’re horny, Em, or that you’re horny for me?”

  “I hate that word.” She slapped her hands over her face to cover her mortification and groaned.

  Jack grinned as he approached, heat flushing through him. He gently peeled her hands from her face. “Don’t be embarrassed, Em. I am unbelievably flattered. And more than happy to be of use.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Meaning?”

  “I can’t have my favorite girl walking around all frustrated, now can I?” He maneuvered her toward the bed.

  “But Jack …” Her chest rose and fell with excitement as her expression moved between desire and uncertainty. “It wouldn’t change anything between us.”

  “I know that,” he lied. “I’m just a friend helping another friend out. No strings attached.”

  Emery bit her lower lip. “I don’t know.”

  That she was even considering it meant she really fucking wanted him.

  She was hormonal, her sex drive had kicked into top gear, and it was Jack she wanted. Even if Emery couldn’t see what that meant, he could. And he was not above using the situation to further his case: Jack vs. Emery’s heart.

  “You wet, sunrise?” he asked, voice gruff as he itched to slip his fingers inside her and find out for himself.

  “Jack.” She stumbled against the bottom of the bed and raised her hands to rest on his chest.

  “Are you wet?” he repeated against her mouth.

  Emery was panting now. She nodded slowly, cheeks high with color.

  “Let me give you what you need,” he whispered. “For however long you need it. No promises, no owing me anything.”

  “Jack …”

  “I want to kiss you, Em.” He brushed his mouth over hers. “Not just here”—another brush—“but where you need it most. Right on that pretty little pussy of yours.”

  She gasped, her fingers curling into his shirt. And then, “Oh, screw it,” she panted, and pulled him down to her mouth.

  Thank you, God! Jack sent up an exultation as he sank into Emery’s deep, hungry kiss. Quickly he took it over and she swayed in his arms.

  “Dress off,” he pulled back to say.

  While Em whipped it up and off, Jack divested himself of all his clothes, watching as Em threw her dress to the floor, standing there in nothing but her lace underwear.

  “You’re so beautiful, I can barely stand it,” he said.

  “Jack, hurry.”

  But Jack didn’t want to hurry.

  He wanted to make love to his pregnant Em.

  With light strokes, Jack learned every inch of her with his touch—her ribs, her waist, her belly. His fingers trailed over the slight swell, and possessiveness roared through him. Her ass was next. He fondled and squeezed until Em was squirming and muttering with impatience.

  “Jack, please.”

  Smiling at her with promise in his eyes, Jack unhooked her bra and nud
ged the straps down her arms. It fell to the floor. The cool air whispered over Em’s breasts, making her nipples pucker into tight, needy buds.

  “You sensitive?” he asked.

  She made a throaty sound that Jack took for an affirmative.

  Jack cupped her sweet tits in his hands, and she reacted instantly, moaning and arching into his touch. Jack fought a growl of arousal, watching her face flush. She was ready to go off like a firecracker. Her hips undulated as he played with her breasts, sculpting and kneading them, stroking and pinching her nipples. She thrust forcefully into his touch, whimpering her need for him as her fingers bit around his biceps.

  “Mouth, Jack. Mouth,” she commanded harshly.

  Wanting her wound so tight, she’d explode, Jack gave her his mouth but not where she wanted it. Instead, he kissed her. Em melted into his kiss, sliding her hands up his arms, over his shoulders and around his neck to pull him deeper into the kiss. Her mouth opened, inviting him inside.

  He slid his tongue against hers, licked at it, sucked on it, all the while pinching her nipples between his fingers and thumb.

  “Jack.” She broke the kiss. “Please.”

  Deciding he’d tormented her enough, he bent his head to her chest and lifted one soft globe to his mouth. Her sigh of absolute pleasure sang through him as he wrapped his lips around her nipple and sucked. He moved between her breasts, licking and laving and sucking deep.

  She tensed. And then her moan of release rang out into the room as she shuddered against him.

  Jack lifted his head, disbelief passing through him as he watched the aftermath of Emery’s orgasm. His hand slipped between her legs, sliding through her soaked heat.

  “You just came?”

  Her eyelashes fluttered as her eyes slowly opened. She still swayed against him.

  “You came with just my mouth on your tits.” His fingers bit into her ribs.