by Katy Connor
As if Jack had no control over his movements, he thrust against me, intensifying the pleasure.
I cried out, half mad with lust, and rolled my hips in an urgent attempt to get him to fill me.
“C-condom.”
I cried out again, this time in sheer frustration that something, anything, could delay our joining. But Jack, only marginally more restrained than I, disentangled himself from my body long enough to yank the bedside drawer open, scrabble for a condom, and put it on.
His hands, I was happy to notice, shook as much as mine had trying to open the door.
And then he was back on top of me, and in one fluid movement, inside me, finally. And, yes. I’d been right. I was so horny, so wet, he slid straight in, filling me to the hilt without hesitation.
His groan filled the air.
This. This is what I needed. Wanted. Craved.
Jack, on top of me. Inside me. With me.
I was quickly growing addicted to being with him. Both to making love to him and simply spending time with him.
I felt…complete. Fulfilled.
I was happy.
Again, I wound my legs around his waist, opening myself fully to his thrusts. I shoved one hand in his soft curls, pulling his mouth down to meet mine, and grabbed his shoulder with the other hand, digging my nails into his flesh as I clung to him.
His kiss was hot and fierce, his hands all over my body, sweeping over the sides of my waist and breasts, down to my ass and thighs. His hips pistoned above mine as he drove into me, over and over again.
I would have been content to stay like that for the rest of my life, ensconced in his embrace, his body buried in mine. But there was no way I could take all that pleasure without breaking.
Sensation built with every thrust, driving me closer to my peak. And when Jack ripped his mouth from mine to throw his head back and moan hoarsely, I couldn’t contain the build any longer.
I came hard, as I always seemed to do with Jack, writhing beneath him as I shuddered through the most incredible release. And when he looked down at me with hot, possessive eyes, I only came harder.
“Bella,” he whispered as my pussy contracted around his pounding cock. “Christ, woman… You slay me.”
And then Jack was coming, too, spasming in my arms, jerking between my legs.
I think, in that moment, I fell a little bit in love with him.
Not because he’d given me another extraordinary orgasm. Or because he was a beautiful specimen of man. Not even because he couldn’t seem to stay away, even though he told himself repeatedly that he should.
I fell a little in love with him because, in that moment, he let me in. Looked at me with beautiful, soulful eyes and let me see inside him, to every vulnerable part of his battered heart.
I would have phoned Gianni from my bed and told him I couldn’t make it back to work. I’m never sick, never take days off, so my brother would have understood that whatever kept me away was urgent.
But Jack never gave me a chance.
Almost the instant he withdrew from me physically, he withdrew emotionally, too.
He looked at me and blinked once, covering the eyes that had let me see into his soul, not one minute earlier. A blank mask fell over his handsome face.
“I, er, I should go,” he told me as he disposed of the condom and pulled on his clothes, faster than any man had ever pulled on his clothes in history.
His shirt gaped open where it missed a button, but not as wide as my mouth as I stared at him, astonished. “You’re leaving?” After what we’d just shared?
He couldn’t look at me. “I…er, I thought I could do this.” He sat down to pull on his shoes and socks. “I was wrong. I can’t.”
I sprang up. “You can, Jack. You just did. We just did.”
He shook his head. “No, Bella. I’m sorry.”
“You can!”
He just stood up and looked at me sadly. “I’ll start to care for you. And that’s the last thing I need. I know this makes me a horrible person in your eyes. But it’s too much, too soon.”
That was exactly what he needed. To care for me, so he could start to repair his broken heart. “You didn’t die that night, Jack. Please, don’t throw away another shot at happiness. It’s not fair to you, to me, or to your memory of Eva.” If she’d loved him as much as he loved her, I’d bet my last dollar she’d never want him to lose himself to his grief. She’d want him to live a full, happy life.
“I have to go, Isabella.”
“You mean run away. Again.” I shook my head, desolate, and gave him a pitiful look. “You’re a coward, Jack.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Maybe if we’d met at a different time…”
When? Before his fiancée had been killed, when he’d had a woman he loved in his life? “Right.”
“I’m sorry, Bella.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
He nodded. “Probably.”
And then he gave me another sad smile, a little wave, and walked out of my bedroom. The last I saw of Jack was his back, walking away from me.
Chapter Nine
I woke up the next morning spitting mad.
Jack liked me. He wanted me, and he couldn’t stay away, even though his battered heart kept warning him to do just that. But he’d walked away from me.
Again.
He chose to protect his heart, but that didn’t mean it was the right decision. Not for either of us.
After cooking myself into a stupor and whipping up another five new desserts—all of them nutty and delicious—my rage had not receded at all.
He’d been happy our first night together. He’d laughed, he’d smiled, and he’d come. Several times over. And he’d come back to me. Repeatedly.
All I wanted was a chance. An opportunity to see where the connection between us might go. The spark might die out in a day or two.
Or not.
But we’d never know.
Pissed off, I grabbed my phone, texted Bec, and waited, foot tapping, for her reply. When it came, and Bec confirmed Jack was at the medical center, I shoved my apron in the pile of dirty linen, grabbed my purse, and headed out. I almost headed straight back in when I realized I’d forgotten my jacket. But the hospital was only a block away, and my rage kept me warm.
By the time I walked through the massive glass entrance, my nose was an ice block and my fingers were frozen. My temper hadn’t thawed at all.
I waited for the elevator, tapping my foot again, watching as the numbers changed slowly. Seven. Six. Five. Five remained lit up for a good while. Four…
“Isabella.”
The voice that greeted me was not warm. And neither was my response when I turned toward it. “Grant.”
“What are you doing at the hospital?”
What the hell business was it of his? “Well, Grant…” I batted my eyelashes and gave him the sweetest, falsest smile I could muster. “After Rebecca’s party, I found myself missing you so much, I thought I must come see you immediately and beg you to take me back.”
His chin dropped. “For real?”
“No, asshole. I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a blunt knife than get back together with you.”
“I see nothing’s changed. You’re just your usual, pleasant self, aren’t you?”
As I stared at him, whipping up a nasty retort, I realized how wrong he was. Everything had changed—since I’d met Jack.
Grant cheated on me, betrayed my trust, and left me with a sense that my life would be better without a man in it. I’d been bitter for almost half a year.
Meeting Jack had made me see that sometimes love was worth the risk.
Not that I was in love.
Yeah, sure, Jack had hurt me, too, by rejecting us. But I liked him. Enough to fight for him. Which was the exact reason I was here. To give the sexy doctor a piece of my mind, and to demand he give me a real chance.
The elevator dinged. I climbed in. “Bye, Grant,” I called. “Have a nic
e life.”
I forgot about the evil pediatrician as soon as I stepped into the elevator. Mainly because seconds before the doors shut fully, they swung open again, and a certain Australian doctor stepped into the car and stood beside me.
My belly did a silly somersault before I remembered I was furious with him.
“Bella,” he said, calm enough that I realized he must have seen me climb into the elevator.
“Jack,” I greeted him just as calmly, then turned around and jabbed my finger into his chest. “I have something to say to you.”
He took my hand and held it in his warm, steady grasp. “Is that why you’re here?”
“It is. I’m pissed off.” My voice was raspy, probably because I was struggling to find oxygen. I always felt breathless when I was near Jack.
Other people entered the elevator.
He nodded, as though he completely understood my anger. “How about we go somewhere a little more private to talk?”
Privacy would be good.
He leaned forward and pressed an elevator button, then we waited as it slowly made its way to the top floor. We were alone when we reached it, and Jack, still holding my hand, steered me out.
I had no idea where we were. No idea this part of the hospital even existed. The place was a mess, as though this floor had been abandoned.
The hospital rooms were still intact, with beds, sheets, and linen in place. It just looked as though no one had been up here in years.
He guided me into one of the deserted rooms, and before releasing my hand, raised it to his mouth and kissed it softly.
I pulled away. “Don’t do that.”
“Can’t seem to help myself.”
Yeah, that seemed to be a pattern with him. Hard as he tried not to touch me, he couldn’t seem to help himself. “Try.”
He was still for at least five seconds, then nuzzled his nose in my cheek and kissed my neck. “I tried.” He licked the spot he’d just kissed. “Failed.”
What the hell? Last night, he’d almost burned a hole in my carpet racing to get away from me. And now…now he was kissing me again.
I shrugged him off, although the effort was so pathetic, he didn’t notice. He just kept on nuzzling and kissing.
“I’m pissed off.”
He pulled back. “You said that.”
“You’re a big, fat coward, Dr. Scott.”
He pursed his lips. “You pointed that out last night.”
“You’re not denying it?”
“Last night you were right.”
“And this morning?”
“Not so much.”
“Last night you made love to me, opened up to me, then ran off like a scared rabbit.”
“And now I can’t keep my hands off you.”
“Are you horny, Jack? Is that it? Looking for a quick fuck before you take off again?” That was the only time he ever touched me. When he wanted to get off, or, more to the point, wanted to get me off.
“Apparently, I’m always horny when I’m with you, but that’s not what I’m looking for.”
“Then what? Because I’m not interested in a quick hookup followed by the long wave goodbye. And I’m not interested in a man who can’t bear to live his life to the fullest, because he’s too scared he’ll be hurt again.”
His eyelids swept shut, masking the pain that flashed through those brown irises.
I took a step back, and Jack let me go. “I’m sorry for being so blunt. I am. I know you were destroyed by Eva’s death. And I’m so very, very sorry for your loss.” My voice broke, and I had to clear it before I could carry on. “But I can’t play your game. Can’t get my hopes up every time I see you, only to have them destroyed as you walk out the door. I like you. A lot. But you need to get over your ambivalence about me.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you and I have something. I don’t know what it is, I don’t where it’s going.” Nowhere, if Jack had his way. “But we should at least take the chance.”
He regarded me with an intense gaze, his expression unreadable. He looked at me for so long I got even antsier than I already was.
“You like me,” I told him. “You said so yourself. And you like fucking me. Love it… Well, I like you, too. A lot. More than I’ve liked anyone in a while.” He didn’t need to know just yet that I was already a little in love with him. “I know you’re hurting, Jack. You’ve been through hell.”
There went that muscle, ticking in his cheek.
“But you can’t keep using her as an excuse to not live. You’re cheating us out of something that could be really spectacular, or it could crash and burn tomorrow. But we should at least try.”
His face was a blank mask.
“I haven’t been through what you have, but I’ve been hurt. More times than I want to think about. But I’m willing to risk it.”
Jack’s hand shot out to grab me so fast I didn’t see it. But a heartbeat later I was in his arms, pressed against the solidness of his chest, and he was kissing me. And I mean kissing me. A deep, wet, hot, probing kiss. A kiss that made my legs weak for a whole different reason than the adrenaline pumping through my veins. A kiss that had me melting into him, kissing him back, offering him my lips and my tongue and my very soul.
His air was mine, mine his.
I swear, I’ve never been kissed like that. Like I’d become someone’s light and sun and stars. Like he couldn’t breathe without me.
I was molten lava, liquefying in his arms.
Finding the willpower to pull away was close to impossible.
I ended the kiss, leaving my chest heaving and him panting.
“Don’t!” I held my hand up, a physical barrier between. “Don’t kiss me as though I mean something to you, if you can’t do this.”
“Bella.” He wrapped his hand in my hair, tugging on it, tugging my face back to his. “You do mean something to me.” He pressed his lips to mine. “And you’re right, given half the chance, we could be spectacular.” He traced my mouth with his tongue until I opened for him, and he kissed me again.
I was almost dazed when he drew his lips away from mine. Almost. But I couldn’t afford to let him seduce me and walk away again. Not this time.
“But…?” I asked.
“But what?”
“We could be spectacular, but…?”
He smiled, the dimple creasing into his cheek. “No buts.”
“Wait. What?”
“You’re right. About everything. A part of me died with Eva. I stopped living.” He took in a deep, shuddering breath. “You brought me back to life. Gave me a reason to smile again.”
“I…did?”
“You did. I’m not looking for a quick fuck and a long wave goodbye. Not with you. Not anymore.”
“Then, what?”
“Would a half a chance do?”
“You’d do it? Give us a chance?”
“If you’ll let me.”
Let him? “I’d love you to.”
“Then let’s do it, Bella. Let’s be spectacular. Together.”
Epilogue
I wasn’t just grumpy, I was downright furious.
I was pissed off, frustrated and…and…horny as hell.
Every nerve ending was alive, burning with expectation. I was aroused, needy, desperate to come and shit out of luck.
I’d been tantalized, teased, and tormented for the last hour. Kissed until I fell into a drugged haze, stroked until my clit throbbed and my pussy swelled, and licked until I’d balanced unsteadily on the edge of that precipice, desperate to tumble over.
Five. Times. Over.
Yes. Five times, Jack had taken me to that peak, and denied me.
I hated him. Despised him. Given half the chance, I’d kill him. Strangle him with my own two hands. But if I went anywhere near him now, he’d just start the torture all over again. He’d use my hands against me, wrapping them around his cock, not his neck, and then he’d feed his cock to my mouth—again—yet refus
e me the satisfaction of him coming down my throat. Of coming at all.
Bastard.
Withholding, denying bastard.
I slammed the milk on the counter. Then I slammed the sugar next to it. I was more careful with the eggs. I had no idea what I was making. I just knew I had to make something.
Jack’s arrogant laughter peeled through the door, letting me know he was fully aware of my temper tantrum.
Asshole. Anticipation wasn’t all he made it out to be.
I grabbed a bottle of Sambuca and a bottle of Tequila. I’d whip up a mousse spicy enough to match the zest and heat Jack had introduced to my life.
With a bit of luck, my boyfriend would choke on it.
Cooking naked had become a bit of a habit of mine. Jack left me hanging altogether too often. The only way I had to work through my seemingly perpetual sexual frustration was to whip up new desserts. Find satisfaction in food, when I was unable to get it in bed. Or the shower. Or up against the wall, on the floor, on the couch, in the parking lot below the restaurant…
Jerk.
My prized Mixmaster was whirring the ingredients into a smooth, rich concoction when Jack finally moseyed into the kitchen, as naked as he’d been when I’d stormed out of the bedroom.
I refused to look at him. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Okay, maybe I peeked at his ass a little as he leaned into the fridge. But only a little.
Alright, a lot.
It’s perfect. Toned and round and so hard you could bounce a ball off it.
My mouth watered, knowing all the things I’d done to that arse. Jack hadn’t lied when he’d told me he’d love to have my mouth all over it.
“Like what you see?” he asked into the fridge, knowing I was thoroughly checking him out.
“Not even a little bit.”
He turned to grin at me, a bottle of water in hand. “A little grumpy, are we?”
“Fuck you.”
“All in good time, beautiful.”
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
He was right. I did love him. I was head over heels, madly in love with him—as he liked to remind me. Often. “Right now? I hate you.”