Unwrapped Bundle with You Don't Know Jack & Bad Boys in Kilts

by Erin McCarthy

  So she wasn’t going to complain. Especially not when his tongue was flicking into her, wrenching desire spiraling all throughout her body, coiling tighter and tighter. She clamped her eyes closed, let the feeling of the cashmere over her shoulders further arouse her sensitive skin, let him push into her over and over while she let go.

  Mind empty, body straining, Jamie embraced an orgasm, reaching out to grab on to something. She clutched the blanket, wrapped it around her fingers as she arched up into Jack’s touch, waves of pleasure washing over her. In the dark, hidden, she let herself call out as loudly as she wanted, and luxuriated in the way he held on to her, wouldn’t release his hold on her long after she’d stopped shuddering.

  “You can stop,” she whispered, her leg twitching as she settled back onto the couch. “You can let go.”

  The blanket was jerked out of her hands, off her face, by Jack, even as he continued to press kisses on her clitoris. She blinked in the sudden bright light, then looked down at him, still kneeling, short caramel-colored hair bent over her.

  His kisses were moving north, and he plucked lazily at her nipples. His gaze rolled over her, before he gave a little smile that was part smirk.

  “You know, I don’t really want to let go. Ever.”

  Well, then.

  He must have read her mind. Because while giving him an out seemed like the polite thing to do, she didn’t really want him to let go either. Ever.

  Chapter 8

  At what had to be right smack in the middle of Saturday afternoon, Jamie stared at the ceiling above Jack’s bed, tired but wide awake, and sighed with contentment.

  Wow. Double wow with a cherry on top.

  Never in her life had she imagined sex could be so hot. She wasn’t feeling like anybody’s mother after all of that.

  Jack had been the most incredible, thoughtful, sexy lover she could have imagined. And the things they had done.

  Who knew they were possible? She was pretty sure they had invented a new position or two during the course of their bedroom adventures.

  She had the satisfied ache between her thighs to prove it.

  He had called her beautiful.

  The sun was pouring through the window and dancing across her face. There was no way she could fall back asleep. Her mind was whirring a million miles a minute.

  Jack was on his stomach, mouth open, his arm thrown across her chest protectively. She couldn’t resist stroking his hair just a little, curling a strand around her finger as she studied his smooth back.

  She wanted to wake him up, but he looked so tired, so deep in sleep, that she knew she couldn’t do it. They’d been up for more than twenty-four hours, and had expended quite a bit of energy before they’d finally collapsed in sleep around noon. Maybe she should just leave him in bed and take a shower or fix some coffee.

  With that in mind, Jamie slid out from under his arm, pulled Jack’s shirt off the floor, and slipped it on.

  Checking to make sure he wasn’t awake to catch her being a fool, she buried her head in the collar and breathed deeply. It smelled like him. Woodsy and masculine.

  In the strong summer daylight, she looked around as she walked down the hall to the kitchen, intent on starting some coffee.

  It was a big apartment, filled with expensive, though haphazard furniture. It had the feel of a man, with lots of electronic toys and little in the way of color. She wondered what it would look like if it were Jack’s apartment. A lot homier than this, she imagined.

  Lack of color worried her. It was like a metaphor for an empty life. Her own side of her room was stuffed with flea market finds like lava lamps, throw rugs, and fuzzy daisy wall hangings. The dominant colors were purple and orange.

  Allison gave her a hard time about it, since she leaned toward the beige family in her decorating, but Jamie liked warm, happy colors with soft fabric.

  The kitchen in the apartment didn’t look like it was used very often. After poking around, she found the coffee, and the French press coffeemaker. It took her a minute to figure it out, and while the water was boiling she wandered into the living room. Even though she’d spent some time in there on the couch, she hadn’t been looking at anything but the cashmere blanket and the ceiling. Now she took the room in without distractions.

  There were pictures on the console table behind the sofa. She was a little curious to see who Jack’s friend was who could afford this pricey address.

  It was a pleasant surprise to see Jack in the first picture she picked up. He was with two other guys, one of whom must be the apartment friend. They were on the beach, and Jack looked a few years younger than he did now. Probably college age. He had told her last night he was thirty.

  He even looked cute in an eight-year-old photograph, tanned and windswept, showing off that chest she had explored and licked so thoroughly that morning. Jamie put the picture back and grinned to herself. Yep. She was definitely gone if she was cooing over old photos of him.

  Absently she grabbed the next frame. Then did a double take. Jack was in this picture, too. Only it was Jack and a couple in their fifties, their arms around Jack while he stood in a graduation gown, holding a diploma.

  Wait a flipping minute.

  Why would Jack’s graduation picture be sitting in an apartment that wasn’t his?

  And why did that woman look so familiar?

  Curiosity compelled her to grab the next picture. Only she barely managed to keep from dropping this one on the floor in surprise.

  Bigger than a surprise. More like breath-robbing shock. Jack was in that picture, too.

  But that meant nothing compared to the fact that the woman standing next to him looked way more than familiar.

  It was Caroline, Jamie’s roommate.

  And her arm was slung around Jack and vice versa in a friendly way.

  Jamie gasped and looked back at the graduation photo. No wonder that woman had looked familiar to her. She was Mrs. Davidson, Caroline’s mom, who Jamie had met when they had gone for a fitting for her bridesmaid’s dress for Caroline’s wedding.

  Which meant that Jack must be Caroline’s older brother.

  Oh, my word. Aside from the fact it was a strange coincidence she had met Caroline’s brother by accident on the subway, there was even more shocking news regarding Jack.

  If he was Caroline’s brother, then he was also Jonathon Davidson, who just happened to be a millionaire.

  The filthy rich Wall Street whiz who had retired a year ago. Mrs. Davidson had told her all about him while Jamie had been getting stuck with the seamstress’s pins.

  She dropped the frame in her hand as if it were a bomb.

  Which in a way it was.

  Because if Jack was Jonathon Davidson, then chances were this was his apartment after all.

  Meaning he had lied to her.

  And she had slept with her friend’s brother.

  Who was so completely not her type it was unreal.

  The phone rang, causing her to jump and look toward the bedroom, feeling guilty and embarrassed. Like an idiot. A complete fool. She had fallen for Beckwith’s promise of a perfect man and had flung herself off a cliff without checking to see what was down below.

  Sitting on the console table next to her, the phone continued to ring, and she couldn’t help but notice the caller ID with its little digital clock that read 4:02 P.M. The caller was Hathaway, Stephen.

  It was a name that meant nothing, other than that Hathaway was also the name of the foundation Jonathon worked for, and she couldn’t help but wonder who would be calling Jack on a Saturday afternoon. Friend? Relative? Not that it was any of her business.

  Really. Since she didn’t know any of his business at all. Since he was in fact a total stranger that she had only eaten dinner with, talked to all night, then engaged in multiple sex acts with.

  The built-in answering machine clinked on after the fourth ring, and Jamie cleared her throat. Too bad she didn’t actually drink coffee. She could go into the kit
chen, pour a cup, and pretend not to listen to Jack’s personal call. He may not have any ethics or scruples and could lie about his apartment without guilt or compunction, but she was an honest person.

  Which didn’t explain why she was rooted to the rug like a stubborn weed.

  A man’s voice spoke. “Jonathon, it’s Steve. Why the frick is your cell turned off? Listen, I’ve got to talk to you about that whole Beechwood business. I talked to legal and you can’t sit back on this, you have to call in the feds. So instead of following Caro’s roommate like the bored millionaire loser that you are, you need to tell her what we found. Call me back so I know you’re on this. Ciao.”

  Jamie didn’t know who Steve was, or what Beechwood and the feds had to do with each other, but she did strongly suspect that the gist of that message was that Jack had known she was Jamie Peters, Caroline’s roommate.

  And geez Louise, did that hurt. It was also humiliating.

  Beckwith’s words rang in her ears, loud and clear. A dishonest act will bring you the man of your dreams. She had slept with a complete and total liar. She had allowed herself to be sweet-talked right out of her pants like some dumb girl straight off the farm.

  Embarrassment sent her into the bedroom to retrieve her discarded jeans and pull them on, retreating to the living room without looking at Jack. Jamie was shocked at her own behavior in hindsight.

  Dinner. She’d invited him for dinner, and here she was struggling back into her jeans and bra twenty-four hours later. Knowing her tank top was ruined, she pulled Jack’s black T-shirt back on over her bra and knotted the corner of it so it wasn’t as huge and baggy.

  Her pants were wrinkled to hell and back, and she could only see one sandal. Crawling around frantically on her knees looking for it, Jamie cursed her own stupidity. Coming home with Jack had been one of her less brilliant ideas, and she was just mortified. She had fallen for all of it—the connection, the interest, the caring in his eyes. Maybe Allison was right. She was too trusting. Naïve.

  Dating fixer-upper men had always been her specialty. She had thought Jack was different. And yet here she was searching for discarded clothing and praying he wouldn’t wake up before she got the hell out of there. She didn’t think she could face him. Not after the way she had shared a part of herself, her thoughts, her heart, her soul, with him, and he’d just been looking to get lucky.

  Her sandal was jammed under the couch, and she tugged it out. A quick peek in her wallet confirmed she had forty bucks, which meant she could grab a cab instead of the subway, thank goodness for small favors. Remembering the boiling water, she went into the kitchen and turned it off. Hesitated. Then found herself pouring it into the French press and pushing the plunger down.

  This was what her problem was. She was taking the time to make coffee for a man who had lied to her. God, she needed counseling. Pressing the pot back farther on the counter, she wiped her hands and retreated out of the kitchen.

  On tiptoes, she went back down the hall and took a last peek at Jack.

  Maybe she was overreacting. Yes, there was reason to feel uncomfortable. He had seen her naked. He was now in a fairly exclusive club of Men Who Had Done Her. But that wasn’t a reason to panic. They were adults. She had known what she was doing both the night before and that morning.

  Which didn’t make it any less stupid now.

  But she was a fair person. Maybe he had a good reason for withholding his identity from her. Besides being a jerk, that is.

  Maybe she should wake him up, and they could have a rational discussion about what had happened, who he was, and what his concerns over the funding at Beechwood were.

  Jack rolled over in bed, his mouth closed, breathing silently. He was tangled up in the sheet, and he looked absolutely gorgeous. Sweet.

  The lying rat. Who had such a talented tongue in more ways than one.

  She had to remind herself to hold on to her anger. It wouldn’t be a good thing to start feeling sympathy for him. To start remembering what it had felt like with his you-know-what buried deep inside her…

  Shit, she was caving. Which was not a good thing.

  Wiping her hands on her jeans, she crept into the bedroom and stood in front of Jack’s closet.

  No.

  Jonathon Davidson’s closet.

  Clenching her teeth, she opened it slowly so it wouldn’t creak.

  Casual clothes hung in front of her. Jeans, sweaters, button-up shirts. Relief assailed her. Then she turned a little and peered toward the back of the closet.

  There they were. At least a dozen suits were hanging. Expensive. She checked the label. It meant nothing to her, but it sounded Italian and pretentious.

  Shiny black and brown shoes lined up underneath them, and a tie rack contained an array of silk ties.

  She stumbled back, covering her mouth with her hand, tears stinging her eyes.

  Her worst nightmare.

  She had slept with a Suit.

  And had enjoyed every single luscious minute of it.

  Chapter 9

  Jamie rushed past the doorman as fast as she could in the stupid platform sandals, unable to look the man in the eye. She felt like a bad morning-after cliché—rumpled and regretful.

  She had thought Jack was the kind of man she could spend the rest of her life with. Had wanted to believe so much that he found her sexy and appealing and wanted the same thing.

  It really sucked that she could have been so wrong. That she could have felt that hopeful, that desperate, that ridiculous, when Jack couldn’t possibly be that man. The Jack she had talked to all night and had slept with wasn’t even real. She didn’t know the secrets of Jack’s heart and mind.

  Yet she still very much wanted him to be The One.

  Which wasn’t at all cool.

  Patting her hair down, she dialed on her cell phone and tried not to panic.

  After four rings, Allison said, “Jamie?”

  “Help!” she wailed into the phone.

  So much for not panicking.

  “Are you okay? Where the hell have you been all freaking night? I was about ready to call the cops. I told you it was a bad idea to go out with a total stranger.”

  Knowing Allison was right didn’t make her feel any better. “I’m fine. Don’t call the cops. I’m on my way home.”

  Jamie was walking unnecessarily fast, which was ridiculous because Jack wasn’t going to come flying out of his building and chase down the street after her. She forced herself to slow down. “I need some advice. Things are…complicated.”

  “Uh-oh. That sounds like sex to me. You had sex with him, didn’t you?”

  If closing her eyes wouldn’t result in death by taxi cab, Jamie would have stopped in the middle of the street and done just that. She needed an emergency yoga session. She needed to find her center.

  It seemed to have stayed behind in Jack Davidson’s bed. No one had ever found her center quite so successfully as he had.

  “I did have sex with Jack…who just happens to be Caroline’s brother.”

  “What? Jonathon? The goofy guy Jack you met on the subway is Jonathon? Good-looking, Darien High School class president, financial wizard, millionaire Jonathon? How is that possible?”

  That was the question of the day. “I have no idea. But Jack is Jonathon and I had sex with him by accident.” Jamie winced as she glanced around. Where the hell was she? She never came to this neighborhood. Too professional. Expensive.

  “An accident? How the hell could having sex with him be an accident?”

  Jamie rubbed her temples, the air hot and muggy. “It…” God, she didn’t even have any words to explain herself. “Well…”

  “So, what, the wind blew your clothes off, and then you tripped and fell on his penis?”

  The image was so ludicrous she almost laughed.

  “An accident is something you have no control over, like sneezing when you’re driving and you rear-end someone. Sex isn’t an accident, Jamie, admit it.”

&n
bsp; “You’re right.” Jamie stopped in front of a bagel shop. “I wanted to have sex with Jack. We went to dinner, we got talking and talking, all night, and I thought…it seemed…he was so…it was like it was just so right.” And she had been so wrong.

  Jamie propped the phone on her shoulder and wiped her hands on her shirt. Jack’s shirt. “Oh, dang it. Caro’s going to croak.”

  “Well, you’re not going to tell her, are you?” The horror in Allison’s voice showed her opinion on telling the truth. “It’s not like you’re going to do it again, right?”

  Obviously not, since she’d just turned tail and run. “No, of course not.”

  “Not that it would be a bad thing, I guess. I mean, Jonathon, Caroline’s brother, is much better than Jack, the stranger on the subway. Jonathon has some serious cash, Jams.”

  That’s what she was afraid of.

  “You could do a lot worse. And obviously you were compatible.”

  And then some. But everything was different now, skewed and twisted. “We are not compatible in any way. This is Caroline’s brother, for God’s sake. Mr. Corporate. And I’m Jamie, the social worker, from Kentucky. We might as well be from different planets.”

  “Don’t go quoting that women-are-from-Saturn, men-are-from-Pluto garbage on me.”

  “I don’t think that’s how it went.”

  “Whatever.”

  Jamie rubbed her temples and fought confusion. She didn’t know what she was doing, she just knew what she’d done, which was make an ass out of herself. “I’m not seeing Jack ever again, and I’m certainly not having sex with him.”

  “So then why tell Caroline? What she doesn’t know won’t gross her out.”

  That just wasn’t the way Jamie worked. “But I can’t lie about it. It will become like this huge, burdensome secret, and if it ever eventually came out, then it would be like a thousand times worse because of the lying.”

  “If Caroline finds out in five years that you had sex with her brother once I don’t really think she’s going to give a crap. She’ll be too busy changing diapers by then.”