Smart-ass. Beautiful, sexy, exasperating smart-ass.
He caved. “I want someone that will have my children, and whose priority would be taking care of her family. Not someone who just wants to have fun and run around, flaunting herself and probably cheating on me the second I step out the door.”
He knew before he closed his mouth that he’d spoken too much.
Elle smiled, realizing that too. “Ahh, so that’s why you said you didn’t want someone like me. Because you think I flaunt myself and cheat? You think I’m a whore.”
“I didn’t use that word.”
“Didn’t have to, Borg. You’re spot-on about one thing, though. I’m anything but silent. In bed or out of it. Not that you’ll ever get to experience the ‘in’ part. The other, all the screaming and yelling I do outside, I’m going to give you plenty. I suggest you save yourself a world of pain and aggravation and take on another super-secret assignment and disappear.”
“I don’t think so, pet,” he growled, planting his feet onto the sofa table and looking at the ceiling. “Despite whatever you need to believe, you are a witness to a crime, and Maldonado plays in the big leagues. He will not hesitate to cut your throat. The second I think your cover is blown, I’m pulling you out and into hiding. And I don’t want to hear a word from you.”
Silence.
Oh, miracle.
Jack turned toward her and to his utter surprise found her sleeping. No wonder she hadn’t given him one of her clever comebacks. Even when she fell asleep, she always had the last word.
Her head was bent at an awkward angle, the spoon still dangling from her hand. Almost three. So this was why she always wrote to him at those ungodly hours.
He disposed of the ice cream. He was going to throw a quilt over her and leave her there, but before he even realized what he was doing, he was lifting her in his arms and heading upstairs. She was a flight risk after all, and having her sleep so close to the front door was stupid.
The first room he tried was Tate’s. The next one was definitely Elle’s. Bold, in-your-face, messy place. Bed unmade, clothes stacked on the chair. More of those inspirational sentences on the walls. Yep, Elle’s.
Life is short.
Break the rules.
Forgive quickly.
Kiss slowly.
Undressing her would make it more difficult for her to bail unnoticed and would piss her off immensely in the morning, but there was no way he could survive that. No way whatsoever.
He put her to bed, tucked her in, and made himself walk away.
He left his duffel bag in the guest room, the one that had been her brother’s. James had told him that Tate and Elle’s dad and older brother had died in a car accident almost a year before he’d met Tate. Drunk driver. Elle never spoke of it, not with him anyway.
No frills. No mess. Perfectly clean room. But instead of staying there he found himself heading to hers. He watched Elle for a long second, and before he could order his legs not to move, he was getting into her bed.
Jesus Christ, not even forty-eight hours around this woman and he was already in her bed. Unable to walk away, not even to the next room. His mind in turmoil, his dick hard as stone. His ulcer killing him. He repeated to himself that if he kept his arms around her, she couldn’t ditch him. This was just an extra precaution. Nothing to do with him at all.
Then she turned to him in her sleep, snuggling and burying herself into him, nuzzling her face on his chest, throwing her leg over him. She took a small, deep breath and went soft in his arms.
This was going to be a long night. A very long, very painful night.
I’m calling you exactly two seconds after I send this message. If you don’t pick up, I’m taking the car and heading your way. Haven’t slept much and I’m cranky as hell. I suggest YOU ANSWER OR ELSE.
Elle had barely finished reading the message when her phone rang.
She’d been avoiding her sister and her calls since yesterday, so she knew this was coming. Better get it over fast.
“Hi, sis,” she greeted Tate. “I see your hormones are still raging.”
“Finally!” came from the other side of the line.
“I sent you a message yesterday to tell you everything was okay.”
Tate snorted. “Sure everything is okay. Just peachy. You spent over twenty-four hours in a police station after one of your coworkers was murdered and you came back escorted by none other than Jack.”
“We happened to run into each other in Florida. That’s all.”
“Save it. I talked to Paige.”
Damn. Paige, Rosita’s ma?tre d’, was a tough cookie, but she had nothing on Elle’s little sister even when she was calm. A hormone-ridden, sleep-deprived Tate? A steamroller.
“She said you showed up at Rosita’s with Jack and left with him after dinner,” Tate continued. “What’s going on?”
Elle decided to try Jack’s explanation. “We hooked up.”
A snort of incredulity. “Try again.”
“What? You don’t believe we could hook up? I have my charms.”