Can't Get Enough (19 page)

She could still hear the shower running as she wrapped a handful of ice cubes in a clean dish towel,
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pressing the impromptu ice pack to her cheekbone with a sigh of relief.

"Much better," she told the empty kitchen.

Now—something to eat for a man who'd been drinking all night. She
opened cabinet doors randomly until she found a stash of groceries.
Here, at last, Jack Brook conformed to her idea of a bachelor—salt,
pepper, a packet of noodles and some bottled sauces. Otherwise, that
was it. While she considered herself a decent cook, these kind of
ingredients were beyond her. She tried the fridge, and found a package
of sausages, some potatoes in the crisper, milk, butter and an onion
that looked just about to sprout.

"Okay, now we're talking."

It was twenty minutes later, and she had the onions on the back burner,
the sausages already cooked and put to one side, and the potato masher
in hand when she registered the fact that she couldn't hear the shower
running anymore.

For some reason, this made her feel nervous, and she took her feelings
out on the innocent potatoes awaiting her in the saucepan. She added
butter, milk, salt and pepper, and concentrated very hard on making the
mash lump-free, rather than giving in to the urge to grab her car keys
and leave Jack to it now that he was up and about.

You're just feeling guilty because you had a look in the candy shop
without permission,she told herself, but it didn't stop her heart from
picking up a little.

"This is a surprise."

She swung around to find Jack in the doorway, one shoulder propped
against the door frame, a towel slung low around his waist, his eyes
clear and dangerous-looking. Water glistened on his skin, and the hair
on his chest was coiled in tight, dark circles. He looked good enough
to eat, damn him.

She tried to find a smile, but managed only a nervous grimace.

"You didn't turn up for the Hillcrest meeting. Linda was worried…and I saw the card from your mom," she explained hastily.

He frowned suddenly.

"What happened to your eye?" he asked, starting forward. She stared at
him. Was it possible he'd really forgotten everything so quickly? Then
her gaze slid to the two empty bottles of tequila. Despite appearances,
it would be stupid to assume he was anywhere near sober now.

"I had an accident. It was nothing," she said, edging away from him.
The last thing she needed was for him to know how much his near-nudity
was affecting her. She'd already given him more than enough
opportunities to laugh in her face.

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"So you came over to play nursemaid to me, did you?" Jack asked as he pulled out a chair and sat down.

Her eyes slid down the tanned planes of his chest, and she took in the
apparently loosely cinched towel around his waist nervously. Why didn't
he go dress? And why did she find it so hard to keep her eyes off his
chest?

"I thought you might need a friend," she said.

His eyes narrowed, and she smiled weakly. He was making her feel very
nervous. Something about the way he was looking at her. As if he was
hungry.

"I made you something to eat," she squeaked, desperately wanting to distract him. "Sausages and mash."

"I'm not hungry."

"But you should eat. You've had a lot to drink—"

"But I'm not hungry," he repeated, and the way he was looking at her made all other protests die in her throat.

He shifted, and the towel moved a little, and she found herself staring
a little breathlessly at the hard-muscled thigh now on display. Okay,
this was bad. The chest she could handle, but that thigh was well nigh
irresistible. She was only flesh and blood, after all. Trying to get a
grip, she fought a serious, no-holds-barred battle of wills with her
baser self, and finally managed to wrench her eyes away. Only to
discover Jack was well aware of her preoccupation.

"See anything you like?" he asked.

She swallowed, turned back to the stove.

"This'll get cold. If I serve it up now, you can eat it later. Just
heat it in the microwave…" She trailed off as she heard his chair
scrape against the floor, and she spun around to find him approaching
her. She felt like a bunny in headlights. Here was the man she'd been
fantasizing about for a solid forty-eight hours, walking almost-naked
toward her. She only had to close her eyes to remember the feel of his
body under her hands. They'd been on fire in the elevator—and now, here
he was, looming over her, obviously thinking the same kinds of things
she was….

"I tried to stop thinking about you, but I can't get you out of my
head. And now you're here and even if it's a stupid mistake and work
sucks afterward, who cares? I want you right now," he said. She stared
at him wide-eyed, conscious of the rush of heat that whooshed down into
her thighs at the phrase
I want you.

He's drunk, you're an idiot, and this should not be happening,she
warned herself. He was in front of her now, not a foot away. She could
feel the heat radiating off his body. Or maybe that was her own heat.
She had to get a grip. She should get out of here, walk away from this
disaster-in-the-making.

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Remember what happened afterward,she told herself. But all she could
remember was how much her body had ached, how bereft she'd felt when
he'd pulled away from her to answer that damned phone.

"I've been thinking about your breasts…I have to taste them again. Take
your shirt off," Jack murmured, one hand reaching for the opening of
her blouse.

Oh, boy. She watched his hand come closer and closer, and knew that,
more than anything, she wanted to give in and let herself have this
moment. There was no one to stop them, no earthly reason why they
couldn't have at each other and end all the wondering and the lust and
the wanting. But she'd been sensible for too long to be able to ignore
all the voices of reason clamoring for attention in the back of her
skull. He was too drunk to know what he was really doing, and she
didn't go in for casual sex, and he wasn't offering anything else, and
they were work colleagues, and he hadn't even bothered to call after
what happened between them in the elevator, and he was hurt and looking
for something to make himself feel better….

She made herself step backward, no matter how much she wanted to just
stay put and have it all. The stove was behind her and she felt the
saucepan handle digging into her back.

"This is probably a really bad idea," she said faintly, aware that
she'd sound a lot more convincing if her voice wasn't thin and breathy.

"Who cares?" he said, and then he ducked his head and his mouth was on
her neck. A shudder rippled through her from heel to crown as his
tongue laved her neck. Oh-boy-oh-boy-oh-boy.Her thighs felt as though
they were going to explode and she could feel her breasts swelling
within the confines of her bra.

He's going to regret this in the morning,she thought, and then her
flailing hand connected with something and she grabbed it and pushed
him away with all her strength, brandishing the object at him.

"Just keep your distance, buddy, okay, or I'll—" She paused a moment to contemplate her weapon of choice: the potato masher.

"Just…don't move," she corrected herself.

"Come on, Claire, live a little," he tempted her.

She couldn't prevent her eyes from dropping below his waist to where
the evidence of his arousal was making a very respectable tent beneath
his towel.

Oh, please, let's go camping!her wanton half begged, but it was hard to give up the habits of a lifetime.

"I think we need to be calm and rational about this. You've had too
much to drink, and I think that you're just channeling your grief into
some sort of sex thing with me. You don't really want me. I'm not your
type. Plus, I'm really not into this kind of thing. I know after what
happened the other day you might think I am, but, honestly, that was a
one-off, and—"

She froze as his finger descended on her lips.

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"Just, for once, shut up," he said huskily, then he smiled, an
I'm-going-to-eat-you-up smile that made bits of her jump up and down
with excitement.

She dropped the potato-encrusted masher as he closed the gap between
them and then he was up against her, one hand reaching around her back
to pull her close, the other sliding down over her butt to lift her
against him.

She gasped as his mouth descended on hers, which was just as well
because she forgot to breathe as he kissed her with a thoroughness that
made her realize that, as spectacular as her recollection of the other
day had been, her memory had done him a serious disservice—this man
could kiss!

His other hand was doing something tricky behind her back, and then she
felt a slight give around her torso and knew he'd released her bra
catch through the fabric of her shirt. Wow, what a professional. If she
hadn't been so busy reacquainting herself with the curves and dips of
his chest and back, she'd have been worried about just how professional
he was. Instead she was grunting with satisfaction as he lifted her off
the ground and turned to prop her on the edge of the kitchen sink. One
impatient, very male hand swept her skirt up, and then his hips were
between her knees and she found herself spreading her thighs and urging
him forward so that all of his hardness could press up against her
where she needed it the most.

It felt so good—especially because she'd effectively been waiting for
this moment for more than two days now. Two days of tortured,
argumentative foreplay. But what a payoff. She had no idea how he got
her shirt undone, she just blessed the gods that he did because then
his mouth and tongue and hands were on her breasts and she threw back
her head and bit her lip and tried not to explode.

His stubble scraping against her skin, his hot tongue teasing her
nipple, the firm pressure as he ground his hips into the heart of
her…it was almost enough to stop her noticing the tinge of alcohol on
his breath. Almost, but not quite.

She managed to think for just a second as he switched his attention
from her left breast to her right. This was wrong. This was folly of
the most enormous order. She would regret this if she let it go any
further. Worse, she'd be like those other women in the office, the ones
who took what little Jack offered, but secretly wanted it all. She knew
he wasn't going to call after this. She knew exactly how this encounter
was going to end, how bad and stupid she'd feel afterward, and how much
she'd regret it.

"No!"

It took great determination to utter that single word and push him away
from her. It took even more determination when his towel chose that
exact moment to loosen completely and slide to the floor. The very
impressive evidence of his arousal tempted her even as she tried to
catch her breath. His blue eyes were dilated, his breath coming fast, a
frown forming between his eyebrows as he registered that his toy had
been taken away from him. She saw him tense to start forward again, and
she held up a hand.

"I'm sorry, Jack, I should never have let this get started. But let's stop things before we do something we'll both regret."

She grasped the edges of her shirt and pulled it shut over her still-aching breasts, sliding off the edge of
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the sink and back down to earth. He seemed to register the finality of her actions, and he ducked to pick up his towel.

"Why'd you come, then?"

She could hear the frustration and rejection in his voice, and paused
in the act of buttoning her blouse, aware her heart was still racing
out of control and that her hands were shaking.

"Not for this, if that's what you're thinking."

"Really? Could have fooled me." He was almost sneering at her, and she
resumed buttoning her blouse, her fingers shaking from hurt and anger
now, not lust and frustration.

"You're drunk," she told him quietly, smoothing both palms down her skirt.

"And you're uptight. And scared."

She stared at him. He was like a schoolboy who'd been banned from watching TV for a week.

"Eat something. And try not to choke on it," she told him, sweeping up her purse and car keys on her way out the door.

She stumbled on a crack in the concrete driveway as she half ran to her
car. Her bra was hanging loosely around her ribs, and she kept her arms
wrapped around her body until she got into the car. Once locked inside
safely, she slammed a hand against the steering wheel and swore loudly.
She was a complete idiot. She could not believe she had almost had
dirty drunk sex with Jack Brook, the office lothario. Hadn't her bout
of dirty elevator sex taught her anything?

His demand rang in her ears.
Why'd you come, then?

Because I knew you were hurting.

But she could have left him in the shower. She
should
have left him in the shower. And she wasn't ready to consider why she hadn't.

WOODYWOODPECKERhad taken up residence in his skull and was working on
an extension to the facilities. It was the first thought that staggered
across Jack's mind as his eyes flickered open early Saturday morning.
He lay still and stared at the ceiling for a moment, aware that a
headache roughly the size of a small planet was waiting to descend on
him. He forced himself to sit up, and the headache descended like a
banshee. Cradling his aching forehead in his hands, Jack took his
tongue on a tour around his mouth. Not good. If he didn't know better,
he'd suspect some poor woodland creature had crawled in there and died
last night.

Slowly he stood and made his way to the kitchen, wondering vaguely
along the way why he was naked. The kitchen faucet drew him like a
magnet and he stuck his mouth beneath it and simply drank until he
could hear water sloshing around inside himself.