“You’ve been breaking in and rummaging through my cupboards and drawers?”
He gives me a faint laugh, reaching for the cupboard that houses my coffee. “I knew because that is exactly the cupboard I would have put them in. And the coffee.” He reaches for the drawer where I keep my cutlery. “And the spoons are in here, right?”
“Right. And, amazingly, the milk is in the fridge.”
He shoves the drawer shut with a jerk of his arse, tapping the spoon on his palm as he regards me. He takes one step forward. I take one step back. He smirks. I smirk. Then he lunges forward threateningly, and I squeal as he seizes me, wrapping me in one solid arm and tickling me with his spare hand. “Jack!” I gasp, bucking against him. It’s futile; his weight and strength verses mine is always going to win. “Jack, stop!”
“Are you mocking me for having good cupboard awareness?”
“No, I love your cupboard awareness!” I laugh over my words, relishing his playfulness, his nakedness against mine, and the fact that he would have put the coffee cups in that cupboard, too.
I’m finally released from his torturing clutches and slapped on the arse. “Finish the coffee, gorgeous. I need the toilet.” He strides out. “Bet I know where you keep your spare loo rolls.”
I chuckle and finish off the coffees, before making tracks to find him. “Jack?”
“In here,” he calls. I follow the sound of his voice until I’m on the threshold of my studio. I find Jack’s naked body standing over my workbench, and I wander over to join him, finding him looking over the drawings for Colin’s extension. Glancing up at me, he smiles. “Annie the architect.”
I laugh softly, remembering him calling me that on the night I met him. “Jack the joker.”
Jack laughs, too, his eyes sparkling. “You loved my joke.”
I can’t deny it, so I don’t. “What are you looking at?”
“I’m just wondering why you chose bare brick for the internal wall of the extension.”
“Colin’s art is very modern. Almost industrial. The building is early nineteen-hundreds, and I thought—”
“The contrast of old and new would be striking,” he finishes for me, as if reading my mind.
“Exactly that.” My heart falls a little as Jack glances up at me, smiling mildly.
“Great minds.”
“Great minds,” I counter softly, handing him his coffee. It’s not only our bodies that work in complete harmony, but our thoughts, too. It scares me to think how perfect this man is for me. How stimulating, beyond our sexual chemistry.
Jack takes his coffee, seeming to fall into a daydream. I wonder if he’s having the same thoughts as me. But I don’t ask.
I do, however, ask him something. “Why?” I pull him from his daydreaming, and I don’t have to extend my question.
“Honestly?” he asks, prompting me to nod. Jack frowns and spends the next few seconds sipping his drink. Something tells me he’s buying some time, trying to figure out whether he should be honest. “I needed to let off some steam,” he tells me. I nearly spit my coffee out, forcing him to go on quickly. “I don’t mean getting fucked like that. I mean getting fucked in the drunken sense. Just so I could forget about…” He fades off and glances away from me, sighing as his eyes jump across my workbench.
I step back, studying his sudden despondent disposition. “Are you happy?”
“When I’m with you, I’m deliriously happy. I already told you that.”
“You know I don’t mean that.”
He smiles, but it’s a sad smile. “No, I’m not. But does it make the fact that I can’t stop thinking about you acceptable?”
His question gives me pause, despite the answer being very easy. Easy but painful. “No,” I admit, looking away from him. Nothing would make this acceptable.
Within a second, Jack has removed my mug from my hands and has me wrapped in his arms, hugging me tightly. It feels so good, so comforting, like I’m not shouldering all of the guilt alone. I relax into him on a sigh, thinking how I could happily remain here forever.
“My phone,” Jack mumbles quietly, reluctantly releasing me. I hear the sound of his mobile ringing and watch as his naked back disappears through the doorway. I follow him back to the bedroom to find my dressing gown. Jack dips and scoops up his trousers, rummaging through the pocket and pulling out his mobile. I know who it is before he looks down at the screen and his body deflates. The life drains out of me, too.
“Stephanie,” he says when he connects the call. He holds his phone to his ear by his shoulder as he drags his boxers and trousers on and walks out to the corridor to get his shirt, his jaw definitely tight. It’s then I hear her shouting down the line at him. I stand back, like I’m trying to escape the private conversation. Jack’s nostrils flare, and his eyes clench shut briefly. “I’m sorry. I’ll be there as quick as I can,” he replies calmly and quietly. “Apologize to your parents for my delay.”
He hangs up, and I stand in the doorway silently while he fastens the buttons of his shirt, my mind racing. He didn’t even bite to her rant. There was nothing in him. No emotion whatsoever. My eyes drop to my feet, scanning the carpet, my questions growing. I can’t conclude anything except one thing, and it’s a conclusion that frightens me because it could fuck with my immoral conscience even more.
I hate his wife.
How she spoke to him just then, I hate her for it. But I have no right to hate her. I’ve screwed her husband. Twice.
Once Jack’s sorted himself out, he stands quietly for a moment, watching me from across the room. My heart is begging him not to go. But my head is throwing him out and telling him to leave me alone. “See me tomorrow,” he says, not as a question, more as a statement.
I just look at him, unable and unwilling to reply. What I want to do so desperately is ask all about his marriage, but that is a place I know I shouldn’t venture. It’s laughable. It’s not as if I’m not dancing on dangerous ground already. Yet I fear that whatever I learn from Jack will just be another reason that I can use as a weapon to justify my actions. Knowing things were rocky before I came along isn’t beneficial. It’ll just help blanket my reasoning. It’s fucking backward. I can’t win here. So I do the wisest thing and keep my mouth shut. The less I know the better.
“Annie,” he whispers. “Answer me.”
I drop my gaze to the floor, feeling them flood with infuriating tears. “It didn’t sound like a question,” I retort softly. I need him to leave, because I don’t want him to see me break down again. I’m on the edge, my body beginning to tremble with the restraint it’s taking to hold it together.
When I hear his steps coming near, I close my eyes and breathe strength into me. His soft touch meets my cheek and strokes delicately for a few seconds before he dips and kisses my forehead. Then he turns and walks out.
And I crumple to the floor and sob like I’ve never sobbed before.
Because he said that if the Fates ever led me to him again, he wouldn’t walk away.
And he just did.
To go meet his wife.
Chapter 11