by Gina Kincade
She cast a look at Jack and mouthed the words thank you before disappearing out the door.
After giving the cook a disgusted look, Jack made his way back to the table. Rosie was gone, the half-eaten chicken wing on her plate a silent rebuke. He’d brought her here. This mess was all his fault. No matter how hard he tried, things always seemed to go that way.
Chapter SIX
Jack’s leather jacket held the faintest whiff of his woodsy cologne. Rosie ran her fingers over the buttery softness of the sleeves as she huddled beneath the overhang of the Mayflower’s roof. Sniffing back tears, she bowed her head and replayed the scene in Hank Masters’s kitchen.
Andy’s tear-streaked face and accusing voice would haunt her forever. Time might lend distance to this day, but that memory would last forever.
“Hey.” Jack’s soft, understanding voice interrupted her self-castigation. “How about we go across the street to my place? I’ve got steaks in the fridge and a bottle of wine I can’t finish on my own.”
“I should go home.” She drew Jack’s leather jacket closer about herself, trying to build a shell between herself and the rest of the world.
“Please?” Jack’s dark eyes beseeched her. A hank of dark hair fell against his cheek. He wore it long, brushing his shoulders. He tied it back during work hours, but now it spilled free. A sudden urge to run her fingers through his crow-black hair stole Rosie’s breath. What was she thinking?
“I’d like to talk,” he said with a wistfully persuasive smile.
“About this?” Tears choked Rosie’s voice. Jesus, she would not cry in front of him right now.
“About anything, but, yes, this. Eventually.”
“Shit.” Rosie gulped down a breath of rain-soaked air. “I guess we should, huh?”
Unbelievable. How was she supposed to talk about this without blurting out everything she could do? And then he’d be just like Louise and think she was a freak. She didn’t want him thinking that about her.
“Get in.” Jack gestured at the Jeep. “I better park in my own driveway.”
Rosie swung herself up into the passenger seat and huddled into his jacket, feeling absurdly comforted by it. Probably short-lived because if she managed to find the guts to tell Jack about her healing powers, she’d never wear it again. Or be his friend. And being his friend was starting to matter a lot.
Jack started the engine and laughed a little beneath his breath. He smacked the steering wheel with the flat of one hand before shifting into Reverse.
“Why did the blonde stare at the orange juice container for hours?” he asked, sneaking her a sly grin, his face illuminated by the headlights.
“Oh, hell. Are you kidding me?” Rosie slid down in her seat and rolled her eyes at the Jeep’s roof.
“It said ‘concentrate’.” Jack backed the Jeep out into the road before pulling a half turn into his driveway.
Despite herself, Rosie burst into laughter. “You suck, Great Eagle.”
He gaped at her for a moment, perhaps taken by surprise at what she’d called him. She suffered a horrible moment of misgiving – thinking she’d crossed some sort of cultural line and had no right to call him by his original family name – before he threw back his head and howled laughter.
Jack lived in the top right unit of a fourplex with ivy-encrusted brick walls and floor-to-ceiling windows. The building had probably started off as a small factory in the late 1800s by the look of it. He preceded her up an outside flight of wrought iron stairs that led to a small landing and a front door painted dark green. After flashing her a smile over his shoulder, he unlocked the door and ushered her in.
“Still not quite decorated yet. I did manage to unpack all but four boxes.” He sounded both apologetic and amused. Did he actually care what she thought of his place? Wow.
A comfortable-looking sofa covered in turquoise, coral, and black Southwestern-inspired colors dominated the living room. A flat screen TV hung above a fireplace. A glass-topped coffee table in front of the sofa held a sketch pad, a used coffee mug, and scattered colored pencils.
“You draw?” She wanted to move closer to examine the sketch book, but was afraid he might not want her to do that.
“I screw around,” he said, heading for the entertainment center next to the fireplace. “Landscapes mostly. Check ’em out if you want. Prepare to be underwhelmed.”
He stuck his smart phone into a stand and fiddled around until the sounds of Johnny Cash singing “Ain’t No Grave” filled the air.
“Kinda apropos,” he muttered, stifling a laugh. “Be back with the wine. Give me a sec to pop the steaks under the broiler. How do you like yours?”
“Medium rare,” she said, still afraid to take the few steps across the carpet to the sketch pad.
“Baked potato and a salad okay as sides?”
She peered at him suspiciously. “I thought you said you couldn’t cook.”
“No,” he corrected with a grin. “I said I didn’t like to cook. Besides, who can’t throw potatoes into a microwave and stick a couple ribeyes under a broiler?”
“Me,” she admitted, flashing back to the last time she’d tried to microwave a potato. Her microwave had never recovered from the hot, mashed explosion.
He grinned at her. “Be right back.” He headed for a hallway that must lead to the kitchen. Over his shoulder he said, “Go on. Don’t be afraid. It won’t bite.” He winked. “Bathroom’s to the left. In case you have to puke.”
“You did enough puking for the both of us today,” she said without thinking, but he only snorted in sardonic amusement before continuing down the hall.
As soon as he left and she heard noises from the kitchen, she marched herself to the sofa and sat. The sketch pad lay open to a page covered with a half-finished drawing of a meadow at sunset. Candlestick Field. A few blocks from his apartment. People walked their dogs there. Kids played ball sometimes. She pictured him sitting on a camp chair by one of the willow trees, staring out at the crimson ball of the sun as it slowly sank beneath the horizon while he tried to capture it all before it got too dark.
She flipped the page and saw a beach at dawn. Cape Cod probably. He’d drawn a picket fence alongside a sand dune with such realism the slats looked almost 3-D. He was good. People who could create art awed her. Intimidated her actually. Put a paintbrush in her hand and she might as well be a three-year-old trying to color within the lines and having abysmal luck. Damn him. Why did he have to be so deep and multi-faceted? He could cook and draw. Rescue people. He had a knack for relating to everyone. He’d taken Andy Masters under his wing with such compassion while she sat frozen to her chair crying and feeling sorry for herself. And she knew Andy. Jack’d never seen him before tonight.
Why the hell would he want her for a friend? What could she possibly offer him in return?
“Oh, stop the maudlin self-pity. How attractive, Rosie,” she muttered in disgust. So she couldn’t draw. Big fucking deal. She tossed the sketch pad back onto the coffee table just as Jack reappeared with two glasses of red wine and the bottle.
“Told you they weren’t that great,” he said with a wry grin as he handed her one of the glasses.
She closed her fingers around the stem and wished she could sink into the sofa cushions like a lost coin. “Actually, they’re really good. That was Candlestick Field, wasn’t it?”
“You recognized it? Yeah.” Jack’s face lit up as he took a seat beside her. She sat next to him all day between the squad and the stationhouse kitchen, but somehow here in his apartment, the whole concept seemed at once so intimate and yet so innocent she had trouble keeping still.
Part of her wanted to jump up and move to the chair while another wanted to lay her head on his shoulder and take comfort from a man who’d been through the same craptastic day she had.
Worse even for him. Having those bodies fall on him like that? God. At least he’d helped find them so they could have a proper burial, while she had sat on her powers and wa
tched a man die. A bad man, sure, but who had appointed her judge, jury, and executioner?
“Here’s to the end of a shit day,” he said, holding up his glass. “And may our tomorrows be brighter.” He touched his glass to hers and stared at her.
Belatedly, she realized he waited for her to drink or at least acknowledge his words.
“I think just by being a different day from this one, all our tomorrows have to be better,” she said, making him laugh.
She sipped her wine. Cabernet. Deep and yummy.
Lightning flashed through the front windows.
“Bad storm,” Jack said, glancing over his shoulder.
Rosie counted to herself. One one thousand, two one thousand – Boom! Thunder rattled the windowpanes.
“Hope we don’t lose power.” Jack said just as the lights flickered and died. The room plunged into darkness, with just the faintest glow from the streetlights through the windows.
“There go the potatoes.” Jack rose to his feet. “Luckily, the oven runs on gas, so the steaks will be fine. Let me light some candles.”
Rosie winced when he let out a muffled yelp. Must have barked his shin or toes on something. She clutched her wine glass and fervently wished the lights back on. Sitting in the dark with Jack Grady on a rainy night like this after they day they’d had? Recipe for sexual disaster.
Candlelight filled the room with a soft glow as Jack moved from entertainment center to end tables. He finished by lighting a wolf shadow box tea light on the coffee table. The wolf pointed his painted nose to the sky and seemed to howl as the light flickered across his body.
“Better check the steaks. You mind eating at the coffee table? I don’t have any candles in the kitchen, and I like to at least semi see what I eat.” Jack waited for Rosie to nod in acknowledgment before he moved into the hallway.
Rosie took another long gulp of wine and snuggled back into the sofa cushions. Jack’s leather jacket creaked as she moved. She’d forgotten she was still wearing it. After setting her glass on the coffee table, she quickly slid off the jacket and laid it carefully over the back of the nearby armchair. The temperature in Jack’s apartment seemed on the warm side. Too bad it was raining and opening the windows wasn’t an option.
Jack returned bearing two plates filled with steak and salad, forks and serrated knives balanced precariously on the edges. Rosie made a grab for the fork on the left-hand plate when it tumbled off and caught it before it could reach the carpet.
“Great save. Sorry.” Jack handed her the plate and stepped over her feet to get past her and sit on the sofa. “Good thing it wasn’t the knife. I should have brought the plates out one at a time.”
Rosie set her plate on the coffee table and sliced a bit of steak. Hot, juicy deliciousness filled her mouth on her first bite, and she realized how hungry she was. The salad dressing consisted of simple oil and vinegar, but Jack had added some fresh herbs and seasonings. Rosie had never tasted anything as damn luscious.
Silence reigned as Jack apparently rediscovered his appetite and set to clearing his plate.
Replete, Rosie leaned back against the sofa cushions and sighed.
Beside her, Jack said, “Wish I could offer you coffee, but how about more wine?”
She held out her empty glass, and he refilled it, smiling at her. Candlelight rendered his masculine features beautiful. She could have stared at the planes and angles of his face for hours. He stared back at her, seemingly mesmerized. What did she look like by the candle’s glow? She hadn’t bothered with make-up after her shift ended, but she had rebraided her hair. Still, a little lipgloss wouldn’t have killed her. Too late to do anything about it now, though.
And what the hell was she doing worrying about how she looked anyway? Jack was her partner. After tonight, how could he help but cross the line into friendship territory – who could resist him? But she was not about to get moony over him, nor allow him to stare at her as if he found her the most fascinating creature he’d ever seen.
“How long do you think the lights will be out?” She blurted the first thing that came to mind, desperate to defuse the growing sexual tension between them.
He shrugged and took a sip of wine. Offering her a sheepish grin, he said, “I know. Rain, wine, candlelight. I feel like I’ve stumbled onto the set of some romantic comedy.”
“Or the opening scenes of an upscale porn movie,” Rosie said, then froze in horror. Had she said that aloud? What the actual hell!
“And,” she said miserably, “now you see why I don’t date. I am ridiculously socially awkward.”
Jack’s eyes had widened when she mentioned the P word, but now he grinned at her as he set his wine aside.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen an upscale porn movie. Care to make some recommendations?”
Rosie smacked his upper arm with her free hand. Oh God, her face burned. This was hell. What was with her mouth tonight? She set her wine glass on the coffee table. She’d better stop drinking. Apparently red wine made her crazy stupid. “I told you I’m socially clueless. Don’t make it worse. Pretend you never heard what I said.”
“How?” He gaped at her. “It’s every man’s dream to have a beautiful blonde on his sofa talking about porn. I’m honor bound to draw out this conversation as far as we can take it.”
His words held a definite double entendre. God damn. She hastily crossed her arms over her chest. His voice made her nipples hard.
She stole an agonized look at him. Why did Jack have to have such a gorgeous smile? And muscles. All the muscles. Wasn’t he hot beneath that denim jacket?
“Do you really not date?” He leaned closer, his gaze locked to hers. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Believe it.” She tried to squirm backward and hit the arm of the sofa. Trapped. She could get up and move to the armchair, but it was way over there and Jack was right here.
“What about serious relationships? Have you had many of those?” Jack inched closer until their thighs brushed. Tingles shuddered up and down Rosie’s spine. His voice thrummed liquid sex. Why had she never noticed before?
“No,” she admitted. “What about you?” Wow. Her voice sounded laced with whiskey. And passion. Dial it down! Don’t ask about his love life! Doing that was a direct path to his personal life, which was none of her damn business. Or at least it shouldn’t be. But, damn, a man like him? His past must be littered with beautiful women. The million dollar question was why none of them were with him right now.
“I haven’t had a serious relationship since Maryann Montgomery senior year in high school. We were going to get married as soon as we graduated,” he said, his thigh pressing into hers distractingly. “Then her father got transferred to Ohio, and I never saw her again. Story of my life. I get to thinking I’ve got something special and fate steps in and says, ‘Oh, no. Sorry. She’s going to drop out of college and move back home. Or decide your best friend’s more interesting.’”
“No way could your best friend be more interesting than you. Unless he was like, George Clooney or something.” Breathing would be a nice thing to be able to do, but somehow all the air had been sucked out of the room. Maybe if she could look away from Jack’s eyes, but, no, why would she ever do that?
Jack chuckled. “No, just a guy with way more money and the ability to hold a job longer than six months. Funny how some women like that stability thing. I’ve never understood all the hype myself.”
“Home is important,” Rosie said. What would he do if she leaned forward and gave his lower lip just the tiniest little nip? “But sometimes we forget people can be home just as much as four walls and a door can.”
“So says the woman who won’t let me drive the squad because she knows every dirt road and byway for fifty miles.” Jack leaned forward so their mouths were so close she could feel his warm breath on her lips.
“I drive the squad, Great Eagle,” Rosie whispered. Oh, what the hell! Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Before her better judgment co
uld prevail, she closed the distance between their mouths and kissed him. Damn! Shock waves of desire coursed throughout her body. When he brought his hands up to cup her face, she thought she might die. Why did he have to be so perfect? She ought to be able to find at least one thing wrong with him. But, no. Nothing he did was wrong.
She nibbled his lower lip, and he groaned, opening his mouth so their kiss deepened. Rosie’s heart hammered. Electric tingles leaped everywhere he touched her. He tugged on the band holding her braid tight until it fell to the floor. Frantically, he undid the plait until he could run his fingers through her unbound hair.
She plunged her hands into his dark hair. So soft and feathery.
Their kiss turned urgent with need. She moved her hands to his hips so she could pull his tee shirt out of the waistband of his jeans and slide her hands up. Muscles. All the damn muscles.
“God damn, Jack.” She groaned into his mouth.
“Right back at you, Rosie.” He gently moved one of her tank top straps from her shoulder and placed his mouth to the bare skin he exposed. Kissed his way to her neck, rubbing one thumb in small circles on the other side of her throat.
She threw her head back, giving him complete access. They shifted so she lay on the sofa with her back propped against the arm, and he straddled her. The press of his erection against her belly produced a dizzying, erotic sensation that spread over her entire body. He pushed her tank top up to her neck, exposing her bra. Thank God she’d decided to wear one of her sexier bras that made the most of her cleavage and didn’t scream Support Only.
He bent to take one fabric-covered nipple between his teeth, and gave it a gentle tug. Rosie clutched at his broad shoulders for dear life. Finding the front fastening, he gave it a twist and her breasts spilled into his waiting hands.
He rolled his thumbs across her nipples, making her squirm, then braced one hand on the sofa arm so he could lean down and kiss her.
“I want to be inside you so bad, Rosie,” he confessed, his breath ragged with need. “What do you want?”
A nagging voice inside her head cautioned her to put on the brakes. He was her partner. This was freaking madness. What happened when they broke up, but still had to work together? God, she didn’t want to regret this night. If only time didn’t have to march onward and every second could be right now, right here.