Justifying Jack (The Wounded Warriors Book 2) (10 page)

The night of their inaugural date, Marithé felt like a school girl again.
I can't remember the last time I was out on a date with Jorge, let alone someone else. I can't believe I'm really doing this, dating.
An involuntary shiver traveled through her, adding to her sense of apprehension.
Maybe I should cancel?
An image of the handsome, dark-skinned man with inviting brown eyes brewed in her mind and stoked her courage to proceed with their plans.

* * *

Much to her relief, the date had been a success of sorts. They'd both enjoyed the movie, selecting a Cary Grant film neither had seen before, which was showing at the university. Though Marithé knew Jack would have enjoyed more kisses than the two they'd shared, one before the film began, another halfway through, he hadn't pressed. He'd been content to sit with his arm around her, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder. Now they had retreated to a nearby wine bar, where they'd decided to split a bottle of pinot noir.

The rich flavors of the fermented grapes danced on Marithé's tongue.
Glad I ate most of the popcorn, should help with the alcohol. If I hadn't been so nervous, I could've eaten something more substantial. I probably should have…
She hadn't ever been a heavy drinker, and since Jorge's death, even less so. The cost and risk were too great. But surely here, with her… friend to watch over her, she would be okay.
He's your boyfriend, Mari. You know it's true.
Yet her mind shied away from the word. Feeling conflicted and guilty, she took to studying her date.

He's so different from Jorge. Taller… much taller, I like that. He's broader in the shoulders and chest… and not as narrow in the waist. He's a bit of a teddy bear in figure. But those eyes… like pools of melted chocolate, all warmth and sweetness.
She bit her lip, momentarily overcome by her attraction to the man seated across from her.
And those long, curly black lashes!

She'd never considered a black man before, never considered any man before, other than Jorge. And yet Jack, for all his imposing size and striking contrasts to her deceased husband, had slipped into her heart when she wasn't looking. He'd managed to sneak past her defenses, offering unconditional support and affection.
Which is just what I need right now and I think, what I find most attractive about him… his heart. He's not just gorgeous, but he's also kind, thoughtful…

He caught her studying him and smiled. His lips weren't the fullest she'd ever seen, but the lower one had a tempting plumpness she'd like to nibble someday. The upper, highlighted with the ideal amount of five o'clock shadow, came to two perfect points.
He kisses well too, at least, so far. So gentle, satisfying. No pressure.
Which she realized was a good thing because it kept her from running away.
The slow pace is a good, Mari,
she reminded herself, though her body wasn't so sure.

She'd been used to long separations from her husband, but almost two years without relief, coupled with the idea that none would be forthcoming, had her pent up and frustrated. And yet how could she be intimate with anyone?
It's been less than a year since Jorge's death… a year, Mari.
A sudden sense of betrayal struck her. Jorge deserved no less than the full period of mourning.
Then why are you on a date?
She reached for her glass, sipping her wine as she muddled through her conflicting thoughts and emotions.
Why do you make compromise after compromise?

At first she'd wanted to be kind to Jack, but she hadn't known how wise it was to be his friend. Then her thought had changed.
He's a good man. I want to be his friend, but I shouldn't date him.
And yet, she was. She bit her lower lip, thinking,
here you are on a date, and you instigated it. Why? What are you hoping to accomplish, Mari?
It would be unfair to lead Jack on.
Is that what I'm doing?

Though her mind asked the questions, her heart knew the answers.
I want to be so overwhelmed by him that nothing else matters. I want conventions swept away and decisions made by passion and not logic… decisions I don't have to think about or be responsible for.
Then she struck on the core of truth.
I don't want to be alone.
That was when Jack's warm eyes snared hers again and the injustice of what she was doing struck deep in her heart.
If I care for him, I can't use him this way.

And yet, how could she let go. Denying they could have a future was stupid, they definitely had chemistry. They had every chance of being a great couple.
God knows I could love him, but now? This isn't the time.

“Marithé,” Jack said in his low, compelling voice, and a shiver chased up her spine.

“Hmmmm?”
Has he noticed my tension, my distance? Oh, God, I need to stop thinking before my brain gets me into trouble.

“Tell me about yourself. I mean, there's no sense in my telling you anything. Working with my mom, I'm sure you know everything about me. She's probably given you everything from my baby pictures to details of my deployment, right?”

She nodded. Shonda had been regaling her with Jack stories across the reception desk since the day she was hired.
I think that's one of the reasons why I feel like I know you so well.

“Okay,” he seemed a little embarrassed to have his assumption confirmed. “Tell me your story. I don't know anything about you, really, except what you're doing right now… or what people have told me about you.”

Marithé's mouth curved upward, but it wasn't exactly a smile.
He deserves to know the truth. Let him have it.
“Okay, uh… My story starts in Mexico, as I'm sure you could guess. My mom worked in a Maquiladora in Reynosa. The manager thought she was pretty, and, well, she ended up pregnant. She was fifteen at the time.”

Jack made a face. “Was he American? I'm assuming that's where your hazel eyes come from.”

She nodded. “He was also 45 years old and married.”

“Rough start,” he commented.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Her folks didn't think much of that decision, and felt it best she move out. You know, so she wouldn't corrupt her younger sisters.” She sighed, clearly pained by the notion.

“What did she do?” he asked, his expression blending curiosity with sympathy.

“Her older brother had moved to Texas some years before and he sponsored her. I was born in McAllen, where my mom and I lived with my uncle and his family.” She sipped her wine. “I'm sure Jorge told you Ray is my cousin.”

Jack choked. “Really? Ray… Ray Lozano?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I thought you knew. I mean, you there when he called the other night, remember?”

“Raymundo… Ray,” She saw the connection click in his expression. His face turning slightly red, Jack seemed to be muttering under his breath, but he didn't say anything aloud.

“You don't have to hold back or censor yourself,” she commented. “I know he's an ass. I know it better than you do, probably.”

“No doubt,” Jack replied, pursing his lips.

“So that's it in a nutshell. Mom and I were never close, but I think that's because she was just too young.”

“So you grew up with Ray?” Jack still seemed stunned. “I'm sorry I'm just having a hard time trying to picture you two together. You're so amazing and he's such a… dick.”

Marithé couldn't help laughing. “My aunt and uncle didn't want to be parents to me, but my mom wasn't much of a parent either. I think their resentment rubbed off on Ray, I don't know, but even though he's an ass, he's the one who introduced me to Jorge, so that's in his favor. I moved here with Jorge, and it kind of worked for me. I stayed on base, hung out with the other military wives and tried to make a home with my kids. I think you know the rest.” She took another, larger drink to cover the waver in her voice.
Oh, please, don't cry!

Jack topped off the wine in her glass and then his own before reaching across the table to take her hand. “You've had a rough life,” he said though he looked like he wanted to say more.

“Typical enough though,” she replied. His fingers slid between hers and she allowed it. “And it's not like you haven't. Military kid, dragged from one place to another, deployed, wounded, and now disabled. It's a good thing you have so much character, Jack, or these experiences might have broken you.”

This time Jack took a substantial gulp of his drink. “I'm more broken than you know. Not every wound is visible or every scar apparent.”

She squeezed his hand. “I know.”

“Do you want to go, Mari?” he asked, and she noticed his enunciation had grown more careless.
He even called me Mari instead of Marithé.

“Okay,” she said. “I should get home soon anyway. It's getting a bit late.”

“Mom won't mind.”

“I know, but I mind.”

“Okay,” he agreed, giving her a kindly grin. “I hate to take you home already, but…” He pushed his chair back and stood, helping her to her feet.

When she wobbled, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, steadying her. “Easy there, honey. On second thought, maybe we should go for a little walk and clear our heads a bit. I'm not sure driving is actually a good idea right at this moment.”

“That's some powerful wine,” Marithé agreed, flushing lightly. “I feel tipsy. Funny, I didn't really notice it while I was sitting down. How much did we drink, anyway?”

Jack lifted the bottle and rotated it. A meager drizzle sloshed in the bottom.

“Oops,” she said, and giggled.
That's more than I've had in a long time.

Jack paid for the wine and escorted Marithé out into the street. If she concentrated hard, she was able to walk without staggering, though she was sure Jack's steadying arm around her waist factored in at least a little.

“It feels so nice when you hold me,” she commented, her inhibitions lowered by the alcohol.

“I like that too,” he said, his grip tightening. The warm, winter breeze caused a soft rustling of the leaves in the trees lining the street. In the glow of the street lamp, Jack pulled up sharply on her, arresting her forward motion.

“Jack?”

Instead of answering, he lowered his mouth to hers. Marithé instantly succumbed to a welling up of raw desire. Rising on tiptoe, she clung to Jack's lips. And then, for the first time, he pressed his tongue against hers, seeking entrance. She opened eagerly and he delved inside. She savored the taste of wine and Jack, a heady combination that made her head spin.

“Ooooh,” she sighed, her body molding against his. He felt like a rock against her softness, every muscle carefully defined.
Especially that one.
The feeling of his erect penis pressing against her belly caused a surge of liquid heat.
I want you, Jack Nelson. I want you more than I should.
But in her befuddled state, exactly why she wasn't supposed to want Jack floated away, leaving her gasping with arousal which threatened to burst. And burst it did, as he cupped her bottom in one big hand and gently squeezed, pulling her closer.

Marithé felt like one raw nerve, all sensitized and alert, eager for greater stimulation. Her nipples rose and chafed in the lace of her bra. The thong she wore under her skirt compressed sensitive tissues swollen with need and denial.

“Jack,” she breathed. “Oh, Jack.”

“Woo hooo!” a loud voice called as a navy Suburban slowed down in the street beside them. The cry was accompanied by a wolf whistle.

“Damned rednecks!” Jack glared at the two adolescent blond, mullet-sporting mood-killers.

Marithé blushed bashfully. “Well, that was a bit much for a public street,” she admitted. Though the moment had been shattered, her heart still pounded and she was unable to distance herself from his body.

“I think we're both a bit under the influence, honey,” Jack admitted. “My house is pretty close. Want to grab a cup of coffee and sober up a bit before I take you home?”

“That sounds like a great idea,” she replied, already regretting the loss of his lips. At least she was able to enjoy the warmth of his arm around her as he escorted her to his recently purchased house. “I'd hate your mother to see me in this state.”

Inside the spacious one story rambler, a clutter of boxes adorned every corner. Clearly Jack had a long way to go before he finished unpacking. Marithé admired again the mosaic tile on the living room floor. The open concept of the house made it easy for her to see the pattern from the kitchen, partially obscured by a plaid sofa and two red recliners. A box containing a new flat screen TV leaned against the wall by the gray stone fireplace. She smiled. “I like the new furniture.”

For some reason, her off-handed comment made him beam. “It's a mess in here, sorry.”

“Jack, I just moved,” she reassured him. “I completely understand. Want me to help you unpack?”

He shrugged. “I'm sure you have better things to do with your time.” His arm tightened as he spoke, reminding her that he hadn't release his hold on her, even though his assistance was no longer necessary.

“I can't think of anything off the top of my head,” she replied, gazing at him intensely.

Jack froze. “Did you just ask to spend more time with me?”

“Aren't we dating?” she shot back.

“Yeah, if… if that's what you want,” he replied, but he still looked a little startled.
I kind of like catching him off guard. He looks so cute and I just want to…

“Well then, wanting to spend time together should go with the territory, right?” Vaguely, Marithé realized she was thinking the opposite of how she had been earlier. With her internal filters lowered by too much wine, the needy, lonely woman under the rigid conscience had been unleashed, and was now frantically scrabbling for more attention.

Jack opened his mouth and then closed it again, walking her through the kitchen. A table and four chairs stood in one corner, unopened boxes of the dishes she'd recommended to him sitting atop it. Boxes and small appliances were scattered about the counter tops. However, she giggled to see the coffee pot set up, plugged in. Next to it, a glass tray held a container of grounds, a package of filters and a sugar bowl. Jack released her and hurried to the pot.