“I’ll do it.” He spoke calmly, his voice void of the mix of pain and pleasure stirring deep inside, without the longing that was causing his heart to ache. He said the words as if he were simply making a statement. As if his insides weren’t all jumbled up in a mess of hope, lust, worry, anger, and a general sense of being pissed off.
Next to him, she sucked in a breath. “Your answer is yes?”
“Yes, Lia, I’ll sleep with you.”
God help him.
* * *
Thankfully, an emergency call came in, giving Jack the excuse to leave. He’d taken off like a convict offered a free boat ride out of Alcatraz after promising Lia he’d give her—what the fuck had they agreed to? Sex lessons? Shit. He smacked a hand on the steering wheel of his truck. At least putting out the fire would distract him.
A barn just outside of town had gone up in flames. The professional crew would have already headed out, so his job and that of the other volunteers was to suit up at the fire station, then follow the instructions of the second in command. He hit the gas, took the corner to the fire station fast enough to leave skid marks on the pavement, then parked his truck in front of the station and headed inside. Along with the other volunteers, he quickly changed into his turnout gear and jumped onto the remaining pumper truck for a ride out to the site.
When they arrived, the fire was nearly contained. The fire had been put out in the barn, and now flames licked at the surrounding empty pastureland. Under an acre, it wouldn’t take long to corral this one and put it out. Jack figured he’d work with the crew, put out the flame, then head back to the fire station and go out for a beer—and put what he’d said to Lia out of his mind for the rest of the day.
Then he saw Peter Leary, spraying water on the foot-high flames. One look at the young, buff firefighter brought everything crashing back into his mind—Lia’s request, and the reason why she’d asked him for help: Peter.
Well, truthfully, the fact that Lia knew Peter wanted to go out with her and was so freaked by how she might respond that she’d come begging Jack for what was the equivalent of sex lessons.
Idiot. What had he been thinking?
The idea of Lia going to the Fireman’s Ball with Peter, kissing Peter, hell, maybe even sleeping with Peter, completely flipped him out. Yeah, he’d agreed to help Lia so she could move on with her life, but dammit, he had his own agenda.
And that agenda didn’t include Peter fucking Leary asking Lia out.
Alongside Peter and the other firefighters, Jack and the rest of the team worked the fire the way they always did, with precision and efficiency, until the last flames were extinguished and steam rose in soft white ribbons from still-hot embers.
When the chief released them from duty, Jack approached Peter, who stood near one of the pumpers and was speaking with Gary, the dickhead who’d cut down Lia in the Goldpan Pub over a week ago. Jack wasn’t good friends with any of the junior firefighters, but they were friendly—enough to get beers and play a game of pool every once in a while. He hoped that wouldn’t change after he said what he had to say.
He tipped his head at Peter and gestured with his thumb to a spot several yards away from the rest of the group.
Peter met him there, then asked, “What’s up?”
Jack crossed his arms over his chest. “I need to talk to you about Lia Sawyer.”
“Why?”
“You said you were interested in asking her to the Fireman’s Ball.”
Mimicking Jack’s actions, Peter crossed his arms over his chest. “And what’s it to you?”
“You can’t.”
Peter’s expression went blank before his eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
“There are things you don’t know.”
“If you’re talking about her bastard of a husband, I know about the abuse. It’s a small town, Jack. People talk.”
“Gossip, you mean.”
Peter shrugged.
Dammit, he should have formed a better plan. Thought of what to say, rather than acting on his emotions. He obviously wasn’t getting through to the man. “Look,” he continued, “I’m just saying, you aren’t aware of all there is to know. So I’d appreciate it if you’d back off. Don’t ask her out.”
“Hmm,” Peter said, seeming to consider Jack’s words. Then he uncrossed his arms and reached behind his head to rub his neck before asking, “You finished?”
What the hell was Peter trying to prove? “Meaning?”
“I mean, are you going to expand on anything you’ve said?”
Jack clenched his jaw. Hell, no. He wasn’t going to say more. He could always admit to Peter he was into Lia, but he didn’t want to take the chance Peter might blab. Meadowview was a beehive of buzzing gossip that spread from the post office to the grocery store, over to the library, then through the fire and police stations, to end up in just about everyone’s living room. If Lia heard how he felt about her, it could scare her off. He needed time to get her used to him. More used to him. In the best ways possible.
He needed time to show her how terrific they’d be together.
“What I’ve told you should be enough,” he said quietly, letting his arms drop to his sides.
Peter remained silent for several seconds, then leaned in close and placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “If it were anyone but Lia, what you said might be enough. But I told you, I’m interested in her.”
Fucker. Jack wrenched his shoulder out from under Peter’s hand. “Listen, Leary—”
“How about this? I won’t ask her out unless she gives me a hint that she’s interested in me.”
“What are you talking about?”
Peter shrugged. “You know, a hint. Flirtation. Something that says she’s into me, too. If she does, I’m going for it. Fair?”
Frustration churned in his gut. Fair? None of this was fair. But what else could he say or do without either compromising Lia’s trust in him or showing his own hand too soon? He inhaled slowly, deeply. No need for his anger management lessons—Peter wasn’t being a dick—what the man asked was fair, and Jack wasn’t full of rage. Just irritated at Peter and slightly pissed at himself for taking too long to ask out Lia. He’d taken so long that she’d started to think of other men rather than see the one who’d been there the whole time.
So he simply said, “Do what you have to do.” But no way was he letting Peter do anything that would result in the other man having Lia.
Luckily, Jack had first shot at her. Not at just her body, but if he played his cards right, at her heart, too.
And he was playing for keeps.
Jack’s breath came out in little puffs of fog in the cold evening air as he shoved his key in the elevator lock—the second time in as many days. He wouldn’t stay long. At least, that’s what he told himself in the short elevator ride up to Lia’s loft. After the fire the day before, he’d texted her and told her he’d stop by the next evening. She hadn’t texted back, so he wasn’t sure if she’d open the door for him.
Parameters. They needed parameters before they started in on this crazy plan of hers. He shoved his hands in his back pockets and kept his focus on the floor as the door opened to her place to reveal her bare feet. He kept his gaze fixed.
“You came,” she said, as if surprised by his presence.
“Did you get my text?”
“Jack, you can look at me, you know.”
He dragged his gaze up from the floor to look into her near-black eyes. Damn. The way her brow crinkled and her eyes narrowed made her look less than happy to see him. He took a step back, going deeper into the elevator. “I can go, if now’s not a good time.”
She let out a light laugh. “No way. I shaved my legs.”
“You did what?”
“Your text said you were coming over because of the favor I asked of you. I figured we were going to…you know…do it, so I shaved my legs.”
He swallowed hard, then cleared his throat, but she held a hand up to interrupt him befor
e he could speak.
“Should we get into bed, then?” she asked.
“What the hell?”
Her face fell at his statement, and she dropped her gaze to the floor. Damn, he’d upset her. But jumping into bed right now was not part of his plan. He wanted to grab a pad of paper and a pen and sit down and block out boundaries, not get her naked and taste her skin. Well, he did want to get her naked and taste her skin, but not until she was ready. Not until he knew she was ready.
“I have to be clear,” he said. “Lia, look at me.”
Her shoulders stiffened as she sucked in a breath and held it. She finally raised her eyes meet to his.
He steadied himself before speaking. “For me to do this, I have to do it my way. And that means we won’t start off by jumping straight into bed. We’re not starting with sex.”
She squirmed, obviously uncomfortable. She’d probably assumed they could just strip, slide into bed, have at it, and boom—she’d magically like sex and would no longer be afraid of men. But as much as he longed to be horizontal and naked with her, instantly jumping into bed wouldn’t heal her in the way she needed to be healed. It was going to take a hell of a lot more than just one quick roll in the hay. Retraining her body to accept a man’s touch would take time. And like climbing a ladder, each step had to build on the next.
And yeah, so he’d enjoy that particular climb, but this wasn’t about him trying to drag these lessons out for as long as he could. This was about him doing right by Lia. He’d still keep his fingers crossed that she’d eventually see him differently than a best friend, though.
“Fine. We’ll do it your way.” Lia turned and walked over to the couch, beckoning for him to follow. “What’s the first step, then?”
The night before he’d formulated a plan, mentally outlining the steps he’d take on their path to the bed. When he was younger, his father always had mustangs on their ranch—frightened colts taken from the wild by the government. Jack had helped gentle enough traumatized colts to know how to override the instinctive fight or flight reaction with trust.
“We’re taking things slow. Kicking it old school.”
“Dinner and a movie?” she asked, her forehead scrunched up.
“Think really old school. Like, grade school.”
“Um…you’ll pull my pigtails?”
He laughed.
“Pass me notes in class?”
Shaking his head, he said, “More like walking you home after class. Well, in our case, after work. Stop off and get an ice cream cone. Maybe hold hands a little.”
“That’s how you’re going to get me to like being touched by a man? Stick me in a Norman Rockwell painting?”
“Gotta start somewhere, Lia. I’ll meet you at the Sanctuary tomorrow at five. And I’ll walk you home.”
“Holding my hand?”
He grinned. “Maybe. You’ll have to wait and see.”
* * *
Lia squinted against the bright autumn sunlight. She sat on the hood of Jack’s truck, watching his muscles bunch under his grey cotton knit shirt as he swung several two-by-four planks of wood out of the back of his pickup. The boards landed on the frozen ground with a sharp thud next to other, more neatly stacked planks. He hadn’t seemed too pleased to see her when she’d arrived ten minutes ago. The way he was throwing lumber around told her he still hadn’t come out of his funk.
After having spent five years working for the man, she’d seen this behavior before. Like her, Jack didn’t much like being thrown out of his routine. But he’d thaw soon. She simply had to wait. She stuck her hands deep into the pockets of her down jacket. She should have called to let him know she wanted to come over to talk. Although, she didn’t exactly want to talk—she wanted to do more. And he knew it.
Yesterday evening had been nice. As promised, Jack had shown up at the Sanctuary promptly at five to walk her home. Along the way, they’d stopped by a little tourist shop that sold local goods, and Lia had bought some of Chessie’s homemade soaps and lotions that were for sale there. Jack had stood close to her as she’d made her selections, occasionally brushing his body against hers, crowding her in a way that would have freaked her out a few weeks ago.
She’d still jumped when a man pushed past her to get to another aisle, though, but at least Jack’s physical presence had elicited comfort. No…that wasn’t it. Her body hadn’t felt comforted—it had been a little aroused. Her nerves had been on auto-vibrate, her skin hyper-aware of even the air brushing over the fine hairs on her arms. But Jack hadn’t held her hand, nor had he kissed her at the door, the way she’d hoped. She’d moved forward in her journey—and yet he’d slowed things down. So she’d stopped by to try to convince him to pick up the speed.
Jack tossed a few more boards out of the pickup and hopped down, then said, “The broom’s just inside the kitchen door. Do me a favor and sweep out the back of the truck.”
Fine. If she had to act the part of lumber maid before Jack would talk, so be it. “What are you doing with all this wood?” She tossed the question over her shoulder as she ran lightly up the steps leading to his kitchen door.
“It’s scrap from one of the construction jobs we finished up last week. Chessie’s been asking for a storage shed on her farm. Thought I’d save the wood and build her one this spring.”
She found the broom and jogged back down the steps, almost tripped by Jack’s golden retriever, Remington. Lia loved Remmie, loved his soft fur and the way he gazed adoringly at her with his honey-colored eyes, as if she were the most wonderful person ever to exist on the face of the earth. But she wasn’t sure she liked Jack much at the moment, ordering her to sweep out his truck as if she had nothing better to do.
“How long will this take?” Broom in hand, she hopped up into the bed of the pickup. She swept furiously, intent on finishing her assigned chore so they could get down to talking about the lessons. And maybe doing something rather than talking.
“What do you mean by ‘this’?”
“Um…playing lumberyard.”
“I know what you want, Lia, but I can’t leave these boards in the back of my truck forever.” Jack didn’t stop moving, his motions efficient and flowing as he righted the planks and nudged them into an orderly stack.
“I know,” she said, her voice a murmur. So she’d wait. As long as Jack wanted to continue the lessons, she was fine with waiting until he’d stacked his wood. Her mind flitted back to earlier in the morning, right after she’d stepped out of the shower. The fire siren had sounded, and she’d leaped to her front window in time to see the fire truck go by, Peter standing on the back. He hadn’t noticed her, but the sight of him had reminded her of why she’d started this crazy adventure in the first place.
To date someone like Peter, and not freak out when he touched her… To willingly and eagerly go to bed with him, if that’s where things took them…
If she did this right, there’d be no way she’d go back to Lia Sawyer, the walking wounded.
If she did this right, that is.
“Lia. Stop woolgathering.”
Jack’s deep voice snapped her back to the present, a sharp reminder of why she was there at his house, sweeping out his stupid truck.
To go out with Peter, she first had to get Jack into bed. And to get Jack into bed, she had to play by his rules.
She gave one last push of the broom, swept the last particles of dust and splintered wood out of the truck, then hopped down. Slamming the tailgate, she looked for Jack. He stood in front of the stack of planks, eyeing it, as if to make sure it wouldn’t tumble down. She walked over to come behind him. That close she could smell his strong male scent, could take in the trail of sweat down his back.
Maybe instead of talking him into bed, she should seduce him.
The only problem was that she didn’t have a clue how to use her body to turn on a man.
She had to begin somewhere, though. Touch him, she ordered herself. Just reach out and touch him. Her hands form
ed balls by her side. She’d done it before. So why was her body freezing up on her now? Oh, yeah. The last time she’d touched Jack, she’d done so in the context of friendship, not like this. She closed her eyes, unclenched her hands, and reached out.
The shivers started to build, freezing her arms before her hands could settle on Jack’s warm body. Another memory hit her, hard. Don’t fucking touch me. You can’t touch me without my permission. You can’t do anything without my permission—I own you. I own you, Lia.
Lia flung her eyes open to stare at the back of Jack’s head, his auburn hair curling around the nape of his neck. Jack wasn’t Vance. He could never be Vance. She focused on steadying her breathing, trying to get the panic to recede, mentally working to force the tremors to stop. But the memory held tight, fast, like a cage surrounding her. Vance hadn’t only yelled at her that day when she’d tried to hug him, tried to connect to another human being. He’d struck her—low on her ribcage, where the bruise wouldn’t show. That was the first time he’d bruised her.
That bruise hadn’t been the last.
Jack spun around. He looked startled to see her standing so close. “You’re shivering,” he said. “Let’s get you indoors and warmed up.”
“No, I’m not cold. I…I want—”
“Doesn’t matter what you want. It matters that you’re shaking all over and turning blue. We’re going inside.”
“Wait.” She stopped him by placing her hand on his shoulder. The warmth of his body radiated into her hand, down her arm and into her core, causing her body to heat, to calm.
The shivering stopped.
Amazed, she slid her hand from Jack’s shoulder to his chest, her palm flat against his bicep, then his pectoral, coming to rest directly over his heart. The steady, even thud calmed her. She didn’t want to pull her hand away.
Time froze. Jack froze.
His breath, soft and warm and sweet smelling, slipped around her in an embrace. Then he sucked in a breath. Under her palm his heartbeat pounded, reverberated, like a bass drum hit hard.
Trusting The One (Meadowview Heat 2; The Meadowview Series 2) Page 7