Misadventures With The Mistaken Twin (Big Sky Boyfriends #2)

Chapter 13

13

“Marcus pressed his hard, chiseled body into hers, all rock-hard planes into soft, milky white flesh. His cock was like a steel beam that pulsed at the entrance of her love channel, ready to bore its way into her like a mole in a hole.”

I sat behind the counter at Goldilocks reading aloud from the freshly printed pages of Goldie's romance novel. At least the early parts. I'd made it three pages and I was horrified. “Mole in a hole?” I repeated, looking up from her manuscript.

Goldie was putting pricing stickers on the flavored body paints. She wore a bright pink fleece pullover with black pants, black boots. Her blondish hair was pulled back in a twist, big gold earrings with sparkly pink stones dangled down her neck. She looked up at me and sniffed, contemplated. “I guess that might not be the best metaphor.”

“I think you have too many in one sentence. Steel beam, love channel, mole in a hole. It sounds like a bad ride at an amusement park.”

Swipe , the sticker went on with Goldie’s more aggressive action. Swipe . “I'll change that part. Keep going.”

“Eloise looked up with trusting eyes at her first lover. Could she handle his girth? Could she control her wonton lust? Her bed was now a place of passion, not just sleep.”

Swipe, swipe . Yup, she was a little miffed. “What's wrong with that?”

This was a side of Goldie I'd never seen before. For a woman who knew so much about sex, she couldn't write about it to save her life.

“Wonton lust? It's wanton. Wanton . Not wonton. That's the kind of soup you get at a Chinese restaurant.”

Swipe, swipe, swipe . “Fine. You read me some of yours. Make sure it's the steamy, wonton part,” she said sarcastically.

My cell beeped notifying me of a text. It was from my friend, John, who was doing the repairs to the fire damage in my kitchen. House finished tomorrow. Get inspector and insurance agent scheduled for approval.

“My house will be fixed tomorrow. I can move back probably the day after.” I told Goldie, happy to get my house back.

She smiled, “Good. What a scary thing. Fortunately, the fire was confined to the one area.”

“Yeah, it was time for a kitchen upgrade anyway,” I replied. I had liked the room just as it was, completely vintage and outdated, but having smoke and fire damage had forced me into modernizing.

It had been two long weeks and I was tired of being homeless.

“Come on, don't distract me from your story with your sad case about your house catching fire,” Goldie said jokingly.

I rolled my eyes as a customer came through the door, approached the counter. “Ben-Wa balls?” the man asked. Mid-twenties, goatee, heavy winter coat and hat.

I pointed to the back corner and he retreated. Picking up my own papers, I skimmed for the sex part. “Okay, here we go.” I cleared my throat, darted my eyes to the guy searching out the Ben-Wa balls, hoping he wasn't listening. “They were both dripping wet from the thundershower that had surprised them. Dashing beneath the overhang of the closed museum, they clung to each other, cool skin warming in their heated embrace. Steam practically rose between them as their passion took over.”

Goldie stood there frozen in place, her sticker machine held halfway to a bottle of massage oil. “Huh. Go on.”

“His mouth lowered to the hollow at the base of her neck, his tongue flicking out to lick the raindrops away. He could see her pink nipples, hardened by the chill, through the transparent material of her blouse.”

The customer returned to the counter with his package of Ben-Wa balls, listening in.

Embarrassed he'd heard my recitation, I felt my cheeks flush. “Find what you needed?”

He nodded, and then pointed to my papers. “That's pretty good. Turning me on.”

I smiled weakly, a little grossed out that my words were arousing. “Thanks.”

“See?” Goldie pursed her lips. “Keep going.”

Handing the man his change, he took his package and left, cold air filling the space before the door shut. I shivered.

Eyeing me over her reading glasses, Goldie gave me a look that read, 'Get a move on.'

I found my place. “He kissed her mouth, his tongue tangling with hers, learning each other's taste. He couldn't get enough of her. Her scent filled his mind, making him forget the world around them.”

Goldie put down the pricing machine on the counter. “You've got one hell of a muse.”

I went to the video return box and started stacking the cases. “Jack's not my muse.”

“You say that now, but from what he said the other day, it's good you both found each other since you're both into kinky stuff. I started making a box of toys for you both.”

I counted to ten. “Goldie. I'm not into kink. Jack was just messing with you. With me. We haven't even slept together. I do not need a box of kinky toys.”

She eyed me skeptically. “I didn't take you for kink.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks.” I was afraid to ask what she did take me for. “Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you the other day. Remember that blow up doll I used for Mike's toy party?”

“The Ricky Dicky doll?” Goldie asked.

I nodded. “Well, little Ricky doesn't have any balls.”

Goldie thought for a moment. “Good to know. Now, I know how you like to distract me, but I'm sharp as a tack. Using a Ricky Dicky doll to keep from talking about Jack Reid. You should be ashamed.” She tsked me. “Jack is definitely your muse because that writing is good.” She pointed one manicured finger at my pages on the counter. “Imagine what you could write if you actually did have sex.”

Alphabetizing the videos, I tried to avoid looking Goldie in the eye. I was being a complete idiot, having even the slightest feelings for Jack while knowing he was going back to Florida. I did a mental head slap. Stupid, stupid! I shouldn't have let him kiss me, shouldn't have let him back in the same state. Being near him—and not wanting to kill him anymore—was wonderful, but I knew it would hurt when he walked away. Again. “He's leaving. I'm not going to sleep with a guy I might not see again for another ten years.”

“Why not?”

“Because...because you’ve seen him. I'm afraid I'm going to want him more than once every ten years.”

“Hmm, that's a problem. I don't have a box for that.”

Goldie dropped me off at Violet's house just after midnight. The neighborhood was dark, everyone asleep. I went up to the door, opened it a crack and flipped on the light switch. Jasper still wasn't back in his home so I turned out the light, locked up. I had to find another place to sleep. No way in hell would I be able to climb in bed with a snake on the loose. There weren't very many choices. My house was out of the question because of the fire damage. I couldn't go to my parents so late at night without an explanation and I wasn't going to tell them someone broke into Violet's house. There was only one option left.

Five minutes later, I knocked on Owen Reid's door. Jack answered it wearing old sweats, a heavy fleece jacket, shirttails of a plaid flannel shirt hanging below, and heavy socks. His hair was unruly, as if he'd been running his hands through it. Boy, would I like to run my fingers through it. Feel how silky soft it was. Ugh. Maybe I was still drunk.

The TV was on, set to a sports recap show. I didn't think men watched anything but sports or sports recaps. Jack held the door open for me, smiled. “I knew you wouldn't be able to keep your hands off me.”

“It's you or the snake,” I grumbled as I bent down by the door to take off my boots.

“Good to know where I stand.”

I hung up my coat on a hook by the door. “It's freezing in here.” I rubbed my arms.

Jack came up behind me, pulled my back into his front, and wrapped his arms around me. I felt his body heat seep into me right away. “Like you said, the electric's back on, the heat's working as well, but it hasn't gotten up to temp yet.”

“The plastic over the doorway to the kitchen should help some, but not much.”

“So could warmer weather,” Jack grumbled. “In the meantime”—he took my hand and pulled me to the sofa—“you can keep me warm.”

The idea was very appealing. Jack pulled me down next to him, tucked me in beneath his arm, my head resting against his shoulder. He must've grabbed a blanket off the guest bed because he pulled a heavy blue comforter up over both of us.

“I haven't snuggled in a long time,” I commented, content.

Jack made a sound something along the lines of a growl. “I don't want to hear about the other times you've snuggled .” I'd swear I heard a possessive tone to his voice. “I'll have you know this is my first time. Snuggling. I like it. Be gentle with me.” He squeezed my upper arm.

Oh, brother.

We watched the TV without talking until the commercial. “Any idea who might have broken into Violet's house?” Jack asked.

I turned to face him, keeping close because he was warm. That was my reason and I was sticking to it. Not because I liked hearing his heartbeat beneath my ear, feel the muscles of his stomach shift and twitch against my hand. “I think it might be the lady in the pink jacket.”

Jack looked confused. “The lady you saw outside Goldilocks?”

“And again this morning, remember?”

Jack nodded. His jaw was tense and he looked angry.

“Old Mr. Chalmers said he saw her go into Violet's house, then leave a few minutes later.”

Jack's eyebrows went up. “She was there? He saw her?”

“He shot her.”

I couldn't help but smile. Neither could Jack.

“He shot her? Just like me?”

I nodded, and then started laughing.

“I like that old coot. Was she hurt?” he asked, his eyes darting to my mouth.

Shrugging, I said, “I don't know. Old Mr. Chalmers didn't think so.”

“Did anyone call the police?” He was still looking at my mouth.

“Everyone in the neighborhood is used to Old Mr. Chalmers shooting at people. It's old news for them, and for the police.”

One second I was talking about bird shot, the next, Jack's mouth was on mine, his hands at the back of my neck, holding me to him. He angled his head, slipped his tongue inside my mouth. Between the comforter, the layers of clothes and the kiss, I was ready to spontaneously combust. I used one hand to push the layer of down comforter off us, turned my body so I straddled Jack's lap. I tangled my fingers in his silky hair—it was as soft as I'd thought—and held on. When Jack's hands slipped lower, brushed over my shoulders and then lower still to slide over the top of my breasts, I moaned deep in my throat. I felt the contact move like a lightning bolt straight south to my lower regions.

I pulled back from the kiss, put my forehead to his. My breathing was rough, labored. “Jack, you're leaving.”

His thumbs brushed over my nipples through my sweater, shirt and bra. I felt him hard against my lower belly. “Give me a minute and I'll be coming.”

I put my hands on top of his with the intention of moving them off of my breasts. It wasn't a good idea because I only pushed his palms against me harder, brushing him over my nipples in a way that had me almost coming, too.

No! I felt my heart melting—various places on my body as well—and I had to resist. With a moment of clarity, I pulled him from me, opened my eyes. “I can't do this. You're leaving in a few hours,” I repeated, my breath ragged. “To Florida. Remember?”

Jack took a deep breath, exhaled. “You climbed on my lap. I was just reacting. Want me to get the bag of sex toys you made for me?”

I slid off Jack's lap onto the couch beside him, threw an arm over my eyes to block him out, to try to block out the feelings brought on by his touch. By him just being there. Then I thought about the ridiculous gag gifts I'd put in his bag and cringed at the idea of putting them to use. Tame or not. “I know I climbed in your lap. And no, don't even look in the gift bag. I made that when I hated you,” I grumbled. My brain was telling me to play it smart, but my body was definitely not in agreement. “Stopping might not be the easiest thing, but it's the right thing to do.”

“Do you always do the right thing?” Jack asked. He looked a little cranky. I didn't blame him. I felt a little cranky, too. An orgasm would solve that problem. But no, my stupid brain had to pull me back from the brink.

I considered his question. “I guess so. If I didn't, we'd be naked right now.”

Jack groaned as he rubbed his hand over his jaw, stubble rasping against his palm.

“Do you?” I asked. My heart rate was finally returning to normal range. “Do the right thing?”

“I used to.” Jack sighed, closed his eyes briefly.

“So what happened?”

He lifted a brow, remained quiet.

“Oh,” I whispered. I had a pretty good idea when he’d lost all direction in his life.

“Do you really want me to say it?” he asked, his voice rough.

I bit my lip and nodded. I didn't, but I needed to know what had gone so wrong that he never came back.

“You and Uncle Owen were the only ones who saw the real me. Made me want to be a better person. When you...I mean Violet, pulled that switching stunt, I thought it had all been a game to you.”

I saw Jack's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. He turned and looked at me. Really looked at me with those fathomless blue eyes. I saw ten years of emotion there. Heartache, bitterness, anger. “I loved you, Miller. You were the one. Even if I hadn't told you, even if I hadn't gotten up the nerve to ask you out. I knew. Even at seventeen.”

Tears filled my eyes, a painful lump lodged in my throat. He'd said loved. Past tense. Knowing he'd loved me and then stopped was crushing.

“I realized maybe my parents had been right in leaving me. That I wasn't worth it. I thought the way you'd toyed with me that you didn't think so, either.”

I gasped, realizing how cruel Violet had been. How cruel he'd thought I'd been. An inconsequential thing for Violet to do had affected Jack so deeply.

“After, there was nothing left for me here. Bozeman was just a crappy town to me after graduation. Uncle Owen understood I had to leave and he let me. I took the scholarship for the University of Miami and ran.” Jack laughed humorlessly. “Ten years later, I'm still running. Still bitter.”