We aren’t laughing anymore. His body is so warm. I arch into him. There’s a crackling, singing tension between us and I’m caught between excitement and terror, not knowing what’s about to happen.
I want Jack’s hands on me. Want to feel the weight of him pressing me into the sand. Want to feel him sliding between my thighs.
Then he kisses me.
It is not the awkward kisses of my teen years, where we clink teeth, and he uses too much tongue. Jack’s kiss is expertly executed, and I am a live wire in water, sparking and thrumming beneath his hands as they move along my back and around to my front. He groans into my mouth, tasting like hot chocolate and sex, and I want him. I want him. I want him.
We stumble back up the path, lips still locked. Hands still exploring. My foot slides on a wet rock and I stumble. He catches me, lifting me easily into his arms, carrying me over the threshold of Wisteria. In the hallway, he sets me on my feet. Then his hands are in my hair, his lips on my throat, nibbling the delicate place between neck and shoulder.
It’s only when we are outside one of the bedrooms that the fog of lust breaks and I have a moment of pause and my brain screams, ‘What the hell are you doing?’ But that voice isn’t mine. It’s Jeffrey. I pull away from Jack, stumbling out of reach.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I can’t do this.’
‘Elodie,’ he pleads. ‘Don’t say that.’
But I do. ‘Jack … we’re friends. We’ve always been friends. You’re like a brother to me and—’
‘Stop!’ he explodes, throwing his hands wide. ‘Fuck that. You are more. So much more.’ He eats up the space between us and takes my face between his hands again. ‘You’re all I want.’
‘Do you say that to all your bed buddies?’
‘Is that what you think? One fuck and I’m done?’
‘Classic Jack Westwood.’
‘Not with you.’ He presses his forehead to mine. ‘You and me, this is right.’
I still want him. Desire makes my body thrum. But if we do this, there’s no going back. ‘What if it goes wrong?’
‘Impossible. Nothing you ever do will make me feel this isn’t meant to be. I know everything about you.’
‘Everything?’ I smile up at him from beneath my lashes. ‘I could be a woman of many mysteries.’
‘I know you.’ He punctuates each word carefully. ‘I know you have to tie your hair up before you write. I know you can’t sleep if the duvet buttons are topside. I know you can never sing in key, but you always smile and curtsey like you’ve just graced the Royal Opera House.’ His thumbs are drawing circles on my cheeks. ‘I know all of you, and I’m all in, Elodie. All in.’
So many of my friends bitch that their fiancés wouldn’t even notice if they shaved their heads and here is Jack, noticing the tiny details of my life. I am so giddy, I could float away, but there’s still a concrete block of concern weighing me down. I bite my lip.
‘What?’
‘I haven’t been with anyone since Noah,’ I blurt. ‘It feels too soon.’
His hands drop, but he stays close. ‘You’re going to stop living your life because he can’t live his? Is that the girl you want to be tonight? Afraid? Safe? You want this. I know you want this.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘Something that burns, something consuming and unpredictable, and maybe a little dangerous?’
‘Something people spend their whole lives searching for.’
And I could let myself slip-slide into his promises but what happens if it goes wrong? With Noah gone, Jack’s the only person who has ever truly loved me. I can’t lose that. I just can’t. ‘Jack …’
There’s pain in his face. I’ve hurt him. Then the shutters come down on his rejection and his hands slide from my skin. He doesn’t look at me again. ‘Okay. Yeah. I understand. I just … I get it.’
He turns.
He’s leaving.
Where’s the relief? Why do I feel like my chest is caving in? I’m shivering, finally feeling the icy cold. Jack’s door is closing. The moment is slipping. Then the thought crests again, riding on a second wave: he’s the only person who has ever truly loved me.
I rush forward, ‘Jack, Jack!’
I push my way into his room and then I am on him. We kiss again. It’s the kind of kiss that turns your bones to silk. It isn’t long before I’m naked and laid out on his sheets. Then he’s inside me. And we are made to fit.
It’s rough and impossibly gentle.
Lustful and so much more.
Consuming and not enough.
So we do it again. And again. And I know I will always want Jack Westwood.
Chapter Thirty-One
35 Days Missing
Elodie Fray
In the soft gold light of morning, Jack slides between my legs. We are naked and he is glorious. ‘This is it for me,’ he says, lifting a lock of my hair from the pillow and twirling it between his fingers.
‘What about all the other women?’ I ask, the feminist in me weeping.
‘Placeholders.’
And the relief is absolute because I am not a single fuck, a disposable one-night stand, a toss-away blonde, but more. Something important. Something lasting.
‘I’ve always wanted you,’ he tells me.
‘I didn’t know.’
He snorts.
‘I didn’t!’
‘I knew if we just had some time alone … Away from Crosshaven. Just us. I knew it would fall into place.’
‘Why didn’t you ever tell me how you felt?’
‘I wanted to. Then Noah came along. I was playing the long game. I wasn’t going to risk telling you anything until I knew you were ready.’
‘I thought you were a man of risks,’ I tease.
‘Not when there’s so much to lose.’ He kisses me. It’s long and slow and makes me want more. He murmurs against my mouth, ‘How far will you go?’
‘Mmm.’ I make a dramatic show of thinking hard. ‘Couple of steps?’
He nips my bottom lip playfully. ‘How far will you go?’
I shrug one bare shoulder. ‘Three, maybe four steps … if you’re lucky.’
He sinks his teeth into my skin, and I am whooshed into memories from last night: gripped cotton sheets, skin on skin, and hips moving in a rhythm that’s all our own. ‘How far will you go?’
I give in to him, so he’ll give in to me. ‘All the way.’
He thrusts into me again. ‘Elodie.’ His voice is hoarse with pleasure, as if the word has been dragged from him.
We spend the morning tangled up in each other; vines at the bottom of an olive grove. His arms are around me, thick and strong. I lay my head on his hard chest, feeling the rise and fall.