Читать книгу You Don't Know Jack - Erin McCarthy - Страница 10

Jack didn’t know what the hell was the matter with him.

He had just dragged Jamie off to his apartment in some caveman imitation. Or worse. Like a horny teenager.

But he hadn’t been able to stop himself. They had spent three hours in the restaurant, talking and laughing, and just enjoying each other’s company. They had a lot in common and more still not in common, but it didn’t matter. Being with her just felt right.

And his attraction had grown steadily every second, until he had been walking side by side with her, his hand on her smooth back, when the urge to kiss her had been overwhelming.

He hadn’t even told her his last name, for God’s sake.

Yet they were stepping out of the cab in front of his building in TriBeCa, and he was going to see this compulsion through to the end. He had been suffering through a twenty-four-hour hard-on because of this woman, and if the way she jumped out of the cab was any indication, she had been suffering something similar.

She looked around her in amazement, her eyes landing on the doorman. “This is your building?”

Damn. He was supposed to be unemployed, not living in a pricey apartment in a trendy neighborhood. “It’s a friend’s apartment. He’s out of town, so I’m staying here to watch the place for him.”

Jack fought the urge to wince. He ran his fingers through his hair and started to question his keeping the truth from Jamie. It wouldn’t matter. She wouldn’t care what was or wasn’t in his bank account, and he wouldn’t have to tell these ridiculous lies.

She was rational enough to know not to confront a criminal.

He opened his mouth to tell her the truth.

Then she said with a laugh, “Oh, good! You had me worried there for a second. I don’t know if I could date someone who lives in a place like this.”

He clamped his mouth shut again. He nodded to the doorman and ushered her inside the building. “Why not?”

She gave a mock shudder, gesturing to the art deco lobby. “It’s a little pretentious.”

Oh, hell. He gave a weak smile and slapped the elevator up button. It just figured. Jamie gave the opposite reaction to every other woman he’d ever met. Most women’s eyes lit up in possessive greed when they first saw his apartment. Jamie was disgusted by the opulence.

And he had never once thought of the lobby as being pretentious, but now that she had planted the seed in his mind, it took root, making him uncomfortable. “The apartment’s not so bad,” he assured her.

His sister was always complaining that he needed to hire a decorator. She thought his apartment needed a theme to pull it together. One besides black plastic electronics equipment, that is.

Jamie clutched that silly little purse of hers that looked like an alligator and licked her lips. She looked as nervous as he felt. Maybe it was time to slow this down before she thought through the ramifications of going home with a guy she didn’t really know. Jack knew who Jamie was, but she didn’t know him. Had no reason to trust him. And given that look on her face, she was realizing that.

“Hey, Jamie, why don’t we go grab some coffee before we head up?” He took her hand and squeezed it in reassurance. She smiled at him, that soft tilting up of her lips that showed her teeth and lit up her eyes.

“You really are a nice guy, aren’t you?” she asked. “I don’t mean to be a tease…”

“Are you kidding? In my book, there’s no such thing as a tease. A woman is allowed to say no at any time, for any reason. No questions asked, no arguing.” Jack pulled her away from the elevators. He already felt like an asshole for not telling her who he was; he wasn’t about to coax her into a sexual relationship she wasn’t ready for.

“I’m not saying no,” she said, green eyes very glassy and bright. “Just…not yet.”

He wanted to groan, but instead gestured to the grouping of four chairs to the left of the mail slots. “Let’s just sit for a minute.”

The chairs were really damn uncomfortable—minimalist, armless jobs with stuffing that felt more akin to steel. It was like perching on a big bar of red soap, but at the moment, he couldn’t care less. Jamie was licking her lips again, and she tucked her feet under her legs on the chair.

“Our names both start with J-a,” she said, distracting his attention from her lips. “Is Jack your real name?”

He didn’t care what his name was, but he thought it was cute the quirky things Jamie said sometimes. “My real name is Jonathon.” He couldn’t force another lie past his mouth. “Is Jamie a nickname, too?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Jamie Lynn, that’s me.”

Jamie Lynn. It fit.

As he studied the upturn of her nose, the wild auburn curls, he wondered which name was the real him. Was he Jonathon or was he Jack? Jonathon at work. Jonathon with his parents.

He was Jack with Pops. And definitely Jack with Jamie.

“Well, Jamie Lynn.” He tried to remove the flatness of his Connecticut-raised voice and inject some Kentucky into it. “That’s a mighty fine name.”

She giggled. “I don’t like southern boys.”

He lost the accent. “I’m all New York, honey. But I bet you broke a bunch of good ole boy hearts when you left Kentucky.”

Rolling her eyes, she smiled. “If I broke Dale’s heart, it recovered quickly. Two months after high school graduation he married Trudy Wythbodden, who some girls used to call Trudy Wide Bottom. He wanted me to stay in La Grange and get married, but I had to leave, had to see a bit of the world for myself. I wasn’t trying to escape Kentucky—I loved growing up there—but I don’t know, I just needed some independence.”

“I never thought about going anywhere else. I grew up forty miles from Manhattan, and I guess it seemed stupid to go anywhere else, especially since I wanted to get into finance. But maybe it would have been smart to explore a little more. Maybe I wouldn’t have found myself so tired and burned out.”

Certain that there was more to life than making money. Winning.

Something he had never admitted to himself was that he had suddenly looked in the mirror and wondered if he was destined to grow old alone, a miser counting his coins.

It had scared the shit out of him, and then some.

But what was even scarier was that a year later he was no closer to content, despite ditching the career. When was he going to be done? Ready to stand still.

In his head he practically heard the screech of subway brakes. Now. He was ready now.

“Maybe this is your time to explore,” Jamie said.

“Aren’t I too old to do that? I’m thirty, for God’s sake. Isn’t there like a statute of limitations on finding yourself?” Jack grinned. “Bet old what’s-his-name isn’t interested in backpacking Europe or taking up yoga.”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t worth the spit for the shine, which he proved by falling into Trudy’s arms about a minute after I left.” Jamie fiddled with her necklace, a twisted rope, kind of a knot with green stones in it. “But most people are like paintings…they take forever to create, and every time you look at them, you discover something you didn’t see before.”

Very true. Jack was noticing that the green in Jamie’s necklace perfectly matched her eyes.

And she had freckles. Right across the bridge of her nose.

Freaking adorable, every inch of her.

Eight hours later, the end table next to them was littered with paper coffee cups, their rims going soft, the liquid contents cold, the aroma stale. Jamie’s legs were stiff, her neck tired, her voice scratchy, and her butt numb from the ridiculous scoop chair she’d been sitting in all night.

Yet, she wasn’t the least bit interested in leaving. She had spent the whole night in the lobby talking to Jack, who was funny and kind and extremely smart.

She was going to have to name her first-born child after Beckwith.

Okay, so maybe it wouldn’t go that far, but it wasn’t like she could name her first orgasm or anything, and she was sure that was coming soon, pun intended. The point was, she was falling for Jack. She wanted him more than Derby pie, and that mile-high gooey chocolate dessert was never to be underestimated.

Admittedly, she was a tumbler, falling for various guys and their hard-luck stories, but inevitably, her legs got caught up in the skirt of half-truths, and she fell on her face. For the most part, she’d never minded, because she had never fallen in love.

It was possible she’d done just that in one night.

Or at least taken a serious turn in that direction.

That was the only explanation for the way she felt—sort of inflated and overaware, her skin prickling everywhere, her throat tight, breath anxious. Excitement and pleasure rushed through her, and an irrepressible giddiness made her feet tap rapidly, her heart race.

At some point she was going to have to leave and go home, but for now she didn’t want this night, this moment, this feeling, to end.

Jamie tucked her legs over the back of the chair and leaned backward, observing Jack upside down. No one else was stirring in the lobby at six in the morning on a Saturday. “So, what’s your one big regret in life, Jack?”

His eyebrow went down, or actually up. “Besides that perm in the seventh grade?”

She laughed, holding her hands over her stomach so her shirt wouldn’t ride up. “Fashion faux pas don’t count.”

“I don’t have a one big regret,” he said thoughtfully. “More like a series of little regrets. You know, like when you were six and you went along with the kids when they picked on the kid who was overweight. Or when I blew off this girl in high school who asked me to the prom. The time I forgot my sister’s birthday. Stuff like that.”

Even though the blood was rushing to her head, Jamie stayed upside down. It was an interesting perspective, watching Jack lean closer to her, his hands resting on his spread legs. He had a nice strong jaw.

Jamie’s necklace fell over her mouth, and she let the stones slip between her lips, then bit. She was a chewer. Pen caps, sweatshirt strings, fingernails, her hair.

“I know exactly what you mean,” she said around the necklace.

His arm came toward her, and his finger brushed across her lip, pulling back the obstruction. “Say that again? I couldn’t understand you.”

“Sorry. Bad habit. I’m always sticking things in my mouth. I’ve always been very oral.”

He started laughing, and she suddenly realized how that had sounded. Oh, Lord. She blushed. Especially since he’d moved in closer and she was about an inch from his chest, his fingers still tracing over her mouth, her hair brushing down over his waist.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What? I didn’t say anything,” he protested, a grin still on his upside-down face.

She needed to right herself before her eyes bulged or she did something crazy like lick his chest. Smiling herself, she tried to sit back up, but she was stuck in the chair, Jack too close for her to swing her legs back around.

“Geez, I’m stuck.” Her back was kind of spasming now, too, protesting the awkward position. But she wasn’t even sure she cared. She just felt too darn good to worry about spinal damage.

Besides, Jack already had it under control. With a few gentle pushes and pulls with those impressive biceps, he had her right side up and facing his chest. A pile of curls tumbled over her face, blocking her view, and she slapped at them impatiently. She put her hand on Jack’s waist and gripped the fabric of his shirt.

For balance, of course.

“Why don’t we go horseback riding later today?” Jack said, playing with her corkscrew hair lying on her shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll embarrass myself, but you said you miss riding…”

Well, that was sweet. Jamie’s hand curled into his shirt tighter as she fought the urge to sigh. “That would be fun.”

“Great. I guess we should grab a few hours of sleep first, and we can meet back up later. Let’s see if we can find you a cab.”

Neither one of them moved. Jack was still leaning toward her in his chair and he was staring at her lips. Jamie was aware that she was pressed against his thighs, and that she didn’t want to go anywhere.

Ever.

Sleeping in her twin bed with purple cotton sheets held no appeal, not even when she’d been up all night.

Her nipples hardened. Her inner thighs went moist. Her breathing slowed, and her mouth drifted open. That one taste of Jack in Times Square had been so long ago. Hours and hours and hours ago.

Just not enough, not when he was so, so close. She wanted another taste. And then some. She wanted to make love to this amazing man, sooner than later.

“I could just crash at your place for a few hours,” she said quickly, before she lost her boldness and went shy on him. “Save on cab fare.”

His eyes went dark, a stormy blue stained with desire. “That’s a good idea. I do have a spare bedroom.”

Her mouth dropped in laughter at his teasing. But she knew he was joking. She gave him a flirtatious smile. “How thoughtful.”

“Or there’s a king-size bed we could share…so we don’t have to make two beds later. Save us time.”

He was moving closer, face so near hers she went cross-eyed trying to look at him. “Well, that’s very practical of you.”

Before the words were even completely out, his mouth was over hers, kissing her with all the fervor and passion that she felt. Oh, yeah. Bring it home, honey.

This was a kiss. This was Fourth of July fireworks, this was a tall iced tea on a hot summer day, this was hitting the lottery.

Everything she’d ever wanted, wrapped up into one sultry tongue tango.

Good Lord in heaven, he knew what he was doing.

But he pulled back suddenly, and she whimpered. His eyes burned, his breath hot and hard.

“I have to tell you something.”

“What?” That didn’t sound good. That sounded like a preface to an I’m Married speech.

“My last name…I never told you my last name.”

“Is that all?” Jamie gave a shaky laugh. “You scared me there for a second.” Just briefly, Beckwith’s prediction about dishonesty had risen in her head, like a big pin ready to pop her balloon.

“Sorry, it’s just that you should—”

Jamie cut him off with another quick kiss. She wanted to hear what his last name was. But later. After they’d gotten naked and she wasn’t as likely to be adversely affected by the news that his name was something like Jack Daniels or Jack Grosse or Jack Yacks. Or something completely unpronounceable with twenty-seven letters, most of which were consonants.

She wasn’t vain, and while a regrettable name like Jonathon Huffheimer wasn’t cause for celebration, it would never stop her from dating someone. But later. “It doesn’t matter. Not yet. Tell me later. I don’t want to talk right now. I want to go upstairs.”

Before she lost the sassiness she seemed to have borrowed from Allison. Flattening her hands on his chest, she said, “I’m so sleepy I can barely keep my eyes open.”

But it was his eyes that closed, not hers, and his hand pressed hard into her shoulder. His lips moved as though he was counting to ten.

Then he opened his eyes and said in a husky, urgent voice, “Then we should definitely get you right to my bed.”

What a gentleman. Always thinking of her needs.

“How sweet of you.”