by Renee Roszel
He came up on an elbow. “You tell me.” He gave her a wry look that included one lifted brow. “I didn’t move.”
She swallowed. The fact that she was practically crowding him off the bed was so apparent, her cheeks sizzled. For some reason, she felt the weirdest sense of depression about that.
“Were you cold?”
“Cold?” she repeated absently. After a second, the question penetrated. Cold. She had been; she remembered now. Suddenly, she felt stupid and her affront drained away. With a weary shake of her head, she smiled. “I was cold. I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”
Though a swift shadow of something indecipherable flashed across his features, his smile didn’t waver. “To be honest, you’re very comfortable to sleep with.”
She was surprised how her initial embarrassment vanished with his teasing compliment. “Thanks a bunch. I’ll add it to my résumé.”
It startled her when she found herself smoothing his sleep-tossed hair back off his forehead. Jack had the softest hair. The dark fringe of his eyelashes went up a fraction, as though he was startled by the intimacy of her touch.
She grinned down at him. “You know, you’re pretty cute in the morning.”
“I’m darling,” he said with a chuckle. “I thought that was already in my résumé.”
She laughed. “I guess I missed it.”
He shifted slightly, but not away from her. Just so that he could see her better. “Are you sure you want to get up? It’s early.”
She had an urge to sink back into the toasty blankets and curl up beside him, maybe even place her arm over his broad chest and hug him close. Did she dare? Quite unexpectedly, a feeling of extreme impishness came over her. She leaned across him supposedly to better see the bedside clock. “What time is it?” she asked, not a bit interested.
She thought she heard the tiniest groan as her breasts brushed against him, but when she peeked at his face she couldn’t decipher his expression. He was watching her through shuttered eyes.
Quickly shifting her glance back to the clock, she murmured, “Seven-fifteen.”
“Early,” he repeated.
She sighed and stretched. “You’re right. Maybe I will catch a few more minutes of sleep.” She gave her side of the bed a provoked glance. “But it’s cold over there.”
When she looked back at him, his grin was wry. “Want me to go over there and warm it up?”
She felt a flash of irritation at his thickness and inhaled deeply. “No, don’t bother. I thought I might—stay here....”
A dark brow rose as though the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “Oh? Sure. If you want.” He turned on his side, patting the bed. “I’ll keep you warm.”
She felt a reckless surge of excitement, but her conservative upbringing made her pause. “You don’t think it’s wrong of us?”
His jaw worked for a second, and Lucy feared he was trying to be polite, not wanting to hurt her feelings even if he did think her idea was terribly inappropriate. That would be just like Jack, wanting to spare her feelings. He was so nice. But even if that was the case, she couldn’t seem to draw away.
“Luce...” he finally began, sounding slightly hoarse. “The important question is, do you think it’s wrong?”
She shook her head, not knowing why she was behaving so rashly. But something deep inside her seemed to be insisting this was utterly right. Sinking to the mattress, she pressed her backside against him, wondering if he would think the move wanton or just a search for warmth.
She was startled but pleased when his hand snaked around her waist. “Warmer now?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Sleepy?”
“Mmm-hmm,·· she lied. Jack’s nearness, his soft breath ruffling her hair, his scent all around her, were far from sleep inducing.
She put her hand on his, and he automatically laced their fingers together. His heart beat hard against her back. Or was it her own heart pounding her rib cage into dust?
“Lucy?” he asked after a few panicky minutes.
“Yes?” she whispered, breathless, anticipating something but not knowing what.
“I—” The ringing of the phone stopped him from finishing whatever he was going to say. After the second ring, he pulled his fingers from hers. “Excuse me,” he said, a tinge of exasperation in his words. “Probably business.”
He reached for the receiver, propping himself up on a pillow and leaning back against the headboard. She shifted so that she could watch him, wondering who was calling at this hour—interrupting their honeymoon! She blanched at the asinine thought as he said hello. What was wrong with her brain this morning?
His expression changed, grew wry, then a devastating grin spread across his face as the person on the other end of the line spoke. Lucy knew before he even said her name that his beloved Desiree was calling.
“No, you didn’t wake me, ma chère,” he murmured, his voice going velvety. “I was just lying here thinking about you.” There was a pause and he chuckled. The hair on the back of Lucy’s neck stood up at the sound—so naughty, so full of innuendo. Her cheeks began to burn.
Jack briefly shifted to glance at Lucy, then he said something into the receiver in French. It had to be dirty. There was no way anything spoken in French in that low, suggestive tone could possibly have meant “How’s your mother’s lumbago?”
She touched Jack’s hand, and darn him, a full half minute lumbered by before he acknowledged her. “One second, ma chère,” he finally said, then covered the receiver, looking at Lucy. “Desiree thinks we have separate bedrooms. You understand. Whisper what you want.”
Lucy squared her shoulders, feeling somehow slighted. “Sorry,” she said quietly. “I just wondered if I should go?”
He winked at her. “Go on and shower. Breakfast should be up soon.”
She nodded stiffly and slid off her side of the bed. Her walk to the bathroom was accompanied by more deep, obscene chuckling and more French.
Once inside the bath, she stood beside the old-fashioned claw-foot tub, pulling her T-shirt over her head. She found herself stopping right in the middle of the task, the fabric swathing her face. She inhaled. Jack’s scent had permeated her T-shirt. A great smell. Mellow, masculine. She sucked in another deep breath, then another. Another. It wasn’t until she’d made herself dizzy that she realized how bizarrely she was behaving. Standing in the bathroom, hyperventilating through her T-shirt, for heaven’s sake! Snatching the garment off, she marched to the shower and flipped on the knobs. Ducking under the cold spray, she gasped, welcoming the discomfort and not wanting to think about why.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, her heart fell. Jack was still on the phone. But he looked up at her and grinned, indicating the table in the big bay window. When she looked, she noticed that he was telling her breakfast had arrived.
“Okay, Jane, fax them to me. I’ll get back to you with my decision this afternoon.”
She shifted to look at him again. He wasn’t talking to Desiree any longer. Jane was his secretary. Suddenly, she was starving. The croissants, fresh fruit and steamy coffee looked delicious. With a lightness in her step, she hurried to the table and sat down.
Jack hung up and swung out of bed. “I’ll take a quick shower and join you, but don’t wait for me. I know how you get.”
She had picked up a strawberry and was about to bite into it when she turned to him. “How I get?”
He laughed. “Have some coffee, grumpy. Just save me a little food, okay. I’m a growing boy.”
“If we run out, you can always order more.” She hiked her chin. “And for your information, I am a delight in the morning and I eat like a bird.”
He stopped at the bathroom door, leaning a shoulder against the jamb. “I heard somewhere that hummingbirds eat their weight every day.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “How much can that be? A few ounces?”
His rich laughter filled the room. “Touché. See you in a sec.�
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After he went inside the bathroom, she bit into the sweet strawberry and smiled. One thing you could say for Jack, he wasn’t a grouch in the morning. As she chewed, her smile faded. Of course, if a man’s hot-to-trot girlfriend calls and has phone sex with him when he first wakes up, it’s bound to affect his mood for the better.
She swallowed, picked up another strawberry and bit into it without much interest. The vision of Jack and that—that other woman...well, it wasn’t conducive to hearty eating. She shoved the thought away as she crammed the piece of fruit into her mouth.
Ten minutes later, Jack emerged from the bath, his dark brown hair damp and looking almost black. He wore a pair of snug jeans, but no shirt. “Anything left for me?” he asked as he padded barefoot to the table.
“Hardly a thing,” she teased, since he could see the platter was still heaped with delicacies. “Aren’t you going to put on a shirt?” She clamped her jaws shut, startled she’d said that out loud.
He’d sat down and was reaching for the silver coffeepot when she spoke. He glanced at her. “A shirt?”
She shrugged, smiling embatrassedly. “Never mind.”
He frowned at her. “Does my bare chest offend you?”
She waved off the idea. “Of course not. You have a sexy chest. I mean, er, no, I’m not offended.” She could feel her face glowing. What had possessed her to use the word “sexy”? “You’re fine. Forget it.”
“Sexy, huh?” He picked up the coffeepot and poured himself a cup. “I’m flattered.”
“Oh, Jack!” Lucy felt stupid about her slip and floundered to neutralize it. “You know you have a great body. I’m sure this morning Desiree was reminding you of things you’ve done to her with your great body that would shock the civilized world.” She cringed inwardly. Somehow, that statement hadn’t been quite the neutralizer she’d planned.
“You give my body too much credit. Luce.” He chuckled, lifting his cup to his lips. “But thanks.”
She was mortified by his taunting and vaulted up, her brain spinning as she tried to think of something terse to hurl back at him. How dare he take what she’d said as a compliment? But before she could come up with anything that would wipe the crooked grin off his face, she heard a sound that drew her attention.
She turned. “Jack? Did you leave the shower running?” She looked at him as he set down his coffee cup. He cocked his head toward the sound, seeming to hear it for the first time.
“I guess I did.” He got up. “Don’t know where my mind was.” When he passed her, he gave her shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll put on a shirt We wouldn’t want my body to worry yours.”
She froze under his touch—not so much in reaction to his teasing, but more from the lingering sensuality of his fingers. Her breathing had gone haywire, too.
After he’d turned off the shower and donned a knit shirt, he resumed his seat at the table, swathing butter across his croissant.
“Jack?” She came up to him, smiling. It never took her long to get over being irritated at him. He was too darned easygoing. She was ready to spend the day sight-seeing with him. “What do people do first on a honeymoon?”
He stopped buttering and slanted her a look that sent a tingle along her spine. What in the world had that look meant? He turned away without comment to stare out of the bay window at the shady lane that fronted their hotel. His jaw worked.
Feeling peculiarly flustered, she blurted, “I—I was reading in the hotel literature about local places of interest. Did you know there’s a ten-foot-long piece of the Berlin Wall here? And there’s a place called Cosmic Cavern not far away that has two underground lakes? I’d love to see that.” She was babbling, she knew, but for some reason it seemed important to fill the silence with mindless chatter. “The Eureka Springs Botanical Garden sounds beautiful. And there’s even a frog collection, of all things. That might be fun.” Jack had gone back to buttering his croissant and didn’t respond. “Er, speaking of fun, I was reading about a place called Quigley’s Castle with actual trees, birds and fish all inside. It seems Elise Quigley wanted to sleep under big canopies of trees in full bloom, so—”
“That’s nice, Luce,” Jack interrupted. “But it looks like I’m going to be busy today. With restaurant work.” He looked up at her for a second before opening a tiny jar of plum preserves. “I’m only going to have time for a quick bite before I have to go down to the hotel office and collect the work Jane’s faxing me.” He grinned easily. “But you go. Have a good time.”
Her spirits flagged. “By myself?”
He had turned away, but he looked back, his expression questioning. “What?”
She didn’t know why she’d thought they would spend this time in Eureka Springs together. After all, they weren’t really on their honeymoon. And Jack was a busy man. He had gone way above and beyond the call of duty already.
She shook her head, smiling wanly. “Nothing. Sure. I’ll take the walking tour of the city. Did you know that the whole downtown is listed on the National Register of Historic Places in America? It’ll be fun.”
“Did they bring us a newspaper, Luce?” he asked as he spread preserves on his croissant.
She closed her mouth. He wasn’t even listening. He didn’t care about their spending time together. She gritted her teeth. Since he didn’t, why should she? With a sigh, she pivoted and went over to the bed. She plucked up that morning’s USA Today. “Here.” She dropped it in his lap, then slammed out the door.
At two o’clock in the afternoon, Lucy dragged herself back into their room and unceremoniously collapsed on the bed, her head landing at the bottom and her feet plopping onto the spread over her pillow.
Jack was lounging on his side of the bed, reading through some business papers. He looked up as she threw herself down next to him.
“I’m dead,” she moaned. “No wonder they call this town America’s Little Switzerland. It’s up and down, up and down. I feel like I’ve climbed the Alps.”
She heard Jack chuckle. “Not enough time on the stair-stepper machine, huh?”
She swung her head around to look at him, or rather his feet. She scowled at them. Bare—and pretty darned cute for feel “Well, at least I got some exercise.” She shifted to look at his face. He was grinning at her. “You’ll turn to flab, buddy, if you don’t get off your—your—whatever from time to time.” Mentally, she was facing the fact that it would take years for his well-toned body to show any signs of disuse, but she slapped the thought away, rushing on. “You can’t work all the time, you know.”
She couldn’t figure out why she was snapping at him. After all, there had been nothing in their honeymoon agreement that dictated he had to keep her company. She was being childish. But even though she scowled at him like a reproachful schoolteacher, Jack didn’t appear particularly chastised.
With a groan, she turned away, muttering, “My feet are killing me.”
“Want me to rub them?”
She shifted back, eyeing him quizzically. “What?”
He shrugged. “Rub them.” He cocked his head toward her feet. “I wouldn’t mind. As a matter of fact, I’m a closet foot fetishist.”
She drew herself up on an elbow to eye him better. “Very cute.” She turned on her side to face him.
“No, really. Feet drive me wild.” He wagged his brows. “Want to see?”
“Yeah, right.” She lay back down on her stomach, dismissing the idea. “Okay, have a party, pervert. Rub away.”
She gasped when she felt her tennis shoes being tugged off. Rolling to her side again, she gave him a dark look. “Jack, what do you think you’re doing?”
He held one of her shoes. With a wink, he dropped it to the floor. “Gettin’ hot” A second later, her other shoe thudded to the floor. “Hand me your feet.”
She frowned at him, but she knew her expression held more amusement than concern. “I will not.”
His teeth flashed in a wicked grin. “I like feet that play hard to get.”
She couldn’t suppress a giggle. “Freak.”
“Foot freak,” he amended, grabbing one of her feet and tugging off her sock. “Ah, the naked beauty of it all.”
He gripped her ankle with one hand and ran a finger along her instep with the other, his expression as admiring as if her aching appendage were a rare orchid. “Jack, if you stick my toes in your mouth, I’ll scream.”
He slanted a laughing gaze her way. “I love a dare.” With that, he bent to take her big toe between his lips, teasing with his teeth.
She squealed and pulled away, but he clutched her ankle too securely for her to break the hold. “Jack,” she cried, more laughter in the warning than anger, “you’re sick!”
He ran his teeth along her toe again, then closed his lips over it, sucking. She gulped hard at the erotic surge that ran through her. Their gazes collided, and now she could detect more in his eyes than mirth. Something warm and thrilling. As thrilling as the stimulating, teasing touch of his mouth. And his tongue! She would never have believed that such bizarre contact with Jack’s lips could make her feel so—so pleasant. And it wasn’t the sort of pleasant feeling she would expect between two old friends, either.
Flustered, her body went all flushed and shaky. Jack was a friend. A dear friend. The word “love” wasn’t even in her vocabulary. Her heartbeat accelerated, her breathing grew erratic and her throat went dry. She didn’t want to dwell on the clashing emotions roiling around inside her, didn’t want to put form and meaning to them.
Shoving the indistinct fancy to a back shelf in her brain, she managed to wriggle out of his grasp. Springing up to sit, she pulled her feet safely beneath her. “Jack Gallagher, I suggest that you consider therapy,” she cried, her voice breathless and husky at the same time.
He leaned back against the headboard, his expression satisfied. “I’m that good, huh?”
She crossed her arms in a huff, but the twinkle in his eyes short-circuited her exasperation. After a second, they were both grinning at each other.
“I didn’t mean that you should be a foot-sucking therapist,” she corrected, unable to keep laughter out of her voice. “I think you need to see somebody about your problem.”