Always on My Mind
Page 10

He knew it was true, and a stab of guilt hit him that he hadn’t been able to make her happy without help.
Leah didn’t say anything more, but she didn’t have to. Yeah, she’d gotten them into this mess, but he knew damn well it’d been out of the goodness of her heart. Jack knew that she thought she owed him for all those years ago, when he’d done his best to protect her, the chivalry having been deeply ingrained by his dad.
But they were even.
In the dark, Leah shivered, and that chivalry made him feel torn between enjoying the sight of her cold and wanting to wrap her up in his arms. “Where’s your towel?”
“In the car.”
He pulled off his sweatshirt and tugged it over her head.
“I’ll get it wet,” she said.
“It’ll dry.”
“I’m—”
“Just wear the damn sweatshirt, Leah.”
There was an awkward silence while they stared at each other as behind her the water pounded the shore.
“I realize that this is really hard for you,” she finally said, pulling on his sweatshirt. “Having everyone think you like me that way. You’ll just have to pretend.”
He narrowed his eyes. Had that been sarcasm? Or…
Hurt?
“There was a time when I wouldn’t have had to pretend anything,” he said. “But you flaked out, remember? You pretended, and then you left.”
She grimaced, swallowed hard, and looked away. “We were just kids.”
Was that how it played in her head? Seriously? “Does it make you feel better?” he asked quietly. “To downplay what we were to each other?”
She closed her eyes. “We were friends, Jack. Friends who’d made a quick, knee-jerk, stupid decision to become na**d friends and sleep together.”
“Yeah. And then one of the friends didn’t show,” he said, much more mildly than he felt.
“It was a bad idea. I was leaving.”
“Which you forgot to mention.”
She dropped her head back and stared up at the sky. “I couldn’t stay, Jack.”
He took in her expression, filled with memories, and nodded. “I know. But you should have told me you were going.”
“You had another girl in your bed by the following weekend.”
Had he? Hell, probably. But she wouldn’t have meant anything to him. Not like Leah had. His chest tightened at the memory of the hole she’d left in his life. He didn’t want to go through that again. “I missed you.”
She said nothing, and he shook his head. Fuck it. He started to walk away, and then she spoke.
“Brandi Metcalf.”
He stopped. “What?”
“Brandi Metcalf was the one in your bed by the next weekend.” She turned her head and glared at him. “Pretty, blond Brandi with the perfect boobs.” She emphasized this by cupping her hands out in front of her own breasts. “So don’t even try to tell me you missed me.”
He shook his head. Apparently he wasn’t the only pissed-off one tonight. “How about the women I’m dating now?” he asked. “What am I supposed to tell them?”
She hunched her shoulders a little bit, clearly getting irritated on top of defensive. “You’re the one who taught me how to dump someone, back in high school. You said”—she affected a lower voice, presumably imitating him—“just look him in the eyes, Leah, with your own gaze all carefully dialed in to sad and regretful. And then you say, ‘I’m sorry, I just really need to work on myself right now.’” She went back to her own voice and gave him an eye roll. “You said that no one could argue with that.”
Had he said that? Jesus. “I was an asshole, Leah.”
She gave him a look that said he was still an asshole. So he proved it. “And who says I’m dumping anyone?”
She faltered for the first time, taking a minute to choose her words. “I guess I thought that for the sake of your mom, you’d do yourself in the shower like all the rest of us sex-deprived people.” At that, she started to stride past him, but he caught her arm.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s have it.”
“Let’s have what?”
“Well, I know why I’m pissed. Why the hell are you pissed?”
“It’s not like it’s going to be a walk in the park for me either,” she said, giving him a little shot to the chest. “Pretending to like you.”
“Me?” he asked, flabbergasted. “What the hell is there not to like about me?”
The sound she made assured him that she had volumes on the subject. “Don’t get me started.”
“I want to know,” he said.
“Fine. You watch that stupid ice fishing show like it’s a religion, you’re a horrible backseat driver, you drink out of the milk carton—and FYI, so does Ben—you don’t put the cap on your toothpaste, or put the lid down on the toilet, and you shush me when you’re watching sports.”
He stared at her. “That’s quite a list of shortcomings,” he eventually said. “Is that all?”
“No.” She shoved her wet hair from her face, though she managed to keep her regal stance, nose firmly in the air at nose-bleed height. “I held back because I didn’t want to be overly rude.”
He laughed softly. “Don’t hold back, Leah. Let’s hear all of it.”
“Well, your truck has more sporting goods than a store, you never say you’re sorry, and your girlfriends look like supermodels. I mean, what is that? There’s nothing wrong with real boobs, you know!”
He took it all in and had to admit that he couldn’t say she was wrong, about any of it. “And yet you call me The Picker.”
She ignored this. “And your mom told me that you need knee surgery again. You’re just too stubborn to get it done. So you can add ornery to the list.”
He blew out a slow breath. “It’s not ice fishing,” he said. “It’s crabbing. And sometimes I lose the cap on the toothpaste, or Kevin eats it. And I don’t need knee surgery; I’m fine.”
Leah snorted. “You’re always fine. Your knee could be falling off and you’d say you were fine.”
“I fail to see the problem.”
She snorted again, and he was starting to feel greatly insulted. “You’re not exactly a walk in the park, Leah.”
“No?”
“No. You’re flighty, you live for your every whim, you downplay any real emotion you feel.”
She hugged herself tight. “Good thing this is all pretend then, isn’t it,” she said softly.
“Yeah.”
She was freezing. And hauntingly gorgeous, so damn gorgeous standing there wet and silvery by the moon’s glow, like a goddess. It’s Leah, he had to keep reminding himself. Leah, who’d once beaten him in a marshmallow-eating contest, only to puke all over him. Leah, whose dark-green eyes had a way of telling the world to bite her. Leah, who’d run off on him and left him heartbroken. He took a step into her—for what exactly, he had no idea—and she poked a finger into his chest.
“God,” she said. “You’re so…” Words apparently failed her, but she let out a sound that managed to perfectly convey how annoying he was.
“Ditto,” he said, and then grabbed the finger drilling a hole between his pecs and tugged her hard enough that she lost her balance and fell against him.
He wrapped an arm around her waist, entangling a hand in her wet hair.
She went still as stone and stared into his eyes. And then lowered her gaze to his mouth.
Yeah, they were in sync there. Suddenly he couldn’t breathe. Hers caught audibly in her throat, a good sign, he decided. Maybe she wouldn’t knee him in the balls. Testing the waters, he grazed her jawline with his teeth.
She shivered.
Then he slid his mouth to the very corner of hers and was rewarded by the clutch of her hands on his shirt. Having her hold on to him like this, like he was her only anchor, sent a bolt of lust straight through him. “Leah,” he murmured, hearing the surprise in his own voice, feeling the heat course through him as he finally—God, finally—covered her mouth with his.
Her lips parted for him eagerly, and he groaned, drowning in the erotic collision of her hot tongue and chilled, wet body.
Serious trouble. He was in serious trouble.
Because he had a taste of her now, a damn good taste, and it was better than he could have imagined, making him want the rest of her. With his fingers still in her hair, he pulled her in tighter, slanting his mouth across hers for more. She moved with him, into him, making the connection all the sweeter.
No. Sweet wasn’t the right word.
Hot. She was so hot she was turning him inside out. And then she made another of those soft, surrendering sighs deep in her throat, the sound slaying him. She still had a death grip on his shirt and had managed to catch a few chest hairs while she was at it. He didn’t care. Sliding a hand beneath his sweatshirt, he cupped her ass over her wet bikini bottoms, rocking into her.
She had to feel what this was doing to him. And given that she was breathing like she was running out of air, and still holding onto him tightly enough to bruise, she also had to know where this was going.
Kevin “woofed” softly, an I’m-tired-of-being-ignored woof. Jack waved at him to shut it and then kissed Leah some more, sinking deeper into her taste, her softness, her scent, all while wondering how the hell she could drive him crazy and make him ache at the same time. It was a feat that totally wrecked his equilibrium. Maybe it was just the kiss. Because holy shit, the kiss. He still had a handful of her sweet ass and he squeezed, wanting more. But they were outside and the night’s temp was quickly dropping. She was wet, trembling with the chill, and there was absolutely nowhere to go with this. Not here, not now. He’d had no business kissing her like he had an endgame, and knowing it, he regretfully pulled back.
She blinked as if waking up from a dream. “What—” She cleared her throat. “What was that?”
“Insanity. It’s going around.”
She rolled her eyes but staggered a step as if her equilibrium was off too, giving him some grim satisfaction.
Kevin whined again, and Jack gave him the evil eye. Kevin sighed and sat.
Leah touched her lips as if to hold in the taste of him. “I’m sorry,” she finally said.
“For?”
“Putting you in the position of having to pretend to like me.”
Ah, hell. He drew a deep breath. Pretending wasn’t his strong suit, and he could have said so. He could have also said that he liked her for real. But he wasn’t going to. He’d been there, done that, bought the T-shirt, and he wasn’t interested in a repeat performance. In fact, if he was going to pretend anything, it was going to be about not liking her. “Leah—” He broke off when Kevin nudged him in the gut and whined again. “What?” Jack asked him. “What’s the matter?”
Kevin hunched and unloaded a mountain of poop. “Oh, for—” Before Jack could finish that sentence, Kevin shifted over a few feet and hunched again.
“Holy cow.” Leah covered her nose. “What the hell are you feeding him?”
“Everything.” Jack went to his truck for a shovel. He’d just tossed the bag into one of the trash receptacles when Kevin hunched again.
“Are you kidding me?” Jack demanded.
Kevin panted happily. Clearly feeling fifty pounds lighter, the dog pawed at the sand with his back legs, head proudly lifted as he then pranced toward the truck as if he were king.
Leah was still standing there looking shell-shocked.
“I know,” Jack said. “It’s bad. Breathe through your mouth. It helps.”
She did just that, pulling his sweatshirt up over her mouth so all he could see was her eyes. It didn’t matter. He had the taste of her on his tongue, the feel of her body still in his palms. He wanted to drag her up against him and plunder. Talk about bad ideas. “It’s late,” he said.
“Is that what you would have told your date tonight when she invited you in at the end of the night? That it was late?”
No. He’d have had her na**d before midnight.
Naked and happy.
But this was Leah…and he tried really hard to not think about Leah na**d.
Or na**d and happy…
Except lately, he seemed to be doing nothing but.
Ever since she’d sprung this whole relationship thing on him, he’d thought of little else, and it was slowly driving him over the edge.
But he could get over that.
Or at least he could try.
Except now there was also this, her, in a little, itty-bitty, black bikini and his sweatshirt coming down to her mid-thighs, looking like his greatest fantasy come to life, and he didn’t think he could handle any pretense at all. “Leah—”
“No,” she said, shaking her head, backing away. “You know what? Let’s not discuss this like rational human beings. Clearly we can’t do that.”
And in his sweatshirt and an air of righteousness, she headed to her car.
Chapter 9
Leah yanked open her driver’s door, but before she could slide in, Jack caught up with her, caging her in with one hand on the roof and one on the opened door. “Hold up,” he said.
She turned to face him. “Move, Jack.”
“I don’t think so.” His voice was calm as always, but there was an undercurrent now, the slightest tension. Which, coming from Jack, was tantamount to being wildly upset.
She didn’t care.