by Elaine Fox
Her eyes shifted to his near-empty wineglass. He was drinking nearly as fast as she was.
“Let me get you some more wine,” she said, jumping up and grabbing his glass. She polished hers off on the way to the kitchen too.
There was only one glass left in the bottle he’d brought, but she had bought one too. Not as good as the one he’d selected, but still red and a much bigger bottle. She peeled the metal hood off and rummaged through the drawer for the corkscrew.
She was about to pull the thing out with her teeth when she remembered she’d left it on the counter. She jabbed the screw into the cork and twisted, then pulled. Half a dried cork came out, showering the counter with cork particles.
“Damn,” she muttered.
“Here, let me.”
Delaney jumped and nearly dropped the huge bottle on the floor. He was standing just behind her, close enough to jangle her nerves even further.
“Oh, you scared me.” She laughed and stepped back.
“Sorry.” He smiled and her eyes strayed to his lips. Such fine, firm lips, she noted.
He turned half-away and twisted the corkscrew into what was left of the cork. She imagined what it might be like if she were comfortable with him, if they were a couple. He might be in here opening wine and she might join him, wrapping her arms around him from behind and laying her head on that solid, powerful back.
It would be nice to be that at ease, she thought, shifting her gaze to stare into her empty wineglass. The rim of the bottle appeared in her line of sight as Jack filled her glass.
“Cheers,” he said, depositing the bottle on the counter and lifting his glass toward her.
“Cheers,” she said, and pressed a too-bright smile on her face.
“To us,” he said, and just as her stomach began to lift, he added, “Neighbors.”
She moved her glass toward his but instead of the two glasses clinking together, their fingers hit and a jolt of surprised awareness went skittering up her arm.
She pulled back and took a deep gulp of the wine. He did the same.
The taste of the cheap wine clashed dramatically with that of what Jack had brought, and she was glad she’d given him the last of the good stuff.
“So,” she said, then realized that was exactly what he’d said in the other room. She racked her brain to come up with something to follow it up with. “It should only be another fifteen minutes or so before we eat.” She glanced at the timer that said clearly, in large digital numbers, 22:00 minutes.
He looked at it too. “Good. Great.” He nodded.
They each sipped their wine.
“Where’s Emily?” he asked then. “Sleeping?”
“No, ah, she’s…” She hadn’t anticipated this. If she told him Emily wasn’t here, would he think she’d had something else, something more…libidinous, in mind?
“On a date?” he supplied.
She looked up at him, at the smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made his whole expression warm, accepting.
“Don’t even joke about that,” she said.
He laughed, and she couldn’t help but smile as he did.
“Seriously…,” he persisted. “Is she upstairs? Can I go see her?”
She turned to the refrigerator and pulled out the salad. “Oh, she’s with your aunt Linda tonight,” she said, pouring dressing all over it. Too late, she realized she’d already done that. The lettuce in the bottom of the bowl was swimming in the stuff. “I just didn’t know how I’d get dinner finished and all that with her here. I’ve got to pick her up by ten.”
She pushed the salad back into the refrigerator.
“Oh.” He raised his brows, obviously surprised. “Well, I could’ve watched her while you cooked.”
She looked at him. If he knew what she had to tell him, that was kind of a leading statement to make, she thought. She could take that to mean he wanted to take care of Emily, wanted to get to know her, be part of her life.
Then again, maybe he didn’t know. Maybe he really hadn’t opened that drawer…She looked toward the offending drawer where the list, now in cinders, had been stashed.
They were standing next to each other, each leaning against the counter, looking across the kitchen. To the right was the elaborate table. Straight across was The Drawer.
“Let’s go into the living room,” she suggested.
“Sure.”
They walked back into the living room, Delaney wondering if he felt as silly as she did going back and forth. She stopped at the mantel and looked into the fire. It burned with a hearty flame.
Jack stood next to her, and though they weren’t touching, Delaney could almost feel his arm against hers, as if she could take a deep breath and move enough to touch him. For that reason alone she did not want to budge from the spot.
“So—” Delaney said again, turning toward him.
Just as Jack said, “Delaney—” and turned toward her.
Suddenly they were facing each other, not one foot apart, and the look on his face told her he’d been just as aware of her proximity as she’d been of his.
“Yes?” Delaney murmured, unable to take her eyes from his face. Her heart hammered as she looked at him. She was afraid her expression might match that of a deranged stalker, but she couldn’t look away.
Slowly, he put his wineglass on the mantel. Then he took hers and set it down next to his.
“Delaney,” he said again, taking her gently by the shoulders.
And that was all it took. That touch, his warm palms against her shoulders, and she leaned into him. She had a brief, vague moment of noting the surprised look on his face, before he reciprocated, bending down and capturing her upturned lips with his.
Desire shot through her, as hot and as sudden as if she’d embraced a fireball. She raised her hands to his collar and pulled down on his shirt, pulling him to her, his mouth open and searching on hers.
The feeling was explosive. She’d thought about it, remembered it so well from that night on the beach and that day in his office. But nothing could compare to this feeling, this loose, uninhibited feeling of sheer desire, brought on and facilitated by the knowledge that she was going to tell him everything. No secrets would stand between them after tonight.
She told herself that if they could just make this connection now, if she could remember how she felt—and remind him how he felt—that night on the beach, then the revelation of Emily would not be such a shock, and he would not be angry with her.
But as she felt his body press its length against hers she knew that remembering how she’d felt that night on the beach was not going to be a problem. In fact, she’d remembered it far too often, and many times when she’d been desperate to forget it.
No, this wasn’t for Jack, this kiss. This was for her.
She molded her body to his and felt his hand slide down to the small of her back, pulling her hips against his. He was aroused, she noted. Most definitely, extremely aroused.
Outside a crack of thunder sounded. Delaney jumped and their lips separated. But rather than look him in the eye, she stood on tiptoe and put her arms around his neck, kissing the skin below his ear and letting her gaze drift out the side window.
Lightning followed shortly, and the leaves of the trees bent with a sudden wind.
She tightened her arms and felt his tighten in return. His cheek pressed against her hair.
Was she doing the right thing? What was it, exactly, she was doing? Was this going to make it easier to tell him? Or harder? If he knew she’d been lying, did this mean he understood?
She didn’t know. She couldn’t think. All she knew was that the feel of his body was better than anything she’d felt for months. Her skin cried out to be touched, much the way it had that night before they’d ended up on the beach.
Thunder sounded again, simultaneous with lightning, and rain hit the ground like someone emptying a huge bucket from upstairs.
“It’s close,” he said, low against her
ear.
She debated what to do. Should she stop things now? But it felt so good…so incredibly, soul-stealingly good. She wasn’t even sure she was capable of unpeeling her arms from around his neck.
The sky rumbled again, and this time the crack of lightning was accompanied by a snap and an ominous sizzle. The lights flickered once and went out.
Neither of them moved.
“Jack,” she whispered. But she didn’t have anything to say, she just wanted to say his name.
He pulled back just enough to take her face in his hands and kiss her. Deeply. Thoroughly.
Delaney was so lost in the kiss she nearly staggered when he stopped, looking at her gently while one thumb caressed the skin of her cheek. Light from the living-room fire illuminated half of his face, one eye glittering in the warm light and the other shrouded in darkness, as if they represented good and evil. The known and the unknown. The face we present to the world and the one we hold back, she thought. That was when she realized she was drunk.
“Delaney,” he said softly. “Are you sure?”
It was a moment straight from her memory, straight from that night on the beach. Was he thinking the same thing? Did he remember every nuance of that night the way she did?
“We’ve had a lot to drink,” he added, “and I just want—I need to be sure—”
She laid a finger on his lips to silence him. She didn’t want to stop now. She wanted to feel him on, inside, and around her. Wanted to know that he wanted her, wanted to feel his desire before she told him and quite possibly risked losing him for the sake of the truth.
And that was it, she realized. She wanted him one last time, while he wanted her, before she told him the truth that might alienate him forever.
“I’m sure,” she said, laying a gentle kiss on his lips.
But he wasn’t having any gentleness. He swept her into his arms, kissed her roughly, then pulled her down to lie on the rug in front of the fire.
He grabbed a pillow and afghan from one of the chairs, placed the pillow under her head and spread the blanket out on the floor. After situating them both on the afghan, he stretched out next to her, and his fingers found the buttons of her blouse. She raised her hands to help him, but he moved them away. Then slowly, one by one, he unbuttoned her shirt.
Once the buttons were undone, he pushed the fabric of her blouse away, trailing one finger over the rise of first one breast and then the other. Delaney’s nipples hardened, and she felt a shiver run across her skin as he did it. He leaned over and placed a kiss on the crest of the breast nearest him, snaking his hand smoothly around her back to unhook her bra.
She nearly smiled at how efficient the movement was, but the expertise also had her quaking with apprehension.
Gently, he removed her shirt and her bra, then moved to the side zipper of her skirt. Delaney heard the low zip, and he pulled the garment off, rolling her hose down over her legs after that.
Delaney had never felt so aroused in her life, lying still while Jack Shepard took her clothes off, item by item, until she was lying naked on the floor by the fire.
He said nothing, but his eyes were drinking her in. She could tell by the movement of his hands. From her shoulders, across her breasts, to the tops of her thighs and back up, light touches of his fingers threatened to make her explode with desire.
“I want to see you,” she whispered into the dark. “I want to feel your skin on mine.”
Jack stopped, then slowly sat up. In the flickering light of the fire she watched him pull his shirt over his head. Then he stood and pulled off his shoes and jeans and socks.
His body was lean, just as she remembered it, and firelight made intriguing shadows in the hollows and planes of his body. When he lay back on the floor she turned toward him, but he stopped her.
“Shhh,” he said softly. “Wait.”
He rolled her on her back and continued to run his fingers down the length of her body, across her breasts and down to her thighs and back. Delaney began to tremble, so badly did she want to touch him. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it anymore, his lips found her breast and his fingers delved into the hot apex of her thighs.
Delaney gasped with the sudden sensation and reached out to take his head in her hands as his lips pulled on her breast. She arched up to meet him, and his fingers moved deeper inside of her.
She wanted him, she thought wildly. Oh God, she wanted him now and with a greater hunger than she’d ever dreamed possible.
“Jack,” she breathed, then gasped as his fingers found the spot. She arched again, and her hand swept down his body to find him, hard as a rock and pearled with dampness.
She touched him, and he let out a deep, animal sound of pleasure. He moved his lips to hers and took her again in a deep, claiming kiss.
“Oh God, Jack,” she breathed against his mouth, guiding him toward her. “Please…”
He rose above her and her hands gripped his shoulders. His manhood grazed the place his fingers had just been.
“Delaney, what do you want?” he whispered, touching her again lightly.
She inhaled sharply.
“Do you want me, Delaney?”
“Oh yes,” she replied, arching up beneath him.
He held back, and she nearly whimpered with frustration and desire.
“Say it,” he said. “I need to hear you say it.”
“I want you, Jack,” she said, and he plunged inside of her, his shaft sliding effortlessly into her heat, her fire, her boundless desire. “Oh God, I want you,” she said again, as his hips drove against her and she clung to his neck, her legs rising to encircle him.
Their bodies met and moved with frantic abandon, Delaney pulling him deeper and tighter as his arms and chest flexed above her, and his hips dived against her with increasing urgency.
She felt him reaching the peak of arousal, his head thrown back and a guttural sound of pleasure coming from his throat, when the stars broke around her, showering her with the most incredible orgasm she’d ever had in her life.
She moaned aloud and clung to him, but at the last minute, on the last thrust, he pulled out of her and spent himself on the blanket beneath them.
Then he rolled to the side, taking her with him, and held her tightly against his chest, both of them breathing hard.
After several minutes of silence, Delaney shifted her head and whispered, “Jack.”
She had to tell him, she thought, her mind spinning like a top. But should she tell him now? What if he thought she’d only made love to him because of what she had to tell him? What if he thought she’d planned this whole thing?
“Mm,” he said, raising a hand to the back of her head to finger her hair.
“Oh Jack,” she sighed. She couldn’t do it. She didn’t know how. She was scared to death he was going to hate her afterward.
He shifted so he could look down at her face in the dark. “What is it, Delaney?” he whispered back.
“Nothing.” She clutched his arm with one hand and pressed her face to his chest.
“It’s all right,” he murmured, stroking her hair.
Delaney’s heart, which had only just started to return to a normal rhythm, accelerated again. Did he mean he knew? Should she ask him? Was that the coward’s way out? Asking him to tell her?
Of course it was.
She was through being a coward. “Jack, there’s something…”
His arms tightened around her.
She tightened hers around him. “I need…”
Just say it, her mind screamed. But she felt as if a wall had been constructed and she couldn’t get the words through it.
“What do you need?” he asked. His tone was gentle, careful.
They were both silent a minute, listening to the sound of the rain on the windows.
Then she sighed. “Nothing.”
She couldn’t do it, simply couldn’t make the words come out of her mouth. Maybe she could write him a letter. Call him on the phone
so she didn’t have to look at him. But those were all cowardly ways out. Ways that would make things more a mess than they were even now.
“I want you to know,” he said into the silence, “that I’ve been offered a better job. With a decent salary and benefits and future. And I’m going to take it. It’s at Briarly College—”
“Briarly!” Her voice sounded shockingly loud in the darkness. She sat up and at the same moment the lights came back on, light from the lamp on a nearby table slicing across their makeshift bed. “In Massachusetts?”
He was leaving her? she thought wildly. He’d slept with her only to tell her he was moving eight hours away?
He knew she had to stay here for the next three years. He knew all about the NHSC deal she’d made. And yet he was still going to take a job hundreds of miles away?
He couldn’t know about Emily. He must not have seen the list. If he did he wouldn’t make plans to move. Unless…
Shock made her skin go cold.
Unless that was why he wanted to move. He was running away. He was hightailing it out before responsibility could catch up to him.
“Delaney,” he said, sitting up and facing her. He reached for her hands but she yanked them away.
“Jack,” she protested, thoughts sputtering from her mind but not reaching her lips. She was about to ask him why he wanted to leave now, of all times, what had he found out and what was he afraid of, when suddenly a figure appeared in the doorway and the light switch was thrown, illuminating the overhead light and blinding them both.
“A-HA!” a voice declared.
Delaney jumped nearly out of her skin. Shielding her eyes from the light she could just make out the form of…Michael?
She gaped at him. “Oh my God. What in the world are you doing? Here?”
Jack looked from Michael to Delaney and back again, his face slack with astonishment.
“Mi—” she began, but Michael cut her off.
“‘My’ is right! My, my!” he said loudly, again in that oddly theatrical voice. “It’s me, Jim! Jim-Joe!” He planted his hands on his hips like some kind of superhero. “And I want a divorce!”
Chapter 18