84
" Ella.”
The sound was so quiet, I barely heard it through the blood-rush in my ears. I turned to look down the hallway.
A man was coming toward me, his lean form clad in a pair of baggy scrub pants and a loose T-shirt. His arm was bandaged with silver-gray burn wrap.
I knew the set of those shoulders, the way he moved.
Jack.
My eyes blurred, and I felt my pulse escalate to a painful throbbing. I began to shake from the effects of trying to encompass too much feeling, too fast.
“Is it you?” I choked.
“Yes. Yes. God, Ella . . .”
I was breaking down, every breath shattering. I gripped my elbows with my hands, crying harder as Jack drew closer. I couldn’t move. I was terrified that I was hallucinating, conjuring an image of what I wanted most, that if I reached out I would find nothing but empty space. But Jack was there, solid and real, reaching around me with hard, strong arms. The contact with him was electrifying. I flattened against him, unable to get close enough.
He murmured as I sobbed against his chest. “Ella . . . sweetheart, it’s all right. Don’t cry. Don’t . . .”
But the relief of touching him, being close to him, had caused me to unravel. Not too late. The thought spurred a rush of euphoria. Jack was alive, and whole, and I would take nothing for granted ever again. I fumbled beneath the hem of his T-shirt and found the warm skin of his back. My fingertips encountered the edge of another bandage. He kept his arms firmly around me as if he understood that I needed the confining pressure, the feel of him surrounding me as our bodies relayed silent messages.
Don’t let go.
I’m right here.
Tremors kept running along my entire frame.
My teeth chattered, making it hard to talk. “I th-thought you might not come back.”
Jack’s mouth, usually so soft, was rough and chapped against my cheek, his jaw scratchy with bristle. “I’ll always come back to you.” His voice was hoarse.
I hid my face against his neck, breathing him in. His familiar scent had been obliterated by the antiseptic pungency of antiseptic burn dressings, and heavy saltwater brine.
“Where are you hurt?” Sniffling, I reached farther over his back, investigating the extent of the bandage.
His fingers tangled in the smooth, soft locks of my hair. “Just a few burns and scrapes. Nothing to worry about.” I felt his cheek tauten with a smile. “All your favorite parts are still there.”
We were both quiet for a moment. I realized he was trembling, too. “I love you, Jack,” I said, and that started a whole new rush of tears, because I was so unholy glad to be able to say it to him. “I thought it was too late . . . I thought you’d never know, because I was a coward, and I’m so—”
“I knew.” Jack sounded shaken. He drew back to look down at me with glittering bloodshot eyes.
“You did?” I sniffled.
He nodded. “I figured I couldn’t love you as much as I do, without you feeling something for me, too.”
He kissed me roughly, the contact between our mouths too hard for pleasure. I put my fingers to Jack’s bristled jaw and eased his face away to look at him. He was battered and scraped and sun-scorched. I couldn’t begin to imagine how dehydrated he was. I pointed an unsteady finger at the waiting room. “Your family’s in there. Why are you in the hallway?”
My bewildered gaze swept down his body to his bare feet. “They’re . . . they’re letting you walk around like this?”
Jack shook his head. “They parked me in a room around the corner to wait for a couple more tests. I asked if anyone had told you I was okay, and nobody knew for sure. So I came to find you.”
“You just left when you’re supposed to be having more tests?”
“I had to find you.” His voice was quiet but unyielding. "
― Lisa Kleypas , Smooth Talking Stranger (Travises, #3)
88
" Coming up behind me, Jack touched my shoulders with his palms and let them coast down my upper arms, the warmth of his hands making the cool skin prickle pleasantly. He took one of my hands in his. Folding my icy fingers more tightly in his, Jack lowered his mouth to the vulnerable curve of my neck. There was a sensual promise in the way his lips grazed my skin. He continued to kiss me there, searching for the most acute place, and when he found it, I backed up against him reflexively.
“Jack . . . You’re not still mad because Dane slept over, are you?”
His hand wandered along my front, charting every curve and plane, pausing at every flicker of response. My body caught a tense, pleasured arch.
Dimly I realized he was gathering information, softly winnowing out the pulses and twitches from all the places I was most vulnerable.
“Actually, Ella . . . every time I think about it, I want to bend a crowbar in half.”
“But nothing happened,” I protested.
“That’s the only reason I haven’t hunted him down and dropped him.”
I couldn’t tell how much of the macho bravado was for show, or how much Jack actually meant.
I strove for a reasonable, ironic tone, which was difficult as I felt his fingers slip beneath the edge of my neckline. “You’re not going to take it out on me, are you?”
“Afraid so.” His breath fractured as he discovered I wasn’t wearing a bra. “Tonight you’re in for it, blue eyes. "
― Lisa Kleypas , Smooth Talking Stranger (Travises, #3)
90
" A brittle smile worked across my face, and I drew back from her. “See you later, Mom.”
She picked up her handbag, and sauntered out into the hallway. Jack looked around the doorjamb, his gaze sliding over me. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
By the time Jack had returned, I had downed a shot of tequila from the pantry, hoping the liquor would burn through my head-to-toe numbness. It hadn’t. I felt like a freezer that needed to be defrosted. Luke fretted in my arms, making impatient noises, wriggling.
Jack came to me and touched my chin, forcing me to meet his searching gaze.
“Now aren’t you sorry you didn’t take my advice and leave?” I asked morosely.
“No. I wanted to see what you grew up with.”
“I guess you can tell why Tara and I both needed therapy.”
“Hell, I need therapy, and I only spent an hour with her. "
― Lisa Kleypas , Smooth Talking Stranger (Travises, #3)
94
" The wine must have eradicated every last atom of common sense I possessed, because I reached up to give him a hug in the same way I would have done with Tom or one of Dane’s other friends. A buddy hug. But every nerve from head to toe screamed “Mistake!” as soon as the front of my body met his, adhering like wet cottonwood leaves.
Jack’s arms went around me, clasping me against a wall of muscle, and he was so big and warm, and it felt so scary-good that I stiffened all over.
The hot drift of his breath against my cheek made my heartbeat go crazy, and instant arousal filled the space between every thump.
I gasped, ducking away, my face crammed against his shoulder. “Jack . . .” I could hardly speak. “I wasn’t making a pass at you.”
“I know.” One hand slid to the back of my head, fingers lacing through the silky-fine locks. Gripping gently, he guided me to look at him. “It’s not at all your fault that I’m taking it that way.”
-Ella & Jack "
― Lisa Kleypas , Smooth Talking Stranger (Travises, #3)
99
" Where’s the baby?”
“I just fed and changed him,” Haven said.
Hardy lifted Luke’s carrier and gave it to Jack, who took it with his free hand.
“Thank you.” I gave Haven a woeful glance as she handed me the diaper bag. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For falling asleep like that.”
Haven smiled and reached out to hug me. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. What’s a little narcolepsy among friends?”
Her body was slim and strong, one small hand patting my back. The gesture surprised me in its naturalness and ease.
I returned the embrace awkwardly. Haven said over my shoulder, “I like this one, Jack.”
Jack didn’t answer, only nudged me out into the hallway.
I trudged forward, nearly blind with exhaustion, staggering with it.
It took extreme focus to keep one foot in front of the other. “I don’t know why I’m so tired tonight,” I said. “It’s all caught up with me, I guess.”
I felt Jack’s hand descend to the center of my back, guiding me forward. I decided to talk to keep myself awake. “You know, chronic sleep deper . . . dep . . .”
“Deprivation?”
“Yes.” I shook my head to clear it. “It gives you memory problems and raises your blood pressure. And it results in occupational hazards. It’s lucky I can’t get hurt doing my job. Unless I fall forward and hit my head on the keyboard. If you ever see QWERTY imprinted on my forehead, you’ll know what happened.”
“Here we go,” Jack said, loading me onto the elevator.
I squinted at the row of buttons and reached for one.
“No,” he said patiently, “that’s the nine, Ella. Press the upside-down one.”
“They’re all upside-down,” I told him, but I managed to find the 6.
Propping myself up in the corner, I wrapped my arms around my midriff. “Why did Haven tell you ‘I like this one’?”
“Why shouldn’t she like you?”
“It’s just . . . if she says it to you, it implies . . .”— I tried to wrap my foggy brain around the idea—“. . . something.”
A quiet laugh escaped him. “Don’t try thinking just now, Ella. Save it for later.”
That sounded like a good idea. “Okay. "
― Lisa Kleypas , Smooth Talking Stranger (Travises, #3)
