Jack & Jilted (5 page)

She brought out the damnedest reactions in him. He had no doubt that she could handle anything that life threw at her…he knew that from that first phone call, when she’d sounded like a cross between a sexy receptionist and a no-nonsense bill collector. She could take care of herself. But seeing her looking so fragile despite her abilities made him wish that she didn’t have to take care of herself. That, just for a minute, somebody could take her troubles away. He’d pay cash money to see her laugh and smile without a care in the world.

He didn’t think that cash was the solution, though, and he didn’t think he was that somebody to take her troubles away. He never had been for anyone. Why would he start now?

“I guess I’ll leave you alone then,” he said awkwardly, starting to move toward the door, only to be stopped by her voice.

“It’s just that I’m not sure we ever really loved each other, you know?”

Oh, crikey. What can of worms had he opened up here?

“I was his secretary,” she said, pausing only to have some more coffee. Jack slowly sat down at the foot of the bed, careful to keep as much distance between himself and Chloe as possible. “He was handsome and successful, and…I don’t know…charming.”

Jack nodded. He figured the guy had to be charming—Chloe had to have seen something in him, right?

“I didn’t even think he noticed me at first,” Chloe said. “But he was so disorganized, so crazed. So I did little things to make his life easier. He appreciated it.”

Jack made a noncommittal noise, a sort of sympathetic grunt.

“Then, one night, we were working late. He had a project he had to turn in,” she said. “He asked if I wanted to go to dinner. I thought he was just taking me out to thank me for working late. Then he asked me out to dinner a few nights later, after the project was over. That time, I thought he was thanking me because the project was a success.” She laughed humor-lessly. “He finally said he wasn’t thanking me anymore when he asked me to go with him to Santa Barbara for a weekend.”

“Yeah, that would’ve been a hell of a project,” Jack quipped. He already didn’t like the guy; this was really pissing him off.

“I didn’t go, of course,” Chloe said, and Jack instantly cheered up. “He courted me for months before we…well, before we became an actual couple,” she said. “And we dated for a few years before he asked me to marry him. Then it took another year to plan the wedding. And here I am.”

“Here you are,” Jack repeated, at a loss.

“He loved that I handled things for him. He said his life was better with me in it,” she said, wiping at the tears on her face with the back of her hand and putting her empty coffee cup down with the other. “I loved feeling needed. I loved what I was able to do for him. I thought I was being appreciated.”

“He was using you,” Jack muttered.

Her eyes widened, and he realized he hadn’t actually meant to make that observation out loud. Then she nodded, biting her lip quickly. “I suppose you could say that,” she said. “But it wasn’t like he had a gun to my head, you know?”

He was your boss, Jack thought but this time managed to keep his trap shut.

“I’m no victim,” she said staunchly, and Jack’s admiration for her rose another notch. “On some level, I knew what I was doing. But by the time it got to actually planning the wedding…well, I stopped making his life better.”

“I doubt that,” Jack said sharply.

“No, I mean because then it was all about the wedding,” she said. “When we were just dating, we kept it pretty quiet. Once we were engaged, people made snide comments. And then his mother got involved.” She made a sour face. “I don’t think she ever really liked me.”

Jack snorted at that. If the woman was anything like her son, the ever-popular Gerald, then he didn’t put a lot of stock in her opinion, either.

“Even if we were in love, those obstacles would’ve been tough,” she said. “Now I’m starting to realize I was so into the idea of being in love—having the perfect life—that I kept my blinders on. Right up to the point when Gerald left me at the altar for another woman who didn’t have all this baggage.”

“Please,” Jack said tightly, “please tell me you’re not letting this guy off the hook that easily.”

“Well, he could’ve handled it better,” she admitted, “but he was probably as caught up as I was. In a few years, I guess I’ll consider myself lucky that he broke it off instead of being married and having a few kids or something and then finding out.”

Jack let out a low whistle. “You may be the most relentlessly optimistic person I’ve ever met, you know that?”

She huffed impatiently. “I’m trying to sort this out,” she said.

“Did you love him?” Jack asked her straight out, moving the tray onto the surface of the minifridge and scooting closer to her. “Be honest now.”

She met his gaze, then her eyes filled with tears. “I…I thought I did,” she said. “I wanted to.”

That wasn’t the same, Jack realized. And then realized he was relieved, which was dumb. “Did you think he loved you?”

Now the tears escaped, crawling fresh paths down her cheeks. She nodded instead of responding verbally.

“He made you a promise and he hurt you,” Jack said. “Now, I’m no genius when it comes to this sort of thing, and you probably don’t even need my advice. But I’m the captain around here, so I’ll throw my oar in.”

She smiled at that one, and he reached out and tugged her into a semihug next to him.

“I’m not a big planner. Things work out or not, and you do the best you can. You’re probably right—you’re better off that he broke it off now instead of later, but you’d be a hell of a lot better off if he’d left before your damned wedding day.”

She nodded against his shoulder, and he could feel the hot tears soaking through the material of his T-shirt.

“And you can rationalize all you want if you think it makes you feel better,” he said, “but I don’t think it really does. I think you’re just trying to slap it into a box, pretend it’s all cool and move forward. But I don’t think that’s really healthy.”

She pulled away from him to stare into his eyes, her whole face frowning fiercely. “What’s the point in screaming and crying about it? That gets you nowhere. There’s no point in getting aggravated over elements you can’t control.”

“Are you kidding?” Jack said, bewildered.

“No,” she said. “I’ve got a million things to take care of. I thought I’d take this break, get a clear head. I’m figuring out what happened with Gerald so I can move on and not be bogged down.”

“Honey, if you can make that very statement and be free and clear of the whole episode…” Jack shook his head. “You’re in the wrong line of work. You could be making a bundle teaching people how to get over their problems in twenty-four hours.”

“You’re making fun of me,” she said, some snap in her voice to match the amber spark in her eyes.

“No,” he said, then shrugged. “Well, maybe a little. The thing is, you’ve still got those feelings, and they’re not going to go away just because they don’t fit into that neat plan of yours.”

“So what exactly are you suggesting?”

“I’m not suggesting anything,” he said, putting his hands up defensively against that steel-tipped stare of hers. “I’m just saying…”

“That I’m full of it?”

He had to admit he liked her better angry than sad. He had dealt with plenty of angry women. And it was a nice change—ordinarily, the women he dealt with were angry because he was the one who had screwed up royally. “No, that logic and reason are great—most of the time. But sometimes you’ve got to just feel things. Ride with it.” He grinned. “Do something stupid and foolish that makes no sense, because it’ll help you feel better.”

“Like what? Get drunk to the point of alcohol poisoning? Run up my credit cards? Shoot Gerald?”

“Well, not completely stupid,” he amended. “And preferably nothing destructive—to yourself or to other people. But small stupidities can go a long way. Don’t poison yourself, but get good and ripped. Don’t max out your cards, but buy something you’ve always wanted. Don’t shoot anybody….” He thought about it. “But you could always put a dead fish in his hubcap. In fact, I could help you with that when we get back.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed in disbelief.

Oh, crap. Now I’ve done it. He fully expected her to either smack him or insist that he turn the boat around and take her home. Maybe both. In that order.

Instead she slowly smiled, almost as if she weren’t even aware of it. “My family,” she said, “would not understand you at all.”

“I get that a lot,” he said. “Why don’t you eat something?”

He started to reach for the tray but was stopped when she put a hand on his cheek, gently forcing him to look at her.

“I don’t understand you, either,” she said softly, and that lopsided smile of hers pierced him like a bullet. “All I know is you have this amazing gift of making me feel better. Thank you, Jack.”

And with that, she pressed a tiny kiss on the low part of his cheek.

It was completely innocent and, in his experience, completely rare. Which might have been why it had such a brutally strong impact on him. He felt lust, pure and simple, flood through him. He suddenly wanted to take her, then and there, and really make her feel better. If she wanted to forget all about her present circumstances, he’d do things to her that would make her forget her name. For a month.

But before he could act, he got a look at her eyes. Still red-rimmed with tears and fragility and pain. She was staring at him as if he was a hero. That was completely rare, too, and more unsettling.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, managing to make his voice sound normal. “Come on. Have a croissant.”

And don’t look at me like that again.

THAT NIGHT, CHLOE WAS still thinking of what Jack had said, about doing something little and stupid to feel better.

After that morning’s heart-to-heart, she’d finished the croissants, fruit and coffee, going up on deck carrying her last cup carefully with her. The sky had been the lovely clear blue that she’d gotten so used to living in San Diego that she rarely even noticed it anymore. An occasional plush white cloud had dotted the horizon. There had been other sailboats out on this Sunday, taking advantage of the beautiful weather, as well. She’d been able to see the San Diego skyline off in the distance and make out the Coronado island chain. They’d just been cruising, leisurely, in no rush.

When was the last time I wasn’t in a rush?

She had seen Jose walk by, checking on something but being as unobtrusive as possible, grinning at her with welcome before disappearing into the cockpit or wherever it was he took care of steering the boat. She enjoyed watching the front of the boat cut into the waves in front of her and loved the feel of the ocean swelling beneath her.

She knew she probably ought to get down to it: write out a list of discussion points for her conversation with Gerald, as well as work on her résumé and compile a list of likely target Web sites to start her job hunt. But she couldn’t quite get motivated. She wasn’t miserable—at least, she didn’t feel the same way she had that morning, armed to the teeth with grim determination to put everything behind her, wear a brave face and soldier on. She was sort of stuck but strangely okay with that fact.

I want to do something stupid and foolish to feel better.

She’d made lunch and dinner for the crew, over their objections, and had enjoyed the process enormously. She’d forgotten how much she loved cooking, as well, and the trip was reminding her of it. When she was chopping vegetables or sautéing meat, she didn’t think of anything but what she was working on, and that was meditative and relaxing all by itself. The satisfied sounds coming from the men eating her food were their own reward, she realized. Especially Jack, who seemed to love food almost as much as he loved his ship and the ocean. And she’d never met anyone who adored anything as much as he seemed to love the ocean.

She wondered absently what it would be like, to be the focus of that kind of passion.

So here she was, in her cabin, wearing her nightgown. It was only nine o’clock, and she was restless. She didn’t have anything to read, there was no TV and listening to music only seemed to add to her frustration.

She belted the robe over her nightgown and slipped on her flat shoes and wandered up to the deck. She had plenty of practice and she’d be careful, but she figured she could pace at least. Maybe the sea air would lull her to sleep.

She stepped out on deck, and the sight momentarily robbed her of breath. The moon looked enormous, as if it were mere feet from the water, throwing its reflection in a million little diamondlike shards on the black ocean surface. There was a breeze, chilly and scented with brine, that caused her to clutch the neck of her robe a bit tighter. The sounds of the waves lapping against the hull were hypnotic.

“What did I tell you?”

She turned, gasping momentarily, then smiling. Jack was there, watching her. She didn’t know how long he’d been there, leaning against the wall, in the shadows. He stepped toward her, the moonlight throwing the planes of his face into sharp relief. His eyes looked shadowed, and his brown hair looked black, leached of color by the nightly illumination.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, forcing herself to look out on the oceanscape and not at the man who had just surprised her. “And calming. You were right.”

“Are you cold?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern. “It’s nippy tonight.”

“I’m okay,” she said. “I was just…restless.”

“Oh.” He sighed. “Anything I can do to help?”

She bit her lip, hard. “I don’t know,” she said, taking a deep breath. “There might be.”

He stood silent, waiting.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the tranquility all around her, dredging up the courage for her next step. “Remember what you said this morning, about doing something just to feel better? For the short term?”

“Sure,” he said.

She felt the blush heating her skin, momentarily eliminating the chill of the wind. “I think I know what would help me feel better. I’m just not sure if I should ask you.”

That made him pause. “I get the feeling this isn’t getting you drunk or helping you trash somebody’s car,” he said with a shaky laugh.

She suddenly felt embarrassed. “Are you…oh, God, how do I ask this?”

“Spit it out and we’ll deal with it.” His voice sounded a little rough.

“Are you involved with anyone?”

“Involved?”

“You know, seeing anyone on a regular basis. Do you have a girlfriend? Significant other?” She suddenly blanched. “Wife?”

“No!” His response was so quick and so horrified that she actually giggled little in relief. “I mean…I see people from time to time, but no. Nothing serious.”

“I guess that’s a weird question to ask just before a request,” she said, her own voice turning breathless.

“I think I can guess what you want, though,” he said softly.

She stood there almost wilting in her own humiliation. “This is ridiculous,” she said suddenly and started to walk past him, hurrying toward her own cabin. He stopped her by putting an arm around her shoulders. She tried shrugging it off, but he held tight.

“I said a little stupid but not self-destructive,” he said. “This may be a little more than you’re looking for. That is, if you’re asking what I think you’re asking.”

“If you think I’m asking if you would have sex with me,” she said sharply, “then yeah, that’s what I had in mind.”

He sighed, and she felt utterly, hopelessly foolish. “You’re not the type,” he said.

Her back straightened. She thought about asking indignantly How do you know? but realized that it wasn’t as if she was fooling anyone. If she bumped into someone like herself on the street, she would hardly think it of her.

“It’s an unusual situation,” she countered instead. “I wasn’t the type, that’s for damned sure. But now…” She sighed, turning toward him instinctively, his restraining arm now turning into more of a half hug. “I’ll level with you. I haven’t had sex in six months, and before then we weren’t exactly…we never…”

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said, but she bulled forward.

“I like sex, but with him it was never about sex,” she said quickly. “He never wanted me for that—I mean, he never really was all that passionate about me—and I dealt with it. I never cheated on him and I never lied to him, but there were times when I just wanted…someone else. A fantasy. Does that make sense?”

He sighed heavily, but he didn’t move his arm away. “Sort of,” he finally admitted.

“Now I find out he cheated on me. All that comfort and planning that I thought I wanted—that I thought he wanted,” she corrected, “wasn’t it at all. And now I’m realizing I cheated myself, too.”

She turned, looking into his eyes, which were mesmerizing in the moonlight.

“This isn’t fair,” she said, pushing her body against his. “I know that. It’s using you, after you’ve been so wonderful to me, listening to me, being a friend to me. I don’t want a replacement husband and I’m not looking to start a new relationship. But I don’t drink and I don’t want to wreck somebody’s car. I just want to have sex. I want to remember what good sex feels like. I want to do it until I’m exhausted and I fall asleep smiling.”

She could feel him still as a stone against her. She had never seduced anyone before—not that this could be considered a seduction, she realized. This was a proposition. She was propositioning him.

“You have to be sure,” he finally said, his voice ragged. “You have to be damned sure.”

She blinked, feeling her own hormones surge in response. She realized on some level that she’d been steeling herself for rejection—that she had fully expected him to turn her down. “I’m sure.”

“Because I’m not going to be your husband,” he said, taking her shoulders in both hands and giving her a tiny shake. “You’re a great woman, from what I’ve seen, and you’ve had some really crappy things happen to you. That makes me feel badly. But I’m not going to hook up with someone out of pity and I don’t want to hurt you even worse just because you think that sleeping with me is going to be some kind of answer. I don’t want you making me out to be something I’m not.” His voice was downright fierce now, nothing like the laid-back seafarer she’d met only the day before. “I want you. But it’s just going to be physical, and if that seems wrong, then you’re going to be dealing with me for the rest of the trip. Now think about this very, very carefully. Can you really handle this or not?”

She swallowed hard. Her mind was racing, throwing disastrous possibilities at her. She’d feel terrible. She’d lose respect for herself. She’d lose respect for him. She’d be faced with a long journey with that knowledge. She’d only slept with three men in her life, and all of those were from long relationships. Could she handle this?

He was so close she could feel the heat coming off him. And her body suddenly made the decision for her.

She stood up on her toes and kissed him. Gently at first, tentatively tasting his mouth, feeling the muscles of his chest bunch under her fingertips. Trying to get closer to him, her breasts dragged up the length of him, and he groaned beneath her lips.

He suddenly took charge, surprising her even more. His hands, which had been clutching her shoulders, moved down to her hips, molding her to him, and she squeaked momentarily in surprise. He wasn’t harsh, though, and the rough movement felt like heaven as she felt his hardness press against her stomach. She sighed, parting her lips, and his tongue traced the soft inner flesh of her mouth. She responded in kind, feeling her heart start to beat painfully quickly in response.

“Jack,” she murmured when he pulled away. “Jack.”

He pulled her head against his chest, cradling her hair with one hand. She could hear his heartbeat, a fast, steady thumping beneath her ear.

“I can’t promise more than tonight,” he said. “Damn it, don’t make me the bad guy tomorrow.”

“I won’t blame you,” she assured him, almost mindless with the rush of pleasure and need coursing through her. Now that she’d felt the rush, there was no way she was turning back. Her body wanted it too much. “I swear, Jack, I won’t hold you to anything. Just be with me tonight.”

She felt, as well as heard the tortured sigh come from him. Then she felt him lift her up as if she weighed nothing. With quick, careful steps, he took her back to her cabin and shut the door behind them.

She felt her heart racing in her chest, and her skin felt alive, almost oversensitive to his touch. He placed her on the bed delicately, slowly, as if giving her every chance to back out if she so desired. But she wasn’t going to change her mind. Even as a tiny voice in the back of her head shouted that this was crazy, stupid, probably the most idiotic thing she’d ever done, she realized that she was going through with it—that there was no way she was backing out now.

He pulled away, staring at her as if she were the only woman on earth, and for a second it made her pause before tugging at the sash of her robe. Beneath, she wore a simple spaghetti-string silk nightie in a deep, almost rust-colored garnet-red, cut high on her thighs but otherwise devoid of any lace or frills. She wondered absently if maybe she shouldn’t have chosen something sexier, but the expression he made when he saw it caused shivers to shoot up her spine. She rolled awkwardly, pushing the robe off the bed and onto the floor.

He was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of jeans—his usual attire—and he stripped the T-shirt over his head with one casual motion, revealing a body that made her body tighten in response. The guy had the most beautiful chest she’d ever seen—chiseled and muscular, no doubt from all the labor required to keep a ship like this running. His arms and shoulders were yoked, his abdomen flat and rippled into a six-pack. She wanted to smooth her palms over every square inch of him. She wanted to lick him.

She could not remember the last time she felt like this, if ever.

He put his hands on the buttons of his fly and then he paused, staring at her, the top button undone. She waited, breathless, to see what was revealed—only to see that he was again waiting for her to somehow reassure him that this was, indeed, what she wanted to do.

It would’ve been easier if he had taken the lead, she realized. She’d never really been a sexual aggressor, and to be honest, if he would just charge forward and make love to her, she could always assuage her conscience the next morning by saying things had gone too fast and he’d simply outmaneuvered her. But she wasn’t a victim, as she’d told him that morning—this was going to be her decision, and she was going to live with it. So she sat up on the bed and, with hands only slightly trembling, took the denim in her own hands, nerves making her hands slow down as she undid each metal button. He groaned, leaning against the backs of her fingertips, and she could feel the cotton of boxers and the heat of his skin.

Suddenly nerves burned away in a flash pulse of pure desire. She tugged at his waistband, and he helped her, shucking out of his jeans, socks and shoes and then shrugged out of his boxers, as well. His erection was magnificent, hard and long, jutting toward her. Shocked at her own boldness, she circled it with her fingers, smoothing her palm from the base to the tip with a steady confidence that elicited a surprised moan in response from him. She released him only long enough to tug the nightgown over her head, leaving only the matching garnet thong between them.