Page 20 of It’s You

She watched him go, the way the top of his jeans hugged his hips and fit over his firm backside.

The way his untucked, white button-down shirt moved with him, showing the contours of his back as he walked away from her.

He looked a lot younger than thirty-seven years old.

He was perfectly built. Insanely male. A shiver went down her back with the force of her attraction to him, and she felt the blanket slipping from her slack hands.

She shook her head and quickly gathered it together, spreading it in front of the fire just as he returned with two steaming bowls of French chicken stew.

She reached for her wine and sat down on one side of the blanket, cross-legged, accepting the bowl he handed to her. He took one of two silver spoons from his mouth, handing it to her with a sexy grin.

“Sorry. I only have two hands.”

She raised her eyebrows at him and put the spoon in her own mouth, holding his eyes with hers as she sucked on it.

He stared at her, cocky smile fading, and she watched his eyes ignite in an instant, his expression changing from playful to hungry, and not for Coq au Vin.

“Better quit it.”

“Or what?” she asked, popping the spoon out of her mouth and tonguing it slowly.

“Or all that hard-won control I have is going out the window.”

“Ahhh,” she breathed. “That’s right . Control .”

She picked up her bowl and dipped her spoon to fill it.

“Couldn’t come back without it.”

“Took you long enough,” she muttered before blowing on her spoon.

“Can you quit it with that?”

She looked up at him and grinned. She wet her lips slowly, then took a deep breath and pursed her lips, letting her breath come out in a slow and steady stream over the spoon as she held his eyes.

What? This?

I’m going to throw you on your back and ? —

Jack!

I mean it. Cut it out. It’s hard enough.

About to think the words “What is?” she lowered her gaze quickly and shoved her spoon in her mouth, at once surprised and distracted by the delicate flavor.

“Mmm. This is delicious.”

“Yeah?”

Darcy nodded. “Willow makes a good Coq au Vin, but not this good.”

He took a spoonful. “Tell me about Willow.”

“We’ve been friends since fourth grade. She’s more like a sister than a friend. We live together in one of the old Victorians off Main Street, which Carlisle doesn’t like at all.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because we’re not actually sisters. There’s gossip.”

“People think you’re?—”

“Yes, but we’re not. Like I said…sisters.” Darcy giggled. “I have the utmost respect for homosexual people, but I’m not. I mean, Willow and I aren’t?—”

“Don’t need to convince me, Darce.”

“Anyway. She’s Métis, like you. But only a quarter. She’s a regular doctor, but she also practices some shaman wisdom and remedies, you know, for those folks who’re interested. She’s…” Darcy’s voice trailed off, thinking about Willow and Amory.

“She’s what?”

“She’s in love with my brother,” Darcy murmured more to herself than Jack.

Jack finished off his stew and put his bowl on the leather trunk, lying down on his side, his head propped up on his hand. “Tell me about that .”

“It’s been a long time coming.”

“Lot of that going around, huh?”

She smiled at him, taking another bite of the succulent stew before putting her bowl beside his on the trunk and lying down across from him, one hand propping up her head and the other holding her wineglass.

“Amory is eight years younger than Willow. I mean, when they met, she was in fourth grade, and he was in diapers. When she was a sophomore in high school, he was in second grade. When she was starting college, he was finishing grade school. Age gap. Big one. She actually—still, to this day—calls him ‘Brat.’” She thought of Amory’s face last night, the way he seemed drawn to Willow like a magnet when he first entered the kitchen.

“But he adores her. Always has. Right from the start.”

Jack swirled his wine, taking a sip. “And…”

“You know, Amory was in fifth grade when Willow was a high school senior, and he gave her the most amazing valentine. All it said was ‘ Attends-moi .’” Darcy paused, remembering the red construction paper valentine trimmed with one of their mother’s pilfered doilies.

“Wait for me,” whispered Jack.

Darcy nodded.

“But I don’t know,” she continued. “Willow’s…

Well, she’s, um…She’s cagey. Her parents didn’t stay together, and she has some trust issues, and…

Anyway, it doesn’t matter. She didn’t wait for him.

She dated half of Boston when she was at Harvard.

She got married and quickly divorced. Dated the other half of Boston.

Her grandmother passed away, and she ended up back here. ”

Jack finished his wine and set the glass beside his bowl. “I don’t get it, though. What about now? He’s a grown-up, she’s a grown-up. Why not now?”

“Eight-year spread.” Darcy sighed. “She’s never given him a chance, which, I believe, has made him a serial dater.

He’s got this new girl. Faith. And Willow?

I don’t even know what it would take to tie her down.

” She shrugged and smiled sadly at him. “I sort of love seeing them together in my head, you know? Like fantasizing that Willow could really be my sister one day. But I can’t imagine how it would ever happen. I know them both. It’s impossible.”

Jack took her empty glass, placing it beside his, then lay down next to her on his back, his head pointed toward the fire. He folded his hands on his chest, glancing at her. “That’s a little too final, don’t you think? I think—I believe —that some things are meant to be.”

He started that assessment lightly, but Darcy felt an edge in his tone as he finished speaking.

“I think you’re a romantic.” She put her arm flat on the blanket and lay her head on it, staring at Jack’s lightly bearded cheek, wanting to touch him, telling herself not to.

He propped himself back up on his side, looking just a little bit embarrassed. “Maybe. I mean, I don’t read chick lit or run out to every romantic movie that comes along. But, sure. I like happy endings. Don’t you? Don’t you want a happy ending?”

With you. I only want one with you.

His eyes widened, and she realized she hadn’t looked away in time. She didn’t even know where the thought had come from, and he’d heard it. Her cheeks flushed with heat, and she quickly rolled onto her back as a tear of embarrassed frustration snaked its way out of the corner of her eye.

“Darcy.”

She wouldn’t look at him. She felt him stand up without another word, and after a moment, she heard soft acoustic guitar music start playing. When she looked up, he was leaning down, taking her hands in his.

“Dance with me?”

She let him pull her into a standing position and fell gratefully into his arms, resting her cheek on his shoulder, loving the feeling of his arms around her, resting on her lower back.

“What is this?”

“‘My My Love.’ Joshua Radin. You know it?”

“No. But I love it.”

She had her hands lightly on his shoulders, but now she moved them to his neck, needing to feel the heat of his skin under her fingers.

“Sometimes I’ve wondered if that night was a dream.”

“It wasn’t.”

“I know.” She leaned back to gaze at him. “Why’d you do it? Kiss me?”

“Don’t you know?”

She shook her head no.

“Darcy, I was crazy about you that summer. Every second. Every?—”

“No,” she murmured in disbelief, shaking her head. “You barely?—”

“Yes.” A whisper. Absolute.

“I didn’t think you saw me.”

“I didn’t see anyone but you. That night was my last chance. To let you know, to try to let you know?—”

“Jack, you were my first kiss.”

She felt a jolt go through him at her admission. She leaned back in his arms, taking in the surprise on his face. The gold flecks burned like liquid copper in his eyes, flashing with need and hunger. He licked his lips and swallowed. That was her undoing.

I don’t care if you can hear me. I don’t care if we’re complicated. I don’t care if it doesn’t make sense right this minute. I want you.

She placed her hands on either side of his face, tilted her head, and pressed her lips to his.

He growled, animal-like, desperate, slamming his body against hers, his hands clutching her backside and pushing her roughly up against him. She gasped in surprise, then sighed, her fingers curling until she held his face with her fists, barely able to stand, trying not to faint.

As if he sensed this, he suddenly lifted her off her feet.

He carried her to the couch and placed her on her back, moving with her to rest on top of her, never breaking contact with her lips.

He plunged deeper and deeper, taking over her mouth, and Darcy gasped and twisted beneath him, feeling a stirring in her belly she had never felt before.

She drew her legs up to his waist and locked her ankles behind his back, cradling him, and felt him gasp with pleasure, his hands holding her face firmly, forcing her to keep meeting the hungry demands of his mouth.

She moved her hands to his back, pushing his shirt up over his smooth, blistering-hot skin.

He broke their kiss and leaned back to help her finish the job, throwing his white shirt on the floor beside the couch. Darcy looked up at his chest, sitting up, pushing him back into a kneeling position. “Oh, Jack.”

She knew he was going to be well built, but she hadn’t quite expected this. This was the body of a god or a movie star, perfectly toned, strong, and beautiful…and covered in scars. He heaved in and out, panting, trying to catch his breath.

“What happened to you?” she murmured, her heart hurting for what he’d endured, the crisscrosses of scar tissue covering the expanse of muscle.

“I’ll tell you someday.” He took her hand, flattening it over his chest to reassure her. “None of it hurts anymore. All of it was needed to become who I am today.”

He let go of her hand, and she started touching him with tentative, then confident fingers, splaying them out as if to measure him. “How do you keep this up?”