Page 33 of It's You
“I’d dream…I’d…” Her heart was slamming into her chest, and she was suddenly aware of how very alone they were in this little light-filled studio that smelled of fresh paint and timber and Jack. She swallowed, wanting nothing more than for him to raise his eyes to hers and see how desperately she wanted him.You. I’d dream of you. Like I always do. Like I always have.
But he didn’t. He released her hand and stood up. She heard him take a deep breath as he turned toward the stairs, his back to her.
She stood up on shaky legs, noticing the bathroom in the corner. “Do you mind if I…”
She gestured to the bathroom, and he turned his head just enough to nod at her slightly.
Once inside the little room, she sat down on the closed toilet and tried to catch her breath, to calm the wild hammering of her heart. Trying to get rid of the butterflies in her stomach would be impossible, so she ignored them.
What was this insane attraction she had to him? She had never, ever felt this sort of heat with any other man in her life. She stood up, running the cold water and soaking her hands.
She looked at herself in the mirror.
You’re here for answers. How can he read your mind? How is he associated with your soul flight? Did you lose time on Saturday? Stop acting like a hormonal adolescent, Darcy Turner. Get your head on straight.
She nodded curtly to her reflection, turning off the water and wiping her fingers on a plush mint green hand towel that looked brand new. Pep talk initiated and accepted, she turned to leave when a frame on the wall caught her attention. She flicked on the light to get a better look. It was a shadow box and contained pinned samples of lichen in various colors and textures, beautifully mounted and labeled.
“Crustose, foliose, fruticose,” she murmured, lightly touching the glass with her fingers.What an unusual choice of decoration for a powder room.She heard Jack clear his throat as she stepped out of the little bathroom, flicking the light off behind her.
“Interesting…art,” she said, unable to shake the feeling that between the desk and chair, which were identical to hers, and samples, that the small studio was somehow created just forher.
He nodded once and looked away, awkwardly gesturing with one hand. “Sort of goes with the whole woodsy theme.”
Of course. Her rational mind chided her immediately. It was absurd and completely self-important to think for a moment that a virtual stranger, an acquaintance from high school, at best, would custom decorate a room for her. She cringed internally at her ridiculous presumptions, feeling her face flush with heat. He had probably found the shadow box at some gallery and purchased it. It had nothing to do with her.
“They’re nice samples,” she said, unable to keep the note of sheepishness out of her tone. “Did you know I study mosses and lichens?”
“Is that right?” Jack said absently as he headed back down the stairs.
Had he seen her face color? Oh, she was acting like an idiot.Get your head in the game, Darcy. Ask him about the telepathy.Darcy took one last look at the room before following him.
But when she got to the foot of the stairs, her thoughts were distracted by a formidable metal door at the back of the garage, which she hadn’t noticed before. It had an imposing handle and a complex-looking security keypad beside the door.
Jack was standing by the mouth of the garage, ready to continue the tour at the main house, but she couldn’t resist asking, “Where does that go?”
“Oh, um…that’s um…”
“What?” She walked between the hood of the parked sports car and the wall to take a better look at the door. “What’s in here?”
“Wine cellar,” he responded.
She reached out to touch the cold metal of the door, taking in the keypad. It had a standard keypad of numbers, but also additional buttons and a scanner pad the size of a man’s thumb. She placed her thumb on the scanner, and a light turned red and beeped angrily at her.
“Protective of your wine, huh?”
“I’m protective of anything that belongs to me,” he rumbled, closer to her ear than she expected him to be. “Anyonewho belongs to me.”
The taut possession in his voice made her heart burst, and she felt her body responding to him. Her insides churned hot and demanding, making her fingers tremble and her eyes close as she gasped to fill her lungs. She could feel the heat of his bodydirectly behind her, smell his soap and sweat, and the fresh, masculine scent made her breath catch. If she turned around, she knew her breasts would brush up against his chest, and she’d be face-to-face with him.
After a lifetime of waiting to feel his lips on hers again, this was the moment. Her defenses were stripped, and the wait was over. No matter what else happened tonight, no matter what else they needed to discuss or say to each other, what she needed right now—right this moment—was for Jack to touch her. She took a tiny step backward, her heart pounding with want as her back stopped flush against his chest.
“Darcy,” he whispered, and she could hear the ragged emotion in his voice. The low tautness from before was replaced with heat, with intensity, with a hunger that rivaled hers.
His fingers gently pushed her hair to the side, exposing the skin of her neck. Her eyes closed as she felt his warm breath behind her ear, and she bent her neck languorously to the side, offering up the smooth plane of her throat to him. A small sound of pleasure escaped her throat as she felt his lips, soft and hot, press lightly against the pulse point under her jaw.
It was the same spot he had touched with his fingers so long ago, and it filled her with longing for this man whom she had loved so desperately as a boy. Whatever vestige of self-control she held onto collapsed in a heap at their feet, and she turned slowly to face him.
His eyes were like lava, copper flames dancing and leaping in the brown pools that spoke of hunger and need and want and long separations finally at an end.
