Always Box Set Page 6

I watch him.

  I am fucking him and he’s savoring it like a man who hasn’t had this in a very long time.

  * * *

  We are sweaty and hot, curled into each other, lying on the chaise. Jack is smoking a cigarette. In the frenzy of shedding our clothes, Jack ended up with his shirt on and nothing below the waist. The image of him damp half-dressed and damp with passion makes me giggle.

  I bury my face against his chest, then peek up at him sheepishly. I’m sure that my eyes are still glowing wickedly.

  “We have a problem,” I whisper.

  “We don’t have a problem in the world, baby.”

  I laugh.

  I stare at him with round eyes.

  “We’ve been in here a long time. It’s a tiny restaurant. I don’t know how I go to our table without being totally embarrassed.”

  Jack pretends to give it thought. The smile in his eyes make them gleam. “We don’t,” he concedes. “There’s a door at the end of the hallway. We can ditch our table and go next door and eat.”

  I arch a brow in playful suspicion. “Aha. And how would you know that? Have you done this before?”

  He tucks a hair behind my ear and shakes his head. “No. This was a novelty for me. I’ve never done this before.”

  He smiles.

  My eyes grow large in surprise. “Are you saying not in this restaurant or are you saying you’ve never been out with a woman and snuck off for a quickie in an opportunistic place before?”

  “No, I have not done the quickie thing.” He shakes his head and frowns as if recalling something uncomfortably. “I married Lena at twenty.” He starts to trace the lines of my face with an index finger. “This was not her type of thing.”

  I make a face. “What? Having sex?”

  He smiles and taps me on the nose.

  “Spontaneity.” He turns to me and brushes the curls off my face. “You are completely unexpected, but I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t having fun with you, Linda. I can’t remember the last time I had fun doing anything.”

  The look in his eyes makes my heart drop to my knees and then take off, beating fiercely. That is far from a casual comment. His voice is earnest and tender and peaceful.

  I kiss him on the cheek. “I have fun with you, too. I particularly had fun with you a few minutes ago.”

  I nibble lightly on his neck.

  “Always a wisecrack.” Laughing, he sits up and rakes a hand through his sex-mussed waves. “Enough. We need to plot how to get out of here.”

  In between searing kisses and caresses, we take our clothes from the floor and dress. I pause at the mirror and try to smooth the just been fucked look of my curls.

  Over top of me, in the reflection, Jack is smoothing his hair, too. His fingers combing through his hair makes me think of how those same fingers have expertly caressed my body.

  I flush and smile at him in the mirror.

  “Am I presentable?” he asks, amused with himself and clearly still amused by me.

  I shake my head and laugh.

  Jack’s efforts were pointless. His bright golden waves always have the look of just been fucked hair. I doesn’t help that his shirt is buttoned crookedly.

  I kiss him on the underside of his jaw, bite my lip to hold back my laughter, take his hand and pull him from the bathroom.

  As we move down the hallway, I peek over my shoulder to see if we’re being watched and then look to find Jack watching me with the strangest expression on his face.

  Our careful trek down the hallway, for some reason, feels sillier with each step. I am laughing uproariously by the time we reach the dimly lit parking lot.

  Jack wags a finger at me. “You are not the least bit subtle or clever.”

  “There is no point being subtle or clever. You look like a man who just got laid in the ladies’ room.” I bend over with laughter. “How the hell did your shirt get buttoned crooked when you didn’t take off the damn thing?”

  He looks down, looks at me, and the look in eyes makes me dart away from him. With three graceful strides he catches me, and we are laughing harder, stumbling, kissing, and hugging without reason.

  “You could have told me that before we left,” he growls playfully, pressing his forehead into mine, smiling.

  I make a small pout as he unbuttons and re-buttons his shirt.

  I sigh heavily. “Now what? We can’t go back in there and I’m starving.”

  Jack points at a rustic wood structure across the parking lot. Creekside Tavern.

  “How about there? They have very good food, and from the looks of the crowd they’re going to have live music tonight.”

  From elegant eatery to biker pub. But having him in the bathroom just now was definitely worth the downgrade.

  I laugh. “Sure, why not?”

  He takes my hand. I stare at his fingers curled around mine, as he guides me toward the restaurant. He opens the front door, and a rush of warm air and noise hits me as I step in before him.

  The décor is appropriately rustic to match the exterior. The ceiling is high, with open log beams, and the floor is painted concrete. On one side of the room there is a giant stone fireplace and on the other are pool tables. Everything is in one giant, open space: the dance floor and stage; the bar and cocktail tables; and the tables for dining.

  It’s packed, and every set of eyes in the joint, in varying levels of obviousness, are fixed on Jack.

  A man rushes across the room, hand outstretched. “Jack. Good to see you. God, what’s it been? A year?”

  Jack laughs. “At least a year. Great to see you, Rusty. Do you think you could get us a table? You look pretty busy here.”

  Rusty reaches over a counter for some menus. “I always have a table for you, and you know that. Come on. Let’s get you seated.”

  We are led to a corner table in a discreet location.

  Jack pulls back my chair and I sink into it.

  “What can I get the two of you to drink?” Rusty asks.

  “I’ll have the usual, and bring Linda—” Jack pauses thoughtfully and laughs. “What do you want? I don’t know what you drink.”

  Oh crap. Nothing says just picked-up girl like not knowing what she drinks. I can feel the owner’s eyes hone in on me with curiosity.

  I flush from chin to hairline. “Whatever Jack’s having, I’ll have the same.”

  Jack smiles. “You don’t have to not drink because of me.”

  I flush even darker. “I’m not. I don’t drink very much.”

  Crap. I just made what I am more obvious. I grab my napkin and focus on putting it across my lap.

  Rusty pats Jack on the back. “Two sparkling waters with lime, then. The waitress will be right over, Jack. Enjoy your evening.”

  I open my menu.

  He leans into the table. “What?”

  When I peek over the top, Jack frowns.

  “Did you have to make is so obvious that I’m just some piece of ass you’re hanging around with?” I whisper furiously.

  Startled, he eases back into his chair. “You’ve lost me.”

  My eyes round. “You asked me what I wanted to drink.”

  Now he looks perplexed. “OK. And you’re pissed off at that because…?”

  “Because telling him you don’t know what I drink tells him I am—”

  I was about to say just some girl you picked up, but that’s what I am, so why the heck do I feel the need to say it.

  I bury my nose back into my menu.

  Jack is silent. I can feel him watching me.

  I don’t look at him. “What do you recommend here?”

  “Linda…” His voice is like a caress. “…look at me.”

  “It’s all good. It’s OK with me that we have some fun and a few laughs. Just don’t ever treat me like a piece of ass and we’ll get along just fine.”

  “I would never do that,” he counters forcefully.

  “Y
ou just did,” I whisper.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know where you get these ideas you have about things. I merely asked you what you want to drink.”

  I nod.

  “Linda, look at me.”

  I exhale a ragged breath and come out from behind my menu.

  “I’ve already told you I consider us friends.”

  He reaches across the table, he takes my hand and places a searing kiss in my palm.

  He keeps hold of my fingers to lightly rub them against his lips.

  “There is only one of us who thinks you’re a tough, roll-with-the-fun girl, and it isn’t me. You’re an amazing woman. I am happy that I’ve met you.”

  I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if he is changing the level of our relationship or just being charming or just making an observation.

  He soothes my hand on the table and covers it with his. “Do you know what you’d like to order?”

  I look up, startled, to find the waitress standing above us. By the flush on her cheeks and the way she peeks at us from under her long bangs, I can tell she witnessed that whole scene and thinks something thrillingly romantic just happened here.

  I stare at Jack, unable to articulate anything, and whatever is in my expression makes the smile slip from his face.

  “Why don’t you give us a minute,” he says to the waitress.

  The second we’re alone, I pounce.

  “Don’t play games with me by pretending you want this to go somewhere, when we both know that isn’t true. That is an unkind thing to do to a girl.” My voice is soft.

  The expression in his eyes tells me I’ve offended him again.

  “That’s not the response I expected,” he says, after a long pause.

  “Enlighten me, then. What did you expect me to say after a douse of your charming bullshit?” And because I can’t stop the knee-jerk reaction, I add “Thank you?”

  Silence.

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t have the slightest idea. I say what I feel, Linda. I don’t think about what’s next.”

  We stare at each other. Instead of getting all male and hotheaded over my snappiness, he just sits there quietly trying to make sense of me.

  Jeez, why doesn’t Jack ever behave in a way that I know how to deal with?

  “I don’t know what to make of you,” I say, with a slight shake of my head.

  “Then we’re even. There are times I don’t know what to make of you either.” His eyes study me in such a puzzled way. “Are we still fighting or are we friends again?”

  His golden brow puckers in an absolutely adorable way.

  I start to laugh.

  Jack frowns. “Why are you laughing?”

  “We’re an interesting couple.”

  Jack relaxes his elbows on the table and his smile is spellbinding. “You’re coming along, Linda. You are starting to show progress.”

  He leans across the table and kisses me on the mouth, in a manner that ends this awkwardness for us both.

  When the waitress returns, we are both smiling and laughing.

  Jack orders dinner for us both, since I can’t even think of food with his blue eyes smiling at me the way they are, and two hours pass as we chat and linger over Steak Diane and a glass of local Pinot Noir for me.

  I am completely relaxed and content by the time we finish our meal.

  “Are you ready to go?” he asks.

  It’s still early, the first band is on stage readying for their set, and I’m surprised he wants to leave before the music begins.

  “You don’t want to stay for a while? I’ve never been in a biker bar before.”

  Jack chuckles. “If you want to find good live music in a strange town, go where the Harleys are lined up at the front door.”

  I crinkle my nose. “Not really?”

  “Really.” Jack tosses his napkin on the table. “And no I don’t want to stay.” His gaze roams over me in a leisurely way, impossible to mistake. “I’d rather be somewhere more private with you.”

  “A man after my own heart,” I whisper, stealing one of his phrases.

  He motions for the waitress and asks for the check.

  “Just let me pop into the little girl’s room.”

  “Don’t be long,” he whispers before his lips move urgently against my lips.

  Everything is wonderful again.

  I smile as I walk away from the table.

  There’s a line at the bathroom, and I lean against the wall feeling sexy and loose and ready for him.

  I still can’t get my head around the fact that I’m with him, but it’s definitely been one terrific ride and I am eager for more. And I’m going to get more because Jackson Parker is taking Linda Cray home to bed.

  I blush and giggle.

  My cheeks hurt from smiling as I push off the wall when the bathroom door opens.

  I’m about to step in when a harsh hand latches on my arm and pulls me away.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing taking off on me?”

  Oh crap. Rob. I shake my arm out of his hold and step back.

  I stare up at him. “You looked busy at the party so I left. Now if you’ll excuse me I have a date waiting.”

  He grabs my arm again. “Date? Who the fuck would date you?”

  I slap him so hard on the face my hand burns. I hurry down the hallway away from him.

  “Get back here, Linda,” I hear him growl behind me.

  Shit, he’s following me.

  “Don’t you fucking walk away from me!”

  Why does he always have to be so loud and obnoxious? I can feel people staring at me as I cut a path through the bar patrons.

  Jack is still sitting at the table when I get there. I fix my eyes on him.

  “Can we leave, please? Now.”

  Jack looks up startled. He rises from his chair. “What’s wrong?”

  “I need to get out of here. Fast.”

  Jack takes my hand and starts escorting me through the tables.

  From behind us: “Hey buddy, that’s my girlfriend you’re trying to leave with.”

  Jack turns on a dime, somehow putting me behind him, with his body between me and Rob.

  “I’m not your buddy,” Jack says in an even tone that’s more intimidating than if his voice had been raised. “If you so much as speak to Linda again, it will be the last thing you ever do.”

  I don’t know what’s got Rob more stumped: the warning or that it came from Jackson Parker.

  “If you walk out that door, I’m not taking you back this time, Linda.” Rob’s eyes lock on me with burning fury. “Feeling like the groupie Queen for a day, are you? We both know you’ll be back when he’s done with you, just like after that guitarist in Hollywood and the drummer in Venice and…”

  Unexpectedly, Rusty the owner grabs me by the arm and yanks me away from Jack. I whirl back just as Jack’s fist makes contact with Rob’s jaw, causing an ominous cracking sound, and then Rob flies back landing sprawled on the floor.

  It all happens so fast it doesn’t seem real.

  “I warned you,” Jack says. “Stay down. Stay away from her.”

  Eight

  As we drive back to the house, Jack is silent, flexing his cut and bloodied hand.

  Five minutes. Not a word out of him since we left the restaurant. I’m more than a little anxious and terrified of what’s going to come next.

  It was an ugly scene. People gawking. It will probably make the papers. Jack has got to be pissed and he’s got to hate me.

  Rob specializes in ugly scenes and let loose my fucked up lifestyle for all the world to hear.

  Cautiously, I look at Jack from the corner of my eye. Jeez, why doesn’t he just let it out and get it over with. The waiting is unbearable.

  “Boyfriend?”

  His quiet voice makes me jump. “He was never my friend.”

  Jack shakes his head. “Why
the fuck would you be with someone like that?”

  I feel tears burn in my eyes and I fight them back. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It’s just one of those foolish things girls do sometimes. Wrong guy but convenient.”

  “And the rest of the shit he spewed?”

  I flinch. I don’t need Jack to explain what he’s asking about. I can see it in his eyes.

  “It’s complicated. OK?”

  He hits the turn signal.

  “Everything about you is complicated. It’s part of the turn-on and part of the risk.”

  He parks the car, opens his door and I spring out of mine before he can come around the car to open it.

  Silently, I follow behind him as he enters the house. He heads straight for the kitchen, turns on a light, and starts rummaging in a cabinet.

  I hang back in the doorway, watching. “You should wash your hand. You’re bleeding.”

  He slaps a first aid kit down beside the sink and turns on the water. He starts carefully washing his hand and I can tell by his expression it hurts.

  Another handful of minutes drag by in silence.

  He looks over his shoulder at me. “I haven’t been in a fight in fifteen years.”

  His tone is carefully neutral.

  “It wasn’t much of a fight, if you ask me.”

  I see his back shimmy with a reluctant laugh. I wonder if the laugh means he’s thawing a bit.

  “Should we go to a hospital? Do you think you broke anything? We should really get that checked.”

  “No. Just a cut. Nothing broken. It’s fine.”

  I nearly collapse in relief. I am so lost in the beauty of who Jack is that there are times I forget who Jack is: one of the world’s greatest guitarists.

  Christ, if he had ruined his hand because of me I could never forgive myself.

  He pulls from the drawer a clean kitchen towel and I cross the room to him then. I reach for the first aid kit and he stops me.

  “No, I’ll do it,” he says, taking the kit with him to the island and sinking down on a stool.

  Feeling guilty, I push his unoffended hand out of the way.

  “You can’t bandage your own hand. Don’t be an ass about this.”

  He frowns at me, still angry but now just a smidge amused.

  I sit on the stool next to him. I take out a square of gauze and dampen it with antiseptic.