“Hi there, gorgeous.”
She shifted her weight and stretched her neck, almost as if she’d taken a bite too big to swallow. Being sure not to cross his hands over his chest, for he didn’t want to appear judgmental, he waited for her to speak.
“I didn’t think you’d be working on Pops’ party,” she said in a raspy voice.
Jack added some pepper to the mix, then turned to meet her gaze. “I told you I would. Remember the menu from last night?”
“I do. I also remember that you stormed out of the kitchen, and I thought I’d never see you again.”
Her gaze was heavy with sad emotions he wasn’t happy to see embedded there, and the droop of her shoulders spoke volumes. He stopped mixing and let the wooden spoon rest against the lip of the bowl. He smiled so that he’d prepare her for the intimate touch he gave her hand, then he reached to gather her into his arms.
“Just because we had a disagreement doesn’t mean I’d run from you.” Other men might have done that to her in the past, might have imposed their insecurities on her and might have walked away with their tails between their legs. But Jack knew what he wanted, and he knew that a good reward didn’t always come easy. He was willing to work for her, to endure arguments, and he looked forward to the makeup sessions that would inevitably follow.
“I said, I don’t do just sex. I didn’t say I’m giving up on us.” He ran his knuckles over her cheek and continued to admire the big wide-eyed stare she gave him. “Don’t look so surprised. A promise is a promise. Just because I’m not sleeping with you, doesn’t mean I’ll break my word.”
Twisting against his chest, her tongue jutted between her teeth and wet her lips as she pressed her hips to his. Pouting, she was carnal temptation on a platter. “You’re not sleeping with me?”
“No, I’m not sleeping with you at the moment, and I’m avoiding your bedroom altogether. That is, until you admit I’m more than a
tumble or two
. Then, once you’ve decided to keep me around, I won’t let you out of bed.”
She didn’t speak. Just twiddled her thumbs.
“Emily, let’s not argue right now.” Jack looked into the eyes that could to melt polar icecaps with a single glance. “How about you pull up a chair and keep me company while I roll these fritters. I’ll walk you home when I’m done with them. You’re tired.”
She dragged a high stool across the floor, went to wash her hands, then climbed atop to form the pasty little balls of potatoes between her hands. They worked in silence, filling two industrial baking trays.
“I need to get going. Please let me know what you’ll need for the rest of the week.” She stretched like a kitten and took off her apron.
You! I need you!
He admitted silently, aching to say it aloud. “Give me a moment. I’m walking you to the house.”
“No. A friend is picking me up. We have plans.”
He didn’t want to hear anymore, didn’t want to know. She had plans with a friend. Hell, he wasn’t going to look. He threw the bowls into the sink and turned away. Hearing her walk to the front and wait by the door, he glanced over his shoulder and saw her applying lipstick.
“Night, Jack.”
The door closed, and he approached it as she withdrew her key. He sighed with relief when he saw the friend was an elderly woman who came in for coffee daily. They were probably going to see that new movie she’d talked about all morning. Some silly romance.
Hell, if she wanted romance and laughs, she should see him now. Wrapped up in the lady’s skirt, all he was good for was laughs.
* * * *
The next day, Emily didn’t come in until closing. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a pink T-shirt, with a key lime pie on her chest that read
Enjoy the Florida Keys…your own slice of heaven
, she looked absolutely delicious. He’d missed the taste of her skin, the feel of her hands and the sound of her voice. It’d been torture not seeing, hearing or touching her all day.
“Weren’t you leaving early today?” Emily asked when he walked out of the cooler.
“I was scheduled to, but I postponed my dinner plans.” He’d decided to throw a jab at her and see how she’d react. “I let Ricky go home, and he’s going to cover for me in the morning. That way I could linger in bed longer.”
He regretted it the moment the words left his lips. He wanted to rile her, not hurt her. But her mouth dropped into a wounded frown. Hell, they were acting like children.
“I’ll help you get done fast so you can get going,” she mumbled.
“Your company is appreciated.” Trying to smooth over his previous blunder, he pulled out the stool and invited her to sit.
Chatting about the research center her daughter had visited on a school trip passed the first fifteen minutes, then silence settled over them. There was so much left unsaid between them. Why? When? What? But he didn’t ask. He needed for her to come around on her own.
Just when he thought he’d burst, she looked up from her work and gave him a quick smile. “Do want to listen to the music for the party?”
He nodded, and she inserted a silver disc into the radio. The voices of Helen Forrest and Harry James sang about the craziest dream, much like what Jack was experiencing these last few days.
It was out of character, but he walked to her and took her into his embrace for a cozy dance in the kitchen. “This is the craziest dream indeed,” he breathed against her hair as she leaned into him.
“You know the song?”
“Sure, Helen Forrest is amazing.”
“Wow, a modern macho man with a taste for the classics.”
And with that innocent comment, she unknowingly jerked Jack decades through time. He sighed and contemplated telling her everything right then and there but decided he needed to figure why she erected the barrier between them every time he mentioned anything other than sex.
Then it hit him. Macho man. Chuckling, he recalled how she’d once thought him a homosexual and now he was macho. ‘Manly’. Not quite the same macho from the song the men at the Flaming Flamingo had sang, but Michiel had explained the word with today’s connotations. He could live with that—maybe.
He spun her in the enclosed space, hip to hip, bringing his feet around hers, and holding the curve of her back to guide her in the direction of his choosing. The song changed and he sang words about time passing, and she picked up the next verse about making love.
“You’re something else, Miss Emily Mitchell.” His lips barely touched hers, but her breath enticed him with a sweet and spicy smell. Vanilla and cinnamon. He called on all his control not to kiss her.
“You’re not too bad yourself, Captain Jack Carter,” she answered in a soft and distant voice, placing her head on his shoulder.
They danced, two bodies as one, and neither spoke until a song about stopping the clock began to play. “Do you believe in that?”
“What’s that, honey?”
“Stopping the clock for love and all.” She snuggled closer and tightened her grip.
Taking his time, thinking of everything he’d experienced, and what he had in his arms at that very moment, his chest filled with confidence. “Definitely.”
Hell, he loved the emotional spitfire. He wanted her with him forever. Deep in his bones, he knew he’d traveled through time for her. He was out of patience, and he couldn’t resist having an earnest conversation with her. “Have you missed me as much as I’ve missed you?”
“Yes. More.”
The barely audible whisper found his heart. Coveting her kiss, he sealed her lips and urged them to open until he tasted her sweetness. This was his, she was his, and sure as the sun rose every morning, he would never let her go.
He would do what was right for Jones and his family, but like Lawson, he wanted to stay in the twenty-first century, and he didn’t want to leave Emily.
“Finally,” she said, her shuddering breath causing her nipples to brush against his chest. “I was starting to get offended. Thought I didn’t do anything for you anymore.”
“You do plenty,” he said, pressing his arousal into the softness covered by her jeans. “I’ve been walking around with this since I saw that pretty pink shirt of yours strut into the store, displaying my slice of heaven.”
Smiling and playing with his zipper, she pulled it down and slid her hand inside his pants. “Well then, let’s take care of it right now.”
“Emily, first, we need to talk,” he insisted as she unbuttoned his jeans and freed him. “There are things we must to work out.”
“Hm,” she moaned and pulled her shirt over her head, exposing her bare breasts. Crossing her hands over the luscious globes, she feigned modesty and raised her brows. “Can’t we do two things at once?”
Dropping her right hand, she lowered her zipper, kicked off her shoes and wiggled the dark denim to the floor. Stepping from the pants pooled at her feet, she walked out of the kitchen and into the dining room. The string she called underpants, a satiny red strip, was buried between her ass cheeks with a little triangle topping it and holding it in place.
“Hell, I’m only a man, not a saint,” he said and stripped off his T-shirt as he, too, stepped over the trail of clothing she’d dropped and followed the woman he wanted.
She waited at the end of the counter, and he reached her in four long strides. His arms encircled her, and his hands cupped the weight of her breasts. He rolled the soft flesh between his fingers while he nipped and kissed her neck. She pushed against him, and he feverishly searched her body for every inch of exposed skin.
This wasn’t going to be slow, soft and sensual lovemaking. No, this act translated to a harsh and vicious staking of his right to her. All of her.
He would claim what she offered and never let her go. She was his, and she would have to accept him as hers. A complete surrender and possession.
“If you rub that beautiful behind against me one more time, I’m going to take you right here,” Jack growled.
She laughed and let her head drop back to his chest. Her silky hair tickled and caressed him as her glance taunted him. “Your choice,” she said.
In a single move, he buckled her knees and swooped her into his arms. Jack turned and walked to the left. “The office,” he grunted, and two seconds later, he kicked the door then positioned her against the wall for his possession.
He took her wrists in his right hand and raised them over her head. “Admit it’s more than sex,” he demanded. “Now.”
“More,” she breathed into his mouth.
He lowered his head to her breast and laid his claim on the only woman he’d ever wanted as his.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jack unplugged the radio that woke Emily in the mornings and pulled the curtains over the window. It was only six o’clock and his girl needed to rest more. He adored the way her soft body curled against his and the manner in which her breath rhythmically danced over his chest. However, today she appeared to be sleeping deeper than other times. Unfortunately, there was no way he could stay with her and wait for her to open her beautiful eyes. He had things to see to for her grandfather’s party.
Entering the kitchen, showered and dressed, he realized he didn’t know how to make coffee with the newfangled machine. He pulled and pushed and after three attempts and clean ups, the aromatic brew was dripping from the cone into the pot.
Leaving Emily a note on the counter, he prided himself for having coffee ready for her. It was the first time in his life that a simple mundane thing gave him a great sense of accomplishment.
He spent the next few hours putting the finishing touches on the stage he’d worked on two nights ago, and when Ricky arrived to open the restaurant, he hustled back to the Flaming Flamingo to find a change of clothes in the box Lawson had provided. There were plenty of white and black T-shirts and about a dozen pairs of Levis in his size. He put the watch that had arrived the previous day in his pocket and returned to
Emy’s Place
.
She wasn’t there.
“Where’s the boss lady?” Ricky asked no one in specific, but obviously assuming Jack would know.
Betty’s gaze met Jack’s, and he nodded in a reassuring way. Everything was all right.
“I think she had errands this morning,” Betty said.
“It’s not like her to miss lunch.” Shifting his weight, Ricky’s gaze darted around the kitchen. He located his phone above the prep area and walked over to pick it up. “I don’t like it. I’m gonna call her cell.”
“No,” Jack interjected. “I have something to do near her house. I’ll check on her, and if she’s not there, you can call.”
Hanging his apron on a hook, Jack stepped out the back door and into the dark afternoon. It could have been late evening from the look of the sky. Humidity blanketed the Key, and the air was thick and sticky. He hastened his stride in order to beat the oncoming storm.
Emily lounged on the couch watching television. A special weather report warned of severe thunderstorms and possible tornados throughout Monroe and Miami-Dade Counties, and news anchors asked residents to seek immediate shelter in areas under tornado warnings for the next hour.
She sipped her fresh lemonade and nibbled on crackers. The added rest had done her good, and her stomach had settled. She was herself again. Gathering her feet beneath her, she reached across the couch for the phone to call the restaurant and heard Jack entering the front door.
“Good morning, or should I say good afternoon, gorgeous?” He sauntered in and came to sit beside her. Running his hand over her hair, he kissed the top of her head. “Feeling okay?”
Seeing him brought a smile to her face. How could she have grown so attached to him in less than a week? She’d told him it was
more
, and it was. Jack wasn’t like the other men who’d entered and left her life. There was something very different about him.
“I’m all right. My stomach felt queasy earlier, but it’s better now.” Running her fingers through her hair, she stood. “Gosh, I can’t afford to get sick now. I never get sick. If I was ten years younger, or if it was a week later, I’d think I was pregnant.”