excuse for his actions.
Faith's breath caught in her throat as her breasts brushed against the hard wall of his chest. Jack faltered, losing the rhythm of their steps. They stood stock-still in the near embrace of the dance, staring. Everything else—the music, the laughter of other people, the scents of fast food and night-blooming flowers— everything faded into insignificance around them. They were aware only of each other, saw only each other. The air grew thick between them, heavy with words unspoken, desires unmet, longings unfurling into heated life. So many longings. And needs... Needs neither had even known they had before that moment.
The lighthearted little song came to an end while they stood there, lost in each other, and another started playing. Something slow and passionate, the words describing the indescribable yearning of a man aching for a woman just out of his reach. "Goin' Out of My Head" by Little Anthony and the Imperials. How appropriate, Jack thought. He'd started losing his mind the minute she looked up at him with those gold-flecked eyes of hers.
"Jack," she said softly. It was a question. And an invitation.
He uttered a shaky, strangled sound, halfway between a groan and a rueful laugh. "You shouldn't look at me like that, Angel."
"Like what?"
"Just close your eyes," he murmured. Please. Maybe he could keep his head if she closed her eyes. If she stopped looking at him as if she'd like to eat him alive. He put his hand on the back of her head, bringing it down to his shoulder so he wouldn't be tempted by the look in her too expressive eyes.
Faith sighed and closed her eyes, nestling into him with all the confidence of a beloved and loving child.
Don't, he wanted to say to her. Don't trust me. But he folded his arms around her, gathering her close to his heart, and lay his cheek against her hair. The song melted into another, and then another, and still they swayed, barely moving, completely oblivious to changes in tempo or speed, lost in their own little world.
Faith marveled at the differences between this embrace and all the others she had ever experienced. Jack was holding her just as close as Dennis had done. His breath was just as warm. His body just as hard and unyielding and male. But she didn't feel smothered or overwhelmed, or pressured to respond in any way. She felt cherished. And protected. And safe. So unutterably safe, cradled, oh so gently, in the hard circle of his enveloping arms. And then she felt his lips move against her temple, whisper soft, and she wanted more than safety and gentleness from him.
She stirred restlessly in his embrace, seeking something she had neither the words nor the experience to ask for. She rubbed her cheek against his T-shirt clad shoulder, like a cat asking to be stroked, and flexed her fingers against the hard muscles of his chest.
Jack's arms tightened around her. "Be still," he murmured raggedly, fighting for control.
Her answer was a plaintive murmur of dissent and the soft press of her breasts against his chest as she slipped her arms around his back and nestled closer.
Jack moaned in defeat and desire and bent his head lower, burrowing through her hair to press his face against the curve of her neck. His lips touched warm flesh and, helplessly, he opened his mouth to taste her.
Faith felt the dampness of his lips and tongue against her skin and shivered in response, unconsciously letting her head fall back to give him better access. He cupped her skull in his palms, supporting its weight, and ran his tongue up the delicate arch of her throat.
"Jack," she sighed, her voice rife with longing. "Jack."
"Dammit, Faith, I'm no good for you," he growled, low, but his tone made the harsh words a caress. "I've done things and seen things you can't possibly imagine. I'm too old for you. I—Faith, dammit, open your eyes and look at me."
She lifted her lids with ponderous slowness, looking up at him through eyes made slumberous and heavy
Faith's breath caught in her throat as her breasts brushed against the hard wall of his chest. Jack faltered, losing the rhythm of their steps. They stood stock-still in the near embrace of the dance, staring. Everything else—the music, the laughter of other people, the scents of fast food and night-blooming flowers— everything faded into insignificance around them. They were aware only of each other, saw only each other. The air grew thick between them, heavy with words unspoken, desires unmet, longings unfurling into heated life. So many longings. And needs... Needs neither had even known they had before that moment.
The lighthearted little song came to an end while they stood there, lost in each other, and another started playing. Something slow and passionate, the words describing the indescribable yearning of a man aching for a woman just out of his reach. "Goin' Out of My Head" by Little Anthony and the Imperials. How appropriate, Jack thought. He'd started losing his mind the minute she looked up at him with those gold-flecked eyes of hers.
"Jack," she said softly. It was a question. And an invitation.
He uttered a shaky, strangled sound, halfway between a groan and a rueful laugh. "You shouldn't look at me like that, Angel."
"Like what?"
"Just close your eyes," he murmured. Please. Maybe he could keep his head if she closed her eyes. If she stopped looking at him as if she'd like to eat him alive. He put his hand on the back of her head, bringing it down to his shoulder so he wouldn't be tempted by the look in her too expressive eyes.
Faith sighed and closed her eyes, nestling into him with all the confidence of a beloved and loving child.
Don't, he wanted to say to her. Don't trust me. But he folded his arms around her, gathering her close to his heart, and lay his cheek against her hair. The song melted into another, and then another, and still they swayed, barely moving, completely oblivious to changes in tempo or speed, lost in their own little world.
Faith marveled at the differences between this embrace and all the others she had ever experienced. Jack was holding her just as close as Dennis had done. His breath was just as warm. His body just as hard and unyielding and male. But she didn't feel smothered or overwhelmed, or pressured to respond in any way. She felt cherished. And protected. And safe. So unutterably safe, cradled, oh so gently, in the hard circle of his enveloping arms. And then she felt his lips move against her temple, whisper soft, and she wanted more than safety and gentleness from him.
She stirred restlessly in his embrace, seeking something she had neither the words nor the experience to ask for. She rubbed her cheek against his T-shirt clad shoulder, like a cat asking to be stroked, and flexed her fingers against the hard muscles of his chest.
Jack's arms tightened around her. "Be still," he murmured raggedly, fighting for control.
Her answer was a plaintive murmur of dissent and the soft press of her breasts against his chest as she slipped her arms around his back and nestled closer.
Jack moaned in defeat and desire and bent his head lower, burrowing through her hair to press his face against the curve of her neck. His lips touched warm flesh and, helplessly, he opened his mouth to taste her.
Faith felt the dampness of his lips and tongue against her skin and shivered in response, unconsciously letting her head fall back to give him better access. He cupped her skull in his palms, supporting its weight, and ran his tongue up the delicate arch of her throat.
"Jack," she sighed, her voice rife with longing. "Jack."
"Dammit, Faith, I'm no good for you," he growled, low, but his tone made the harsh words a caress. "I've done things and seen things you can't possibly imagine. I'm too old for you. I—Faith, dammit, open your eyes and look at me."
She lifted her lids with ponderous slowness, looking up at him through eyes made slumberous and heavy
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