Close to You (21 page)

Warmth surrounded her. She'd been scooped up in his embrace, her head on his chest. Her arms wrapped themselves around his torso almost as if they had a will of their own, and she buried her face in his soft, lemony-smelling T-shirt. One of his arms was around her waist while the other stroked her back. It was everything she had imagined it would be. And more. He felt safe. She'd never expected that.

“Shh. It's okay, Al.” His ragged, whispered words feathered down her face and straight into her heart. No one had ever called her that before, but Jackson could say it a million times and it wouldn't be enough.

For the first time in a long while, she even believed things might actually work out.

They stayed entwined for a few seconds—if only it could be a few centuries. Lucky him: drop by to get his phone and be accosted by an emotional wreck. Allie loosened her arms and stepped back slightly. Tilting her head up, she found his blue eyes boring into hers filled with concern . . . and something else she couldn't identify. He was so close that, when he exhaled, she could feel his breath on her lips. All it would take would be the slightest tilt of her toes to kiss him.

Bad idea. Very bad.
She might not have been the sharpest needle in the haystack when it came to relationships, but even she knew only bad could come from kissing one guy when you might still be married to another. She quickly raised her sleeve up to her nose and wiped it in the most unladylike way possible before she did something to add to her list of regrets. A flicker of something crossed Jackson's eyes. Relief maybe? He loosened his arms as she stepped back a bit more.

To burn the bridge once and for all, she reached over,
plucked a tissue from the box on the counter, and proceeded to blow her nose loudly. Nothing cooled the flames of passion more efficiently than expelling large amounts of snot in front of the object of one's affection.

Not that he was— Oh, this was seriously messed up.

Sure enough, by the time she looked up, Jackson was cracking open the remaining pizza boxes.

“I'm sorry about that. It's just . . .”

He stopped and gave her his full attention.

“It's just been a tough week,” she finished. Wow, that wasn't lame. Not at all. She turned her attention back to opening the pasta container.

“You want to talk about it?” Jackson's arms wrapped around her waist from behind. “It's completely up to you.”

The bottom of his chin scraped against her hair and, almost as if it had done so a hundred times before, her whole body relaxed into his. A perfect fit. His warm breath grazed the side of her face as her hands came to rest on top of his. He spread his fingers, slipping them through hers.

His next breath caressed the space between her collar and the curve of her neck, setting fire to every cell from the tip of her spine to the arches of her feet. She tilted her head, and the next breath traveled across the side of her mouth, leaving her lips tingling in its wake. God help her, she wanted to kiss this guy more than she had wanted to do anything in her life.

And then what?
The thought somehow cut through her haze of longing, breaking the spell for a split second. When the kiss ended, all she would be left with was an even bigger mess than the one she was already in.

“Food. I need food.” She practically leapt from his arms as
she reached out and grabbed the closest slice of pizza to her. She shoved it into her mouth, now safe to turn to face him. After all, she couldn't kiss someone with a mouthful of pizza.

What was she
thinking
? She was married. Maybe. Sort of. Or was she? Until Jackson had shown up and thrown her world into chaos, it hadn't even been a question she'd been forced to confront, and Google didn't seem to have any guidance as to what the moral code was when you married someone who was
already married to someone else
.

A smile creased his face. “That one's got . . .”

Urgh.
The salty putrid taste of olives assaulted all of her senses.

“Here.” Laughter lined his voice as a napkin materialized in front of her face. “Spit.”

Not a chance.
She waved the napkin away, almost retching as she forced herself to swallow the foul taste. Nasty, nasty things.

“I'm impressed. I can't believe you ate that.” Eyes twinkling mischievously, his arm reached around her and grabbed a slice of the same pizza. His other hand rested lightly on her waist, his thumb brushing against a millimeter of bare skin between her T-shirt and pants.

“I can't believe you got one with olives!” Allie moved along the bench on the pretext of getting a slice of something else, though she really just needed to get outside of his personal space before her resolve melted.

“Sorry, I happen to love the little suckers. And . . .” He gestured toward the other side of the pizza. “I did actually get it half no olives.”

Of course he did, because what she needed right now was something else to make him even more appealing. Placing the
remains of the slice on a napkin, she reached for the drinks, twisting the lid off the Coke. Grabbing a couple of glasses, she poured a large one for Jackson, then turned her attention to opening the Diet Coke.

After a couple of seconds of struggling with the cap, she looked at him in frustration. “So are you going to offer to help me or just indefinitely amuse yourself with my inability to open a soft drink?”

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Now there's a moment to savor: Allison Shire admitting she needs help.” He took the bottle from her, twisted the cap off with the flick of his wrist, and poured her a glass.

“Thanks.”

His crooked smile sent her heart rate up a few more beats. He picked up his own glass and took a slow drink. “So, Dr. Shire. Does this mean I get my phone back?” His long lashes swept up like a wave during the final seconds before it broke.

She blinked. What had she even done with it? The last thing she remembered, it had been in her hand before she had gotten, ahem, slightly distracted.

She looked around her kitchen, filled with enough food for ten people, and caught sight of his phone sitting beside the cook top. “Oh, I don't know . . .”

He unfurled the kind of smile that almost made
her
need crutches to stay upright. “I'm not sure I have another trip to the pizza place in me. Is there anything else I can offer?”

Her breath stalled. Somewhere in the back of her mind a red flashing sign was screaming
Eject, eject!
as she wavered on the brink between the safe and rational and the far more desirable.

His gaze flickered down to her lips, the tantalizing promise of possibility hanging in the mingled breath between them. A tilt on her toes, and it was no great mystery what would come next. Her entire being thrummed at the thought, almost overriding her sensibilities.

What was she doing? Only a few hours ago, she'd almost tripped over herself denying his assertion she was falling for him, and now what was she about to do? Throw herself at him?

Not to mention the
m
-word hung over her like a scarlet mist. She had to tell him. She wasn't sure why—he'd be long gone before the mess with Derek would be sorted out—but she knew with every passing second, her conscience flogged her even more for continuing to allow her secret to hover between them like a dark shadow.

She dropped her eyes, stepped back. “Jackson, I need to tell you about Derek.”

He shook his head, put a finger up against her lips. “Al, I don't need to know about your ex-boyfriend. Not right now.”

She pushed his hand away. She had to tell the truth even though it would ruin everything. “No, he's—”

A loud knock at the door interrupted her. What was going on? She usually had as many surprise visitors as a mausoleum and suddenly tonight it was Grand Central Station.

Jackson smiled as he tilted his head toward the door. “Popular lady.” He turned, picking up his slice of pizza as though the last thirty seconds hadn't happened.

Pulling her scattered senses back together, Allie moved back to the door and peered through the keyhole. Kat stood there, shifting on her feet.

She pulled open the door. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Kat stood there for a second, then said, “You going to let me in?”

Allie registered the small suitcase by her friend's side. Oh. She'd totally forgotten she told her friend to come stay. “Of course.” Allie stepped back. “Sorry.”

Kat brushed past her, pulling her suitcase behind, and headed down the hallway before Allie could get anything else out. “Man, that group is great, but what a handful. And since when do Louis and Mavis have something going on?”

Allie hurried after her, but not fast enough.

“How was the hospital? Anything to report between you and the h— Oh!” Kat came to an abrupt stop as she rounded the corner into the living area. “Hello.”

How the girl managed to cram so much insinuation into five letters Allie didn't know, but it was impressive.

“Look at that. The man himself.”

Jackson leaned against the counter, the remains of the pizza crust in his hand. “That would be me.”

Kat pulled out her Cheshire cat smile. “Fancy that.” She surveyed the array of food. “Mind if I have some? I'm starving. Fine dining is all very lovely, but not exactly filling.”

She addressed the question to Jackson, not Allie.

“Go for it.” Jackson grabbed another piece of pizza, shoved his phone and medicine into his back pocket, then levered his crutch back under his shoulder. “I was actually about to go.”

He hobbled around the island bench and paused for a second in front of Allie, capturing her gaze. “Thanks for the phone. And everything else today.” He tilted his head and gave her the kind of smile that did absolutely nothing to cool her out-of-control internal furnace.

“No worries.” She tried to keep her voice steady, conscious of Kat's triumphant gaze, but failed miserably.

What had just happened?

Allie didn't even follow him down the hall; she was frozen like a Narnia statue while he struggled for a few seconds, trying to balance pizza slice, crutch, and opening the door.

He paused and unfurled the lethal smile at her again. “Night, Al. See you in the morning.”

He really needed to leave. Now. “Night, Jackson. Thanks.”

She didn't so much walk as float back to the kitchen in a daze.

“Oh, I am so good!”

Allie jumped at the sound of Kat's voice, slamming her foot into the side of the breakfast bar. For a second, she'd forgotten Kat was even there. “Ow.” She hopped up and down, clasping her foot with both hands while attempting to stay upright on her good foot. “I think I broke my toe!”

She looked up to see her friend now seated on a bar stool grinning at her with a forkful of pasta almost at her lips. “If you have, you and Jackson could get matching crutches. That would be super-cute.”

Allie pulled out the bar stool next to Kat, slumped onto it, buried her head in her hands, and groaned. The sound bounced off the granite counter.

Next to her, the sounds of Kat hoovering up pasta continued. “This is really good. Want some?” She poked the corner of the plastic container through the gap in Allie's arm.

“No, thanks.” She reached down and rubbed her throbbing toe, which was already beginning to swell. “Look at this. I'm probably not even going to be able to walk in the morning.”

“Oh, it'll be fine! You bruise if someone breathes heavily near you.” Kat didn't even blink as she finished the last bite of pasta and reached for a slice of chicken pizza. “So spill. You've got some explaining to do. Sorry if I interrupted something, by the way.” From the smirk on her face, she couldn't have been less sorry. “Though now I understand why you didn't pick up my call earlier.”

“No, that was because of my mother.”

“What did Veronica do now?” Kat had met Allie's mother twice. First at her engagement party, then at her wedding. It would be fair to say they were not members of each other's mutual admiration society.

“She showed up.”

“She's in town?”

“Yup. She just appeared in the lobby. I was walking with Jackson from the hospital. Tangent—his ankle is just sprained, not broken. Anyway, she convinced me to have dinner. So we went to Fergburger.”

“Sorry.” Kat held up a hand. “Veronica James-Shire went to Fergburger?”

“I know. Oh, and apparently it's just James now. Anyway, of all the places, Jackson was there and overheard her having a go at me because I wouldn't sign some papers. He stood up for me. And then he showed up with all this . . .” She waved her hands around at the food spread across the surface.

Kat took a bite of her pizza and chewed. “So, just so I've got this straight. Jackson took on Veronica. Then he showed up here with enough food to feed the whole hotel.”

“Yup.”

“And you didn't kiss the guy until he was blue in the face?”

“Of course not!”

Kat laughed, the sound bouncing off all the top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances. “Sorry, but judging by the way you two looked when I showed up, I'm guessing ‘of course not' is a slight overstatement.”

Busted. “Oh, Kat, what am I going to do?” Allie buried her head in her hands as the memories of the evening washed over her. How could she be attracted to him? Worse, how could she have almost acted on it when she wasn't free to?

“So do we like him now?”

“I don't know.” Allie let out a groan. “Half the time I want to kill the guy, but then he goes and does things like this and . . .” She trailed off, unable to find words to express the myriad of conflicting emotions rocketing around.

“Have you kissed him?”

“No.” Though only just. The thought filled her with shame. Married women didn't go around kissing other men. Even thinking about it—no matter how much of a sham marriage they might have.