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I stare at the stray curls of chest hair sneaking over the top of his T-shirt. I wonder if they’re soft or wiry. “I had a really good time with Jay last night. Beyond the Guinness.”
He lifts my chin so I’m looking up at those sculpted cheekbones. “IamJay. It was easy being with you as well. Easy to laugh. Easy to talk. Easy to want to know more.” A gust of Jack’s warm breath raises a loose strand of my hair. “I’m not blind or stupid. The smart choice is to sweep anything between us into the bin.” His hip brushes mine, sending tiny rivers of electricity up my side. “But I can’t keep myself from wanting to know you better. Can you give me that chance?”
“God, Jack.” I study the hay strewn floor of the stable. “I don’t know.” It would be so easy to melt into his arms. I’m dying to run my hands under his shirt and feel his body, made for furs and leather and weapons. But the way he touched Niks nags at me. How many other women know the feel of those hands?
He guides me into the stall with a shockingly white horse. “This is Streaker, Donal Cam’s horse. She’s the only being who can travel through time with him and not forget who he is.”
Before I know what’s happening, fingers clamp on either side of my waist. Jack lifts me like I’m as light as pillow fluff to set me on Streaker’s back. “What are you doing?”
“Shh. Don’t spook my horse.” He leans against my legs, throwing one hand around my back to hold me in place. “I believe I’ll leave you up there until you decide I’m worth investing a little time in.”
“God, you’re pushy.” A big part of me wants to give in, but Jack is the star ofThe Chieftain’s Son. His career is in the process of exploding. I’ve barely dipped a toe into my new position with the show. Hell, this is only the second day I’ve even talked to the guy.
He points a finger at me. “You’re thinking we’re a bad idea. I see it.”
I look down at him. “Aren’t you?”
“Some of the most amazing stretches of life start out as bad ideas.”
I look away. “Stop doing that.”
He gently coaxes me to face him. “Doing what?”
“Making me want to say ‘yes’ to you.”
He makes no pretense of hiding a victorious smile. “You did promise to shine up my golf game.” His hands slide up my sides and ease me off the horse, pulling me close enough for my body to slide along his. “Let’s see if kissing you again tips the scales in my direction.”
Pushy may be too mild a term for Jack. I lay a palm against the monolith of his chest. “I thought you wanted to start by getting to know me better.”
Fingers find the nape of my neck and then thread up into my hair. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.” He tilts my head back and slowly lowers his lips to mine. It’s a kiss as light and sweet as our first. I’m the one who answers with zero restraint. Our mouths open to one another, and the heat of his breath burns away the last of my objections. Jack guides me back against the rail as his body presses into mine. My hands lose themselves in the silky waves of his thick ponytail.
“Who’s there?”
Jack’s body deflates against mine. “Damn.” His tongue flicks my bottom lip with the promise of more getting to know each other. “It’s Jack, Moose. I just gave Streaker her rubdown.”
“Jack O’Leary, I warned you no workouts with my darlings this late in the—” Moose flashes us a bug-eyed stare when he catches sight of me. The man is a walking tree with a sturdy trunk and arms the size of logs. His hair is a mass of tight, woody brown curls. He’s dressed in jeans, a flannel shirt, and a padded down vest.
“Moose, meet Gillian Bettencourt. She’s the new writer’s assistant. Bobby’ll want her up on one of your darlings as soon as possible.”
Moose’s accent is a thousand times thicker than Jack’s. “As you say.” He gives me a nod. “You’re very welcome here to my stables, Gillian.”
“Thank you, Moose. I’m looking forward to riding.”
He squints at Jack. “Make sure she’s got a good helmet.”
Apparently, that’s all the goodbye we’re entitled to because Moose strides past us and never looks back.
Jack waits until Moose disappears into the shadows at the far end of the aisle before he takes my hand.
Alarm bells go off in my head. I lift our twined fingers. “You don’t want Moose to see this.” I pull away. “Not that there’s a ‘this’to see.” A feeling of skipping very essential getting-to-know-you steps with Jack nags at me.
A guilty look fades across his face. “Before I ask any more of you, it’s only fair I lay out the way things have to be with me.” He takes a few steps away, drops his head back, and sucks in a very loud breath before leveling his gaze. “Meg McGrath, who you met last night in the pub, has a very clear vision of the Jack O’Leary”—he flicks his ponytail—“Donal Cam she plans to show to the world.”
“Which is?”
He pulls off a damn good impersonation of Meg. “Let me paint a scenario for you. Jack O’Leary is a man with no romantic ties. I’ll have every woman who falls for Donal Cam fantasizing they have a shot with Jack.” He lets loose a percussive groan before inhabiting his own skin. “It’s mad, but Bobby and the True Time network types support that mystique as well.”
“And you’re okay with being a product?” If Jack is forbidden from romance, why is he kissing me? Why is he asking to slip into my life barely twenty-four hours since we met? Why am I not running?
