Husband Stay (Husband #2) (7 page)

Jack stepped around
in front of me as Jill dragged Fritha away, and because of the crowd in
Bohemian
Brew
, he was close enough for me to smell his aftershave. It could have
been pond slime and I would have thought it was sexy, but the fact that it had
a faint undercurrent of sandalwood caught me down low.

He was big,
towering over me in my low heels, and without the terrible facial hair, he
looked impossibly handsome in his charcoal suit with a beautifully understated
silver tie.

“Hello.” He smiled
tentatively, as if he wasn’t sure how I’d react. “Finally we meet when I’m not
full of drugs.”

My breathing was
suddenly choppy and I could feel my face warming up, from embarrassment or
arousal, I wasn’t sure.

“Jack,” I said
faintly, then I had to swallow because my throat felt dry.

“You’re
beautiful.” He said it as if he’d only just realized. Then he started nodding
to himself. “And I had no idea you were friends with Noah Steele. So you’re a
celebrity—”

“And you’re an
Olympic medalist, I hear.”

There was a beat
of silence before he said, “Shooting. My dad taught me.”

I nodded back. “My
dad encouraged me to sing.” Talking about our parents calmed me down. It was a
million miles from the idea of sex.

“I’m glad. You
were amazing.” He nodded again. “But of course, you know that.”

I shook my head. “I
don’t normally sing with Noah Steele. That’s the first time I’ve met him. I
just sing in a club—”

“Where drunks
vomit on your shoes.”

That made me
smile, despite the pulsing tension between us. “You weren’t drunk. I have that
on good authority.”

“No I wasn’t. I only
ever have one drink.”

“Just one?”

He shook his head
and smiled, and my breath caught somewhere in my upper chest.
Sweet Shiva
,
the man was breathtaking.

“And no illegal
drugs. I’m boring that way.” His gaze slid over my face, lingering on my lips
before meeting my eyes again, and some crazy part of me wanted to say
I’ll
bet you’re not boring in bed
but that would have been outrageously
flirtatious and nothing like the Angela Lata I knew.

Besides, it didn’t
need to be said. Anyone looking at him could see he was so hot he should come
with a combustion rating. In that moment I wished I didn’t drink either,
because the daiquiri that Jill had given me was making my head spin.

Or he was.

“I came to apologize,”
he went on. “The club owner said you lost your shoes, and the nurse at the hospital
told me about your medical bills. I’ve got insurance that will cover those
things. It’s the least I can do.”

I nodded at that.
It made sense. But… “How did you find me?” I hadn’t spoken to Bernie since I’d
left the club. They wouldn’t know where I was.

“I
Googled
your
name.” He shrugged in apology. “You were making an appearance here. I thought…it
was opportune.” Someone jostled him from behind and he leant toward me. “Can we
go somewhere quieter to talk?”

I’d barely noticed
the crowd since he’d stepped in front of me. My concentration had been so
intense. But as soon as I started looking around, I was thinking of escape. I
felt so overwhelmed in his presence.

When I didn’t
answer, he touched my fingers poking out of the cast. “I’m really sorry about
this.”

I shivered with
reaction, thinking about all the times in the last twenty-four hours that I’d
imagined his fingers on my body. I seriously had to get control of myself or I
might do something embarrassing. I’d had so much attention focused on me by the
crowd, the last thing I wanted was to look like a fool in public. Especially over
a man I knew so little about.

“I appreciate
that,” I said, turning back to him, willing the tingling in my fingers to stop.
My breasts felt as if they’d grown larger and were straining against my bra. It
was uncomfortable and exciting and completely inappropriate in the middle of a
crowd. “I’m here to support my friends,” I said plainly, because the longer I
stood in front of him being devoured by those sexy brown eyes, the less in
control of myself I felt. “I need to get back to them.”

“Of course.” He
touched my good arm, perhaps as a parting gesture, his fingers so warm they
sent tingles skittering in all directions, some straight to my nipples which
were already on alert, and some that seemed to pulse lower down, making my
breathing slow as I stared at him, wondering how he was triggering such a
profound reaction with so little physical contact.

What was it? Those
white teeth in his tanned face? The intensity of him? The way he watched me so
closely? Or the fact that I’d seen him half naked and had imagined myself
licking him all over?

“I understand that
my presence is intrusive,” he went on, and I struggled to keep up with the
conversation. “But I needed to see you. I’ve never hurt a woman before, and I
just...” He faltered long enough for me to see a flicker of anguish before he
smoothed that down. “I want to make it right.”

“You just want to
make amends?”

He nodded and
gazed at me impassively now, as if he’d been building up to something and
finally had it out. I had a flicker of reality then, of realizing the whole
sexual attraction thing could be completely one-sided. He’d said I was
beautiful, but maybe that was just an intellectual appraisal.

And his gaze might
not have been hungry. He might simply have been watching me closely to see how
I was reacting. Maybe he had a wife or a girlfriend, and he felt nothing toward
me beyond his need for redemption.

“I see.” I
swallowed a few times before I could get myself organized for any sort of
response. He just watched me patiently, and when someone walked close by, he
protected me with an arm, so their drink fell on his sleeve instead of my top. He
didn’t even glance at it. He just kept watching me as he said, “Are you all
right?”

I nodded, but now
I was confused. I didn’t know what to think of him. “What if I tell you I’m
fine and you don’t need to make amends—”

“I’ll have trouble
believing that. I’ve caused you problems.” He nodded at my cast. “My liability
insurance can pay for your medical costs and for any loss of income.”

Okay. That would
be a
huge
help, but it might mean seeing him again, and I wasn’t sure I
wanted that. I was feeling more embarrassed as the minutes ticked over,
convincing myself that I was a mass of seething hormones and he was all
business.

I quite
desperately wanted to touch him, and I’d never felt that before. I’d fantasized
about
being touched
but I’d never ached to slide my fingers across warm
tanned skin, down that enormous chest and across the dusting of hairs on his
abdomen to…

I sucked in a
horrified breath and shot my gaze back to his face. Manners dictated that I
shake his hand and walk away—fast—but I didn’t trust myself to be able to let
him go while my traitorous body clearly wanted to have sex with him in a loud
and totally unladylike manner.

“I need air.” I
took a step backwards. It was the first thing that had come into my head. I
seriously needed to get away from this man.

But before I could,
he took my hand and led me outside the shop and along the footpath, away from
the claustrophobia of the crowd who’d spilled out with their drinks and their
plates of miniature cupcakes and sushi. I stared at the odd combination on the
tiny plates, trying to distract myself from the heat of his hand in mine and
the utter recklessness I felt trotting beside him to keep up with his long
strides. I even told myself it was typical Fritha to come up with such a crazy combination
of food.

I’d never do
anything like that. I was traditional. Sensible. Predictable.

I was also walking
away from the safety of my girlfriends into a starlit night with an
almost-stranger who was leading me, Shiva only knew where. I should be
terrified, but as we went further from the well-lit shopfront, I realized my
heart was racing with excitement and reckless exultation.

That
frightened
me.

I tugged on his
hand and said, “Where are we going?”

“You wanted air.”
He kept leading me along the beautiful tree-lined street, and I stupidly
followed, completely dazzled by the feel of his warm hand holding mine, by the
sexiness of his stride and the sensation of being overwhelmed by my own desire.

The air was
incredibly clear and I realized then that I wasn’t drunk. My senses were too
sharp—magically sharp in fact. I had to be intoxicated with the idea of having
him to myself, even if it was only for ten minutes.

I had no idea where
we were going so it was completely ridiculous not to call a halt to it, but
singing with Noah Steele had somehow changed me. My reality filter had skewed and
my internal voice had stopped criticizing me.

In fact, it was
saying:
Why shouldn’t I walk off with the sexiest man in the room?
Wasn’t
I a beautiful Indian diva about to get my own agent and quite probably be seen
all over
YouTube
singing with a mega star?

Why shouldn’t I
have adventures?

We came to a side
street and he turned down it. And still I followed, much to my own astonishment.
The area was residential, and after passing houses with beautiful rose gardens,
he stopped at a gate and opened it. The pretty garden inside was awash in warm
yellow light emanating from a tiny Federation style cottage which had grey
weatherboards and white wrought-iron scroll-work.

As he walked me
down the brick path and up the handful of steps, I smelt jasmine and saw hanging
baskets of pansies decorating the encircling veranda. Without releasing my
hand, he opened the front door and led me inside.

I was about to ask
who owned the house and why it had been left unlocked when he turned back and
closed the door, looming over me in the process. I stepped back in surprise, my
plaster cast clunking against the door a second after it clicked shut, then
instead of looking at his tie, I tilted my head to look into his eyes which
seemed suddenly very dark with the hallway light behind him. I could hear blood
pounding in my ears.

“Angela,” he said
softly.

“Jack.” I couldn’t
breathe. The way he was looking at me left no doubt in my mind that the
attraction was mutual. I felt hot and dizzy and reckless. And probably because
of that I did the craziest thing I could imagine.

I grabbed his tie
and pulled him down to my lips.

I. Grabbed. Him.

That was my last cohesive
thought before his lips slanted over mine and he pulled me up against that
incredible chest which was every bit as hard as I’d imagined it would be. My
world closed down to the taste of his mouth—coffee and sin—exploring mine with
a thoroughness that was breathtaking.

My body felt like
a distant throbbing as I tasted him, then he slowed the kiss and the tip of his
tongue slid along the inner flesh of my lower lip. Goosebumps broke out across
my body as I shuddered helplessly in his arms, feeling pleasure radiate out and
tingle me from scalp to toenails.

My breasts felt as
though they’d push their way out of my loose top, and there was no question
that I was ready for sex. I’d bet money that my panties were damp. Then one of
his hands slid down from my shoulder-blade to my waist, scorching a path of heat
that shocked me.

“Angela.” He
pulled back marginally so he could look into my eyes at close range, then his
hand slid even lower to cup my ass.

I sucked in an
unsteady breath, but he just kept staring at me and I stared boldly back, as if
I let strangers touch me so intimately all the time. And I didn’t say stop.

So he kissed me
again, softly, giving me time to catch up with the giddying pace of my arousal.

When he pulled
back, he said, “I feel like that kid in the Willy Wonka factory looking at the river
of chocolate. You know the one?”

I nodded. For
weeks after I’d first seen that movie I’d wanted an
oompa loompa
as a playmate.

He moved in close
and nosed my hair away from my ear to whisper against it, his breath hot and
his voice low, “You’re so delicious I want to gorge myself.”

My legs started to
wobble, and my good arm clung to his shoulder for support.

“You didn’t say no.”
He pulled back to look into my eyes again. “So I’m going to carry you into the
bedroom now.” He paused for a second. “Unless you don’t want me to.”

I could have
wasted time telling him that I don’t do this normally—that I’m actually a good
girl. But there was no point, because in that moment I wasn’t any sort of girl.
I was a woman who wanted the wildest, hottest, most mind-blowing sex he could
deliver. I honestly couldn’t think past that.

Whatever baggage
I’d been talking to Jill about was obliterated by the shockingly intense sensations
tingling over my skin and throbbing inside, waiting to be liberated, and I
didn’t care how.

Since the moment
I’d started singing that first Renee Geyer number I’d felt incredible, like
somebody I didn’t recognize—somebody I wanted to be—and whatever was going to
happen between Jack and I was simply an extension of that.

So I said, “I want
you. Too.”

Which was honest,
and probably as articulate as I could manage at that point. But in the next
second, my phone burst into life with a musical ringtone.

“You sexy thing
you. I believe in miracles...”

That would be Jill.

His hands slid off
my body and he stepped back, staring at me as if I was someone he was suddenly
unsure of.

I swayed for a
second, then realized I had to answer it. Jill would be worried. So I scrabbled
around the long strap to find my purse which had fallen to my side. I pulled
out my phone, slid a finger across it to answer the call and immediately heard,
“
Ange,
where are you?”
in a loud voice with lots of background
noise.