He tilts his head, saying so much before he breathes a word. “Where’s the bathroom?” he asks.
I point down the corridor, losing the ability to talk. Before I can even think to protest, Jack has his hand against the small of my back, pushing me toward my bedroom. His touch is like fire against my back, burning through the material of my dress.
We’re going to be alone. What will he say? What will I say? He’s married? He’s here, in my house with his fucking wife! And he’s Colin’s contractor! My stomach churns.
He doesn’t close my bedroom door behind us, choosing to only push it shut a little. Then he’s leading the way across my room, pulling me along behind him urgently. After a quick check over his shoulder, he pulls the bathroom door closed behind us, and though I’m a wreck on the inside, I manage to appreciate how suspicious the closed doors might look if his wife comes to find us. I step forward to push it open again, but Jack intercepts me, blocking my way with his tall, well-built body. More flashbacks, except his body is naked.
I refuse to look up at him. I’m a big fat mess on the inside—confused, hurt, and angry—but a lust and desire that I’m all too familiar with is dominating me. And I’m terrified by it. It wasn’t the alcohol that night. It wasn’t my imagination. It was real, and I’m feeling it all again now. When I really shouldn’t be.
He doesn’t speak, leaving the silence drenched with unspoken words and penetrated with potent craving. I knew I should have stayed away! I sensed there was a reason I should have stayed away. Oh my God, he’s married! I checked for a ring that night. He wasn’t wearing a ring!
“I need to go.” I push past him, but he seizes me and holds me in place, his breathing wild and labored.
“You’re Colin’s architect?” he asks, his voice rich and smooth even though it carries reasonable worry.
“Yes,” I answer, short and sharp, not following it up with any of the questions that I should be firing at him.
Pretend I don’t know him. Pretend I’ve never clapped eyes on him before in my life. It’s the only way. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re married?” The question just falls right out.
His hands squeeze my shoulders. “I couldn’t,” he says simply. “I physically couldn’t utter the fucking words to you, because at that moment in time, Annie, I was wishing I wasn’t, more than I’ve ever wished it before.”
Wished it before? I shake my head before I can let that question hold me here any longer. “I really must go.”
“No,” he grates, shaking me a little.
My anxiety rockets. I can only pretend nothing happened between us if he lets me, and his attitude right now is telling me he’s not prepared to. Or maybe he’s worried I’ll say something to his wife. His wife! His wife who’s currently sweeping up broken glass in my hallway!
Anger bubbles up from my toes, and I brave looking at him. His handsome face is like a sucker punch to my turning stomach. I feel sick. “I won’t say anything if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“You were gone,” he whispers, taking my arm and pulling me toward the sink.
He flips the tap on and forces my hand under the running water. There’s no pain. I can’t feel a damn thing through my shock.
“I woke up and you were just gone,” he says. “Why?”
His audacity astounds me. Like I have to justify my actions to him? “It’s fucking irrelevant now, don’t you think?” I seethe, wrenching my hand from the sink and grabbing a hand towel to wrap it in.
I’m so stupid! I bet he’s out most weekends enticing women back to hotels with those sinfully good looks, the right words, his twinkling eyes and a bit of charming banter. He’s clearly got away with it, too, because his wife obviously trusts him. She didn’t think twice about sending him into a room alone with me. What an arsehole! I’m suddenly so mad with myself for wasting a whole week going over every tiny detail of our encounter, picking it to pieces and trying to make sense of it. How many women has he blindsided?
He moves in closer and bends a little, his scent invading my nose. I hold my breath to avoid it. To stop myself from relishing it.
“There was nothing irrelevant about that night, Annie. I’ve thought of nothing else since.” His hand comes up and cups my cheek, his thumb circling lightly over my skin.
My whole body relaxes, the feel of him touching me so tenderly cutting through my anger, and I release my breath, getting a strong hit of his manly smell. It sends me woozy.
“There was something there between us,” he whispers. “Fucking hell, something that’s possessed me. I can’t get you out of my head, Annie. I’ve been back to that bar every damn fucking night looking for you.” His face comes close, his breath warming my cheeks as I close my eyes and fall into a trance. “You felt it, too, didn’t you? It wasn’t just sex. Tell me you felt it, too.” He brushes his scruff lightly across my cheek and I moan, despite myself, suddenly catapulted back into that hotel room. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
I swallow, trying not to let the confirmation that he’s thought about it, too, run away with me. It’s a moot point now. But his touch. It’s like fire, pulling the memories to the front of my mind, making me relive them all relentlessly.
“That night,” he breathes. “With you curled into my side, I had no worries. No problems. I felt nothing beyond you, and it was fucking perfect, Annie.”
I swallow and squeeze my eyes shut. “Perfect until I found out that you’re married.” The words hurt, and though I’m willing myself to step back, to remove myself from his touch because I know I shouldn’t be loving the feel of him, I don’t. I remain where I am, unwilling and unable to rob myself of the amazing feelings that I’ve dreamed about experiencing again.
“You kept it,” Jack says softly, pulling my eyes open. He picks up the bottle cap from the shelf above my sink and fiddles with it for a few seconds, studying it moving between the tips of his fingers. I say nothing, watching as he looks back to me. “You couldn’t forget either.”
We stare at each other for a few moments as he blindly puts the bottle cap back. Then he moves closer to me, pushing his body into mine. Explosions. And his mouth drops lazily toward mine. In my head, I’m screaming, demanding I push him away. But my heart is fluttering and my body is coming to life again. His lips. His touch. His voice. His face. His kisses. Soft kisses turning into hard kisses. Just one more of those consuming kisses. One more. Please, one more. His lips gently brush mine, and I go lax against him.
“Jack!”
I’m snapped from my recklessness when her voice slams into the bathroom, and I fly back, as does Jack, just as the door opens and his wife appears. “Is it bad?” she asks, approaching me.
Her presence aligns my sensibility in a heartbeat. “It’s nothing,” I assure her, smiling tightly. “I have a bandage in the kitchen.”