Page 36 of Misadventures With The Mistaken Twin
“At my house.”
“Your house? It's all fixed?” He sounded surprised.
I smiled to myself as I played with the bubbles floating like islands in the tub. “Yup.”
“What's that sound? It sounds like you're doing dishes.”
“I'm in the bath.” I heard a strange noise over the phone. “Jack?”
“Sorry, I think I just swallowed my tongue. What's your address?”
Excitement raced up my spine. I told him. The line went dead.
“You're supposedto be in the tub. My fantasy driving over here was of youin the tub,” Jack said when I'd unlocked the doorfor him. He stood there with thick snowflakes in his hair and on the shoulders of his coat, his eyes raking over me, taking in my painted toenails, my just-shaven legs, my ratty robe, my wet hair.
Smiling, I stepped back and let him in. “How were you planning on getting in then?” I asked, my hands pulling at the lapels on my robe, shivering. The floor was chilly beneath my bare feet.
“I was going to break in. It didn't really matter as long as you were still in the tub.” His eyes moved once again over my body as if searching for contraband.
With one foot, he kicked the front door shut behind him. With both hands, he grabbed hold of the ends of the tie about my waist and pulled me into him. The weak knot I had holding the front together came loose, the robe parting down the middle. Goose bumps rose across my body as my exposed skin was pressed against his cold jacket. And lower. His lips descended to mine in a quick, searing kiss. There was nothing gentle about the man who stood in front of me. He appeared to be on a mission and did not intend to fail.
His tongue circled with mine, delved deep before his lips moved to kiss my eyes shut, my jaw, my neck, all the time his hands holding tightly to my sash, keeping me from moving away. Not that I wanted to.
“You're wet,” he said, his voice a rough whisper by my ear. “I know it.”
I tilted my head back for his mouth, which had found a delicious spot halfway down my neck.
“No...no, I dried off in the bath?—”
Jack laughed against my neck, his hands found my waist and I gasped at how cool they were. One hand slid down past my belly button, lower still until he plunged not one, but two fingers into me.
Oh my god. I went up on my tiptoes, but the pleasure of the bold contact made me gasp.
“Here. You're wet here.”
My inner walls clamped down on his fingers, wanting them to stay deep inside me. My knees crumpled beneath me as he slid in and out. The lightning quick pulses of pleasure radiated out of my core to every part of my body. Jack's scent swirling around us, his lips on my neck made me lose all practical thought.
Jack pulled free, picked me up in his arms, my robe gaping open. I looked down at myself. One breast was exposed, just like the other time, the nipple tightening from the cool air, and Jack's gaze. He kept staring when he asked, “Where's your bedroom?”
His voice was dark and gravelly.
I pointed in the general direction, lost in a fathomless need. My body craved his touch. It had for years. I'd fought him for days—at least mentally—and knew when it was time to throw in the towel. Or, in this particular situation, maybe my old, frayed robe. Yes, he was leaving. Yes, it was going to hurt when he was gone.
But this was Jack Reid. The Jack Reid of every one of my fantasies. What woman in her right mind turned down a hot, smart, hot, kind and did I mention hot, man who carried you to the nearest bed? I'd put up a good fight against the oh, so tempting Jack Reid, but I was just a mere woman. For once I wanted to do the wrong thing. And the wrong thing felt so right.
Jack laid me down on the bed and spread the sides of the robe apart, exposing me to his gaze. For the first time. I'd dreamed of this moment and it was everything I'd imagined, and then some. He looked enthralled, lost, as if he was memorizing my every curve.
“You're so beautiful,” he murmured, running his finger gently over my stomach, moving up to circle the curving slope of one breast, then the other. I watched his finger move, hoping,longing for it to brush over my nipples. His hand was so tan, so rugged next to my Montana pale skin.
“I'm leaving tomorrow. Going back to deal with all the stuff I've done,” he said roughly as he caressed me with a tenderness that was my undoing.
Jack closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath. He fought an inner demon. “But I've got to touch you. Make you mine. You've always been everything that's right with the world.” He looked into my eyes. Pinned me in place with his storm swept, sea colored gaze. “I've been in love with you since I was seventeen. Seeing you again made me realize I hadn't stopped.”
His fingers finally brushed over my nipple. He paused and watched as it pebbled hard beneath his touch. I arched my back and my breast lifted up into his palm, wanting, craving every part of him. He said he loved me. Had always done so. Those few words were like a balm, they filled up every nook and cranny of my heart and it overflowed. Just for Jack.
“Please, Veronica, please tell me not to stop.”
Right then, whether he knew it or not, he was doing the right thing. He was stopping. Waiting. Letting me dictate what happened next. He didn't have to ask, he could've just taken what he wanted, and he knew I wasn't strong enough to stop him.