Love is Darkness (A Valerie Dearborn Novel) (10 page)

“Get the damned glasses.”

In no time they were back, settled down on the floor, backs against the couch, facing the T.V., a coffee table loaded with booze and Parker Brother's paraphernalia in front of them.

Jack settled down on the floor next to her, his body turned towards hers, their knees touching. His face was close enough that she could see the amber colored flecks in his gray eyes. The room was suddenly tense, the commercials intrusive to their little world before the couch.
Now or never
, Val thought and picked up the salt shaker.

“Give me your hand,” she said and felt a flutter in her stomach. Val stared at his dark jeans, his knee suddenly fascinating as she waited for him to do something. Either he’d agree and give her his hand, or he’d refuse. But she felt stupidly exposed now, like she’d stepped over a line or given her true feelings away. He had no expression.
Perfect control.
Who knew what the hell he was thinking? And why did she think that was so hot?

This was a lot like bungee jumping, she decided. She could dick around at the top of the bridge, looking at the view and crapping herself with fear, or she could just jump and feel the rush. That was how she was going to live her life, she decided. Jump first and damn the consequences.

Jack extended his hand towards her, palm up. His body had shifted, both knees flush against hers so that all she had to do was lean forward
—
 
five
, maybe six inches and she could touch her lips to his. Err, not that that was the plan....

Val wrapped her hand around his wrist, tugging it towards her mouth lightly. He was relaxed, his fingers loose but lightly curled as he waited for her to do something.

Her gaze flashed to his and she smiled.

There was nowhere else in the world she'd rather be right now, and she knew, staring into his eyes, that she'd remember this moment for the rest of her life: the warmth of his hand, the expression on his face.

Leaning forward, she touched her tongue to the back of his wrist. Jack jerked a little but tried to keep his hand still while she licked him.

His knuckles whitened on the shot glass in his other hand.

She pulled back, her tongue tingling from the touch of his skin. Val felt herself blushing and quickly poured salt on his damp hand. She went to lick her own hand, moving quickly, trying to get beyond her own embarrassment, but he made a noise and she stilled.

“
Turn about
’s fair play,” Jack said, his voice slightly husky.

Val thought his comment should have been corny but it wasn't. He was so sexy he could get away with almost anything.

Jack took her hand in his and she noticed how warm and large his hand was compared to hers. He pulled her hand towards his mouth and caught her gaze, refusing to look away.

Gulp
.

She watched her hand go towards his mouth, felt his tongue on her skin.

His touch was gentle. Jack was coiled and lethal, focused and practical.
 
This wasn't practical, it was very, very sexual and Val felt like she'd been waiting her whole life for Jack to look at her like she was edible. He tapped the salt shaker, coating the damp mark on her skin.

“Bottom's up,” he said, almost in a heavy sigh.

Val couldn't help it, “These double
entendres
are coming hard and fast, you know.”

The shot was to his mouth, the liquid on his tongue and she knew he just about spit it out because he was laughing so hard. He got it down but not without a struggle. His eyes were red and he shook himself exaggeratedly, as though the tequila was vile.

Which it was.

He put the glass down with a cough. “There is no one like you Val.”

“Do you want to drink to that?” Her eyes were still watering from the fiery taste, but she waved her little glass at him in challenge.

He shook his head in an emphatic no and turned a bit somber. They went back to playing the game and enough time passed that they each had seven or eight hotels. Every time someone landed on a hotel they had to drink, and it wasn’t long before they were both tipsy.

The game had gone on for over two hours when Cyndi
Lauper’s
, “Girls Just
Wanna
Have Fun” came on Pop up Video.

Jack was almost out of money and heavily mortgaged. She was happy and relaxed; alcohol, Jack and victory all contributing to her good mood.

“Did you see my talent show video from sixth grade where we 'performed'” She used air quotes so that he knew she was using the term loosely, “this song?”

“I haven't had enough alcohol for that. I'm
gonna
need another shot.”

Without hesitation, she poured him another one and he drank it. It was a strict no contact shot, understood without words. After the third one she thought she moaned a little when he licked her, and they hadn't done it since.

Cyndi was belting it out now and Val decided to go for stupid. If in doubt, choose excess. It was a motto
somewhere
, right? She kicked off her shoes and stood on top of the coffee table, the little monopoly dog biting into her heel. She squawked and kicked it away. Val started doing her dance routine from years ago. It consisted of lots of high kicking, shaking and generally lame 80's moves.

I really need some leg warmers.

Jack sat on the floor looking up at her and she wished she had her camera, his mouth was hanging open. He snapped it shut, came to some mental decision, then sat back to watch her.

Val wanted to laugh really loudly but couldn't have said exactly why. Taking the controller, Jack turned up the volume in encouragement. She danced and moved and when the song came to an end he held up his hand to help her down from the makeshift stage.

Handing her another drink, he said, “If college doesn't work out can I suggest stripping?
Only if it's tasteful, of course.”

“Of course!”

She grabbed his hand and licked his wrist, almost spilling his drink.
Maybe
she'd pulled a little harder than was necessary.

I am totally drunk
. Then it was her turn again and he held her hand, looking at it intensely, making the moment drag.

Turning her hand over so that her wrist was up, he bent over her pulse and kissed it lightly. Then he licked her and poured salt on her skin. Her wrist burned from his touch, little tendrils of heat skating up her body and she could feel her body responding. She squeezed her thighs together and they drank their shots.

“What will it take for you to dance, Jack?” she asked him teasingly, trying to get past the desire to rip his clothes off. What
would
he do if she threw herself at him? Maybe she could get in one good kiss and grope before he pushed her away.

That was too depressing.

“Nothing.”
His tone was strident. “No power on this earth could make me dance.... Well
— ”
He gave a shrug that reminded her he was actually Italian. She knew he wasn't going to tell her what the song would be. Who did he think he was kidding?

“Oh no, Jackie!
I know you. You're a good American now, but I know your weakness...” She let the moment draw out and he actually cringed.
“a-ha.
Take on me, right?” She belted out the main lyric, “
Taaake
on
me, take on me! Dude, you are so 80's.”

Jack raised his hands and again she was reminded that he was European, as he made a flapping or shooing motion with his hands, perhaps to dispel the truth of her words—
 
or some pigeons. “I know! I know! I can't help it! I love those damned Norwegians! It was a crucial stage in my development. Go to any karaoke bar in Italy and I swear you'll hear it at least twice! It's not just me, it's the entire country!”

“Oh sure.
When I think of Italy I think of fascism and a-ha.”

And then it happened.

Pop up video came through.

Take on me by a-ha.

They both looked at the television in mild disbelief while the bubbles bleeped across the screen giving information about the band. They watched as the silly cartoon drawing band went running down corridors. “Hop to it! You are on! This is fate. If you don't do it you could be smote down! You don't go against fate!”

He shook his head.

“Jack, you have had several shots of tequila and will be hung-over in the morning. We may not even remember that this happened! You should do it. You can blame it on the alcohol! Now go get
jiggy
with it!”

He gave a long-suffering sigh. She opened her mouth to offer more words of encouragement, but he held up a finger to forestall her, grabbed the bottle of tequila, took a big fortifying swig and hopped up onto the table. He used the half empty bottle for a microphone and gave a fairly earnest performance of the song, at one point stopping to complain, “Do you know how hard it is to sing this song? I'm not doing the high-pitched parts. That's not part of the deal.”

But when the high part came, he gave it a try and she was charmed. She'd also never laughed so hard in her entire life. He reached the third stanza, knowing all the words by heart and she felt like he was singing to her, wishing the words were for them.

Would he always come for her?

Val realized she was biting her lip. He was
actually
graceful. Jack could dance? He tapped his foot and did the occasional hip swivel and point. Then he clapped his hands, careful of the bottle, and she became suspicious.

“Did all these moves come from Dave
Gahan
?”

Jack winked at her and she knew the dancing was on purpose. She'd been obsessed with Depeche Mode and had seen the concert videos over and over again, much to everyone's irritation. By virtue of living with her he'd been forced to see it at least ten times.

“You are so fucking hot right now.”

Jack stopped and looked at her, an inscrutable expression on his face. She clapped her hand over her mouth in horror as he stepped down and put the bottle on the table with careful precision.

“That's it, Val,” His voice was dark and she knew he was going to leave. She'd gone too far. But he didn't. He came towards her and extended his hand. Her heart pounding, she took it and he pulled her up off the floor and into him so that she was
flush
against his body.

She could feel his heat and heartbeat through her sweater. Or maybe it was hers. She couldn't think. She looked up into his face, and held her breath in mingled fear and excitement. He was looking at her hungrily.
Passionately.
Unconsciously, she licked her lips. With a mumbled Italian curse he leaned down and kissed her.