“Jack…”
“This is what you’ve been waiting for, Lia. Let’s make it good.”
* * *
As Jack tugged her toward his bedroom, a thousand questions raced through Lia’s mind. Would he show her how to do it from on top? Just stick to missionary? What instructions would he give her on the right way to arouse a man? She wanted to be taught it all—this was her one chance to learn to be a good lover, and she planned to make the most of it.
She stood in his bedroom, taking in the heavy walnut bedstead with the antique patchwork quilt pulled tight over the king-sized mattress, the matching dresser with its tidy array of photographs, and the odd assortment of unique art pieces decorating the walls. A fire flickered in a brick corner fireplace—he must have snuck in and lit it earlier. In all the times she’d been to his house, she had never entered his bedroom. His door had always been closed, shutting off his inner sanctum from outsiders.
Maybe that’s why he understood her so well. Like her, Jack kept a part of himself shut off from people, kept a part of him protected. It dawned on her that he must trust her as much as she trusted him.
Jack let go of her hand to light several candles, tucked away behind antique hammered tin votive holders. The candles sputtered then caught, and soft candlelight warmed the pine wainscoting and shimmered against the painted walls.
“Your sweater matches my room,” he whispered, nuzzling her head as he spoke.
She would not have chosen such a deep, rich green to paint the walls, but with the warm blond and brown of the pine wainscoting, it brought the room to life. Her sweater did match his room—she felt as if she belonged there.
“But it’s time to take it off.” He finished the thought by pulling her sweater up over her head, then unzipping her pants and sliding them down her hips. She used his shoulders to balance herself as he slipped off first one high-heeled pump and then the other. He stood slowly, kissing her pubic bone through her champagne lace panties.
She gasped, and a heat spread from her core, to her back, down her limbs. This was real. Jack was real.
And her body’s positive response was real.
Jack quickly shed the rest of his clothes and then stood still, allowing her to look over his naked form. God, he was gorgeous. Wide shoulders, ripped abs, muscular thighs, and…yum. Just yum.
“You okay?” he asked.
She swallowed, but managed to nod. He reached for her then. Cupped his hands around her head, pulled her to him, then jammed his hands in her hair, pressing his fingertips to her scalp, and kissed her, hard. Electrical currents shot through her body. Tremors hit her belly and radiated outward. Breathing became nearly impossible and her skin seemed to feel the very air against it. Oh, God. Oh, God… She stood there, clad only in bra and panties, with a naked Jack tight against her. His hard erection pressed against her pubic bone and belly.
When the kiss was over, he broke away, then sucked in a shuddery breath and simply looked at her, holding her gaze with his, eyebrows raised as if he were asking an unspoken question.
She realized she was panting and worked to steady her breathing. Kissing him had never felt like this before. How was it her body was responding in such a way? Why was it kissing a naked Jack had triggered such a strong visceral reaction from her—a good reaction? No, she corrected herself, a great reaction. She shook her head as if to shake the thoughts away. Too much analysis. She needed to calm her mind, focus on the task. Not get all girly and analyze the situation. Redirecting her thoughts, she said, “Don’t worry about birth control.”
“On the Pill?”
“Just don’t worry—I won’t get pregnant.” That day in Dr. Humphries’s office, instead of planning a tubal ligation, the woman had given her a shot. Lia had kept up on the shots—there’d be no making of babies. Not tonight, at any rate. “And I got tested after Vance died. No diseases.”
He smiled. “None here, either.”
“Jack,” she whispered.
“Are you sure?”
She knew what he meant. Taking his hands in hers, she let out a long sigh. Yes, she was sure. She slid his hands to her breasts and released her hold as he took over. First one strap and then the other dropped off her shoulder before he reached behind her and unhooked her bra. It fell to the floor and suddenly her sensitive nipples were against his chest, the heat of his body filling her, arousing her.
“You’re almost naked,” he murmured.
“Let’s get rid of the ‘almost’ in that sentence.” She quivered—yes, she wanted this, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t just a little nervous. But desire trumped nerves, and she reached for him.
“Not scared?” he asked.
She shook her head and smiled. “A little, but not of you. Not of this.”
Jack smiled back, his eyes dark and deep. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her panties and pulled them down, coming to his knees in front of her. She held his shoulder to balance herself, then stepped out of her panties.
He rose and circled his arms around her waist. “Now you’re completely naked. How does it feel?”
Oh, so good. As an answer, she wound her arms around his neck. He gathered her naked body in his arms and put her on the middle of the bed. With light touches, he stroked her bare skin from the tips of her ears to her toes, his callused fingers softly sliding and slipping along her skin. He followed his fingers with his mouth—suckled, bit, nipped, making her groan with pleasure, with want, with need. His scent filled the air around her and she found herself clenching him tight, almost as if she were trying to get inside his skin.
This seemed different somehow, from the almost ferocious kiss he’d given her the day they first kissed. And from the kiss moments before, when he’d seemed almost as if he were about to lose control. Softer. Gentler.
She should say something, but no words came. Her thoughts, which had earlier been tumbling about in her brain, stilled. There were no more questions, no more doubts, no more hesitancy, no more fear. As much as her body was charged through with sexual energy, her mind was still.
When he finally entered her, the world seemed to stop. The outside sounds from his window above the bed, that soft whisper of the wind, the tinkling of the copper chimes, ceased to exist.
Then she heard his heartbeat and time began again.
He moved, she moved.
He rocked, she rocked.
No switching of positions, no verbal suggestions, no directions—just her and Jack, locked in a perfect rhythm—her legs entwined around his, his arms bracing her shoulders. His eyes remained glued to hers, holding her gaze until her inner muscles clenched and her eyes rolled upward. The fire in her body suddenly intensified so that even the palms of her hands and soles of her feet felt hot.
She heard herself let out a loud, gasping sort of a cry, heard herself call his name yet again as the flame of orgasm flashed over her. Jack groaned and slammed into her, chasing his own fire.
Oh, God. This felt beautiful. Primal. Necessary.
This felt real.
* * *
When Jack could breathe again, he realized he was still lying on Lia, his full weight crushing her tiny frame. He shifted, moving as if to climb off her, but she grabbed him, held him tight. When he looked into her eyes all he could see was satisfaction—she seemed so wiped out that she probably had no clue she was being crushed by all 185 pounds of muscle and bone. A sweet but shaky smile formed on her face, and she reached out a trembling hand to wipe a drop of sweat from his forehead. He dipped his head to kiss her, shifted his weight, and then slid out of her.
Her eyes drooped, and she seemed to struggle to keep them open.
“Sleep,” he whispered. He shifted, ending up spooning her, cradling her back to his chest with her breast lying soft in the palm of one hand.
“I still need to go home,” she whispered back. “I have to go to work in the morning.”
“Stay. Spend the night with me.” For a few moments, she was still. The wi
nd gusted through a barely cracked window, brushing. She shivered. Jack pulled the bedcovers out from under them and enfolded both of them in the warmth of his grandmother’s quilt.
“Jack.”
He could feel the warmth of Lia’s breath, a puff of air caressing the crook of his arm as she whispered his name.
“What is it?” he asked.
“That didn’t seem like having sex to me.”
Huh. Nudity, penetration, orgasm…what else could it be? “What did it seem like to you?”
She stretched, yawned, pulled his arm tighter around her before she spoke. “It seemed a lot like how you’d described making love.”
Morning light streamed past heavy clouds in the sky to send bright streaks of sun across Meadowview’s only public parking lot. Lia closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the steering wheel of her car. She shivered when her skin touched the cool vinyl. She’d arrived five minutes ago but still hadn’t made it out of her beat-up Honda Civic, and the cold had finally seeped through to her bones. A full day’s work waited for her in the office, just a few short steps away. She needed to jar herself into action, needed to get out of the car and get to work. What she needed to do was to focus.
Yeah, right. How was she supposed to concentrate on work after all that had happened to her in the last twelve hours? How could she get her body to calm its sexual arousal? Tingles shot through her—she didn’t know if the memory of her naked body entwined with Jack’s was what triggered the tingles, or if the tingles had triggered the memory. Either way, her body felt as if it were shot through with electrical currents. And it felt hungry for more. More sex, more touch—more rolling around between the sheets with Jack.
Sex with Jack had given her the proof she needed to know she was normal, that she could enjoy sex as much as anyone else could. Sure, she may never completely get over Vance’s abuse. She’d probably always be hyper-aware of any males who came too close, and she’d never be one of those women who jumped into bed with a guy an hour after being introduced to him.
However, she no longer turned into a trembling leaf when a man touched her. She could get naked and have sex without flipping out. And she was good—the way Jack had climaxed so forcefully told her that whatever it was she’d done, she’d done it right.
She felt an overwhelming rush of gratitude toward Jack. He’d made all that happen. Not only had he helped her overcome her fear of men and of sex, but he’d also taught her how to love touching a man, love feeling him inside. He’d been so giving, so open about the lessons, so willing to guide her on her quest. He’d enjoyed himself as much as she had, that she knew. But what they’d done had seemed more intense than what she’d thought sex should be. More emotional. She’d been overwhelmed—too overwhelmed to talk to Jack about what had occurred between the two of them.
A small pool of shame welled up inside her as she recalled how she’d taken off from his house an hour earlier. She’d woken when the sky had first gone light, but hadn’t awoken a sleeping Jack. Instead, she’d wrapped the sheet around her and jumped in the shower. When she was finished soaping and rinsing, she dragged herself into the clothes she’d worn the night before. As she dressed, she watched him sleep, his arms spread wide across the bed and a small smile on his face. She wondered if what they’d done a few short hours earlier was what made him smile.
But instead of waking him, she’d taken off. Skedaddled out of his place like she shouldn’t have been there.
But why hadn’t she at least thanked him? Why had she run out like she’d been full of shame?
Or was it guilt she felt?
What the young mother, Rebecca, had told her crept into her mind. Could Jack secretly have a crush on her? Was that why sex had been so tender and yet so powerful? The way he’d held her gaze with his had been intense, personal. Open.
She twirled a strand of hair in her fingers and tucked it behind her ear. Jack couldn’t have a crush on her. He really couldn’t. Besides what Rebecca told her she saw at the Sanctuary, Jack had never given her an inkling he cared for her in any way other than as a friend. He’d never once flirted with her. She’d been widowed for two years. Surely, he would have asked her out before now.
Besides, a man who had a crush on a woman wouldn’t have to think twice about sleeping with the woman of his dreams, right? When she’d asked Jack to sleep with her, he’d taken a full night to decide. Definitely not the sign of someone who had a thing for her. Sure, he liked her and cared about her. And the way his body responded to hers, she knew he certainly found her attractive.
She’d certainly loved having sex with Jack.
Her eyes drifted shut and she immediately saw Jack, the candlelight flickering against his skin while casting shadows along the valleys and hillocks of his muscles. She saw his body rise above hers, his broad shoulders blocking the light of the fire, his eyes glazed over with desire. Desire for her.
A wave of satiation, satisfaction, elation—something—hit her chest, flooring her with its intensity.
She needed to go back to Jack’s. She owed him both an apology for running out this morning and a gigantic thank you for making her feel whole.
* * *
Jack had spent the last twenty minutes storming around the house, cursing under his breath, and was now in the shower—alone. He’d slept the sleep of the dead—or the thoroughly satiated—and had planned on pleasuring Lia when they woke up in in the morning.
But then he’d woken up to find Lia gone. No note, no text, nothing. She’d run off. But why? Had she taken what she needed and was done? Had she felt remorse for her big plan? He knew she hadn’t been unsatisfied—the way she’d come apart in his arms and had covered him with kisses afterward clearly indicated not only her satiation but also her mood. She’d loved what they’d done.
As had he.
But he hadn’t just loved having sex with Lia. He loved her. He couldn’t handle her going for douchebag Peter. These lessons were over. Lia knew she could be touched by a man. Have sex, even, without freaking out. It was time he came clean and let her know how he felt.
Let her know he loved her.
He shut off the stream of hot water and stood, leaning his head against his forearm against the tile wall, and let the water drip off him. The simultaneous sound of Remmie barking and his front door creaking open caught his attention. Adrenaline shot through his system, warming him from the inside out. A smile crossed his face.
She’d come back.
“Lia?” he called out, reaching for a towel.
“Sorry, gorgeous,” a laconic voice drawled. “No Goddess Lia this morning, just little ol’ me.”
Damn. Not Lia—Liz. He took his time drying off before wrapping the towel around his waist and coming into the kitchen. Liz was busy making coffee. “Don’t you know how to knock?” he asked.
“Aren’t we a bit bitchy this morning?” Liz snapped out. She turned and looked at him, pausing when she noticed his state of undress.
At least she had the decency to look chagrined.
“You were saying?” he said.
“Um, sorry. Guess I should have knocked.”
He reached over her shoulder for a coffee mug. “Things have changed, Liz. You can’t come barging in anymore.” He stepped back and leaned a hip against the kitchen counter, studiously avoiding Liz’s gaze.
“Oh, my God, you’re getting laid.”
“Who says?”
“I may act like a bimbo, but I’m not stupid,” Liz said. “You’re doing Lia, aren’t you? You and little Lia Sawyer, doing the hanky-panky. Guess she isn’t Miss Innocent after all.”
A flash of anger rose through Jack. Next to him, the coffee percolated. He sucked in a deep breath, hoping the familiar scent would calm his rising temper. Lia didn’t deserve such condescension. Nor did what the two of them had experienced together be described in such a crass manner. “Don’t, Liz,” he snapped.
“Don’t what—don’t tease you about sleeping with Lia?”
“Don’t—” He slammed his jaw shut.
It took a moment before Liz whispered, “Wow, Jack. You got it bad.”
He shrugged. It was too late to pretend. The problem with knowing someone since you were a kid meant they could generally see right through you. And at the moment, Liz could see that he’d slept with Lia.
The coffeemaker snorted, drawing his attention. He grabbed another mug, filled both, and then handed one to Liz.
“Is this a peace offering?” she asked as she cupped the mug in both hands.
“Something like that.”
“You don’t want what you did with Lia to sound sordid. Sweet little Lia is way too precious for that.” Liz’s voice still held a tinge of rancor.
He kept his gaze fixed on his cup of coffee. “What’s your problem with her?”
Liz dumped a spoonful of sugar in her coffee and stirred it before speaking. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have been so bitchy. I like Lia, really, I do. When her brother and I were going out in high school, she was a real sweetheart. I didn’t get much respect because of my reputation as the town whore, but she was decent to me.”
Jack nudged her shoulder with his. “You weren’t the town whore.”
“Yeah, right. Not according to half of Meadowview. If it hadn’t been for Ethan, Theo, and you being so nice after…well, after Hunter said what he said, no one in this God-forsaken town would have said ‘boo’ to me.”
As much as he’d like to think of Meadowview as a compassionate town, he knew Liz was right. Hunter Thorne had treated Liz horribly, and in response, Jack had put his fist in Hunter’s face. He hadn’t stopped there, though, and it took three other members of the football team to drag him off the whimpering and bleeding quarterback. Even though Jack spent a few weeks in the local juvenile detention facility, he never regretted beating the crap out of Hunter. He also had never apologized.
After that, Liz had hung around the three of them—him, Theo, and Ethan—and had occasionally dated Ethan. Because the boys continued to stick up for her, no one ever insulted her or shoved her disastrous mistake in her face again. But the town still stared, still gossiped.
Trusting The One (Meadowview Heat 2; The Meadowview Series 2) Page 13