Weathering Jack Storm (Silver Strings G Series) (14 page)

Foreign cities and fancy hotels.

Closing her eyes for the rest of the drive, she let the rhythmic heave of his chest and heartbeats calm her emotions.

Beyond the dark tinted windows, only shadows could be made out once they turned off the streetlight lined boulevard. The bump of the driveway, and the pause at the gate, before the complete stop, signaled their arrival at the house.

Grabbing her kicked off shoes, she transmitted a last longing look at the fiery red sports limo and heavily leaned on Jack as they climbed their way to the porch light.

“Mariss?” Pausing at the door, he studied her face. “How was it?”

“Not so bad,” she assured. “I had a great time.”

“Great?”

“For the most part...”

Discounting the interviews and the dashing of her limo fantasy.

The kiss was gentle then hungry, and they pulled apart with a shared smile. Until now, they had never been on a typical date ending with a goodnight kiss at the door. In fact, unless taking Tristan for ice cream constituted a date, they had never been on one.

In the same fashion as the earlier naps in the house, Candace, Marc, and Tristan each slumbered on a section of the couch until Rusty’s piercing barks fully roused them all.

Tristan held his arms out, and she sat next to him, pulling him into her arms while thanking a groggy Candace and Marc.

“You are very welcome.” Candace picked up her purse and gave Tristan an affectionate hug. “It was a pleasure. You two have a wonderful boy here.”

Jack was standing by the fridge and stopped draining a water bottle to offer of the limo, “The car is still outside if you to take it home. If you don’t want it, just tell him to go on. But if you do, Dax can help get your car back tomorrow.”

Marissa’s thoughts turned sardonic when the salutations dwindled, and hushed voices drifted from the hallway as the couple made their exit. “So what do you think Candio? Want to take a ride?” An answering giggle.

At least someone was having sex in that limo!

There was a time when thinking of anyone over thirty doing the nasty was sickening. But she and Jack were quickly approaching the big three oh, and next would be forty, then it was on to five oh. Listening to Marc and Candace only reinforced that she wanted that same closeness between the two of them at their age.

Jack scooped Tristan up, and she grabbed his crutch. They made a pit stop at the bathroom for him. Then, before he was fully tucked into bed, the tiny boy was asleep clutching Tiggy. Bandit hulked at the foot of the bed until Bally could reclaim that spot.

In the hallway, she lingered watching Jack press a kiss to their son’s forehead. When he emerged into the hall, she wrapped her arms around him, and felt the answering squeeze of his.

As if Jack himself were not attraction enough, watching him in his realm tonight had been mesmerizing at times. There was a reason that people like him were rock stars.

Charisma and power oozed from his every pore. Even though his music was still hard on her ears, she had fought the giddy fangirl feeling all evening with a constant self-reminder that he was hers.

Up close, his scent was more intoxicating than any of the many drinks consumed that evening. She took a whiff preparing to devour. He swayed against the wall as she pushed his shirt up, eager to taste the skin beneath.

His next breaths were pants. She pressed close enough to feel the instantaneous hardness bulging the denim of his jeans through the thin dress.

The reaction was a magnet to her hand, and she grappled with the buttons of his jeans. She wondered, for the umpteenth time, why he insisted on this particular high-end label with metal buttons, instead of a zipper, tucked beneath the fold of the fly.

For the second time, in just as many hours, he caught her hand in his stopping her actions. “Let’s get some sleep. I know you have got to be tired.”

“Does this feel tired?” Pushing her fingers through the two buttons she had managed, she fingered his briefs, and the hot hardness beneath them inflamed her own throbbing fire.

Although she heard and felt his groan, he continued to contain her wayward fingers and muttered, “Sleep first.”

Still holding hands, they headed down the hall to his room, and she blinked in surprise when a floor lamp automatically turned on. The electronic wonders in this house never ceased.

The trek to his room was a misunderstood victory. His fingers forked in her hair to gently pull her lips away from his chest, again. “Com’on Mariss you’re making this hard...”

“That’s the idea...”

“We are going to sleep.”

“I’m not tired. Let’s celebrate your drop.” Her hands drifted to his waist and one dropped lower, but he halted her second attempt at his jeans.

“Marissa, don’t.” It was her full name that stopped her, not the soft and desperate ‘don’t.’

There was only so much rejection a girl could take. She fell back a step to search his face, but he was already in motion toward the bed.

There was nothing sexier than Jack peeling off his clothing, and tonight was no exception. However, knowing that tonight, for some inexplicable reason, she was getting none of that amazing body, kept her frozen where she was.

The confounded jeans parted easy beneath his fingers and joined the tee shirt, shoes, and socks on the floor. Peeling back the covers, he looked to her. “You’re going to sleep in here for a bit, right?”

The emotions churning turbulently inside her were not clear yet, but whatever he saw when their eyes connected stalled his movements.

His next words seemed to be an attempt to explain. “Now that I know...I can’t right now. Besides, I’m serious about getting some rest. Don’t forget I promised Tristan all day in the pool.”

The promise earlier tonight, and the entire conversation around it, jerked to the forefront of her mind. Mortifying words had insinuated her as a slut who constantly left her child overnight to pursue the next hunk of junk.

“Now that you know what?” she pressed and locked her eyes to his.

“About the sex. You know. So many times.” Obviously uncomfortable with the conversation, he looked over her shoulder as he carefully spoke.

There it was. The confirmation. Jack was shocked by her whorish ways.

Without a word, she turned leaving the door open as she raced to her room.

AS JACK HAD DONE
, she stepped out of her party clothing and slipped into bed. The gray light of dawn was beginning to infiltrate the room illuminating the dress folded over a chair that had cost as much as the down payment on her home. Turning away from it and pulling the bedding over her bare shoulder, she determinedly closed her eyes.

It was disappointing and hurtful to know Jack held the double standard most men did when it came to promiscuity.

Being a man and being in his profession was likely the double demon. There was no way that he had not been with an uncountable number of partners.

He was so casual about his sex life that he thought nothing of pairing her up for a day out with one of those past partners! She fell asleep with vengeful fantasies of Jack meeting up with Clayton or any of her many others...

This fantasy came as close to reality as surely it ever would the next day.

Her phone colliding with a clatter atop the nightstand jarred her awake.

Blinking brought Jack into focus. All bare skin and bulging muscles he stood by the bed staring her down. His hungry look was laced with irritation, but that didn’t stop his eye feast.

Covering herself with the sheet, she bit out, “You had your chance last night. I’m sleeping now, like you said.”

In response to her sassy words, the predatory expression filling his features was one she had seen in jest a few times.

“What if I just wanted a good morning kiss?” he challenged, and the bed sank with his weight. Straddling her atop the sheet effectively pinned arms that might have pushed him away.

Might have.

The kiss he laid on her lips, and beyond them, was thorough. His mouth tasted of minty toothpaste, and she was afraid to think of what hers might taste of after a night of drinking and a morning of cottonmouth.

Jack hadn’t shaved. The rough contact of his chin against her face had her eyes closing in delight. Soon her toes curled in ecstasy when it scraped the hypersensitive skin of her chest.

By this time, the covers had been pushed down enough for these kisses, freeing her hands. And, her hands were pulling him, not pushing, as every move he made fired through her frayed nerves.

She wanted to feel that scruff lower against her stomach, lower against her–

Shifting, she felt a moan leave her throat at just the thought, and she tightened her fingers in his long locks of hair prepared to push at him some more.

When he eased away, she wanted to scream, but summoning some self-control, she let him go and even managed a semblance of pushing him away as he extracted from her arms.

“Jack-ass,” she hissed.

A genuine smile, not the sexy smirk, lit his lips. He replied by hanging over her for a quick finishing kiss. “I love you too, Mariss.”

As she stared, dumbfounded, at his retreating back, he turned back before closing the door. “When you get up, come swimming with us.”

Tristan. More and more, she was just assuming her child was still asleep when she heard nothing from him. How had it happened that she was not the first person to hear his sweet voice each morning?

Angry and confused, she leaped from the bed then rotated and quickly neatened the spread. A text buzzed the surface of the bedside table. Reading it, she found an inquiry from Olivia about the previous night’s party.

Marissa typed that it was great and then longing to talk to her friend she asked if Liv was at work. Olivia answered affirmative, but promised to call later in the afternoon. The phone continued to blink with a missed text. Bringing the unread ones up, she found one from Clayton received an hour earlier.

In the brief second that she waited for the screen to change, she pondered waking to the clang of the phone. Had Jack tossed it in anger? Wherever she had left it last night had Jack seen the text come through from Clayton?

Clayton

You look pretty on TV. If things don’t work out with the jerk you know where your friends are.

11:42 AM

Rummaging through her still packed luggage for the swimsuit Olivia had insisted was her going away present for sunny Los Angeles, California, Marissa pondered the text. Clayton normally sent humorous one-liners, nothing like that, and since being told by Olivia that she was in a relationship, the texts from him had stopped.

‘Pretty on TV.’ The coverage of last night’s party must already be hitting entertainment media. Quelling her curiosity for now, she shoved the gossip sites to the bottom of her priorities.

Tristan and Jack were swimming.

The shower in this bathroom did not have fancy settings, and she manually adjusted the water and stepped in even though she knew in less than a half hour she would be in the pool.

The warm water of the massaging showerhead was something she desperately needed before the cool pool water.

Directing the water, she unseeingly stared at the tile, the remembrance of Jack strong, strong enough to make her knees weak only a minute or two later.

Seeing her reflection clad in the swimsuit almost caused her to lose her nerve and pull shorts and a tee shirt over it. The one piece was as revealing as any bikini. She smoothed sunscreen on and slipped her arms through the billowing see through cover-up.

Downstairs, she paused, peering through the glass doors. Looking past the elaborate patio to the guitar pool, she found more than two heads.

A plate of pancakes and container of syrup rested on the otherwise cleared kitchen island. Bacon pieces on top of the stack formed a noticeable letter M.

Knowing there was no hope of finding a granola bar in the kitchen of junk food, she warmed the plate in the microwave then ignored the syrup.

The shady area outside beneath the portico was inviting, and all three heads turned her way as she slid open the doors. So much for an unobtrusive entrance.

“Momma!”

After Tristan’s excited greeting, he went back to the volleyball game he was playing with Dax and Jack. Jack’s eyes were hidden behind shades. From over the net that floated in the pool, he asked, “Find your breakfast?”

Raising a bacon piece in answer before chomping on it, she tried to stay mad at him. Instead, she drooled and it was not from the delectable taste of each bite.

Jack’s hair was sleek and black against the tan skin of his neck and shoulders. Each smack of the ball rippled triceps, biceps, and other muscles as he smacked it to his opponent, Dax. The smirk, that always made her molten, emerged as he exchanged game trash talk with Dax, and the sweet smile, that she always melted to, curved each time he let the ball drop to Tristan.

Despite the shower less than an hour ago, she crossed her legs and ripped her gaze from ‘Jack candy’ to closer surroundings as she ate.