“With tongue.” Ellie bobbed her head and moved to straddle his hips. Reaching for his hands, she smiled. “I’ll even scrub your back before we go.”
He grimaced. “I stink, don’t I?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not feeling so fresh myself.”
Lacing his fingers through hers, he rested them on her thighs. “We haven’t hung the shower curtain.”
Ellie quirked a playful eyebrow. “Water sports. An added bonus.”
He grinned up at her. “Quick, pinch me again.”
“Nope.” She scrambled off the bed. “Up! We need food.”
Heaving a sigh, he rolled up to perch on the edge of the mattress. When she raised her eyebrows to prod him along, he made a circular motion with his hand. “Turn around.”
“What?”
“Turn around,” he repeated.
“Why? I’ve seen everything you’ve got,” she said, suspicion lacing her tone.
“Just gimme a minute, okay?”
“Fine.” She turned on her heel and flounced toward the bathroom. “I’m starting without you.”
“Be right there!”
Jack dove for the duffle bag he dropped in the corner of the room and rifled through it. “Should have brought some cuffs,” he muttered under his breath. A smile creased his face when he pulled a pair of shamrock-patterned boxers from the bag. He tossed the shorts in his hand and chuckled as he strolled toward the bathroom. “But you haven’t seen me lucky underwear, have ya, me wee naughty leprechaun?”
Going the Distance
Jack tossed the keys to the rental car to the red-jacketed valet and beat a path toward the gleaming glass doors of the Chatham Hotel-Louisville. Mere steps from his goal, he was viciously attacked by an enormous peacock feather. He dodged to the right and tripped over the wheel of a luggage cart laden with Louis Vuitton bags. The gleaming brass frame of the revolving door saved him from a total face-plant.
“Pardon me,” he muttered.
A swirl of virulent violet caught his eye. He winced when he took in the gigantic lavender hat serving as a nest for the feather. The cheerful green and purple swirls of the plume seemed like insult added to injury. Apparently his assailant’s ensemble came with a healthy dose of oblivion, because the woman wearing it failed to notice that she nearly took down a six-foot-three FBI agent by cocking her head. Jack wished he were as lucky.
A soft whoosh filled the air. Jack tore his gaze from the offending feather just as the black rubber flap on the revolving door sandwiched his knuckles against the frame. He yelped and jerked his hand free, glowering at the freckle-faced girl who leapt from the glass enclosure.
Oblivious, she spun in a tight circle, beaming a smile to all who were lucky enough to witness her glory. As a salve to his ego, Jack blamed the layers and layers of frilly pink froth that foamed over the girl’s slender frame. No way in hell such a tiny thing could see past all the lacy stuff.
“Grammie!” she called to Peacock Lady.
“Figures,” Jack muttered, rubbing his thumb across his bruised knuckles.
“Sir? Are you all right?”
The doorman appeared beside him in a flash. Jack glanced down as the old man’s gnarled fingers closed around his elbow. He nodded his head and tried to shake the vise-like grip, but the older man proved surprisingly strong.
“I’m fine,” Jack growled. The doorman cast a wary glance at the lobby. He scanned the name tag pinned to the man’s heavy wool uniform and cleared the rust from his throat. “Really, Houston, I’m fine.”
“Well, in that case, you won’t mind if we have someone take a look at your hand.” Houston’s grip tightened fractionally. He punched a metal button emblazoned with a wheelchair. The automatic door beside the revolving disaster began to swing open. The doorman’s nervous smile turned coaxing. “Please, won’t you come inside?”
“I swear, I’m okay,” Jack protested as he was propelled into the bustling lobby.
“I know you are, son.” The man’s faint drawl softened the low-spoken words, slurring the edges of the steely determination beneath them. “But you were injured on my watch. You wouldn’t want to get old Houston in trouble, would you, sir?”
He grimaced as the old man urged him toward the marble reception desk. “Not injured. Just startled. Listen, I know your boss…suh…nuh…uh….”
Jack’s feet stopped moving, and the momentum the doorman had working in his favor a moment before betrayed the grip he held on his captive. Houston’s bushy white eyebrows rose as Jack stood rooted to the spot like a redwood. The braid decorating the sleeve of the doorman’s tunic danced when he turned. It took a second for Jack to realize the older man was following the track of his gaze. Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Ellie stood behind the tall counter, her head cocked at a curious angle, the brim of a pale pink bonnet grazing her shoulder.
“I see,” Houston murmured. He turned back to Jack, a twinkle lighting pale blue eyes. “She’s a picture, ain’t she?”
Jack stood transfixed as Ellie skirted the end of the desk and started toward them. His gaze lingered on the strappy silver sandals click-clacking across the inlaid floor for just a moment. He wet his lips, resolutely confined all thoughts of those sandals to the ‘later’ file in his mind, and forced his attentions to wander upward. Mistake. Big, bad, beautiful mistake.
Swirls of cotton candy pink fabric caressed the curve of her calves. The flow-y, float-y material clung to her curves. A fiercely feminine ruffle lent a hint of modesty to the deep vee that plunged between her breasts, but it didn’t fool him in the least. Jack inhaled sharply and shifted from one foot to the other.
Ellie tipped her head again, and his gaze flew to her face. The hat she wore covered her dark hair, but tiny curls flirted from beneath its broad brim. Her bold gaze held his, the golden light of amusement dancing in their emerald depths.
“A picture,” Jack agreed in a wholehearted whisper.
Her soft pink lips quirked into a smile. “Houston? Do we have a problem?”
“The gentleman got his hand caught in the door,” the doorman explained.
Her smile disappeared and concern clouded her eyes, smothering the dancing gold sparks of humor. “Are you okay?”
Embarrassment lit the tips of his ears. The heat trickled down his throat and seeped into his cheeks. His voice came out in a rasp, scorched at the edges. “I’m fine.”
Ellie smiled and nodded to the doorman. “I’ll take care of him. Thank you, Houston.”
The older man hesitated for a moment. “Are you sure, Ms. Nichols?”
Her smile widened as she glanced from Jack to Houston and back again. “Oh, I’m sure.” Her sparkling eyes met Jack’s. “He’s mine.”
Jack snorted. In typical Ellie fashion, she spoke the truth, plain and simple. He’d been hers since the moment he first laid eyes on her.
The older man turned away, making the trek back to his post with a hint of a spring in his step. Jack pulled his gaze from the departing doorman and turned his attention to the woman in front of him. “Your boyfriend?”
“I’m just keeping him on the string in case things don’t work out with you,” she answered with a demure smile. Ellie reached for his right hand. “Let me see your hoof, Rudolph.”
“How do you know it’s that one?”
A sugary sweet smile curved her lips. “Because you’re right-handed, dummy.”
“I love it when you sweet talk me,” he murmured, bowing his head as she ran her thumb over his bruised knuckles. “Kiss it and make it better?”
Ellie glanced at him from beneath her lashes. “I’m working, Jack.”
“This incident is a lawsuit waiting to happen, Ms. Nichols. You’d better do whatever it takes to keep me happy.”
A soft, sultry chuckle rumbled in her throat. Ellie raised his hand to her lips and brushed the barest of kisses across the fine sprinkling of dark hair. “Extortionist.”
“Opportunist,” he cor
rected. The wide brim of her hat framed her dazzling smile. Jack’s fingers closed around hers then he reluctantly released her. “But your boyfriend, Houston, was right about one thing: you are a picture, Miss Ellie,” he drawled.
“Now who’s sweet talking?”
A pleased smile curved her full lips. He brushed bruised knuckles along her cheek. Glassy dark curls peeked from beneath the brim of her hat. He traced one soft whorl then grinned as he jerked his hand away. “Sorry.” Jack shoved his hands into his pockets for safety’s sake and rocked back on his heels. “You cut your hair.”
Her fingers fluttered along the ruffled neckline of her dress. “You said you liked it short.”
“I love it short.” Ellie beamed a smile. The warmth of it flashed over him, heating his cheeks and ears and pooling low in his gut. “I missed you, Elfie.”
“I missed you too, Rudolph,” she whispered.
Clearing his throat, Jack pulled his hand from his pocket and checked his watch. “You’re done at four?”
She nodded. “You can wait for me in the bar, if you want. They’ll have all the pre-race hoopla on the TVs.”
Jack grinned. Only Ellie could so easily dismiss the biggest day in Louisville with a flick of her wrist. “Love the hat.”
Those expressive eyes rolled heavenward. She batted the compliment away with a flutter of dark lashes. A vision of Ellie lying breathless and helpless beneath him, wearing only that pretty pink hat swam before his eyes. Jack blinked and tried to clear the hitch that trapped air in his throat.
“Love the hat,” he rasped, gazing straight into her eyes.
A demure blush colored her cheeks. “Thank you. It’s, uh…tradition.”
Her vague wave snapped him from his reverie. Time started again and the bustling lobby sprang to life around them.
Jack cleared his throat once more and glanced around. “Well, um…I guess I’ll just go wait.”
Ellie nodded and took his arm to guide him toward the darkened lounge off the lobby. She said something, but it was lost in the rush of blood pounding in his ears and the hum of conversation surrounding them. “Huh?”
“Did you valet?” she repeated.
He downshifted, reining in his wayward thoughts. “Uh, yeah.”
“Give me your ticket and I’ll validate it.”
“Wow, the perks,” he said with a smirk. Jack pulled the red ticket from his pocket. “Can you also snag a few mini shampoos for me? The crap they give in that hotel in Chicago sucks.”
Ellie rolled her eyes and swiped a glossy magazine from a bin near the door. “No shampoo for you. Here, pick a winner.”
“Shampoo Nazi,” he grumbled, glancing at the racing circular she shoved into his hand. It could have been written in Swahili as far as Jack was concerned. He looked from the gleaming thoroughbred on the cover to the luminescent woman beside him and shrugged. “I think I already did.”
****
Ellie pulled the pink picture hat from her head and plunged her fingers into her hair, desperate to fluff a little life into the flattened curls. She tossed the hat aside, bent at the waist, and slipped her hands into the vee of her dress, lifting and separating the girls. “Come on, let’s make Jane Russell proud,” she panted as she straightened.
Her fingers curled into claws and she pawed her hair, flattening, swirling, and twirling the short stands into place.
Jack…Jack…Jack….
Thoughts of him crowded her brain. The warmth of his hand pulsed through her veins. His scent still teased her nostrils. The last forty-five minutes of her day dragged, weighted down by the knowledge that he was just across the lobby.
“So close, and yet so far,” she muttered.
Ellie checked her reflection in her darkened monitor and grimaced. She yanked her handbag free from the bottom drawer and her hand sank into its depths. Her groping fingers curled around a tube of lip-gloss and she pulled it free with a triumphant grunt.
Thirty seconds later, she snagged her hat and two plastic key cards from the desk before rushing from her office. The too-high heels tapped a steady tattoo on the marble floor. She wove her way through the stragglers milling about the lobby, wending her way to the front door.
“Houston?”
“Yes, Miss Ellie?” the doorman answered, snapping to attention.
She handed the older man the valet ticket. “Would you please ask Jason to pull Mr. Rudolph’s bags from his car and move it to the overnight lot?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you. Mr. Rudolph will be in room 528.”
“I’ll take care of his bags, Miss Ellie.”
She smiled sweetly when the old man touched the bill of his cap. “Thank you, Houston. You’re too good to me.”
“You make sure that young man is good to you too, or he might end up a gelding,” he called after her.
Ellie chuckled as she pushed through the revolving door and made a beeline for the mahogany-paneled lobby bar. Clusters of boisterous, babbling guests crowded the tiny tables. She bit the inside of her cheek and forced herself to focus.
“Jack, Jack, where are you, Jack?”
A raucous race reveler bumped into her. Ellie yelped when a splash of bourbon trickled down her arm. The woman spun, sloshing a little more on Ellie’s shoes as she gushed an apology. She squeezed her eyes shut, frustration mounting. Ellie’s smile tasted artificial, and her brittle cheekbones threatened to shatter.
“It’s okay.” She made a grab for the wad of half-soaked cocktail napkins the woman dabbed along her arm. “I’m fine.”
The minute the words left her lips, Ellie’s radar pinged. She glanced to her right. A portly man stuffed into seersucker jockeyed for an open spot at the bar. Ellie’s gaze streaked past him. Jack sprawled at one of the too-tiny tables, gnawing the cap of a pen as he tried to read a racing form by the light of the flickering television screen mounted above his head.
Ellie crumpled the napkins in her palm and bolted from the gate. Jack bent his head to scribble a quick note on the form, giving her a tantalizing view of the toast-colored curls at the nape of his neck. She approached soundlessly and leaned down, allowing her breath to skate across his skin before she spoke.
“Gambling isn’t allowed in here.”
A shiver raced the length of his body. She placed a steadying hand on his shoulder to catch the tremor. The pen clattered to the table, and her smile widened. She sucked in a sharp breath when long fingers clamped around her wrist. The heat of his palm seared the back of her hand.
Jack craned his neck and quirked one eyebrow. “Bet me.”
The soft brim of her hat brushed against her calf as she slid into the chair across from him. She eyed the bonnet dubiously then tossed it into his lap. Ellie propped her chin on her hand and batted her eyelashes. “You pick the winner, Rudolph.”
Facile fingers danced along the brim of the hat, turning it one full revolution before he draped it over his bent knee. Jack looked up and the golden flame from the candle shimmered in his dark eyes. He nodded slowly and pushed the racing form across the table.
A smirk twitched her lips when she saw a litany of underscores, circles, and boxed notes marring the page. “Wow. Someone’s a statistics nerd.”
Jack shrugged. “I like numbers. Sue me.”
Ellie couldn’t help but grin at the edge of defensiveness in his tone. “Maybe you should have been an actuary instead of an accountant.”
He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table, scraping the palms of his hands together as he studied her with the appraising stare she secretly thought of as his ‘Cool Hand Luke’ look.
“You have the right to remain silent,” he said in a low, husky voice.
Her eyes narrowed, meeting his steady gaze directly. She wet her lips and breathed, “Oh, but I won’t.”
“Anything you say can and will be used against you….”
She lowered her lashes then peeked at him through the protective veil. “In a court of law, Special Age
nt Rudolph?”
Jack dropped his hands, capturing one of hers between both of his. Ellie hummed deep in her throat as his skin whispered against hers. “I can think of better places.”
Her smile spread like butter melted by the heat sizzling through her veins. “Can you?”
“If we hurry, we can make it to your place before post time,” he said, punctuating his words with a waggle of his eyebrows. Her frustration exploded in an unladylike snort and Jack laughed. “You do an awesome Trigger impression.”
“Stupid race.”
“Shh!” He pressed one finger to her lips. “You’ll get us trampled to death.”
Ellie pursed her lips, letting them linger against the pad of his finger then taking a playful nip. “We haven’t seen each other in eight weeks, and you want to watch a horse race?”
Jack laced his fingers through hers and lowered their clasped hands to the table. “Of course I do,” he said in a deep, honeyed voice. “The Run for the Roses is the most exciting two minutes in sports.”
“Ugh. Roses,” she muttered with a shudder.
His smile widened, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Hopefully the horse won’t be as allergic as you are.”
“I bet I can give you a more exciting two minutes,” she challenged.
Jack’s gaze locked on hers, and the flames dancing in his eyes and licking at her heart leapt higher. He pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist and murmured, “Oh, Ellie….”
Her fingers unfurled, opening her palm to him like a flower in bloom. His warm lips grazed the tender skin. She cupped his cheek, holding him right where she wanted him.
“I’ve missed you, Jack. So much.”
The smile lifting his cheekbones told her he was pleased by her confession, but the stubborn gleam in his bittersweet eyes set her teeth on edge. “I want a lot more than two minutes of your time, Ms. Nichols,” he said at last.
She cocked her head and shot him a coy smile. “How much more?”
Jack’s easy smile unleashed the power of his dimple. Eight weeks without a kiss or a touch was too damn much. Ellie struggled to balance her love for that dimple with the urge to kick the cute right out of him. She wanted him hot and needy, not charming and elusive. Sitting in her cramped, messy apartment watching some over-hyped horse race was not what she had in mind for their time together.
Unforgettable Heroes Boxed Set Page 108