Читать книгу Jump Start - Lisa Renee Jones - Страница 13

“YOU KNOW YOU STILL WANT HIM,” Marcie declared.

It was near dark, hours after her encounter with Bobby, and Jennifer stood in Marcie’s kitchen, stirring chocolate mousse for the next night’s bachelor/bachelorette party. The two acres sprawling Lake Travis property, with the ranch-style house, that had once been Mark’s parents’ place, was a perfect location for such fun.

Jennifer grimaced and pointed at Marcie with the spoon. “I do not still want him. And I wouldn’t have called you to apologize if I’d be coming over here to be abused.”

Marcie reached over the counter and scooped some of the mousse off the spoon a moment before it would have dropped on the counter. She tasted it. “Hmm. Good stuff.” Her eyes twinkled. “And yes. You would have apologized. Because you might be stubborn, but you’re a good friend. And yes, you do still want Bobby.”

Jennifer glared at her, and because she couldn’t deny either of Marcie’s claims anymore, she ignored them and did the only respectable thing to do under fire. She licked the chocolate-covered spoon and had the naughty idea of licking the same chocolate off Bobby. She dropped the spoon into the sink as if it were on fire. “We need to have Mark bring in the rest of the champagne from our cars.”

“So you can have your car back and run away from this conversation?” Marcie challenged. “Forget it.” She leaned on the counter, smiling evilly. “Why don’t you just have sex with Bobby and get it out of your system before the wedding? It might be easier on all of us.”

“Would you stop?” Jennifer demanded, pressing her hands to her jeans-clad hips, her favorite black pair that matched her black tank top with a pink heart in the center—the jeans she had absolutely not picked because they made her butt look smaller than the blue ones and Bobby might show up to see said butt.

“If you stop avoiding,” Marcie countered. “Deal with Bobby and move on.” She held up a hand the second Jennifer started to speak. “And don’t tell me you have, because we both know you haven’t. You never got closure, Jennifer. Now you have a chance. Sleep with him, girl. If for no other reason but the satisfaction of knowing you can do it and walk away. You, not him this time. Sexual energy is very healing.”

“Oh, good grief,” Jennifer blurted. “Enough with the healing energy.”

“Okay,” Marcie said, grabbing a champagne bottle from a case sitting on the floor. “No healing energy. Let’s try alcohol-induced courage. Why don’t we pop one of these babies open and loosen you up?”

Jennifer pressed her hand to her face before fixing a glare on Marcie. “I don’t need to loosen up, because I told you,” she said, glaring, “I’m not sleeping with Bobby.”

“Ever?” At the sound of Bobby’s voice behind her, Jennifer’s heart stopped beating for an instant.

Her eyes met Marcie’s far too amused ones and she mouthed “I’m going to kill you” before whirling around to face the inevitable—Bobby looking like sin poured into denim and cotton. “Never,” she assured him, her knees weak.

And then damn him, his mouth twitched, the one she’d kissed that very morning.

“Never is a long time. I reserve the right to try to change your mind.”

The declaration sent a sudden flutter of butterflies through her stomach. She wanted him to want her. Wanted to kiss him again. It scared her how much, terrified her how easily she could once again have her heart broken.

Marcie cleared her throat. “Since you’re here, Bobby,” she said, “can you grab Mark and get the rest of the champagne out of the cars?”

“Sure,” he said. “Where are the keys?”

“Mark has mine,” Marcie said. “Is your car locked, Jen?”

She nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll get my keys.” From her purse. By the door. That she couldn’t get to without squeezing through the slim hallway where Bobby’s big, muscular, too-sexy body currently resided. The same way he’d been in the back of her mind, blocking the way into the future. Damn. Marcie was right. She hadn’t dealt with Bobby. She’d simply ignored her memories.

“They’re in my purse,” she said to Bobby and motioned him onward. “I’ll follow you out.”

He stood there an instant, his eyes lingering on her lips, as if he were thinking of the kiss they’d shared, before he stepped backward, into the hallway, and motioned her forward.

“Ladies first,” he challenged, leaving her a tiny space to pass.

Bobby arched an expectant brow. It was then that Jennifer realized Marcie was right—whatever happened needed to be on her terms. Melting into the floor wasn’t on her terms. She had to face Bobby and face her past. For now, though, she’d settle for getting past him and to her car.

Jennifer drew her shoulders back and charged forward, self-consciously thinking about the black jeans she’d be strutting in front of him. Wondering if he still thought she was attractive. Telling herself he did or he wouldn’t have kissed her. Telling herself that it didn’t matter, but knowing it most definitely did.

She breezed past Bobby with a determined stride that brought her inches from touching him, but she stared forward, refusing to look at him. Oh, but she felt him, might as well have touched him, imagined touching him. Her skin tingled, her stomach did a funny, fluttery thing. And his scent. Her nostrils flared with his delicious, familiar scent. All spicy and male. She knew that smell so well; she knew the name of the cologne, and the hot way it meshed with his body chemistry and turned to an aphrodisiac that drove her insane.

Jennifer grabbed her purse from the table by the door and turned to find Bobby towering over her. She swallowed hard. He was close. Inches. Awareness tingled in her nerve endings.

She was so in trouble. Clearly, avoiding Bobby wasn’t an option. Definitely. Not. But she would not have sex with Bobby either.

Holding up her keys, she jangled them. “I’ll walk out with you.” And leave, but she didn’t say that.

Mark appeared in the hallway, his shoulder-length dark hair tied at his neck, a contrast to Bobby’s short blond locks. And where Bobby was tall, broad and athletic, Mark was simply tall and lean.

“I’ve been ordered to remove all boxes from the cars,” Mark said, his tone laced with a hint of irritation. He eyed Bobby and nodded. “Hey, man. Sorry I didn’t say much when you came in. I was on the phone with one of our liquor vendors.”

They shook hands, as if they’d just recently met. Then again, for all she knew, Bobby had been home before now, and she didn’t know. Marcie had only started dating Mark two years before, but they might have casually met before now. Though Bobby’s mother had died of cancer when he was in his teens, and he had no siblings, his father owned an auto shop outside San Antonio, a little over an hour away. It was hard to believe that in seven years he hadn’t been home once.

“Talk Marcie into jumping yet?” Bobby asked Mark.

“No,” he said. “She’s too chicken. But I’m all about giving it a go. When do you have in mind?”

“Jumping?” Jennifer asked, frowning, not sure if she’d missed something.

“You are so not skydiving right before our wedding!” Marcie said, rushing to Mark’s side, glaring up from her five-three to Mark’s towering six-three. “You’re a computer programmer turned bar owner, and while that shows impressive diversity, you are not Special Forces, like Bobby.”

Special Forces. Jennifer had not even known Bobby was Special Forces. Her stomach twisted a little.

“Still,” Mark said. “I’m going to jump while Bobby is here and can go with me. And you might as well come with us. I mean, if anything happens to me the wedding is off anyway.”

Oh, ouch. Jennifer knew that wasn’t going to go over well. And it didn’t. “Mark!”

Jennifer and Bobby exchanged a cringe and headed to the door. Outside, the hot Texas night encased them as assuredly as the tension, both sexual and emotional.

Bobby whistled as the door shut behind them. “I wish I would never have brought up jumping last night. They’ve been snapping at each other ever since. Not exactly what I call wedding bliss.”

“Wedding jitters,” Jennifer corrected. “It’s not uncommon, and it’s not your fault. And they’ve been at it a few days now.” Guilt twisted in her gut as they stopped beside her blue Mazda 626. She drew a breath and turned to face him. “Which is why I really want to put the past behind us, Bobby. The next two weeks is about them, not us. Let’s call a truce.”

He stared at her, his deep blue, beautiful eyes smoldering. “A truce it is,” he said. “Why don’t we start this truce by finding me a way out of inviting Mark to skydive. He’s determined to go. She’s determined he won’t. Why don’t you convince Marcie to come along?” He wiggled a brow. “A foursome.”

Ignoring the joke, and the undercurrent of “coupleness” or whatever real word one might call it that escaped her now, Jennifer argued, “Marcie is already upset over that idea, Bobby. Pressuring her isn’t going to help matters.”

“Well, I can see the look in Mark’s eye. He’s out to prove something and this isn’t over. But we can end it together, like I said. Come jump with us. Convince Marcie to come, too.”

She shook her head. “Me. Jumping out of a plane? Not in this lifetime. That’s way too out of control for me.” She opened her door and tossed her purse inside, before clicking the lock to the back door where the champagne was stored.

“You can tandem jump with me,” he said. “You’d be tied to me. I’ll have control then. I’ll keep you safe.”

He’d have control. There lay her problem. Bobby had control—when he’d left; for the past seven years, as she’d secretly wanted, needed and wondered; and now, because she was running from him. She had to take control, stop wallowing in the past. Deal with the right here and now.

“You can trust me,” Bobby said in a low, sandpaper-rough voice. “When I left—”

She did the only thing she knew to shut him up—she kissed him. She stepped forward, pressed her hand on the solid wall of his chest, pushed to her toes and kissed him. That was taking control. This was taking control. She was taking control.

They hadn’t been in love. Love endured. Love was honest. Love didn’t run away and never look back. They’d been in lust, and she was all about lust in that moment. All about pleasure. For two weeks, he was here, the man who’d been the best sex of her life. She’d be a fool to run from his flavor of pleasure. She would enjoy him, and then she would say goodbye.

Starting with this kiss. The instant Jennifer’s mouth touched Bobby’s, he pulled her closer, taking her mouth, as if he feared she might change her mind. His tongue parted her lips, intimately, full of demand. One of his hands tangled in her hair, the other slid up her back, pressing her close, molding her against all that delicious hard muscle. Her hands slid over his back. Long, strong thighs entwined with hers, his hips settling against hers. His erection, already thick, hard, pressing against her stomach.

She moaned into his mouth, heat pooling in the V of her body. She’d told herself she’d kissed him to shut him up, and while true, it had also been for pleasure. The same reason her hand was under his shirt, her palm absorbing warm, taut skin. Feeling pleasure was so much better than talking about the past. Feeling pleasure. Yes. Pleasure. He knew exactly where to touch her. She knew exactly where to touch him.

pImages** of their naked bodies entwined, their passionate, impossible-to-forget lovemaking sizzled in her mind and melted her body against his. Kissing him, tasting him, feeling him close.

“Jennifer,” he murmured against her lips, pulling back to stare at her. “I—”

She pressed her fingers to his lips. “Don’t talk,” she said. “Kiss me again.”

“Bobby!” came Marcie’s shout from the door. “Some guy called the house phone. He says it’s urgent.”

“Damn it,” Bobby cursed under his breath, closing his hand around hers and kissing it. “I’m sorry. I gave the Army an emergency number. I’m on leave but—”

“Duty first,” she said, relief washing over her. “Then fun.” She’d started this game without planning. That was a lot for Jennifer.

“Bobby!” Marcie yelled again.

He stared down at her, his dark lashes narrowing around intelligent blue eyes, as if he were suspicious of what she would do next. He hesitated, then kissed her firmly. “Don’t go anywhere,” he ordered, steel determination in his voice. “We have to talk.” And then he was half walking, half jogging to the house.

She watched him, the long, lithe way he moved—like a soldier she didn’t know, but a lover she knew all too well. A past she didn’t want to know at all if it wasn’t between the sheets. It was easier that way. No, there would be no talking. There’d be more kissing. They’d do more pleasuring. They’d do it on her terms, though.

Tomorrow night at the party, where champagne would be plentiful, the fun and adventure would be on high octane. She closed the trunk and slid into the car, deciding the case of champagne in the car would wait until tomorrow. A smile touched her lips as she turned the ignition. There might even be some of that chocolate mousse on Bobby. A simple plan of pleasure.

What more could a girl want? Okay, bad question, one that stirred the wrong emotions. As did the idea of that phone call perhaps ordering him back to duty, perhaps without a goodbye, yet again. She dismissed the thought and put the car into gear. Refocused on her plan. On the chocolate mousse, and its removal, one delicious, sensual lick at a time. Oh, yes. Lots of licking. No talking.

THERE HAD NEVER BEEN a woman that tasted like honey, sunrise and heaven the way Jennifer did. Not before her. Not after her. Heat, desire and readiness climbed through his limbs, burned molten heat in his blood. Bobby all but ran to the door, eager to get the call over with, and return to Jennifer. The sound of tires on gravel stopped him in his tracks.

“Damn,” he murmured under his breath, scrubbing his jaw, watching the car pull away. He’d had her—in his arms, kissing him freely, willing to kiss him again. And in a snap, she was gone. Kind of like he had been all those years ago. Damn again. He deserved to be worked up and left behind. He deserved anything she did to him ten times over, and he wasn’t above admitting it.

Bobby fought the urge to run to the end of the driveway, to cut her off before she departed, and to tell her that and more. But when the Army called, a soldier answered, even one close to walking away from reenlistment. Especially when he knew what the call was about—the same reason he’d been working on getting out to that skydiving operation.

He’d been in town all of a few hours, when Bobby had gotten “official orders” that trumped his leave. When he’d been told to check out some ex-Special Ops guy named Rocky Smith, who Bobby didn’t know from Adam, but apparently owned the skydiving operation Texas Hotzone, about thirty miles outside Austin, in the adjacent small city of San Marcus. Seemed Rocky was catching some buzz in connection to a Mexican drug lord, and the Army wanted Bobby to see what he could find out. Even on leave, he wasn’t on leave. He reached the bottom of the porch stairs to find Marcie waiting for him at the top, hands on her hips. “She left with the champagne,” she said. “What did you do to her?”

Bobby grimaced as he double-stepped to the top. “I didn’t do anything to her,” he said. But he wanted to do plenty. To kiss every last inch of her and do it all over again. And again.

Marcie gave him a skeptical look and offered him the phone. “Sergeant Walker,” Bobby said into the phone. The reply was simple. Call in on a secure line at 0800. He hung up.

“That was it?” she asked. “The call is over?”

He nodded. “Report orders.”

“Not now?” she asked urgently.

“The day after the wedding,” he said, though he had a few more days before he was actually due to report. But by then, he would have made his decision. He was staying or he was reenlisting. “You know. You’re all worked up and cranky, you’re going to run Mark off before he says ‘I do.’”

She opened her mouth to argue and then shut it. “I know.”

“You’re both nervous and excited,” he said. “If the man wants to skydive, to escape that for a day, don’t hold him back. Go with him.”

“I don’t want him to get hurt,” she said.

“He won’t,” he said. “And neither will you. Make up with him.”

“I have been kind of cranky,” she conceded.

“Kind of?” he asked.

She glowered. “Don’t push your luck, Bobby, because I’m still feeling real darn cranky.”

He laughed. “Then be cranky. At me. Not Mark.” He turned her to the door. “Go. Now. Talk to your man and whatever else you do when you make up with him. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She eyed him over her shoulder. “I don’t want to run you off.”

“Go,” he said, giving her a nudge to the door. “I’m fine. Make sure the wedding I came for takes place.”

This time she didn’t argue. Marcie disappeared into the house, and Bobby turned back to the driveway. He had to deal with the Army tonight, because he wasn’t about to risk another interruption with Jennifer. She’d be working tomorrow. So, that left tomorrow night at the party where he had a mission.

He was glad for the interruption tonight. He’d been about to confess his sins, explain the past despite knowing the timing was wrong. He had to make her listen, pull down her guard, before he unraveled the mess that had been in his head the night he’d left, and the years of justifying that followed. That meant a lot of loving, touching and kissing. And then they were most definitely going to talk. That was his mission and Bobby never failed a mission.

Nor was he going to fail Jennifer. Not this time.