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As this notion unravels in my head, my confidence falters, and I hear myself say, “We don’t have to.”
She slides her hands up my chest, grips my shoulders, and pulls me down until our lips are inches apart. “Oh, I think we do.”
What follows is even more mind-blowing than all the times that came before it, and as I hold her to me and bask in the afterglow, one thought circles my brain: I don’t want this weekend to end. A second thought nudges it out of the way.
I think I might be in love with Jackie Harper.
We spend the rest of the day playing tourist. Jackie loves the beach, so I take her to a quiet one, where we stroll along the shore. Later, we get her Jeep and leave it at the marina while we explore Beaufort’s shops and duck into a local pub for beers and appetizers. We do all this holding hands. Like a real couple. Occasionally, when we pause, I steal a kiss. It’s easy, natural. I like being with her like this. I want more of it.
Part of me is ready to burst and let her know how I feel about her, that she means something to me, despite that annoying voice in my head telling me I need to hold back. Enjoy the sex, it says, but don’t let your emotions get tangled up in her. My emotions are already tangled, and it scares the shit out of me. Never mind the complication that’s her brother; someday I’m going to do irreparable harm. It’s what I do. It’s why I’m no good for anyone. Especially her.
“How late are you planning to stay?” Jackie asks as we climb back aboard my boat.
It’s getting close to that time when we both need to get back to Raleigh. Had we been a real couple, we would have come here together and could have spent another three hours on the drive back. But that’s not happening, and melancholy strikes a note deep inside me.
“I’ve got to put the Gail to bed, which will take me about an hour. I plan to be on the road by six. How about you?”
“I should probably get packed up in the next few minutes and head home. It’s after three, and it’d be a good idea if I were home when Donny gets there.”
Nodding, I squeeze her hand a little tighter. “What time is that?”
“Around eight, assuming his flight’s on time.”
Jealousy swells inside me, taking me by surprise. It’s not that I’m jealous of a rival. I’m jealous that Harper gets to spend time with her when mine’s about to be clipped.
We’re standing in the salon, and she slips her hand from mine and teases the hem of her top up. “By my calculations, we have a few minutes to burn.”
I give her body a salacious sweep. “We should make the best of them.”
We do. It’s fast and furious and feral, and when we’re dressed again, I kiss her lips softly. “Hey, do I get to see you this week?” God, do I want to be with her this week. And next week, and the next, and the next …
Her head tilts to one side, and a small smile curves her full mouth. “I think it can be arranged. We do live in the same building.”
A gust of relief blasts through me. “Secret garage get-togethers?” I quip. “We could test out the back seat of your Jeep.”
Pressing up on tiptoe, she nuzzles my neck, nips my earlobe, and whispers, “I was thinking more like I ride the elevator down seven floors.”
Oh, I like that idea, and I tell her so.
I watch her pack. She picks up my shirt off the bed—the one she wore this morning—and asks if she can launder it for me.
“No, I have a service that takes care of them.”
Her ensuing pout pulls a laugh from me. “If you really want to, then go for it.”
Bunching up the collar, she holds it to her nose and inhales. There’s nothing particularly special about what she does, but happy feet tap dance in my stomach.
“Of course, if you get my shirt, then I get your scrunchie.” I hold out my hand.
She stares at it. “You’re going to wash my scrunchie?”
I shake my head and leave my palm open. She digs out the item from her bag and drops it into my palm. I bring it to my nose and inhale, mimicking her. The scent of oranges and flowers tickles the pleasure centers of my brain, and I take another whiff. No way am I washing this. She might never get her scrunchie back.
When she’s ready to leave, I walk her to her car and make sure she’s settled behind the wheel and strapped in. She lowers the window, and I rest my forearms on the sill and lean in to kiss her. “Text me as soon as you get there, okay?”
She rolls her eyes before agreeing.
“I want to be sure you’re safe,” I reason. It’s true.
