Complicated Creatures: Part One

by Alexi Lawless

  “Nothing serious? I’ve seen you two all over newspapers and magazines this summer. It looks serious,” she sniffed.

  “Well, it’s not,” Jack replied.

  “It’s funny. I have a thirty-six year old son who won’t get serious about anyone and a twenty-seven year old son who couldn’t wait to get married out of college.” His mother rolled her eyes.

  “Be thankful for that, at least.”

  “You just haven’t met her yet, Gianni. You’ll know when you do. You’ll fall like a ton of bricks. Just like your dad when he met me,” she predicted, a knowing expression on her face.

  Now it was Jack’s turn to roll his eyes. “Dad didn’t fall like a ton of bricks, Ma. You told him to get his shit together and put a ring on it or you’d marry Uncle Tony instead.”

  His mother smiled serenely. “Same difference.”

  “That phrase doesn’t even make sense.”

  “Sure it does,” she responded. “You’ll know exactly when to give up the fight. I look forward to seeing it happen.”

  Jack rested his cheek on his hand as he smiled at her. “I love you, Ma. Even if you’re the bossiest, most stubborn woman I know.”

  “I love you too, Gianni. Even though you’re an overprotective big brother and you humor your father too much with this ridiculous hunting business. Now come help me make dinner.”

  Chapter 2

  September

  The Whitney, Chicago

  J A C K

  “You fucking sex god. Get your ass back to bed. I’m not done with you yet,” Rebecca called out sleepily.

  Jack smirked as he slipped into his swim trunks. Rebecca was all talk. She’d be passed out within the next five minutes. It was already three in the morning. He’d been fucking her for hours. She’d come so many times, it was amazing she hadn’t fallen into a coma yet. He padded into the adjoining bathroom suite, looking for a towel.

  Unfortunately, he was still wired, and he was meeting Mitch for a run early. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. Goddamn insomnia. No matter. A few dozen laps and he’d be fine. He preferred to burn off that internal disquiet, plug into the source physically, and drain it dry. If he was lucky, he’d be able to batten down afterward for a couple hours.

  As he stepped out of the bathroom, tossing a towel over his shoulder, he caught sight of Rebecca, naked and passed out, just as he’d predicted. She looked gorgeous, sex rumpled and exhausted, her strawberry blonde hair tangled across the pillow. Jack pulled the sheet over her creamy skin. He could kiss that skin for hours. He had kissed that skin for hours. During the summer they’d been dating, he’d had her just about every way and on every surface he could get her on. It would be a shame to see her go when she finished filming in Chicago.

  Jack switched off the lights on his way out. As he got to his landing, he glanced through the windows overlooking the terrace and out into the darkness of Grant Park beyond. He thought he could see the muted reflection of backlit water against the walls. Frowning, he trotted down his stairs to the leaded glass doors, wondering who would have turned on the pool lights this time of night.

  The top floor of the Whitney boasted a rectangular pool and outdoor space separating the two penthouses. He’d had the pool fully restored to its former glory with Italian marble mosaics in lilting Art Nouveau patterns, cleverly hiding the muted lighting installed along the pool’s ledges. Jack stopped in surprise as he watched a slim figure cutting through the water in graceful, arcing butterfly strokes. He could tell the figure was a woman, but he couldn’t tell who it was from the darkened area he stood observing.

  Wyatt had recently moved in, but he’d yet to meet his enigmatic neighbor. He knew he wasn’t married from the application and background file he’d glanced at briefly when Mitch had first approached him with the offer. Perhaps this woman was his girlfriend?

  A girlfriend who does laps like an Olympic athlete at three o’clock in the morning?

  The polite thing to do would be to leave the woman in peace, returning after she’d left, but he was too intrigued to be polite. He watched her slice through the water, catching the edge and flipping fluidly, dark hair flowing behind her as she raced underwater, popping back up for another lap.

  It was another ten minutes before she finally slowed, walking up the pool steps, wringing out her hair. Jack took a breath in, an unexpected riff of awareness spiking down his back. The mystery woman was a stunner. Athletic and lean, the reflections from the pool danced on her skin as she reached for a towel. He could see her features clearly enough now to see she had high cheekbones, dark, almond-shaped eyes, and a lush mouth. She wasn’t conventionally beautiful, but she was striking. She was also incredibly difficult to stop staring at. Jack swallowed as she concentrated on patting herself dry in a simple black suit that did more for her figure than she probably intended, given the seriousness of her swim.

  Clearing his throat, Jack stepped from the shadows on his side of the terrace. She turned to him with an alert look. One glance and she smiled before slipping into a bathrobe lying on a chaise. She walked over to him with no hesitancy, face still smiling as if she knew him while she extended her hand.

  “Hi there, neighbor. Fancy seeing you here in the middle of the night. I hope I didn’t wake you.” She spoke with a surprising familiarity, her voice husky like she’d singed her vocal chords with a swallow of whisky. Her grasp was firm, a contrast of soft skin and slightly calloused fingers.

  “No, not at all,” Jack immediately responded. “I was up. Didn’t want to interrupt your laps. Thought you might be training for a medal,” he smiled, releasing her hand. So this had to be his neighbor’s girlfriend. Lucky guy.

  She chuckled softly. “Nah, nothing that serious. I’m just jet-lagged out of my mind. Thought I’d work off the extra energy, try to get some sleep before the sun rose.”

  “Good plan. I was hoping to do the same.”

  “The water’s perfect.” She smiled at him, drying her hair with a towel as she continued looking at him with a disconcerting familiarity. “Like slipping in a bath,” she murmured, her voice sexy as hell. It was a distinctive rasp, sensual, and warm all at once.

  Jack fought to tamp down the attraction, recalling Rebecca upstairs, trying to imagine what his new neighbor might think of him lusting after his girlfriend. She was still watching him, like she was waiting for him to say something.

  “Have we met before?” Jack asked, trying to make out more of her face in the muted light.

  She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “I’m gonna blame that tired old line on the lateness of the hour,” she teased. “But no, we haven’t met. I just got here, so there hasn’t been a chance as yet. It’s nice to finally see you in person, though.”

  She turned to move toward the large doors leading to their shared foyer and elevator banks. “Photos don’t do you justice,” he thought he heard her say.

  “Are you a friend of Wyatt’s?” Jack asked after her.

  She smiled over her shoulder at him.

  “I am Wyatt,” she replied. “It was nice to meet you, Jack,” she said, disappearing through her terrace doors, leaving Jack standing by the pool. Stunned.

  *

  September—The next morning

  Mitch’s Loft in the West Loop, Chicago

  J A C K

  “S. Wyatt is a woman,” Jack accused, leaning against Mitch’s doorframe as his friend swung it open.

  “Why yes, Jack,” Mitch answered, his brows raised. “I found that rather obvious the first time I met her too,” Mitch responded, sipping his coffee. “Want some?” he asked as Jack sauntered into his loft.

  “No, thanks. You led me to believe she was a man.” Jack accused.

  Mitch looked up at him. “Uh, nope. Can’t remember doing that.”

  “You only ever used her first initial or her last name. You never said he or she, but the way you talked about her made her sound like a man,” Jack responded, wondering why for the life of him he felt so put
out.

  Mitch shook his head. “All her early bids came under her letterhead, S. Wyatt,” he paused to think. “She works in a male-dominated industry. It’s not surprising you jumped to the wrong conclusion with those data points. But her details are listed in the file under the final sale. Including her full name and a snapshot we got from her background check. Clearly you didn’t read it.”

  “I skimmed.”

  “Oh, you skimmed.” Mitch rolled his eyes. “Right. You signed off on the deal over a month ago. Hell, we rushed closing so you wouldn’t change your mind last minute. Why are you so damn irritated all the sudden?”

  Jack looked up to exposed rafters of the loft, not entirely sure why he felt alternately irritated and hot-under-the-collar, like someone had pulled one over on him—a rare, unwelcome feeling. He hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep all night, swimming with ferocity after Samantha had disappeared before falling into bed, only to toss and turn, thinking about a woman who was not the one in bed next to him. He was so preoccupied with Samantha that he’d turned Rebecca down for a morning quickie, opting instead to confront Mitch with what had clearly been his own oversight. What was his problem? And why the hell did it matter?

  “I want the file back,” Jack told him flatly.

  Mitch sat down, stretching his legs in front of him. “What do you suddenly want to know? You could have cared less when we were going through the negotiation outside of the basics. What happened?”

  “I ran into her swimming laps like it was her job at 3:00 a.m. It was…” Incredibly hot, irrationally distracting, “…disconcerting.”

  Mitch smiled, standing up. “It’s unsurprising, considering her background. You’d know that if you did more than skim.”

  Jack’s brows popped up. “I thought you said she was in insurance. What else does this woman do?”

  “Technically, she’s an attorney. But before that, she was a Lieutenant Commander in the Navy,” Mitch replied, tucking his ID and key into his running shorts.

  “The United States Navy?”

  “No, the maritime branch of the Irish Defence Forces. Yes, the US Navy. Jesus, Jack,” Mitch smirked. “You really didn’t get any sleep, did you?”

  “You’re not going to tell me she was a SEAL, are you?”

  “No, nothing that serious.” Mitch replied, nonplussed. “She was an interrogator.”

  “Wait, what?” Jack’s eyes widened. “Nothing serious!? Did she torture people? Water board them?”

  “I’m sure she didn’t,” Mitch answered, sarcastic. “She probably just asked questions nicely, batting those gorgeous eyelashes. Are you crazy?” Mitch smacked the back of Jack’s head as he led the way out of his loft. “Our investigator couldn’t find anything from her naval career outside of the basic facts, so let’s just say you shouldn’t piss her off. I’ll fill you in on what she told me if you’re buying breakfast.”

  Jack was floored. His new neighbor made James Bond look like an alcoholic slacker. “Why do I feel like you’ve been holding out on me?”

  “I distinctly recall telling you Wyatt was something to see,” Mitch remarked, taking off toward the Loop. “Twice!” he shouted over his shoulder.

  Jack snorted as he followed, quickly catching up. “We both know that goes two ways.”

  Mitch set a fast pace as they headed down Randolph Street. “Are you suggesting that I would put an unfit neighbor into that penthouse? Male or female?”

  Jack’s dark brow quirked in reply.

  “Okay, now I’m offended by that on two fronts,” Mitch shook his head, exasperated. “First, I would never play a practical joke on you that had literally multiple years’ worth of implications. I’m not that committed to humiliating or irritating you. Secondly, I have impeccable taste,” Mitch sniffed. “You know it, I know it, and your mother has confirmed it. Sam Wyatt will be the best thing that happened to you in a while. Mark my words.”

  “How do you figure?” Jack panted, already feeling the effects of last night’s sleeplessness.

  “She’s smart, rich, ridiculously attractive, and I’m willing to bet she’ll be able to outfox you. I can’t remember the last time you had a challenge like that,” Mitch stated, pausing for traffic.

  Jack took the moment to glare at him. “You mean to tell me you sold the penthouse to set me up?”

  Mitch shrugged. “If it happens, it happens. If not, you got one hell of a neighbor.” He took off again.

  “And did you stop to think about what would happen if I dated and dumped her, Mitch?”

  Mitch barked out a laugh. “Oh Jack, I did think about what would happen if she dated and dumped you. I figured you could console yourself on Rebecca’s magnificent cleavage.”

  “You’re an asshole,” Jack puffed out as Mitch turned up the heat again, sprinting out ahead of him. He was a good match for Mitch on a normal day, but on no sleep, he was getting his shit kicked in. Jack pushed, feeling the burn in his legs as he caught back up. They were running too fast to talk at this point. Jack tried and failed to ratchet up his irritation to outright anger. Mitch was right. The situation with Samantha was far more intriguing than irritating any day of the week. Not that he’d admit that now. Or ever.

  They ran fast for five miles before adding sprinting intervals along the lake. Jack was an exhausted, sweaty mess by the time they reached the diner they usually refueled at. Mitch eyed him, laughing silently.

  “Shut up,” Jack muttered before he could say anything. “Seriously. I haven’t gotten any sleep in two nights. I don’t want to hear it.”

  Mitch’s expression immediately altered. Jack ignored him as he placed his usual order before getting up to wash his hands and rinse off his face in the restroom. When he returned, he was relieved to see a hot cup of coffee and a tall glass of water waiting for him.

  “What’s going on?” Mitch asked as Jack downed the water. “You were doing really well for a bit and then, sometime in August, it started getting bad again.”

  Jack shrugged, putting some cream into his coffee. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Don’t read into it.”

  Mitch’s brows shot up. “Don’t read into it? I’m the closest thing you have to a sponsor. Not to mention the fact that I’m your best friend. So let me ask again: What’s going on?”

  Jack sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to get out of it. Mitch was a dog with a bone. Truth was, even he didn’t really understand his recent vicissitude. He’d just felt so restless recently, his mind constantly working, his body on hyper-overdrive, particularly when he lay down. There were periods like this, a drawn-out build up when the insomnia would get so bad that he’d be awake for days, just waiting for one massive crash.

  “Are you tempted?” Mitch asked, peering at him over rim of his coffee cup.

  Jack shook his head. “You know I’d call you before I did that.”

  “So you are. Dammit.” Mitch shook his head before leaning forward. “Do you have anything in the house? Does Rebecca use anything?”

  “No, Mitch. You know I wouldn’t let her stay over if she did. I don’t need that kind of temptation.” Jack sighed, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “It’s nothing I can explain. I’ve just been—I don’t know. Bored, I guess. Restless.”

  “I will have a drug-sniffing dog over there faster than you can say ‘K-9 unit’ if you’re lying to me.”

  Jack rolled his eyes. “Four years dope-free. Want to see my chip?” He flipped Mitch a middle finger.

  “Now, boys, put your birdies down or you’ll get no breakfast,” their usual waitress scolded, dropping a plate of eggs, bacon, and fruit in front of each of them.

  “Sorry, Frieda. Jack has deplorable manners. I can’t take him anywhere,” Mitch complained, tucking into his eggs.

  “Excuse my rudeness, Frieda,” Jack apologized to the older woman, giving her his best smile. “I was just trying to explain to Mitch that I already have a mother and she’s a lot smarter, nicer, and more attractive than he is.”

  Fr
ieda rolled her eyes. “Enjoy your breakfast, boys. You both need showers.”

  Jack and Mitch blinked at each other before laughing, settling into their food.

  *

  September—Friday afternoon

  The Whitney, Chicago

  S A M A N T H A

  Photos really did not do that man justice. Not by a long shot.

  Sam groaned in the interior of her car as she caught sight of Jack Roman getting out of his Aston Martin in the bay next to hers. She should have known he drove the sexy-as-sin car she’d admired the few times she’d seen it parked in the garage. What did she think he’d be rolling around in—a station wagon?

  Sam watched Jack unfold himself gracefully from the car, all easy masculinity in a GQ suit and an optic white shirt. He ran a hand through dark, well-cut hair before reaching in to pick up a briefcase, unbuttoning his collar. He looked like a walking, talking billboard for deliciously irresponsible behavior and a treasure trove of regrettable decisions. Sam’s instant attraction to him made her face color. As he heard her approach, she schooled her face into an easy-going smile, casually waving as she parked and turned off her car.

  Don’t wait. Please don’t wait, she chanted internally, feeling worse for wear. She’d spent nearly the entire day in debriefs and meetings, still suffering tremendous jet-lag and operating on only a couple hours of sleep. She was a little delirious from exhaustion, literally counting the moments until she was in the bath, sipping a red, and tumbling into bed for what she was hoping would be several hours of continuous, dreamless sleep.

  Literally the last thing she wanted to do was make nice and force herself to avoid eye-groping her new neighbor. Especially a neighbor who made her aggravatingly aware of how insanely attractive he was and who was probably perfectly aware of his effect on anyone in a five-mile radius. And because it was exactly what she did not want, Jack waited, leaning against his car and whistling softly as she got out. She briefly considered whether the whistle was for her or the car.

  “Nice ’vette,” he smiled.