Can't Get Enough by Sarah Mayberry Page B

face, almost as
though he was removing a mask or wiping something away.
    "It doesn't matter."
    Of course, it did. In fact, it was probably what shaped his life. She
cocked her head to one side, considering. All her preconceptions, and
observations, and judgments reorganized themselves and settled into a
new pattern to accommodate this information, and she suddenly
understood why Jack shied away from commitment, and drove a sports car,
and skated by on the surface of things: he already had a world of pain
to deal with, and he just didn't have the room, or the time, or the
inclination to handle any more. She blinked, and it was as if she was
seeing him with new eyes. The lines around his mouth weren't all from
smiling and laughing. The spark in those bright blue eyes of his was as
much about covering as it was about charming. She felt an enormous
desire to cross the space between them and take him in her arms. She
actually swallowed at the intensity of it. She wanted to cradle his
head on her breast, and soothe him, and tell him that one day he would
be reconciled to his brother's death, but first he had to let himself
feel it.
    It was a bone-deep longing, and it was so powerful she actually sat on
her hands, in case they reached out toward him of their own accord.
Jack would be horrified if she offered him comfort. In fact, she knew
with a crystal-clear prescience that he was going to regret ever having
said a word once they were out of this elevator.
    And what could she offer him, anyway? They weren't even friends. They didn't even like each other. Page 54

    But despite all that, she found herself talking. Perhaps because she
couldn't offer him comfort, she instead offered him something of
herself so he wouldn't feel so exposed.
    "I'm the biggest regret of my father's life. He wanted a boy so badly,
but my mom died just after I was born. I was his one chance. So Harry
tried to turn me into a boy for a while, but I hated the mountains, and
I was too scared of falling when he took me climbing. And then one time
he had to turn back from an expedition he'd taken me on because I got
sick. And that was it. He just kind of…wrote me off." They were the
most honest and painful words she'd ever spoken. In fact, she wondered
if she'd even thought any of this through so clearly before. Even as
the words tumbled out, she understood why she never acknowledged this
stuff: it was like taking her skin off and letting the world see all
her fears and ugly places.
    Her mind swung around to that damned unanswered invitation for her
father to watch her compete at the finals in just over two weeks' time.
Why had she put herself in a position where he could write her off yet
again?
    Jack was looking at her strangely. "Your dad's not Harry Marsden , the explorer?" he asked, amazed. She simply nodded.
    "I never knew," he said.
    "I don't exactly have T-shirts made up."
    He studied her face appraisingly. "You look like him."
    "Not enough, apparently."
    A silence, then Jack said, "Thanks."
    He held her eyes, and it was the most open and honest contact they'd
ever shared. It felt like a fresh start. She smiled, and he smiled
back, and all of a sudden all of her lust rolled over her, but this
time it was tinged with a desire to ease his unhappiness, to do
something without considering the merits and worrying about the
consequences.
    Could he read her thoughts? It seemed he could, because his eyes
dropped to her breasts. She liked that, liked that he'd noticed her
that way. She felt her heart skip into overdrive. Had his eyes
darkened?
    Was she getting the message from him that she thought she was? She
wasn't sure. Doubt assailed her. He was so much more experienced than
her. For Pete's sake, he'd slept with half the building. What would he
want with her?
    "Claire."
    It was an invitation. Wasn't it? She wanted it to be. Very badly.
Because she hadn't been this hot for someone for a long time. But he
was just sitting there, opposite her. What was he