all the way, fingering, kissing, pressing against her as she came.
And then it was over. She was done, boneless and weak, exhausted and spent. Her body finished thrumming, the burning eased, and she settled into the mattress like a big fat cat taking a nap, barely aware of Jack settling in beside her as she slept.
8
T HE NEXT TIME she opened her eyes it was eight o’clock. She wasn’t due at work until ten. For the first time in her memory, she considered calling in sick.
She wouldn’t, of course. And she wasn’t. Unless too little sleep and an orgasmic hangover counted.
She groaned as the guilt hit her, feeling the heat of a blush turn her skin what she knew would be a bright, splotchy red. She had fallen asleep on him. She, the female. A humiliating reversal of fortunes.
Hiding in the closet until he left ranked at the top of her list of escape routes. But first she wanted to know about the scar on his back—where it had come from, how long he’d had it, why he’d turned to stone when she’d discovered it there.
She knew nothing about who he was beyond his being an investigator from Texas. She wanted to know more. She wanted to know everything.
Lying on her stomach and not wanting Jack to wake, she turned just her head—only to find that he wasn’t sleeping. And that he was looking at her.
“Hi,” she said.
“Good morning,” he responded.
“I’m sorry. About last night. Er, about earlier. I went to sleep.”
“So did I.”
His lashes were so long it killed her. She rolled onto her side to face him. “I know. But I got…you didn’t…”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, understanding what she was trying to say, and also picking up on her angst. “No man ever died from a broken hard-on.”
She couldn’t decide whether to smile or grimace, and ended up doing a bit of both. “That was horrible.”
“I know. A girl I knew in high school used to say it all the time.” He reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear; his touch caused her to shiver. “She hung with me and three other guys, and got sick of hearing us complain about being left high and dry.”
“I don’t blame her,” she said, sliding her feet between his. “And besides, she was right.”
“She was right about a lot of things,” he said with a self-deprecating snort.
Interesting—both how he could appreciate a teenage girl’s insight, and his own conceit. “You were close to her, then?”
Toying with her hair again, he nodded, his eyes an ever-deepening gray. “She was like family. Hell, she was family.”
“How so?” she asked, wondering how long it would take him to cut off her prying.
He blew out a deep breath, ran his knuckle over the skin beneath her chin. “During my senior year, I saw more of her and the guys than I did my father.”
She heard the slight catch in his voice, was curiousif he’d noticed that his armor had slipped. “Where was he?”
“In and out,” he said with a shrug, toying with the swell of her breast. “He was supposed to be in Austin with me, but he spent most of his time in Baltimore with my mother. My sister was sick, and going through a trial program at Johns Hopkins. She died when I was stationed in Kuwait.”
“Jack, I’m so sorry.” She reached over, caressed his face.
He captured her hand, brought it to his chest and held it there. “Don’t be. It was a long time ago. Hell, sixteen years. It’s over.”
She knew better. She’d lived through a similar blow. Nothing like that was ever over. She threaded her fingers through the hair on his chest and tugged. “Is that where you got the scar? The one on your shoulder? In Kuwait?”
He took so long to answer that she feared she’d hit a nerve still wounded and raw. But then he said, “Actually, no. I was in international waters for that one.”
“Oh.” Lame, but it was all she could think of to say. “I’m sorry.”
His chuckle broke the tension. “You know, you’ve said that three times in
And then it was over. She was done, boneless and weak, exhausted and spent. Her body finished thrumming, the burning eased, and she settled into the mattress like a big fat cat taking a nap, barely aware of Jack settling in beside her as she slept.
8
T HE NEXT TIME she opened her eyes it was eight o’clock. She wasn’t due at work until ten. For the first time in her memory, she considered calling in sick.
She wouldn’t, of course. And she wasn’t. Unless too little sleep and an orgasmic hangover counted.
She groaned as the guilt hit her, feeling the heat of a blush turn her skin what she knew would be a bright, splotchy red. She had fallen asleep on him. She, the female. A humiliating reversal of fortunes.
Hiding in the closet until he left ranked at the top of her list of escape routes. But first she wanted to know about the scar on his back—where it had come from, how long he’d had it, why he’d turned to stone when she’d discovered it there.
She knew nothing about who he was beyond his being an investigator from Texas. She wanted to know more. She wanted to know everything.
Lying on her stomach and not wanting Jack to wake, she turned just her head—only to find that he wasn’t sleeping. And that he was looking at her.
“Hi,” she said.
“Good morning,” he responded.
“I’m sorry. About last night. Er, about earlier. I went to sleep.”
“So did I.”
His lashes were so long it killed her. She rolled onto her side to face him. “I know. But I got…you didn’t…”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, understanding what she was trying to say, and also picking up on her angst. “No man ever died from a broken hard-on.”
She couldn’t decide whether to smile or grimace, and ended up doing a bit of both. “That was horrible.”
“I know. A girl I knew in high school used to say it all the time.” He reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear; his touch caused her to shiver. “She hung with me and three other guys, and got sick of hearing us complain about being left high and dry.”
“I don’t blame her,” she said, sliding her feet between his. “And besides, she was right.”
“She was right about a lot of things,” he said with a self-deprecating snort.
Interesting—both how he could appreciate a teenage girl’s insight, and his own conceit. “You were close to her, then?”
Toying with her hair again, he nodded, his eyes an ever-deepening gray. “She was like family. Hell, she was family.”
“How so?” she asked, wondering how long it would take him to cut off her prying.
He blew out a deep breath, ran his knuckle over the skin beneath her chin. “During my senior year, I saw more of her and the guys than I did my father.”
She heard the slight catch in his voice, was curiousif he’d noticed that his armor had slipped. “Where was he?”
“In and out,” he said with a shrug, toying with the swell of her breast. “He was supposed to be in Austin with me, but he spent most of his time in Baltimore with my mother. My sister was sick, and going through a trial program at Johns Hopkins. She died when I was stationed in Kuwait.”
“Jack, I’m so sorry.” She reached over, caressed his face.
He captured her hand, brought it to his chest and held it there. “Don’t be. It was a long time ago. Hell, sixteen years. It’s over.”
She knew better. She’d lived through a similar blow. Nothing like that was ever over. She threaded her fingers through the hair on his chest and tugged. “Is that where you got the scar? The one on your shoulder? In Kuwait?”
He took so long to answer that she feared she’d hit a nerve still wounded and raw. But then he said, “Actually, no. I was in international waters for that one.”
“Oh.” Lame, but it was all she could think of to say. “I’m sorry.”
His chuckle broke the tension. “You know, you’ve said that three times in
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