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“Letting go,” he said, his fingertips sliding out of her reach. “You’re ready. You can do this.”
“Oh, no, I can’t,” she said as he drifted away. She coasted to a slow stop, helplessly stranded in the middle of the rink. Her knees locked.
He motioned to her. “Come on. You’ve got this.”
She tried to duck walk toward him, but she only managed a small, dicey skid that got her nowhere. Face heating, she tried again, willing her feet to move toward him. This time she found herself toppling. She let out a shriek of alarm, but in an instant he was there.
She thudded against his body, and he propped her up against him. “I guess I shouldn’t let you go again,” he murmured, fixing a lock of hair behind her ear.
Somehow, that sounded just right to her.
Chapter Thirteen
Jack
Jack handed Eva a soft pretzel as they resumed their unhurried walk home. He couldn’t have timed it better if he’d planned it. The sun was setting as they walked across the Brooklyn Bridge toward Manhattan. Because of the rain earlier in the day, the sky was a painter’s palette, streaked with a mixture of wispy gray clouds and delicate pink rays.
The effect dazzled Eva. She oohed and aahed with appreciation as the cars whizzed by beside them, which made Jack laugh. “You act like you’ve never seen a sunset before.”
“I’ve never seen one from here,” she said, licking mustard off her thumb. “And I’ve never seen one with you.” She rolled her eyes. “But I’m sure you’ve taken thousands of women up here, right?”
He snorted. “No. I usually come here alone, actually.”
She turned to him, clearly surprised, as she sucked grains of salt off her fingers. “Alone? Why?”
“Because women expect more than pretzels,” he said, rubbing his thumb and index finger together to make the symbol for cash. “They want to have money spent on them.”
Eva wrinkled her pert little nose and shook her head. “Maybe the type of woman you usually go for, but not all of us.”
“The type of woman…” He trailed off, mulling over the words. “One, I don’t have a type. And two, I haven’t met a single woman, regardless of type, who hasn’t thought, ‘Let’s see what I can get out of Jack Deep Pockets Bennett.’”
Her jaw dropped, and she stopped walking. “Oh my God! Is that what you think of women? That we’re all after your money?”
“Well. Not you. You’re just in it for the sex.” He grinned sideways at her, making her mouth fall open a touch wider. “Go on. Tell me that isn’t true.”
She scrunched up her face, making him laugh. She could be too fucking cute for her own good sometimes.
“Besides,” he continued casually, “You’re a Fiorini. You have your own deep pockets.”
She swatted him. “Even so! I never cared about money. I mean, are you kidding? This blows the Plaza out of the water. In fact, this is probably the best date I’ve ever been on, and I don’t—”
She cut off suddenly.
He knew why. She’d called this a date.
Is that what it was? And if so, did it matter? So this wasn’t all about the fucking. That was a good thing, wasn’t it? He liked spending time with her, too. If she wanted to call it a date, fine by him.
He noticed the blush on her cheeks, but kept walking, surprised at how the realization left him unfazed.
Usually when a woman supposed too much, it sent him fleeing in the other direction. And now he was going on dates with Eva, confiding in Eva, living with Eva, dreaming about fucking her every night for the foreseeable future, and was happier than he’d ever been.
Something was wrong with him—clearly—but right now he couldn’t bring himself to worry about it. Not when she looked so happy, too.
By the time they made it back into Manhattan and stood at the base of the bridge, the sun had sunk behind the horizon, leaving a bitter wind in its wake. Jack walked slightly ahead as a barrier, trying to shield Eva against its chill, but she still sunk into his big sweatshirt, shivering.
At the first opportunity, they ducked into a bus shelter and Jack called for a car service. “I think we’ve had enough exercise for today,” he said, holding her close as they waited for their ride to arrive.
When the driver pulled to the curb a few minutes later, she climbed into the back of the car and perched near the heater, warming her hands and face. “It feels like March out there,” she said.
