Page 30 of Could Have Been Us
Arms I know.
Arms that I will never forget.
And then there’s the scent. Warm, clean, with a hint of spice . . . Jack.
I look up into the hazel eyes that always make me feel safe.
There is something in his gaze that keeps me from moving even a muscle.
“Fuck it,” he says, and then my back is against the wall. His body, hot and pressed against me, keeps me there. Before I can gasp or think, Jack’s lips are on mine.
His kiss is hard and full of want—I’m floating toward heaven. My hands are trapped against his chest, giving me nothing to hold on to but him. I moan into his mouth, savoring the taste of whiskey, oak, and vanilla on his tongue.
His heart is pounding against my palm, the steady thrum my talisman that he is real. I’m not dreaming because dream Jack doesn’t feel this good.
And it feels good. It’s too damn much.
I want this kiss to never end. I don’t care that we’re in the hallway of the bar and anyone can see. I want him. Every muscle in my body is screaming that this is right and perfect.
Jack’s tongue swipes against mine again, pushing deeper into my mouth. His hand moves down my side, leaving a trail of heat as it passes. Then he hooks his hand under my thigh, pulling the jean-clad leg up around his hip, letting me feel his erection.
Yes. The word screams in my head.
He wants me, and God how I want him.
His lips move down my neck, and I force myself not to speak. If this is all I’ll ever get again, then I’m not going to do anything to break the moment. However, he’s freed my hands, and I move them up his chest, over the scruff on his cheeks, and then tangle them in his hair.
“Stella.” Jack’s voice is gruff. “God, what you do to me.”
I arch my back, giving him better access to my neck as he continues to kiss down it. “Tell me,” I speak, knowing it’s a risk but not caring.
“I’m not supposed to like you.”
Supposed. The word hangs there, and I cling to it.
“I shouldn’t be touching you, but . . .”
“But what?” I say so quietly, I’m not sure he heard.
He keeps kissing me, now moving back up. “You taste like sin, and touching you makes me the devil, but I can’t stop.”
“Don’t,” I beg.
His mouth is back on me, hands clutching at my back, pushing his hardness against my core.
“I don’t even want to like you,” he says again, his warm breath against my ear this time. “I want to forget you. I . . . fuck . . . I—” Jack steps back, as though he were just suddenly awoken from a dream.
The loss of his heat causes me to suck in a breath. My thoughts are jumbled as we stare at each other. I want to say so much, beg him to come back, to love me, just for tonight. But, as though he can read my mind, he shakes his head.
“This. You and me.” His lips are a thin line before he turns his back to me, slamming his hand on the wall. “Fuck!”
I step to him, my hand on his back. He flinches. “So, this is how it is?” I ask, suddenly no longer confused. Now I’m just angry.
“What?”
“You and I keep doing this dance. We pretend, we fake it, we act as though we don’t even like each other, and yet . . .”
He shakes his head. “Yet what?”
