Page 11 of Jacking Jill

Jack grinned. “You kidding me? I told you I’m a great dancer. Now, which hotel, Jill? You know what, never mind. There’s only one hotel within ten miles of the Carmine Estate. The Winchester. Wow. Fancy place. I bet the Carmines have an ownership stake in the place. All right, here we go, searching for rooms . . .” He tapped those tickly fingers furiously, did some serious swiping, then bit his lower lip and looked up at her. “And . . . it’s full. No vacancy. Every room in the Winchester is booked for the wedding party.”

Now Jack stared at her in expectant silence. It took a moment for Jill to realize what he was asking with that look in his eyes, that grin on his lips.

“Ohmygod, no!” Jill lurched forward as the realization hit her like a tickle in the coochie. “Absolutely not. Are you insane? You actually think I’m going to let you stay in my hotel room? What do you think this is, a scene from some dumb rom-com? Or those soap-operas you seem to use for research?”

“All right, look.” Jack blinked twice, losing the grin. “Jokes aside, this is serious as hell. For both of us. You’re walking into a situation which could be very dangerous for you. And whatever else you think of me, you know for damn sure that I can handle myself in danger.” He paused, took a breath, gazing at her with an unsettling seriousness. “And I can handle you in danger, Jill. You want to break up a mafia wedding with a couple hundred guests and bodyguards around, you might need somebody standing in your corner. We all need backup sometimes. This is one of those times for you, Jill. I can help you and you know it. So help me get to whoever Diego knows in the Carmine circle of dirtbags. What I said earlier is true, Jill. You’re walking into a world with some very bad people, and I’m one of the good guys in this situation.”

Jill drove in silence for what felt like a long time but the dashboard clock insisted was less than one minute. “I need to know more about you before I agree to anything,” she said softly. “Can you prove you’re former military?”

Jack paused a moment, then nodded. He unbuckled his seatbelt, took off his jacket, then in one breathtakingly smooth motion pulled off his black tee shirt.

And just like that he was shirtless beside her in this hot little Honda that felt like it was steaming up.

Jill gasped when she caught a glimpse of Jack’s bare chest which was like two slabs of shining marble leading to an abdomen ridged with coiled muscle like a dragon’s scales. She gasped again like it was the only way she could breathe when she looked again and saw that his spectacularly chiseled body was decorated with an intriguing collage of tattoos, many of which were faded to lighter shades of black, like Jack’s body had been a canvas for generations of tattoo-artists.

“Got that one after our Army Football team won the National Championship,” Jack said, directing her gaze along his body like it was a written record of his life. “This one after graduating West Point. Got this after getting through Ranger School. This is from when I got accepted into Delta Force.”

Jill slowed the car down as her attention left the road and tumbled down the muscle-ridged path carved into this man’s body. She was entranced by the twists and turns of the black ink infused into Jack’s rippling torso and bulging arms, and there was no questioning what it was doing to her own body. She gulped back the gush of hot arousal, hoped to heaven that her sweater still covered her lap, then blinked when something else on Jack’s body caught her eye.

“What’s that?” she asked, briefly taking her hand off the wheel to point. “That round bumpy thing. Is it a scar?”

“Old bullet wound,” Jack said with a grunt. Then he looked up and winked. “But you should have seen the other guy.”

Jill blinked in shock, then gulped when she glanced into this military man’s eyes and saw the shining depth in his green gaze, understood that beneath this man’s cocky who-gives-a-shit veneer was the burning core of a warrior who’d bled for his country, who’d fought America’s enemies while she and millions of other Americans lived blessed lives without ever understanding the sacrifices made to keep them safe, to keep them secure.

Sacrifices made by hard men like Jack.

Hard men who’d fought America’s enemies and won.

“You should have seen the other guy?” Jill whispered under her breath, repeating his words absentmindedly like she was entranced, enthralled, enraptured. She blinked herself back into focus, forced a shy smile that trembled with a mixture of awe and excitement. “Was that on a Delta Force mission? Can you . . . can you tell me about it?”

“Delta Missions are all classified.” Jack pulled his shirt back on over his head, covered up his muscled canvas of tattoo-ink, buckled his seatbelt, then glanced over at her and grinned. “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kiss you.”

Jill blinked twice, forced a little smile. “You meant to say kill me, right?”

“Nope,” Jack said with a sparkle in his eyes. “How else will I seal your lips after revealing our nation’s best kept secrets?”

Jill rolled her eyes even though she couldn’t stop the smile inspired by his relentlessly infectious flirting. “Nation’s secrets like your dick? Oh wait, your buddies said that wasn’t the nation’s best kept secret. My bad. Got it backwards.”

“Keep up those jokes and you’ll get it both backwards and forwards in our hotel room later tonight, baby,” Jack growled with exaggerated growliness that made her giggle. “Now, back to business. Are we good on sharing a bed?”

“What? No! Of course not!” Jill almost shrieked out the response. “I haven’t even agreed to share my hotel room! Besides, I’ve booked a room with two double-beds.”

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Jack said with a loud sigh. “Being forced to share the hotel’s last bed is the plotline for all my favorite porno movies.” He grinned as Jill did her best to stare straight ahead with a straight face even though everything inside her was twisting and turning, bubbling and churning. “You can laugh, you know. It’s all right to laugh at sexual humor, Jill.”

“I’d laugh if it were funny,” Jill retorted, not daring to look into his dancing green eyes. “But right now the only good joke is you thinking you can talk me into letting you stay in my hotel room. Not happening. Philadelphia is a big city, Jack. There are hundreds of hotels and motels.”

Jack shook his head. “The Carmine Estate is a twenty-acre plot in a fancy-ass suburb. The Winchester is the only hotel within reasonable distance. Besides, Diego’s mystery contact might be staying there too.” He shrugged, made himself comfortable in his seat like it was a done deal. “And anyway, nobody’s going to believe we’re together if we’re staying at different hotels twenty miles apart.”

Jill stared at the setting sun as another green-backed highway sign counted down the distance to Philadelphia. She glanced at Jack, whose eyes were now closed like he was either napping or meditating, as if there was to be no further discussion.

Jill sighed, considered arguing some more, but instead she kept her lips clamped shut and stared at the darkening highway, wondering why her body was still humming with excitement, the fear now just a distant memory, that gnawing anxiety which she’d buried just so she could force herself to make the drive up to Philly nowhere to be found, like it had dissolved because her body knew it was protected, her heart knew it was secure, her soul knew it was safe.

Safe with him.

5

DARKWATER HEADQUARTERS.

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