Jack lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs around him with an intimacy scaring her to the very bone. The edge of the wooden table brushed against the back of her knee. Cupping her ass with both hands, he sat her on the table, and she linked both arms around his neck.
“This doesn’t change anything,” he groaned in between kisses, each one more passionate. Each kiss testing her lungs.
She nibbled on his lower lip. “Absolutely nothing. We go together like Champagne and Frito pie.” Except she wasn’t sure which one represented her… the bubbly drink, or the super caloric treat. Did it matter?
His reassurance only solidified her resolve. Nothing would change after they had sex, which gave her carte blanche to enjoy it, guilt-free.
“You’re on the pill?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” he whispered, and the immediate joining of their mouths kept them from saying any more. She’d suffer a sexual hypothermia if he withdrew his hands from massaging her back, his tongue from swirling with hers, his cock from poking against the apex of her thighs. Hinting at what they both craved. Needed.
“Now.” She touched his chest, her palm gliding over the hard muscles, and slid her hand down, pausing briefly at the tight confines of his waistband, then into his boxer briefs. She found his massive delicious cock, and fisted it, clasping her fingers around the vibrating veins, feeling the rush of blood surging through them. Right or wrong, Jack Canyon wanted her badly.
He threw his head back and closed his eyes. If she had her way, soon he’d worm out of those clothes and take her, like he used to in the past. Oh if she had her way—
“Not now,” he said roughly.
In complete control, he grabbed her wrist and removed her hand from his jeans. With one swift movement he laid her down on the table. She spread her legs a bit, ready to hook him between them and address the painful thump beating through her.
He covered her body with his, kissing her into submission, hovering his hand over her, brushing her breasts through the silky material. Arching toward him, she grasped his hair, deepening the kiss, showing with her tongue and lips her urgency. He left her mouth and began to kiss her neck, his hot tongue sliding over her flushed skin. She moaned.
She stretched her hand to reach for his length. He stopped her midway and held both of her hands above her head. After kissing her breasts over her dress, he dipped his head lower, the sensation of his mouth over the silk making her burn from her scalp to her curling toes. Letting go of her wrists, he ventured lower, and when he removed her lacy G-string, her sex clenched in anticipation.
She closed her eyes, and bit her folded index finger. He planted small kisses on her thighs, each time breathing closer to the center. “Jack.”
The stroke of his tongue on her pussy made her lift her arms above her head, seeking support on the edge of the table. His tongue delved into her wetness, and he began to brush it in the part of her tingling for release. She squirmed, grasping the edges harder, her head moving from side to side as he captured her completely in his mouth, savoring her, rubbing her tender aching flesh.
He plunged two fingers inside her, mimicking with his digits and tongue what his cock would do later. The pressure began to build and stir. Her inner muscles clenched and throbbed for a couple of glorious seconds, followed by the release. Pleasure sent her into a swirl of sensations.
He pulled her to him, with a scorching kiss that put her right where she was about a second ago. She held him tight, cruising her hands over his chest, the anxiety to get him naked growing. Not the only thing growing, she smiled, his cock straining against her.
She raised her gaze to meet his, and found an implacable determination in them. Were the sparkling ripples of turquoise blue really necessary when it was obvious she’d handed him her pride, along with her betraying body?
Is he going to walk away? Her heart slammed against her rib cage. He closed the gap between them again, taking her mouth with ferocity, the kiss a punishment for what she had no idea.
He snaked his arm around her waist, and she wrapped her legs around him. If sex was their sole common ground, why not indulge for just one night?
Chapter 4
Jack indulged in the libido pulling him to Lola like a tractor. From the moment she told him when to do it, he sabotaged his own desire, delayed his pleasure. All to show her he was not some boy toy from Hollywood Hills like Tokyo or Beijing or whatever the fuck his name was. He took orders from no one.
He claimed her mouth as he wanted from the beginning, with intensive fury. And damn the woman, she matched the strong strokes of his tongue, the nibbling of his teeth—her fingernails dug into his hair, grabbing him close.
A series of soft moans sliced the air, and the responsiveness in her voice made his blood as thick as a rodeo rope.
He wanted to touch her, to feel her, but not on the top of a kitchen table. Lifting her, he held her close, and enjoyed the way her legs clenched around him. Without disengaging the kiss, he carried her in his arms, and headed for the stairs. Lola’s hands left his hair and slid down his chest, over sensitizing him anywhere they touched.
Panting, she broke away from his lips and kissed his neck, then glided her tongue over his heated skin. Closing his eyes, he nearly lost his balance between the steps, his legs shifting from one side to the other, a light sway that could have been worse mid-way up the staircase. Her carefree giggle brought him undone.
He placed her on the rail, her upper body supported by the brick wall. Groaning, he zipped down and plunged himself inside her.
With a gasp, she nipped his neck harder, the graze of her teeth sharp against his skin. He turned his face away from her, and tipped her chin to get a glimpse of her expression. Gleams of bright light sparked in the darkness of her partly opened espresso eyes. She grasped the rails below her hips, and he withdrew himself from her, only to return to her slick walls with a powerful thrust.
Her inner muscles clenched around his length, and he didn’t move for a second, knowing if he did, all was lost. He’d be lost. She arched her body toward him, and, ignoring his unspoken message to stay still, wrapped him closer with her legs. No. Again, she wanted to dictate the pace. He couldn’t let her win, not when she’d won so much already. More than she’d ever realize.
Determined not to let her run the show, he pulled his cock almost all the way out, and her frustrated sigh egged him on. He caught a whiff of her musky scent and rammed hard into her.
Adrenaline pumped in his veins, and her orgasm ripped his remaining reluctance into shreds. Desire and resentment fused into one last plunge. With a loud groan, he succumbed to the spasms riding fiercely through his body, but he refused to call her name as he came inside her.
An immeasurable amount of time flew by as they recovered from their lovemaking. His knees itched to buckle, the aftereffect leaving him weak. The energy that bombarded him earlier faded. He gazed at her, beautiful with her eyes still semi-closed and breathless. He lifted his left hand and swept the damp hair away from her sweat-slicked face. The pragmatic action turned into a lingering caress. His fingers outlined her nose, cheeks, and chin as if his body had a more accurate instinct than his own, wanting to store the memory of her in his skin, his bone, his gut.
He dropped his hand to his side. The grip of her legs around him loosened, and he carefully let go of her. Her high heels knocked the timber floor, and she straightened her posture. She quirked her lips up, and the coy smile didn’t resemble the others he’d seen over the past couple of days. Challenging. Confident.
“Some things never change,” she said. “Making it to the bedroom in time was never our strong suit.”
The lightness in her tone made him uncomfortable. A cold knot tied his stomach. Did she always react with such casualness after sex nowadays? Thinking about the men she’d slept with after their separation brought an unwanted, familiar taste of bile to his throat.
“Do you blame me for what just happened?” she asked.
> “No,” he muttered. I blame my two year sex abstinence. Stepping away from her, he started to button his shirt. “It’s like you once said, we’re good at fighting and fucking.” The words, from a much darker time, exited his mouth before he rationalized them.
The contours of her face hardened, and the coy smile evaporated as she pressed her lips together and gave a light shake of her head. Within a couple of seconds, the woman he was accustomed to returned, raised her eyebrow and gave him a pout. “I trust you to bring out the happy memories at the most convenient times,” she said, overly formal, like she did whenever she fumed inside.
“I guess some things never change.”
“Good.” She turned around and climbed the rest of the steps, and he watched her leave. He curled and uncurled his hands to keep them from reaching out to her.
Lola had no right to be mad at him. Unlike her, he sucked at turning sex into a sophisticated escapade, and downplaying it. She should hate him, and by all counts, he should continue on hating her. Hating her was how he’d stopped loving her.
But how in the hell would he stop wanting her?
Lola peaked her nose out of her bedroom. She glanced to the right then the left, and saw the door to Jack’s bedroom at the end of the hall shut.
Phew. She sighed with relief, and made her way downstairs. The last thing she wanted was to face him in broad daylight less than ten hours after their, er, unfortunate relapse on the staircase.
Her body still tingled in all the secret places, her heart thumping at the idea she’d been his once again… for one night. Not even that—one screw.
Sunlight skimmed through the blinds, spilling over the steps. Glancing at the place where they’d done it the night before, a hot wave spread across her face. God, she’d been so stupid to seek refuge in his body, his scent, his lips.
He’d been a jerk at the end. The same ignorant, narrow-minded yahoo she’d married. But until reality had hit her after he’d been such an asshole, she’d writhed and melted in his arms with reckless abandon because he’d always been able to make her weak for him… and that made her believe he actually cared too. The memory of their heated encounters sent blood rushing through her veins all the way to her most sensitive spot.
No. No. No. She moved faster, reminding herself again that Jack was an ignorant, narrow-minded yahoo, and stepped into the kitchen.
“Morning.”
Absorbed in her thoughts, she nearly jumped at the voice, then caught sight of a middle-aged woman of average height whose skin was a couple shades darker than Lola’s. Strands of gray hair peppered her brown updo. “Oh, sorry,” Lola said. “You startled me.”
“I’m Consuelo, the housekeeper.”
“Right.” Lola offered her hand, which Consuelo took while offering Lola a warm smile.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, then turned her attention back to the eggs crackling on the pan.
With a sidelong glance Lola saw them. The eggs were perfect. The garlicky smell danced its way into her nostrils, a painful reminder of her to-do list.
“I hope you like huevos rancheros.” Consuelo grabbed the spatula from a spoon rest next to the stove. “I asked Jack what you liked, and he said eggs.”
“Thanks. I usually try to make my own eggs.” Try being the imperative word.
“Nonsense, child.” Consuelo flipped the eggs and signaled for her to sit with a hand gesture. “Eggs are my specialty. Along with anything buttery.”
Lola pulled a chair out and sat. She glided her hands on the table, remembering the previous night. Memories of him tasting her, kissing her, impaling her… her underwear! Anxiety cooled her thoughts. Where were her panties? She looked under the table, and her gaze roamed the whole kitchen. After their relapse, it hadn’t even occurred to her to come back and fetch her G-string. Her mind had been too preoccupied with how small he’d made her feel afterward. Cruelty served Jack-style. Fries optional.
Consuelo placed a dish with two warm tortillas and an exquisite omelet in front of her, along with a glass filled with orange juice. Oh. My. God. Did the housekeeper find it?
She cleared her throat. “You know, Consuelo, I washed some clothes last night and might have dropped a couple of pieces on my way to the laundry room…” Turning around to catch sight of any reaction on the woman’s face, she lifted her head. “Did you by any chance . . . see anything?”
Consuelo scratched her chin. “You mean like jeans and shirts? Or socks?”
“Maybe a couple of socks.” She cleared her throat. “Oh, and some underwear.”
Consuelo narrowed her eyes for an instant. “I saw something… a tiny piece of fabric I put inside the machine just in case. It was so small though, it could be a sheer napkin.”
Heat filled Lola’s cheeks. “Thank you. I guess no socks then.”
“No socks. They’ll turn up though, mija.” Consuelo winked at her. “They always do.”
Lola wrapped the corn tortilla and lifted it to her mouth. The seasoned eggs, smothered with hot salsa rolled down her throat. Flavors of chili, cilantro and tomatoes teased her palate. Just eat up your embarrassment.
Watching her with interest and a half-smile, Consuelo pulled the chair in front of her and sat, with folded hands on her apron. “Jack tells me you two are still married, but not in the way it counts.”
“Right.” Lola cleaned her mouth on the napkin. “But not for long.”
“Does that mean you’ll be fully married again?” The housekeeper raised an eyebrow, with straightened shoulders and a flicker in her eyes hinted she wouldn’t let him off the hook. “The way two people are supposed to be when they take vows?”
Lola almost choked on her second serving, and reached for the glass of juice. Were she and Jack ever fully married? The idea brought a bitter aftertaste that no amount of juice could get rid of. “No… we’ll get divorced after I open my bed and breakfast. It’s a long story.”
Consuelo gave her a couple of patronizing taps on her hand. “You should fight harder. We Mexicans don’t give up easily.”
“I guess.” Upon the confused look on Consuelo’s face, she decided she best explain herself. “I don’t know for sure who I am. My dad adopted me in Texas, then moved to California shortly after. I assumed my parents were Mexican, but no one really knows for sure.”
“It doesn’t matter how you got here, does it?” Consuelo stared at her, studying Lola’s features.
Lola shifted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable. “It shouldn’t.” Lola injected energy in her voice, afraid the woman would discover something about her that she herself hadn’t been able to in all those years of looking for answers. Nonsense. And time to change the subject to something less unnerving. “I don’t remember you working here when I last visited Red Oak, a couple of years ago.”
A kind smile creased the lines around Consuelo’s mouth. “I’m from El Paso. I had other jobs like midwifing, preschool teaching. Then I retired and wanted to cook and clean, my cheap form of therapy.”
Lola played with the tender, thin layer of tortilla. “My therapy used to be shopping and reading Celebrity gossip magazines,” she said, more to herself than to Consuelo.
Consuelo chuckled. “I love telenovelas, but suppose you don’t watch them.”
Lola shrugged. “I don’t have to. My life has become one.” The words rang in her ears barely after they left her lips. Living with her soon-to-be-but-not-yet ex-husband while she tried to start a B&B in Texas had soap opera written all over it with fluorescent markers.
“Did you ever meet Jack’s parents?”
“I met his dad before he died,” she said, remembering the few summers she visited her father at the ranch. Back then, she and Jack had an unspoken agreement to stay out of each other’s way, especially after she tried to throw a party once when her Californian friends had come for a visit. She had been fifteen, and her friends got way too rowdy.
She never forgot the quiet, subtle way Jack judged her. Judged them. And yet… she
still couldn’t deny her attraction to him—especially later on when he’d turned up in LA.
His father had been a kind man. Tall, lean and with a long beard that didn’t mask his knowing smile. “It’s sad that both his parents died.”
Consuelo frowned. “His mother isn’t dead. She left them.”
Left? An acidy liquid spilled in her stomach. Lola dropped the tortilla onto the plate and straightened. “I thought she died.” Her father had said Jack had lost his mother as a young child, and she never recalled seeing anyone with him or his dad around the ranch. And when they got married… Hhmm. He never talked about his mother much.
Consuelo gave a long sigh. “She left Jack when he was only six. Poor woman wasn’t cut out for motherhood.”
“And she never came back?”
Consuelo shook her head.
No wonder the guy’s so obsessed about marrying and starting a family. “How can you be sure? As far as I know, she died.”
Consuelo smoothed her hand over her apron, then nodded to herself. “I’m sorry. Earl told me this in secrecy. When Jack’s mother left, his father had a really rough time and when he finally snapped out of it, Jack started saying his mother had died when he was at school. I’m guessing Jack’s dad went along with it, and when they moved to Hope Springs for a new start, that’s what they told everyone. One night though after too much to drink, he spilled the beans to Earl.”
Lola took another bite of the food, hoping the spices would melt some of the ice forming in her stomach. Jack’s mom had run out on him, and he was such a stubborn mule he never even trusted her with the truth. Talk about issues. “Where’s Jack now?”
“He’s gone to Houston for a meeting. Will be back later.” Consuelo rose to her feet. “Eat some more, mija.”
Lola glanced at the plate, but somehow the image in front of her was just a colorful blur. Lola’s mother didn’t qualify for any parenting award, but deep down she knew Margo loved her. Sure, during her teenager years they’d had their share of arguments. And although she’d preferred to live with Daddy after they divorced when she was ten, she saw her mother every weekend.
The Cowboy’s Socialite Page 5