Page 24 of It’s You

H e was sitting on the living room couch, and on the leather trunk was a tray with two steaming mugs.

The rain was still falling in sheets outside, making it dim in the living room, except for the golden light of the fireplace.

Jack’s feet were bare, propped up next to the tray, and he wore a pair of warm, soft-looking jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, buttoned once or twice, leaving very little of his gorgeous chest to Darcy’s imagination.

He turned his head to watch her pad into the room and smiled, holding out a hand to her.

Damn, you look good in my bathrobe.

Is that right?

Never seen anything that looked as good as you right now.

She took his hand, and he pulled her down next to him.

“You smell good too,” he whispered, bending his head over her hand and kissing it, then leaning back to trace the blue veins that forked on the back of her hand. “Hot cocoa?”

“Sure.” She took her hand back and leaned forward to take one of the two cups between her hands, then scooted back into the couch corner opposite him, putting her feet up on the trunk and crossing them. He watched as the bathrobe parted, baring her legs up to her thighs.

“You’re way too far away, Darcy Turner.”

“If I come any closer, I doubt we’ll end up talking much, and I want to talk.”

“Why do women always want to talk?”

“An observation based on your vast experience with women?”

“What makes you think I have vast experience with women?”

“I don’t want to give you a big head.”

His gaze dropped to her legs again, then back to her eyes.

Too late.

That’s not what I meant, and you know it.

“Then what do you mean?”

“Well…” Her eyes swept his body, starting at his feet, following the muscled strength of his legs, lingering at the top of his legs where she saw a bulge that made her bite back a small grin before taking in the hard contours of the chest that peeked through his shirt to his neck to his face. She wet her lips as she met his eyes.

Jesus, Darcy!

“What?” she teased.

Do it again and see what happens. I dare you.

The look in his eyes sobered her. If she kept teasing him, he was going to jump on her, and she knew it. Part of her wanted that, but she didn’t want to get sidetracked again and miss an opportunity to understand him—to understand them —better. She looked away.

“I can’t imagine it’s hard for you to find female companionship, Jack. You’re charming, you have means. You’re fun and funny and…”

She smiled into his eyes.

You make me feel safe and special and beautiful.

Maybe that’s how I am with you. Only you. Maybe there weren’t any others that mattered. Ever.

“Mathematics says it’s unlikely.”

He leaned forward and picked up his hot chocolate, blowing the steam away. “Screw mathematics. Not everything can be boiled down to neat formulas and explanations and proven theories, Darcy. There’s more in this world that doesn’t make sense than does. Sometimes you have to have faith.”

She watched him, aware of the edge that had crept into his voice, but unwilling to allow it to make her back down.

“Okay. Well, then you’re not going to like my next observation. Something else has been bothering me that doesn’t make sense. I think the time we spend together goes faster than normal time.”

He blew on his cocoa, then took a long sip.

“Jack? Have you noticed that too?”

He nodded.

“So it’s actually happening.”

He nodded again.

“Any idea why? Any theories? Proven or unproven?”

He looked up at her.

“We’re different. It takes a lot of energy to keep us together. It has to come from somewhere.”

Her heart twisted that he should feel so different from her just because he was Métis. She shifted closer to him until her hip nudged against his. He put his cup back down on the trunk, then took hers and did the same.

“We’re not that different, Jack. Please stop thinking that we’re so different just because of our backgrounds. We’re both human beings .”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, his eyes seized hers, and she perceived the fathomless, intense, deeply conflicted emotion behind them as the copper flecks brightened before her, swirling and angry, turning his eyes from brown to gold.

She tried to hear him, but either his mind was blank, or he was blocking her from him, because all she could hear was a roaring.

A growling, guttural roaring in her head.

“Jack?” she whispered, her breath quickening with worry at his expression, his eyes, the void of roaring instead of his soft, low voice.

He lunged toward her, his lips connecting directly with hers with such force and passion that their teeth scraped together.

Turned on by his urgency, she wound her arms around his neck, pulling him down on top of her, wanting to feel the hot weight of his body pressed against hers.

He kept his hands on her face, and the gentleness with which he held her cheeks tempered the passion of his lips, which demanded and plundered greedily, sweeping her mouth with his tongue over and over again.

One of his hands slid languidly down the contours of her jaw, taking his time to feel her, explore her, sliding to the pulse point on her neck where his fingers rested for a moment before sweeping lower and pushing the bathrobe aside to cup his hand over her bare breast. The sensation was so searing, hot, and exciting.

Darcy arched up against him, moaning into his mouth, and his kiss intensified as he gently pinched her already-firm nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

She cried out with the sweet sharpness of his attentions.

He abandoned her lips, kissing a trail of heat from her mouth to her jaw, then down her neck. He leaned back, untying the cord at Darcy’s waist, and pushed the sides of his bathrobe away from her breasts.

She watched his eyes devour her breasts before he met her eyes with hunger and deep emotion.

Darcy. You’re so beautiful, it hurts me to look at you. Just like it did then.

He was referring to himself in high school.

And even though she had already figured it out, the sweetness of their connection, the long-unrequited thirst finally quenched in his company, made tears fill her eyes, and they fluttered closed as she reached up to thread her hands through his thick, black hair, drawing his head down to her breasts.

She felt the heat of his mouth, the slick wet fire of his tongue on her nipple as his hand covered her other breast. She threw her head back, small sounds of pleasure escaping her lips.

He moved his lips to her other breast, but she was so surprised by the sudden, sharp tug of his teeth on her nipple that her knee reflexively shot up, accidentally connecting with his groin.

Her eyes flew open as he cried out in pain, rolling off her and falling onto the floor.

Darcy sat up, disoriented at first, pulling the robe around her. She found him on his back, staring up at the ceiling with both hands covering his groin.

“Oh my god! Oh my god, Jack. I hurt you!”

Darcy scrambled off the couch to kneel beside his head, cringing at his red face and the tear that rolled from his eye into his hairline.

“Jack!” She used her thumb to gently swipe another tear away, cringing as she watched him try to take a deep breath and fail.

“Ooooo-uh,” he groaned, swallowing deliberately. She watched his throat bob slowly as his eyes closed and reopened in pain.

“Are you okay?” she asked in a small, embarrassed, deeply sorry voice.

“Gimme a sec, Darce. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Do you…do you need ice? Or something?”

He moved his hands, bracing himself to sit up.

“How about a massage?” he quipped.

“Would that…help?” she asked timidly to his back.

“I’m kidding.” He leaned back on his arms, his legs spread out in front of him. His voice was low and still a little strangled and breathy. “No. I take that back. If you’re offering, I’ll take a rain check.”

Darcy felt like such a complete and total idiot.

Frustrated tears filled her eyes, and she sat back on the edge of the couch while he stayed seated on the floor.

She didn’t know what to do. She had hurt him, and more, she had ruined their beautiful moment together.

Part of her felt like she should find his dryer, put on her clothes, and leave.

He struggled to his knees, then shifted back to the edge of the couch, a couple of feet away from her.

She couldn’t bear to look at him.

“Darcy?”

She knew if she spoke, the tears would fall.

“Darcy, I’ll be fine in a few minutes. Wasn’t even the worst shot I’ve ever taken to the nuts. Not by a long shot. Just…unexpected. Hey, what’s going on?”

She swiped at her eyes. “I should go.”

His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. “No.”

This only made her tears fall faster.

“Don’t go. It was just an accident.”

She slid next to him.

“I’m so sorry.” She sobbed, all the confusion and frustration and the intensity of her feelings for this man bursting and drizzling down her face in a wet, pathetic mess.

He groaned as he put his arms around her waist and sat back against the couch, pulling her up against his side and kissing the top of her head. “No, baby. Please don’t cry.”

She leaned her cheek on his shoulder and wept as he rubbed her back gently, his other hand hovering protectively over his lap.

“That f-felt so good, and I kicked you in the b-balls and r-ruined it,” she sputtered through more tears. “I should just go h-home.”

He leaned back and put his hands on her face, turning it up to see his, searching her watery eyes.

“Darcy. Listen to me. There is no scenario— none —in which I can imagine not wanting you beside me. Not right now. Not ever.” He rubbed the tears away with the pad of his thumb.