Elle was not self-absorbed, but she had eyes in her head and she knew how men looked at her.
“Yes, you have plenty of charms, but Jack is impervious to them, remember? Besides, any hookup between you two would end up on the five o’clock news. The second the sex was over, maybe even before that, you would be ready to shoot each other.”
That was not that flattering. But it was probably true.
“Paige said Jack was scary-looking. More than usual.”
Damn Borg. He’d kissed her twice at the airport and once before the flash mob, but at Rosita’s he’d kept his distance. Of course no one was going to buy they were hooked up if he looked at her as if he was going to kill her. Although in all honesty, he did look like he was going to kill her while kissing her too.
Elle let out a loud breath. She might as well admit defeat and give Tate something. If not the truth, then something close enough. “Jack is keeping an eye on me. He was at the police station when I was there giving my statement about Marlene. I had spent the whole night partying with her and the cops wanted to know more about it.” Which was not a lie per se. The cops had been interested in that. Until she’d told them about their little identity-fraud trick. “I was upset and in shock and he got worried. The case is not closed yet so he insisted on watching my back. He’s staying at the house.”
Silence. Then disbelief. “Jack is staying at the house?”
“In Jonah’s bedroom,” Elle felt the need to clarify.
Or so she’d thought. She’d totally zonked out on the sofa and woken up alone in her bed. Tucked in but dressed. With the faint recollection of hard arms around her and an even harder chest behind her, unbending, keeping her trapped and weirdly safe during the night. And her pillow smelled like Jack. Then again, to her everything smelled like Jack by now. He took up so much space. He walked into a room and the space grew smaller, as if he’d sucked in the light and the air around, all the attention going to him.
Be that as it may, she’d woken up incredibly hot and bothered. Her * wet and throbbing. Her nipples hard, her clit engorged and pulsing. Needing to come so badly she’d had to go to the shower to relieve herself. She’d been without sex for months and hadn’t really missed it. Then she spent one measly night under the same roof with testosterone-ridden Jack and she was finger fucking herself in the bathroom like there was no tomorrow, legs barely holding her as she came, hoping real hard the sound of the shower’s running water would muffle her moans.
“Where is he now?” Tate asked.
“Not sure. I think he’s in the kitchen.” When she’d gone downstairs he was coming in with his hands full of groceries. He’d growled a “Not a thing to eat here, pet” and stomped down the hall.
“I don’t eat breakfast,” she’d whispered more to herself than him.
At least not this early in the day, anyway.
“Now you do,” he’d growled back, not even turning to her.
How he’d heard her, she had no clue, but she hoped he’d heard the screw-you that came after that.
She was actually waiting for him to burst into the bathroom at any moment and drag her out to eat protein shakes or some shit like that.
There was a long silence before Tate spoke again. “You’re lying to me. There’s more to it than Jack watching over you.”
Elle put on her poker face. And her poker voice too. “What makes you think I’m lying?”
“Have you forgotten who you’re talking to? And I know Jack. You’re back in Boston. He would be running in the opposite direction if you were safe, not watching over you. Much less staying in the same house as you.”
Her sister was absolutely right.
More silence.
“Are you going to tell me the truth anytime soon, or do I have to come and beat it out of you? I’ll remind you, hormonal women do not go to jail. It’s called justified temporary insanity. Now spill, sis.”
Chapter Seven
Jack stood up the moment Elle left her advisor’s office. Thank God. About time.
As an undercover operative, one of his strengths was infiltrating all sorts of environments, but on a university campus he was out of his depth. So many brats around, he was getting a fucking headache.
“Aren’t you too old for school?” And for all these schmucks salivating around her? A lesser man would have been struck dead by her fulminating glare but he shrugged it off.
“No one is too old for school, dummy. I took several detours, restless soul that I am.”
Pain-in-the-ass soul, if they asked him. “How many detours?”