“I love you.” He grinds the three words through a frustrated jaw. “I left her before, remember? This isn’t about thinking the grass is greener, or being blindsided by great sex and excitement.” He reaches for my face and pulls it toward him so he has my eyes. “I’m not delusional, Annie. I’m head over heels. I don’t care what people think if they find out, but I’ll do my best to make sure they don’t. I need to keep you away from it.” Jack drops a light kiss on the edge of my mouth. “I have one shot on this earth. One life. I can’t see my days through to the end with someone who I’m not supposed to be with. I wish I’d met you fifteen years ago. But I didn’t. I can’t dwell on that.” His eyes cloud over as his thumb swipes slowly across my bottom lip, his gaze following its journey. “I just have to be thankful that you did eventually show up.” He slowly returns his eyes to mine, and I feel my bottom lip tremble under his thumb. “It’s you and me against the world, baby. Don’t give up, do you hear me?”
My face twists with sadness, my throat closing up on me, and I roll over, putting myself on his chest and burying my face in his neck, needing closeness and comfort…needing Jack. “I love you.” My voice shakes with so many emotions, and my body presses into his as far as I can get it. “I’ll hold your hand through this if you hold mine.”
“I’ll never let go, Annie. Not for anything.”
Chapter 21
I look over my shoulder when I hear Jack’s footsteps padding into the kitchen, finding him with his phone in his hand, spinning it slowly, thoughtfully. I dip a spoon in my fresh cup of coffee. He’s pulled his boxers on, but the sight I’d usually be rapt by is being overshadowed by the blankness of his expression. “Are you okay?” I ask, slowing my stirring.
“Stephanie’s father,” he says, holding up his phone. “I should be at his birthday celebrations beside my wife.” He smiles, but it’s strained. “Because God forbid anyone notices my absence and surmises what that might mean.”
Placing my spoon on the drainer, I take my coffee and turn toward him. “If you have to go…” I start, swallowing down the strength I need to say the words that I really don’t want to say. “Then…” It’s no good. I can’t tell him to go.
“I don’t want to go,” he says softly.
My smile is relieved but sad. “Okay,” I reply, not sure of what else to say. I don’t feel any sense of triumph that he’s choosing not to go. This isn’t a trivial he picked me over her situation.
“I don’t want to make assumptions, but I was hoping we could do something.” Jack gives me hopeful eyes.
“Like what?” I ask. We hardly have the luxury of freedom to go where we please and do what we like.
“Like just be together.” He shrugs, almost embarrassed. “Watch trashy television, eat junk, be lazy.”
I smile. I don’t need to venture into public. Not when I can hide in here with Jack and smother him all day long. “I like that idea.”
“You do?” He smiles, too, bright and beautifully, and the knowledge that such a simple thing can make him so elated warms me soul-deep.
“I need to pop to the shop,” I tell him, swilling my mug in the sink. “I need milk.”
“And junk food,” he pipes up, his excitement growing. “Get some of those strawberry sweets. The big ones. Giant Strawbs. Lots of them! And how about I cook something?”
“You’re going to cook for me?” I ask, loving the sound of that. A man’s never cooked for me before. Not ever, and I love that Jack will be the first.
“Yes.” Jack heads for the drawers and starts pulling them open one by one. “I’ll write you a list. Where do you keep your pens and paper?”
“Here.” I reach to the shelf and pull down a pad, then go through my bag to find a pen. I hand them to him and he takes a seat, starting to write. I look over his shoulder, peeking down at his list. His long list. Beef stock? Corn flour? Crème fraiche? He’s cooking for me, and he’s cooking from scratch?
“Sherbet dip?” I ask, frowning.
“Yes.” He looks up at me. “You know the little pouches of sherbet that come with a strawberry lollypop inside? You lick and dip and when the lolly has gone, you lick your finger and shove it in to scoop out the sherbet.”
Oh God, he’s adorable. “Lick your finger and shove it in? Will that be dessert?”
His eyes try to narrow, but they’re glimmering too much. “I have something else in mind for dessert.”
He rips his list off the pad and hands it to me.
I take the paper and lean down, offering him my lips. “And what do I get in return for delivering all this sweet stuff?”
Placing his lips on mine, he grins. “I’m cooking you dinner, woman. What more could you want?”
“I’m sure I can think of something.”
His grin widens. “A sleepover?”
I recoil, a little surprised. “A sleepover?”
“She’s staying at her parents’.”
To fall asleep with him and to wake up with him? I push my lips to his hard, intending for it to be a forceful peck, but Jack soon turns it into more, pulling me down onto his lap and coaxing my mouth open with a few nudges of his tongue against my lips. I open up to him and lose myself in a few minutes of his mouth’s attention.
His groin flexes upward into my bum, making his hard-on known. “You’d better go before I take you back to the bedroom for some more affection.” He says it like that’s a problem. I hold on tighter to him, my way of telling him that I’m totally cool with that. “Come on.” He taps my bum and tries to usher me from his lap, ignoring my grumbles of protest.
“How about dessert now, dinner later?” I try, pushing my chest into his and nibbling at his ear, making a point to breathe heavily into it. I’m all worked up as a result of that smoldering kiss. He needs to take responsibility for the condition he has me in.
He laughs, forcing me to my feet. “Can I use your shower while you’re gone?”
“Sure,” I mutter moodily, making my way to my bedroom to throw on some clothes.
“You’re walking funny,” he calls, amused.
I ignore him and try to shrink the need that’s wedged itself between my thighs…making me walk like my knickers are up my arse.
*
After collecting everything on Jack’s shopping list, I make my way to the checkout. I quickly snatch some magazines from the nearby stand and toss them on the conveyor belt, as well as a chocolate bar, then head to the other end and start packing as the cashier rings it all through. After paying, I pull out a magazine, hang the bag from the crook of my arm, and start wandering home. I flick through the pages as I chew my chocolate, not looking where I’m going. The pages of the weekly gossip mag hold my attention, leaving everyone else to sidestep around me.
“Annie!”
I look up and see Lizzy jogging across the road, looking all sweaty in her running gear, her short hair tugged back in a haphazard ponytail, and a Frappuccino in her hand. I shove the magazine in my bag and chew rapidly as she makes it to me. “What’s with the sports getup?” I ask.
“Wine. That’s what. I either need to stop drinking it or try to counteract it. I must have gained eight pounds while me and Jason were split up.” She reaches forward and pulls the side of my bag open a little. “Been shopping?”
“Just some milk.”
“Milk and sweets?”
“I’m having a bumming day.”
“I thought you were at your mum and dad’s today.”
“Work took over.” I hope I look better than I feel when I lie, because I feel like a million bags of shite. “I have an exhibition next weekend in Liverpool.” Let’s get that in while I can. “Lots of prep.”
“Oh well.” She sounds as interested as I hoped she would: not interested at all. “Hey, come on, give me all the juicy details.” She starts jogging on the spot, grinning. “Are his thighs still as impressive?”
I straighten my lips and shake my head. “He’s nice, but—”