She sent him a curious glance. “I hope you’re getting your rent’s worth.”
His lips twisted as the doors opened. She stepped out after him into a tiny box of a hallway with two steel doors and an open stairwell. Jack saw her gaze and pointed. “Stairs go up to the roof, which is a nice place to watch the fireworks.” The door next to the stairs had the ubiquitous “EXIT” sign lit up in case of fire, even though she’d seen an outside fire escape snaking up the side of the building.
The last door, he unlocked. She didn’t miss the tension in his knuckles, or the way he closed his eyes and set his features as he pushed the door open.
She didn’t know what he had to be tense about, because the dark, echoing space lit only by the windows became an urban wonderland when he flipped on the lights. She thwacked him half-heartedly on the arm. “Here you are making out like you live in a cardboard box on 4th street. Look at this place!”
The loft apartment spread out before her looked like something out of a magazine. She knew Jack had style—he wasn’t EvoWorld’s Art Director because he relied on Wal-Mart to color-coordinate pixels—but it was plain to see that Jack’s time before and after EvoWorld as an architect hadn’t left him unscathed, no matter what he was doing now.
Tiny, brilliant halogen spots shone down from criss-crossed wires at ceiling height, defining the space as intimate and cozy over the workstation to the left of the door. Jack’s computer lurked under a pretty typical avalanche of paperwork, but it was the only messy space in the apartment. The living room space was defined by tall, narrow freestanding bookcases stained ebony, flanking a heathery plum sectional resting on a luxe-looking shag area rug in silvery gray. The floor was all concrete, but stained graphite and glossed to a high shine. The entertainment center even hid the wires of all the equipment and the controllers of the gaming consoles.
She looked to the right. “I’ve already decided to envy your kitchen just for that island.” The stainless steel-topped island gleamed in the light from the spots. In spite of the industrial drafting stools tucked under the breakfast bar section, the place looked like a home. Granted, it was the home of a man with no feminine influences, but it still looked like a home.
The area beyond the entertainment center stretched into shadows until Jack flipped another switch. Behind the TV, a wrought iron spiral staircase led up to the apartment’s best feature yet. “You have a Loft!”
And boy, did he ever! She hadn’t noticed, but the balcony stretched over a full third of the apartment space, a good twelve feet up. He’d stopped the wall paint about nine feet up and left the rest matte black, so it looked like negative space, but the upper area capped off the space above the TV and bent in an L-shape along part of the front, and beyond the far wall, almost until it met the slope of the windows. She spotted a door in the wall below—probably the bathroom, tucked underneath the loft. A railing with thin horizontal wires stretched around the balcony for safety and space definition. Up there, in the shadows, probably a hundred sheets of paper, suspended from the ceiling somehow, fluttered in the breezes from the ventilation system like peculiar, rectangular leaves on a tree. “What is it?”
“It’s kind of a kinetic sculpture. I worked on it while Mom was in hospice. I haven’t finished yet.”
She tore her eyes away from the feature and saw Jack trying to keep the pride off his face. “I’m officially green with envy. I hate you so much right now. How much do you pay for this? No, don’t answer, I don’t think I want to know.” She sighed. “Do you sleep up there?”
He motioned to the wall opposite the door, where the windows stretched up, letting the city light spill in across a series of shallow shelves holding books, and a mixed-media tri-fold screen. “The bookcases are a wardrobe and bureau on the other side. There’s just enough room for my bed. On a clear night, I sort of sleep under the stars.”
“Yep. I officially hate you so hard.”
He dropped the keys on the counter next to the sink. “Would you hate me less if you joined me?”
She flicked a nervous tongue over her bottom lip. He stepped up next to her, his eyes darkening. His hands came up to cup her face and she leaned into the kiss, savoring the taste of cedar and wintergreen. The gentle collide flared new hunger in her belly. She worked her hands under his jacket, feeling the play of his back muscles as his fingers found the zipper of her ruined dress and tugged downward. Heat broke out along her bare skin in anticipation of the contact of his cold fingers. She shimmied and the dress loosened from the moorings of her shoulders and slid down her arms, leaving her in nothing but the minty lace of her bra and panties, with a pool of periwinkle froth around her feet.
Jack’s hands rested on the counter on either side of her. He broke away from her mouth and glanced down. A soft groan escaped his lips as he shrugged out of his jacket and flung it to the side. The snap of buttons hitting the floor echoed in the loft, silence punctuated only by their breathing.
Lightning-hot streaks of desire zinged through her, right to the very places she was already feeling heady warmth. So when he lifted her up and set her on the counter, the only sounds she made were those of delight at the touch of his lips against her throat. Ripples of need spiraled out as she tilted her head back, staring up into the blackened rafters beyond the bright halogen spots. Her fingers curled into the thin cotton of his shirt, up under the soft cashmere of the scarf he hadn’t yet discarded, to find the buttons and wedge them loose.
Her bra strap slid down her arm, nudged by his nose as his tongue found the aching tip of her breast. Spots danced in blues and greens against her eyes as she blinked them closed, then open again as the chill sensation crossed to her other breast and the air swirled around his fingers as they found the clasp of her bra. Jack wasn’t kidding when he whispered that he wanted to taste her and he pushed her gently until her bare back touched the stainless steel countertop. “I feel like I should have a garnish, for the main course.”
His eyes smoldered with pale blue heat. “Just perfect. Just like this.” Her body flushed with heat as his gaze traveled downward. “Except right there.” He flicked his hands against the lace edges of her panties. Heat flowed syrupy through her legs and between them, following the glide of his fingers as they traced up the edge of the elastic to the sides, where he hooked his thumbs and tugged downward, exposing her fully.
She should have felt shy about being so—so laid out, especially on his kitchen counter. She tried, but failed to summon even a shred of modesty. Instead, she pushed up on her elbows and met his gaze boldly. “I thought you wanted to taste.”
He swallowed visibly. “More than anything.” He took her by surprise then, when he sprung up on the counter on one knee in a move that was much more agile than she believed anyone his size could be capable of. One second he stood between her legs and the next, he loomed over her much like a cat that decided your head would make a great pillow, his nose not even an inch from hers. She tilted her chin and met his lips with her own, drinking him in again. His knees rested on either side of her hips and his hands were under her shoulders. As he swept his tongue through her mouth he edged her back further on the counter and shifted, resting one knee in between her legs. He shifted again and she felt his hand at her juncture, punctuating the stabs of his tongue with strokes of his fingers that spun her up from liquid desire to incandescent need in seconds.
She breathed in time with him, her hips undulating to his touch. He soothed her heated, swollen flesh with cool strokes of his fingers. The play of his lips over hers turned from playful to serious and back again to a teasing lightness just before he left her mouth to follow a trail to the shell of her ear and the spot on her neck that sent shivers through her to twist the knot in her midsection deliciously tighter as his fingers moved deeper.
She was losing breath, the ability to think. Spots danced in front of her eyes, afterimages from the halogen lights above in brilliant greens and purples as the tension crested in her body. She gasped as he
twisted his fingers and the spots doubled into matched pairs and she sighed his name on a wash of liquid release.
She lifted her head to find him watching her, his pupils dilated into deep dark pools ringed by brilliant blue. He licked his lips. “I want to see that again.”
She found enough air to laugh weakly. “No arguments from me.” She shifted and the hard countertop reminded her it wasn’t meant to give under pressure. “But maybe…someplace softer?”
He blinked. “Oh. Right.”
She chuckled again. “Your knees have to be screaming.”
His lips quirked up. “Honestly? I can’t really feel my legs. All the blood’s gone somewhere else right now.”
She laughed outright this time. “Then help me up so we can gimp our way into the bedroom.” Her elbow popped as she leaned back and stared once again into the rafters. Two spots still blurred the darkness on the backs of her eyelids. No, wait—her eyes were open.
Beneath the twin spots, a mouth appeared, and stretched into a tiny, toothy grin.
~*~
He’d give anything to see that naked bliss on her face again, and he had every intention of sharing it the next time. But between one second and the next, when her head tipped back, her entire body tensed and a half-breathed gasp squeezed her lungs empty.
Jack whipped his head around to follow her gaze and spotted it right away. The Chillsprite scuttled along the matte-black exposed ductwork, its bark-brown body nearly invisible in the shadows, but not the pale blue orbs of its eyes. Or the shit-eating grin it wore. Fuuuuuuck! He hissed, low in his throat.
“Jack.” Beneath him, she struggled to sit up, trying to close her legs, but he was in the way, crouched between her legs and snarling up at the ceiling like a mongrel dog.
He glared at the Chillsprite. “Get. Out.” A whispering, brittle laugh, like a spattering of sleet against window glass, followed the creature out of existence.
Lin scuttled back on the countertop, eyes wide with fear. A stab in his gut deflated him. There was no way she hadn’t seen the little beast up there and now— He groaned. “I’m sorry. I’ve never had anyone over. I had no idea they were such little perverts.”
“What was that?” She asked the question in a faint whisper. One hand shifted to cover her bare breasts and he felt cold seep deep into his bones.
He sighed. “If I said ‘nothing’ would you believe me?”
She narrowed her eyes. “What do you think?”
Unbridled honesty moved his tongue. Bitter defeat bent his knees, which creaked as he lowered himself to the floor, painfully aware of the raging tightness in his crotch. “I think you’re ready for that freak-out.” He knelt in front of her—bad idea, because that put his face in the right place for the wrong reason. He sighed as he picked up her crumpled dress, a confection of satin and glittery netting.
Her fingers in his hair stopped him. She pushed his head back until he stared up at her. The fear abandoned her features. “Is it dangerous?”
The way she stared down at him, eyes piercing and dark, like some naked warrior queen gracing his kitchen, made him tingle in ways he hadn’t since his nerdy teenage days…and he liked it.
But this wasn’t fantasy. He shot a glare up to the ceiling. Fantasy would have bugged out of his house when he brought a woman home. He rose, albeit reluctantly. “No.” But a very real frisson of fear skittered down his spine. The Scarecrow’s warning crackled in his ears. And on the heels of the fear came the anger. “I would never let anything hurt you.” He finished the sentence on a growl, a thin curl of fog ghosting from his lips.
Her eyes flicked down to his mouth and back up again to hold his gaze for a long moment. “I believe you,” she finally said, taking her dress from his hands. “I’m on the Pill, and I’m clean. Is there anything I need to know?”
He swallowed. “Only that you’re the most amazing creature in the universe.”
Her lips curved up. “I guess you have some experience with that?”
He glanced down at her body. “Not in that way, no. There’s been no one since even before Nan and I split.” He spread his hands on the countertop to steady himself and tried not to think about those first months of stark raving terror when he was afraid that anything he touched would turn to ice, like some demented, much less valuable King Midas’s curse. “This won’t take long.”
She walked away from the counter, towards the door leading to the bathroom. Her teeth flashed as she glanced over her shoulder, just as dangerous as the ones that flashed in the darkness of the rafters—no, possibly more dangerous. She flung the dress over the back of the couch. “Then you’re lucky I’m up for more than one round.”
~*~
His heart slammed against his ribcage. He prayed he wouldn’t have to be carted out in an ambulance as he kicked his shoes off towards the door. He darted into the sleeping area in a mad rush, shrugging out of his shirt and undershirt, shucking his pants. In a mad genius stroke of luck, he actually wanted to thank the chillsprite that cut his hair this morning for making him clean the bedroom.
He turned down the comforter as he heard the door open and her light steps coming towards the screen. He opened the bedside table drawer and was about to check inside when she rounded the corner.
“Hi.”
He’d already seen her naked. It didn’t matter. He stood up—and he stood up—and took a step towards her. Her glance traveled down his body and returned to his illuminated with a stark desire.
He shouldn’t have been self-conscious about his body, and he wouldn’t have been, if he weren’t keenly aware of his physiological quirks. Without the extra layers of insulation, his ability to rationalize away the differences in his physiology evaporated like dry ice.
She compounded things when she stepped into his arms and pressed her soft breasts against his chest. He groaned. She caught her breath. “You’re cold all over, aren’t you?”
Already raging hard as an ice-pick, he very nearly lost it at the thread of amused intrigue in her tone. Still, he found the strength to make a weak pun. “Have I told you you’re hot enough for both of us?”
Her face lit up in a grin. She ran her hands up his biceps, trailed her fingers around his shoulders, skritched her nails through the patch on his chest. Jack’s skin prickled with the sensation of her touch, his pulse leapt.
She pushed back, hard. He fell backwards onto the bed and she fell on top of him. “That,” she said, straddling him, “was awful.”
Fire curled in his belly, especially when she grabbed his hands and pinned them above his head, her grin turning sly and wicked. “I think someone’s just asking for punishment.”
“Oh, god. Yes please.” The words came out in a half-groan, half-laugh. She lowered her mouth to his and he tried his hardest not to devour her.
His body had other ideas, though, because it certainly wasn’t his brain that flipped her around on her back and turned the tables. “Now who’s the one who needs punished?”
“Shut up and do me, Winters.” Her nails dug into his hips as she pushed the boxer-briefs down his legs.
No need to ask twice. He lowered his head, tasting a trail over her skin to first one breast, then the other. The light scent of her perfume, along with the deeper scents of woodsmoke and woman pounded in his head. Her hot skin burned his lips and she shivered. He lifted his head. “Hey?”
She gazed down at him. “Huh?”
“You okay?” He wouldn’t trade the world for her limbs wrapped around him, but he had to keep at least one wit about him. “You’re not too cold?”
She smiled. “God, no. I’ve been hot all night. It’s kind of nice to cool down.”
“We sort of fit together, don’t we?” The instant he said the words, he wished he could take them back. Too soon, too soon. Too soon for him, too soon for her, too.
She opened her legs wider, putting him into devastating contact with her very center. “That’s the idea.” Whether or not she chose to misunderstand something
he wasn’t quite sure of himself would have to remain a mystery—the rest of his brain cells vacated the premises.
She tilted her hips in invitation. He scrabbled for the nightstand drawer, for too long the Drawer of Wishful Thinking, and found a foil packet, faithfully and hopefully replenished every few months even as its older contents rotated out unused.
His other hand was trapped beneath her body, so he resorted to teeth.
“Here, let me.” She took the packet from him and tore it the rest of the way open behind his head. He didn’t think tearing open a condom packet could be such a sensual sound. Maybe it was the way her eyes held his as she reached down and found him with one hot hand.
He groaned again, thrusting involuntarily, hoping he didn’t embarrass himself in front of this incredible creature. She lifted her head for a kiss as her fingertips danced over him, rolled latex down his length—
And broke it.
“Fuck!” She sighed. “I’m sorry.”
His laugh was more of a gasp. “Don’t apologize for that. I’ve got plenty.”
This time she reached into the drawer. She moved faster, the sensuality abandoned in favor of efficiency. But when that one broke as well, her brow furrowed. “A bad lot, maybe?”
Or maybe I’m cursed. His heart was slamming against his ribcage at her gentle touches. “They’re fresh, and the good kind.” Much more of this, and he wouldn’t need the condom.
She brought up the ruined mess. “Something’s not right.” She bent her fingers and the latex ring of the still half-rolled condom snapped in two brittle pieces.
This time, his groan was pure desperation. “It’s my body.” He flopped facedown onto the bed. “What happens when you freeze rubber?”
“You’re not that cold.”
He crumpled the shredded condom into brittle flakes. “Apparently, I am.” He gave her a concerned glance. “But if I do this to latex, what would I do to you?” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and dropped his head in his hands, cursing cruel fate to high heaven and back.
WinterJacked: Book One: Rude Awakening Page 9