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And if Jack believes I’m chasing another girl’s boyfriend, what must he think of me?
Because he can’t be jealous.
That’d be silly. Right?
“Do whatever you like, Abbs.”
I catch him watching me in the mirror. “Next time I need a last-minute ride to the country, you’ll be my first call.”
“I like the blue one.” He comes to stand behind me with the dress in his hand. Slowly, I turn to accept it. “It looks nice on you.”
It’s back again, that insistent desire I’ve tried to tamp down. The one that makes me wonder what his hair feels like between my fingers. The ache to run my hands across his chest. To have his touch against my skin. It sneaks up on me. Blindsided.
How does hedothat?
And why can’t I ever get a handle on what he’s feeling? I can never tell if I’m imagining the chemistry between us. If it’s just in his nature, his personality, to be flirtatious. Most of the time, I’m convinced that’s the case. But then he goes and looks at me likethis, and I start to doubt myself.
He steps closer.
“What are you doing, Jack?” I ask through a dry throat.
“Not doing anything, Abbey.” But his eyes are gleaming with mischief and a few pints.
I gulp. “Lee wouldn’t like knowing we’re alone in here together.”
“No,” he agrees thickly. “I’m sure there’s a house rule time limit on having boys in your room.”
“If there isn’t, then there should be.”
A hint of a smile touches his lips. Then he licks them, and my heart rate triples. I’m not sure who moves first, but before I get a whole breath in, he’s got my hips pressed against my dresser with both hands and his lips are centimeters from mine.
“This is a bad idea,” Jack whispers.
“Terrible,” I whisper back.
“Just want one taste,” he mumbles, and then he kisses me.
His mouth is soft and warm as it covers mine, the slightest tangof English beer on his tongue. I grab two fistfuls of his shirt, twisting. Rising up on my toes to meet his kiss.
Who is this girl?
I don’t recognize myself. It’s like I’m watching from across the room, not entirely aware or in control. Jack flicks some instinctive switch in me, and my subconscious takes over.
He’s not at all hurried or forceful. Rather, it’s a slow, gentle exploration that makes my head go hazy. His tongue slicks over mine, caressing, teasing, then retreating so I have to chase it into his mouth with an anguished moan.
I’m falling into him, responding to his skillful touch, when suddenly he breaks the kiss and pulls back to leave me stunned and breathless.
Jack looks at me, silent, his expression impossible to discern.
“Yeah, I’m knackered. I’m off to bed,” he mutters before strolling out of my room.
The blue dress lies in a puddle on the floor.
I blink in confusion. It’s as though I imagined it. A blurry daydream staring into the glare of the sun, that moment when you’re caught in a brilliant blinding light before your eyes adjust to the dull surroundings.
What the hell was that?
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