Weathering Jack Storm

by Lisa Gillis

  Marissa’s thoughts turned sardonic when the salutations dwindled, and hushed voices drifted from the hallway as the couple made their exit. “So what do you think Candio? Want to take a ride?” An answering giggle.

  At least someone was having sex in that limo!

  There was a time when thinking of anyone over thirty doing the nasty was sickening. But she and Jack were quickly approaching the big three oh, and next would be forty, then it was on to five oh. Listening to Marc and Candace only reinforced that she wanted that same closeness between the two of them at their age.

  Jack scooped Tristan up, and she grabbed his crutch. They made a pit stop at the bathroom for him. Then, before he was fully tucked into bed, the tiny boy was asleep clutching Tiggy. Bandit hulked at the foot of the bed until Bally could reclaim that spot.

  In the hallway, she lingered watching Jack press a kiss to their son’s forehead. When he emerged into the hall, she wrapped her arms around him, and felt the answering squeeze of his.

  As if Jack himself were not attraction enough, watching him in his realm tonight had been mesmerizing at times. There was a reason that people like him were rock stars.

  Charisma and power oozed from his every pore. Even though his music was still hard on her ears, she had fought the giddy fangirl feeling all evening with a constant self-reminder that he was hers.

  Up close, his scent was more intoxicating than any of the many drinks consumed that evening. She took a whiff preparing to devour. He swayed against the wall as she pushed his shirt up, eager to taste the skin beneath.

  His next breaths were pants. She pressed close enough to feel the instantaneous hardness bulging the denim of his jeans through the thin dress.

  The reaction was a magnet to her hand, and she grappled with the buttons of his jeans. She wondered, for the umpteenth time, why he insisted on this particular high-end label with metal buttons, instead of a zipper, tucked beneath the fold of the fly.

  For the second time, in just as many hours, he caught her hand in his stopping her actions. “Let’s get some sleep. I know you have got to be tired.”

  “Does this feel tired?” Pushing her fingers through the two buttons she had managed, she fingered his briefs, and the hot hardness beneath them inflamed her own throbbing fire.

  Although she heard and felt his groan, he continued to contain her wayward fingers and muttered, “Sleep first.”

  Still holding hands, they headed down the hall to his room, and she blinked in surprise when a floor lamp automatically turned on. The electronic wonders in this house never ceased.

  The trek to his room was a misunderstood victory. His fingers forked in her hair to gently pull her lips away from his chest, again. “Com’on Mariss you’re making this hard...”

  “That’s the idea...”

  “We are going to sleep.”

  “I’m not tired. Let’s celebrate your drop.” Her hands drifted to his waist and one dropped lower, but he halted her second attempt at his jeans.

  “Marissa, don’t.” It was her full name that stopped her, not the soft and desperate ‘don’t.’

  There was only so much rejection a girl could take. She fell back a step to search his face, but he was already in motion toward the bed.

  There was nothing sexier than Jack peeling off his clothing, and tonight was no exception. However, knowing that tonight, for some inexplicable reason, she was getting none of that amazing body, kept her frozen where she was.

  The confounded jeans parted easy beneath his fingers and joined the tee shirt, shoes, and socks on the floor. Peeling back the covers, he looked to her. “You’re going to sleep in here for a bit, right?”

  The emotions churning turbulently inside her were not clear yet, but whatever he saw when their eyes connected stalled his movements.

  His next words seemed to be an attempt to explain. “Now that I know...I can’t right now. Besides, I’m serious about getting some rest. Don’t forget I promised Tristan all day in the pool.”

  The promise earlier tonight, and the entire conversation around it, jerked to the forefront of her mind. Mortifying words had insinuated her as a slut who constantly left her child overnight to pursue the next hunk of junk.

  “Now that you know what?” she pressed and locked her eyes to his.

  “About the sex. You know. So many times.” Obviously uncomfortable with the conversation, he looked over her shoulder as he carefully spoke.

  There it was. The confirmation. Jack was shocked by her whorish ways.

  Without a word, she turned leaving the door open as she raced to her room.

  CHAPTER 17

  AS JACK HAD DONE, she stepped out of her party clothing and slipped into bed. The gray light of dawn was beginning to infiltrate the room illuminating the dress folded over a chair that had cost as much as the down payment on her home. Turning away from it and pulling the bedding over her bare shoulder, she determinedly closed her eyes.

  It was disappointing and hurtful to know Jack held the double standard most men did when it came to promiscuity.

  Being a man and being in his profession was likely the double demon. There was no way that he had not been with an uncountable number of partners.

  He was so casual about his sex life that he thought nothing of pairing her up for a day out with one of those past partners! She fell asleep with vengeful fantasies of Jack meeting up with Clayton or any of her many others...

  This fantasy came as close to reality as surely it ever would the next day.

  Her phone colliding with a clatter atop the nightstand jarred her awake.

  Blinking brought Jack into focus. All bare skin and bulging muscles he stood by the bed staring her down. His hungry look was laced with irritation, but that didn’t stop his eye feast.

  Covering herself with the sheet, she bit out, “You had your chance last night. I’m sleeping now, like you said.”

  In response to her sassy words, the predatory expression filling his features was one she had seen in jest a few times.

  “What if I just wanted a good morning kiss?” he challenged, and the bed sank with his weight. Straddling her atop the sheet effectively pinned arms that might have pushed him away.

  Might have.

  The kiss he laid on her lips, and beyond them, was thorough. His mouth tasted of minty toothpaste, and she was afraid to think of what hers might taste of after a night of drinking and a morning of cottonmouth.

  Jack hadn’t shaved. The rough contact of his chin against her face had her eyes closing in delight. Soon her toes curled in ecstasy when it scraped the hypersensitive skin of her chest.

  By this time, the covers had been pushed down enough for these kisses, freeing her hands. And, her hands were pulling him, not pushing, as every move he made fired through her frayed nerves.

  She wanted to feel that scruff lower against her stomach, lower against her–

  Shifting, she felt a moan leave her throat at just the thought, and she tightened her fingers in his long locks of hair prepared to push at him some more.

  When he eased away, she wanted to scream, but summoning some self-control, she let him go and even managed a semblance of pushing him away as he extracted from her arms.

  “Jack-ass,” she hissed.

  A genuine smile, not the sexy smirk, lit his lips. He replied by hanging over her for a quick finishing kiss. “I love you too, Mariss.”

  As she stared, dumbfounded, at his retreating back, he turned back before closing the door. “When you get up, come swimming with us.”

  Tristan. More and more, she was just assuming her child was still asleep when she heard nothing from him. How had it happened that she was not the first person to hear his sweet voice each morning?

  Angry and confused, she leaped from the bed then rotated and quickly neatened the spread. A text buzzed the surface of the bedside table. Reading it, she found an inquiry from Olivia about the previous night’s party.

  Marissa typed that it was great and then
longing to talk to her friend she asked if Liv was at work. Olivia answered affirmative, but promised to call later in the afternoon. The phone continued to blink with a missed text. Bringing the unread ones up, she found one from Clayton received an hour earlier.

  In the brief second that she waited for the screen to change, she pondered waking to the clang of the phone. Had Jack tossed it in anger? Wherever she had left it last night had Jack seen the text come through from Clayton?

  Clayton

  You look pretty on TV. If things don’t work out with the jerk you know where your friends are.

  11:42 AM

  Rummaging through her still packed luggage for the swimsuit Olivia had insisted was her going away present for sunny Los Angeles, California, Marissa pondered the text. Clayton normally sent humorous one-liners, nothing like that, and since being told by Olivia that she was in a relationship, the texts from him had stopped.

  ‘Pretty on TV.’ The coverage of last night’s party must already be hitting entertainment media. Quelling her curiosity for now, she shoved the gossip sites to the bottom of her priorities.

  Tristan and Jack were swimming.

  The shower in this bathroom did not have fancy settings, and she manually adjusted the water and stepped in even though she knew in less than a half hour she would be in the pool.

  The warm water of the massaging showerhead was something she desperately needed before the cool pool water.

  Directing the water, she unseeingly stared at the tile, the remembrance of Jack strong, strong enough to make her knees weak only a minute or two later.

  Seeing her reflection clad in the swimsuit almost caused her to lose her nerve and pull shorts and a tee shirt over it. The one piece was as revealing as any bikini. She smoothed sunscreen on and slipped her arms through the billowing see through cover-up.

  Downstairs, she paused, peering through the glass doors. Looking past the elaborate patio to the guitar pool, she found more than two heads.

  A plate of pancakes and container of syrup rested on the otherwise cleared kitchen island. Bacon pieces on top of the stack formed a noticeable letter M.

  Knowing there was no hope of finding a granola bar in the kitchen of junk food, she warmed the plate in the microwave then ignored the syrup.

  The shady area outside beneath the portico was inviting, and all three heads turned her way as she slid open the doors. So much for an unobtrusive entrance.

  “Momma!”

  After Tristan’s excited greeting, he went back to the volleyball game he was playing with Dax and Jack. Jack’s eyes were hidden behind shades. From over the net that floated in the pool, he asked, “Find your breakfast?”

  Raising a bacon piece in answer before chomping on it, she tried to stay mad at him. Instead, she drooled and it was not from the delectable taste of each bite.

  Jack’s hair was sleek and black against the tan skin of his neck and shoulders. Each smack of the ball rippled triceps, biceps, and other muscles as he smacked it to his opponent, Dax. The smirk, that always made her molten, emerged as he exchanged game trash talk with Dax, and the sweet smile, that she always melted to, curved each time he let the ball drop to Tristan.

  Despite the shower less than an hour ago, she crossed her legs and ripped her gaze from ‘Jack candy’ to closer surroundings as she ate.

  The portico was tiled in the same stonework as the rest of the house giving it an appearance of the inside extending to the outside. It was an immaculate outside lounge. The adobe bar, where she now sat, curved around a complete kitchen area with appliances tucked beneath the bar. Across the area was more seating in the form of sofa’s, and chairs plush enough to belong inside the house instead of outdoors.

  The mountain view was majestic. Rolling the last slice of bacon in the last pancake, she crossed to a glass half wall. As she passed, she threw a glance at the volleyball game, which seemed to be winding down.

  The wind coming over the wall whipped her hair around her face and billowed the thin cover-up around her body. In awe, she took in the treetops swaying and the endless carpet of wildflowers.

  “Momma, Daddy said you were going to help him teach me to swim!”

  Swallowing the last bite, she turned finding Jack almost upon her with Tristan trailing.

  Dax was sunning on the guitar bridge which was actually an island sunk in just a few inches of water. On the part of it extending a foot or so above the surface sat a few tumblers and a bottle of Jack Daniels.

  “You look hot,” Jack’s words were husky and his wet arms encircled her waist, pulling her backside against his wet front. Cold wet lips nuzzled her neck. “You smell good.”

  This behavior all morning seemed erratic after last night. Was he mad about her promiscuity or not? Maybe he had his sulk and now he was fine? Maybe she wasn’t.

  It had only happened a few times in their couple of weeks of becoming reacquainted, but she was not going to encourage him freezing her out, and then expecting her to fall all over him in heat when he decided to forgive her for whatever transgression had set him off.

  Pivoting around, she turned away from Jack’s intended kiss to answer their son, but found Tristan stilled a few feet behind them. His tiny eyes clouded with confusion as he took the pair of them in.

  “Are you married?” Tristan blurted, and kept his eyes on their faces. Uncharacteristically, he was impatient as he used a foot to lightly kick at Rusty who was licking the water from his ankles.

  CHAPTER 18

  “BE CAREFUL WITH Rusty,” she rebuked. “He is not a big dog like Bally.”

  Quickly though, she knelt to his level, as did Jack after shooing away Rusty. Dax helpfully called the animal to his side of the pool and occupied the dog by splashing. Her eyes slid from the dog dancing around trying to catch the water back to their son.

  “Tristan, Daddy and I -”

  Her words halted when she felt Jack’s hand giving her shoulder a squeeze. “Mariss? Do you mind if I talk to Tristan a second?”

  “Uh, well kind of,” she stammered, miffed that he would put her in this position. It was only right that they tell Tristan together, and firmly she met his dark gaze.

  “I have something I’ve been wanting to ask him.” Now, he shot her a meaningful look, and it was then that she felt dense.

  A few nights ago, as they drifted to sleep talking about exotic honeymoons, Jack had mentioned that he wanted to ask Tristan for permission to marry her.

  Leaving the two of them, she waded into the pool. The long neck of the guitar was a gradual incline, and at its intersection with the main pool, the water looked to be a depth of two to three feet.

  In her peripheral vision, she saw Tristan’s wide smile and eager nod. Relaxing some, she continued to wade until she was knee-deep.

  Jack and Tristan went into the portico, and she observed Jack hold a door open for the boy. Then, using the toe of his foot, he slid a decorative mermaid statue partially propping the door from completely closing. Presumably, it was a bathroom.

  Seeing Jack run full speed toward her interrupted her musings, and knowing his intentions were rambunctious, she screamed in protest for the few seconds it took him to close the distance. Wrapping her in his arms again, he dragged her into the water, falling with her.

  Sputtering to the surface, she felt the slight drag of the soaked cover-up, but she easily stood in the shallow water.

  “Jack-ass!” she yelled and received the quirky smirk she adored.

  “Mom, are you ready to help Jack teach me to swim?”

  Knowing Tristan had undoubtedly heard her second slander of the day towards his dad, she slicked the hair from her face. “Sure honey.” Looking to Jack, she asked, “Does he have sunblock on?”

  Jack answered affirmative, and she enjoyed the glint in his eyes as she hoisted herself to the poolside and removed the clinging, transparent blouse.

  The swimming lessons commenced with Dax cheering Tristan on. Jack had not made any false promises. Tristan so
on kicked and splashed enough to propel himself from her to Jack, and then from side to side of the pool.

  Tristan continued to play. Because of the water’s buoyancy, he needed no help to walk the pool bottom once he was waist deep. She and Jack reclined on the island watching him.

  A conversation began, but gradually she realized she was carrying it, and she looked over wondering if he had fallen asleep behind his shades. As if feeling her gaze, he propped up, took a sip of his drink, and fell back again. Beneath the couple of inches of water, the tile was smooth against her skin, and she absently stirred at the water with her fingers.

  From the shade of the patio, a ring tone floated across the water, and Jack complained, “You brought your phone out?”

  Sitting up, she considered making a dash for the device, until he reached for her arm. “You’re not really going to get that, right?” With a flip of his sunglasses to the top of his head, he held her eyes in some silent challenge.

  Looking into his stormy gaze, she let it ring. After a minute or so of silence, the rings began again. Dax, who was watching television in the shaded portico, offered to bring it to her, but she shook her head. She didn’t feel like Jack being pissed at her, although she was getting pissed with his moods.

  “I’m hungry!” Tristan was playing with his new toys in the wading area, and never even looked up from his fun as he made the proclamation.

  When she moved to get up, Jack quietly stayed her.

  “Hey Dax. Dude? You starting those burgers?”

  Barely a quarter of an hour later, they were all eating hamburgers, piled high with all of the trimmings. As Dax ate, he tended to steaks and foil packs of vegetables on the grill. When his phone bleeped, he balanced the tongs to jump over to it. Seconds later, Reed was letting himself through the glass doors, and helping himself to food.

  “Liz may come by in a bit,” Reed informed no one in particular between giant bites.