Back in His Bed. Heidi Rice
right this second, she also got to add “caught acting like a three-year-old” to her list of cringe-worthy topics of conversation. “It’s traditional,” she bluffed. “Secret winemaking superstitions handed down through the generations. It’s essential to the wine mojo.”
Jack nodded sagely. “I see. You don’t stomp the grapes anymore, so you stomp the office supplies instead. Interesting.”
She straightened her spine. “I don’t question your business methods…”
His hands came up in appeasement. “Not questioning your methods at all.”
She held the notebook close to her chest like a shield, and wrapped her hands tightly around the edges to steady them. “Not to sound, um, rude, but what brings you down here?”
“A sudden interest in deceptively simple Chardonnays?”
There was that smile. The one that usually meant he was thinking about…Her knees wobbled a little, but she gripped the edges of her notebook tighter and forcefully steadied herself. “That isn’t Chardonnay.”
“Huh? Well, I’m not really—”
“Interested. I know.” She sighed, causing Jack to laugh.
“Sorry.” He didn’t sound the least bit apologetic.
“How about I promise not to tell you what’s actually in those tanks, and you promise not to ramble on about stocks or square footage or zoning laws?”
“Deal.”
That was easy. Too little, too late, but nice nonetheless. Jack hadn’t moved from his casual lean, but her stress level began to increase with his continued presence and increasingly interested look. Why was he here? What was he after? “Jack? Was there something you needed from me?”
“Not really. You said this would only take a couple of hours, and when you didn’t come back I came to check everything was okay.”
“Sometimes things don’t go according to plan. You know how it is.” There was an understatement. She didn’t even have a plan to deviate from. “Everything okay at the house? Did you find everything you need?”
Jack looked at her oddly. “I got a little bit of work done. I’ve been going through some of Max’s things, and I need to know if there’s anything specific you want.”
Her heart twinged a little. With everything Jack had stirred up in her recently, she hadn’t thought about Max actually being gone in days. “Probably nothing that you want. A couple of photos, Max’s sketchbook, the decanter set in the office. Why don’t you pack up whatever you want to take, and I’ll deal with the rest?”
“All I need is some of Max’s paperwork, a few old files.”
“Whatever, Jack. Really.” Her voice broke a little. It hurt to think of Max’s things being divvyed up, but the underlying thought of Jack taking those things when he left confirmed her earlier thoughts.
He was beside her in an instant, his face concerned and his hand gentle on her arm. “Are you okay? I’d forgotten this might be tough on you—as close as you and Max were.”
Her eyes burned, but she took a deep breath. “How is it not tough for you?”
Jack’s face clouded briefly. “Max and I had our problems. Our differences. You know that. I’m not saying it doesn’t bother me, but I know it’s a lot worse for you.” He sighed. “I understand, really. If you’d like to wait a while before…There’s no real rush, Bren.”
“No. It’s—it’s…” She paused and pulled herself together. “I’m okay. We can do this.” Closure all the way around. She patted his hand absently as she spoke, but Jack’s hand closed over hers and squeezed. She looked up in surprise.
He was too close. She could count his eyelashes, smell the faint scent of his soap. The concern was still there in his face, but it was tempered by something else. The something she’d spent the last hours trying to convince herself wasn’t actually there. All the rational pep talks she’d given herself spun away and she felt dizzy.
“Bren…” Jack whispered as he moved another inch closer to her. His fingers twined in hers, and he pulled her hand up to his mouth and traced her knuckles with his lips. “Come back to the house with me.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jack.” Jack’s lips snaked across her wrist. Her eyelids felt heavy as they slid shut.
“You’re right,” he murmured, and her heart sank. This was it. She’d known it was coming. It was for the best.
Then why did it hurt like hell?
He closed the last bit of space, the notebook she still held against her chest the only thing keeping her from being pressed completely against him. She could feel the heavy thud of his heartbeat against her hand. But the words she was bracing herself for didn’t come. Instead, his mouth landed on the sensitive skin of her neck.
“What are you doing?”
“Remembering how that sound you make just before you come echoes in this room.”
She remembered, too. In blinding detail. The contrast of the cool steel against her back and the hard heat of Jack against her chest and between her legs. Liquid heat pooled in her stomach, and she dropped her notebook in shock. Jack took advantage of both, pressing his body completely against hers and leaning her against the closest tank. Her gasp echoed off the tanks, and she felt his lips curve into a smile at the sound.
Her fingers closed around the soft cotton of his shirt, bracing herself as his free hand slid over the small of her back into the waistband of her jeans. The warmth of his hand after the chill of the tank had her gasping as he pulled her closer still and covered her mouth with his.
The first time Jack had kissed her, they’d been in this room, not far from where they were now. The kiss had left her so dizzy she’d thought something was wrong with the CO2 fans. That same feeling swept over her now, as Jack’s tongue made a leisurely exploration of her mouth.
A sharp tug at her waist released the snap of her jeans, and a second later Jack’s finger dragged a groan from deep in her throat.
A clatter outside reminded her where she was. The huge door to the fermentation room didn’t have a lock, and any of her staff could wander in at any moment. She broke the kiss, panting. “Jack. Not here. Someone could—”
Jack kissed her again, cutting off her protest, but then his arm tightened around her waist, lifting her off her feet and maneuvering her behind the largest of the tanks, out of sight of the door.
In the relative privacy they’d found, Jack’s kisses became more demanding, his hands more purposeful as clothing was pushed aside, stripped off. Soon she was clinging to him for support, unsure she could handle the onslaught.
Oddly, though, she gained clarity on one thing: the decision she’d been fretting over all morning. The one she’d made but didn’t want to admit—not even to herself.
If Jack was going to leave—this time for good—she wanted one last good memory to keep with her. She’d take what he was willing to give.
Would she regret this? Probably. Did she care? Not in the least. For just a little while she wanted to feel like she had when she was eighteen and Jack had wanted her more than anything.
Strong hands closed around her waist, lifting her. She wrapped her legs around him, and then she couldn’t think at all.
She heard her cries of pleasure echoing around her, mixing with the rasping sounds of Jack’s breath. She wanted more. Wanted what only Jack could give her.
It wouldn’t be enough, but it would have to do.