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

by Erin McCarthy

  “Who was that?” he asked, leaning around her to watch Jack’s retreat.

  She raised her eyebrows. Who was the psychic here? “That was Jack. Tall, Dark, and Touch My Soul.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Yes, it is.” Was he kidding? Jamie stared at him. “The one you saw in the cards. I met him on the subway when I slammed his spaghetti into him.”

  Beckwith pulled his lip back. “That is not the man I saw in the cards. This one’s sexy and all, but he’s not the guy I saw. Your soul mate looked more like Tyler Bond from the rock group The Gris Gris. You know, with the tattoos? Sings that song about not being able to satisfy lust. Anyhoo, that’s what your man looks like. I’ve never seen that guy”—he pointed down the hall at Jack—“in my life.”

  “Are you serious?” Jamie felt the blood drain from her face.

  “Totally.” Beckwith twisted the back of his platinum hoop earring.

  “But that’s the guy I slept with.” She stuck her thumb out and jerked it in Jack’s direction. And that was the guy she’d fallen in love with.

  “Well, why in the name of Liberace would you do that?” he asked, astonished. “Clearly you are not ready for love if you meet the man of your dreams, then sleep around on him.”

  Jamie laughed so loud she actually produced a snort.

  Chapter 20

  Jack kissed his sister good-bye. Saw Pops into Steve’s SUV. Grabbed an uncorked bottle of champagne from a passing waiter.

  Then went in search of Jamie.

  Once he found her, he was going to rip that bridesmaid’s dress off and crumple the hell out of it when it dropped on the floor and he stepped on it. He was going to tear into Jamie’s hair and let all those straining curls loose. He was going to put his lips on every sweet, soft spot on her body.

  But first he had to find her.

  “You seen Jamie?” he asked Allison, who was lined up at the bar doing shots with Finn.

  “She’s talking to your mom over by the door.”

  Oh, great. He was tempted to ask Allison to go get her for him, but then he squared his shoulders and thought the hell with it. He was thirty years old, and his mother was already acting like a child. He shouldn’t do the same.

  “Thanks.” He started to walk away, but Allison grabbed his sleeve.

  She looked up at him with dark—heading toward drunk—eyes. Allison always looked as if she could be strutting down the catwalk, exotic and confident. Jack was comfortable with her, because they both mutually understood they liked each other as people, but weren’t in any way attracted to each other.

  “Jonathon…be careful with her. Jamie’s always taking care of everyone else, but sometimes she needs someone to take care of her, too, you know what I mean?” Allison jerked on his sleeve so his wrist swung back and forth. “Jamie’s, like, gold and the rest of us are copper.” As Jack blinked, she started laughing. “God, that was a really sucky metaphor. I’m drunk, aren’t I?”

  “I think so, darling,” Finn said cheerfully, and tossed back another shot.

  “Well, don’t think you’re going to be able to take advantage of that.”

  “I’d never dream of it.”

  Jack disengaged his sleeve from Allison’s damp grip. “Why don’t you head home, Allison, and call it a night? And I know what Jamie’s worth. I really do.”

  She was a grade A bond. A hot commodity. A blue chip company. The real deal.

  “Oh, that’s so sweet. Look at his face, Finn. You really like her, don’t you?” Allison patted his cheeks. “You should tell her how you feel.”

  “I’m trying to, but you won’t let me go.”

  She let out a laugh. “Good point, lover boy. Fine, go, leave us.”

  So he did. With a wave and a deep breath when he saw Jamie was still chatting with his mother. But he put on a smile and went up to them. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’d like to offer Jamie a ride home.”

  Jamie bit her lip. “Well, uh, that’s very considerate of you, Jack—”

  His mother interrupted. “I thought you were taking your grandfather back to the nursing home.”

  “Steve did.” Took Pops back to Jack’s place, that is. But now wasn’t the time to confess he’d moved Pops out of the nursing home, or go into detail describing how Pops was still getting his daily physical and occupational therapy, that the apartment was handicap accessible for the wheelchair, and that he had a call button if he needed emergency assistance at any time when his nurse wasn’t doing her daily check-in.

  No, he wasn’t about to get into that, not with Jamie standing there and Caroline and Brad still in the room. And he also didn’t want to mention that he had made arrangements with Steve for him to spend the night at Jack’s apartment with Austin and Pops. Or tell Jamie that he had booked a hotel room five minutes after she had agreed to spend the night with him, since he’d thought having a wild love fest with an old man and a teenager in the next room might be a little tacky.

  “Oh, wonderful. It will be a miracle if they arrive at the nursing home alive. Steve thinks the speed limit is just a suggestion. He offered us a ride back home tonight and of course I refused.”

  “You’re spending the night in the hotel?” Jack asked, horrified. That was something of a mood killer to know his mother was staying in the same building.

  “Of course. I can’t even imagine driving back to Darien tonight. It always feels like I’m riding on I-95 for hours even though it’s only thirty miles, and I’m too exhausted tonight. I wish your sister would have gotten married at the club at home, but no, she had to have a Saturday wedding in Manhattan.” His mother laughed. “Our portfolio will never recover.”

  Ha ha. Jack felt like grimacing. He was suddenly so tired of it all. The money, the games, the ever present push and shove of grasping people onto this financial ladder, that social stool. Don’t ever turn your back, Jack-o.

  He just wanted to rest.

  So he gave her a kiss on the cheek. “It was a wonderful wedding, Mom.”

  “It did turn out, didn’t it?” His mother sighed, a tired, satisfied smile on her face. “Now where are you going with that champagne? Are you into drinking alone these days?”

  Jack didn’t dare say a word. He just waited. It didn’t take her long. His mother looked at him. At Jamie, who was studying the floor.

  “Oooohhhh, well, I see. Sorry, it’s been a long day. I’m not usually so slow.” His mother shook her head, her short hair immovable. “Have a good night, Jamie.”

  “Good night, Mrs. Davidson.” Jamie managed to lift her head long enough to give a shaky smile.

  But his mother was already gone.

  “I’m so embarrassed.” Jamie covered her face. “Your mother thinks I’m a hussy.”

  “No one thinks you’re a hussy, Jamie Lynn.” He was tired, and he was aching, and he wanted nothing more in the world than to just lie down next to her. “But I’ll drive you home if that’s what you want.”

  Her hands fell away. “What’s the matter, Jack?”

  “Nothing. Nothing.” He brushed her cheek with a fingertip. “I’m just worn out.”

  It was an out, if she wanted to take it. She could show concern for him, suggest they spend the night together another time. As much as he wanted her, he didn’t want to coax or suggest or seduce tonight after all.

  He’d offered her his entire fortune, and she hadn’t said one word about it.

  But she said, “I don’t want you to take me to my place. I want to go home with you. I want you to tear this dumb dress off me.”

  Now that perked him right up. In more ways than one.

  “Then let’s go upstairs.”

  “Upstairs?”

  “I got us a room about an hour ago.”

  Her head tilted. “Confident, weren’t you?”

  “Just hopeful.”

  Jamie was hopeful, too, as she followed Jack into his hotel room. Something about hearing Beckwith say Jack wasn’t in the cards for her had shifted a
huge burden off her shoulders.

  Destiny was for her to determine.

  She couldn’t live in fear of a man leaving her, like her father had. She couldn’t live anticipating that her future was there for her, set out on an unalterable course.

  The future was whatever she wanted it to be.

  Jack took off his tux jacket, tossed it on the back of a chair, and turned to her. “Do you think you could ever love me, Jamie? Even…just a little bit?”

  Oh, there was an understatement.

  His shirt was stark white against the dark paneling of the wall behind him, and in his fears, in his love for her, he was vulnerable, this strong, intelligent man with a smart mouth and a smarter mind.

  “Oh, yes, I could.” Already did. “That’s why I told you I couldn’t see you anymore. I knew I would fall in love with you. Knew that I could the very first night I met you.”

  She didn’t need Beckwith’s predictions to tell her what now seemed so obvious. She and Jack. It was meant to happen, just like this.

  “Then when I saw what you did for your grandfather and for Austin…yes, I knew I could love you.”

  “Will you? Love me?” Jack undid the buttons on his shirt, one at a time, eyes locked with hers in the dark room.

  It came to her that this was one of the most momentous moments of her life. Jack was The One. And she was about to tell him.

  Everything was sharp and hot, frozen yet hurtling forward, and her heart galloped wildly.

  “Once I love someone, I can’t stop. It sticks.” He had to see that if she let it go, let it out of its confinement, it could never be stuffed back in.

  Jack yanked off his shirt. “I don’t deserve you. But I want you. I’m burning with love for you, Jamie, and I want some back.”

  Hovering in front of the closet, she felt moisture in her eyes and blinked hard. Throwing her clutch in the direction of the chair, she moistened her lips.

  “You have it. I love you.”

  Ho, boy, no turning back now.

  He grinned. “What’s that? I’m not sure I heard you.”

  “I love you, Jack.”

  “I really like the sound of that.” He tossed his shirt toward the chair. “Would it embarrass you if I made like Tom Cruise and bounced on a chair and pumped my fists? Because I’m really tempted.”

  That made her laugh. “I have a better idea.” Reaching behind her, Jamie unzipped the top of her dress. Pulled the pins out of her hair and shook it loose, massaging her sore scalp.

  “I’m all…ears.” Jack unhooked his belt.

  Jamie walked seductively—well, her attempt anyway—and sashayed right past Jack, dodging his reach. She darted into the bathroom with a giggle, hoping to solve her problem quickly so they could explore her idea.

  “Where are you going, you cruel, cruel woman?” He followed her, crowding into the tiny bathroom right behind her.

  Jamie flipped on the light and stared at her reflection in the mirror. The dress was definitely covering her chest adequately. The tape had done its job. Which was a problem. “I can’t get this dress off—the tape is stuck to my skin. I need the light to see how to torture myself.” She gave a few preliminary tugs and found it stuck tight. This was going to hurt.

  “I’ll help.”

  “No!” Jamie peeled the top half inch back and took a gander down her dress. Her skin was beet red at the edges of the tape. “I have very sensitive skin, and I’m probably going to look really weird and whimper when I pull it off.”

  “Come on, I’ll hold your hand. Or better yet, you close your eyes and I’ll get it off.”

  Jamie gave another tentative pull. Oww. Lily white, paper-thin skin did not appreciate double-sided tape on it. Not to mention that her nipples had never suffered such abuse. Gritting her teeth, she tried again and only succeeded in bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “Ow, ow, ow, dang it. I’m trapped in this dress.”

  “You could get in the shower. The water will loosen it up.” Jack put his hands on her waist and looked over her shoulder and on down her bodice.

  “That would ruin the dress.”

  “Are you ever going to wear this dress again?” he asked doubtfully.

  “Maybe.” Probably not. But it seemed so wasteful to just willfully sacrifice it.

  “Then close your eyes. I’ll pull it off. Like a Band–Aid. Just one quick jerk.”

  That sounded about as fun as Chinese water torture. But she didn’t have a whole lot of options. She couldn’t go to work on Monday wearing a bridesmaid’s dress. She’d look like she was making a push for a prison prom.

  “Okay, go for it.” She screwed her eyes shut, spots dancing behind her eyelids.

  She felt Jack peel the back of her dress down and stretch it forward a little to give him more room. Then his one hand held her skin, the other her dress, and he yanked.

  “Yowww, holy crap!” she screamed as searing, burning pain ripped through her. Before she could even recover, the pain was doubled when he moved to the other breast and repeated the process.

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he said, blowing on her stinging skin.

  Jamie forced her watering eyes open and sucked in a huge breath. “Oh, my, the room is spinning. Do I have any skin left? Are my nipples gone?”

  Because she certainly couldn’t feel them.

  “Let me check.” Jack’s mouth closed over her, flicking his tongue across her stinging flesh, cooling it.

  He gently kissed her nipple and her eyes rolled back in her head—and not from pain this time.

  Yep. Still there.

  And doing a cheer.

  Jack felt such profound sympathy for the pain Jamie and her breasts were in that he decided to give her an orgasm to distract her. Free of charge.

  God, she loved him. It was an amazing sensation of wonder and excitement that was zinging through him, filling him with restless energy and overwhelming pleasure. It was unbelievable how whole that made him feel, how strong, how generous.

  He wanted to give her the world. But he’d start with an orgasm.

  The way Jamie responded so quickly to him just from a flick of his tongue made him hard. He liked that she didn’t have that preoccupation with pacing and appearances and neatness that some women did. Jamie didn’t look in the mirror to see if her body was displayed in the most flattering way, and she didn’t temper the sound of her moans.

  So when he sucked her nipple, Jamie didn’t give him one of those lazy, you might be on the right track if you work really hard, kinds of sighs, but a nice, drawn-out, guttural groan.

  Her body had tightened against his, tensed.

  “Feel better?”

  “Much better.” She gripped his shoulders and shook her hair back off her face. “I’d be even better if you took my dress all the way off.”

  He could do that. “Good idea.”

  It was pooled around her waist, and it was easy enough to shove and tug until it went past her hips and dropped to the floor. She stepped out of it, and Jack kicked it into the shower.

  “Jack! That’s an expensive dress.”

  “There’s no room in here. This bathroom is the size of a mailbox. I need space.” He had meant to get on his knees and go down on her, but Jamie seemed to interpret it as claustrophobia.

  Her face softened with compassion. “Oh, sweetie, are you claustrophobic? Let’s go in the other room. It’s too stuffy in here.”

  It wasn’t bothering him at all, and he wasn’t some wimp who couldn’t handle a hotel bathroom. On the other hand, there was something to be said for having such a compassionate woman as his lover. And he hadn’t been called sweetie since he was four. He kind of liked it.

  “No, we’re fine here. I’ll be okay if I just kneel down.” Jack held on to Jamie’s waist and dropped down.

  “Are you sure? It will just take two seconds to move to the bedroom…you don’t have to be brave for me—oh, my!”

  Jack rolled down her panties and kissed her. A nice, long French
kiss. Between her thighs.

  “I’m fine,” he murmured, shifting her legs farther apart with a nudge. “Very fine.”

  “Alright then,” she said with a breathless squeak.

  Jack pulled back an inch and studied Jamie. Her head had dropped back, her hands reaching out for the towel rack, the counter. Her stomach rose and fell anxiously. Shifting on his knees to a more comfortable position, Jack spread her with his thumbs and swallowed hard. The ripeness of her body, the curve of her thighs, her breasts, her backside. The way she was gleaming moist for him sent blood rushing south, his mouth hot and dry.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking at you.” And getting really turned on. Wow, he could really learn to appreciate her body. She was a work of art. Worth ten million and then some.

  Shifting one finger, he dipped it inside her. Jamie gave a startled cry. Jack stroked her long and deep, then pulled back. She sagged forward, her thighs bumping his shoulders.

  He put his finger in his mouth. Sucked. Tasted Jamie’s musky desire. Heard her gasp.

  Then pushed deep inside her again, mixing the slickness of his saliva on his finger with the hot smoothness of her core, enjoying the way she jerked reflexively.

  “Oh, it’s cool from your mouth…it feels different.”

  He could tell she liked it, could hear the growing excitement in her voice, the relaxing of her body down onto his finger, her thighs trembling. But he wanted to hear it. “Is that bad or good?” he asked as he stroked in and out, avoiding her swollen clitoris.

  “Good…very good.”

  So Jack pulled out and licked his finger again. Slid it back into her while she moaned, wiggled, tossed her head side to side. He did it again, and again, until his lips were slick and his finger slippery, until Jamie was whimpering and begging and knocking forward onto him.

  Until he was so hard he was in pain, and his head swam, eyes narrowly focused on Jamie, on the pink prettiness of her body, the intimacy of what they were doing, what they shared.