Chapter Five
T rish stormed off, craving peace – and crashed straight into trouble.
As she hurried towards the bathroom, she slammed into an immovable force that was Jack’s solid frame. ‘Ouch!’
His grip was strong enough to stop her mid-stumble, his body like a granite slab she couldn’t get around. She didn’t need to look up to know it was him. She knew from the way her pulse crashed against her ribs.
‘Slow down there, Shutterbug.’ His voice rolled out, purring in her bones. ‘We wouldn’t want you to fall…again.’
She took a step back, attempting to regain control. ‘Thanks. I was just…um, heading to the loo.’
His eyes twinkled. ‘Want me to tag along?’
A tingle traced the nape of her neck. ‘I meant the actual bathroom, not an invitation for a quickie.’
He grinned. ‘Aye, I figured as much. But I dare to dream, as you said.’
‘You’re impossible.’ She rolled her eyes but couldn’t prevent a smile.
‘So I’ve been told.’ Jack leaned casually against the wall, half-blocking her path. ‘But there’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.’
Her pulse stumbled. ‘And what might that be?’
He came closer, his gaze raking over her. ‘Unfinished business.’
Trish’s lungs forgot how to work for a second. ‘I thought we agreed that was a one-time thing.’
‘Aye, we did. And it was.’ Jack’s hand reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. ‘But here’s the problem…’ His fingers trailed down her neck, setting off a flurry of goosebumps. ‘I don’t like leaving things unresolved.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We were interrupted.’
Trish’s mouth went dry. ‘Yes, we were.’
‘Shame.’ Jack’s eyes latched onto hers.
‘Shame.’
His nose almost touched hers. She could count each of his eyelashes, thick and unfairly long for a bloke. Flecks of gold danced in his cinnamon brown irises, like whisky catching the light.
Trish’s lips parted, her breath escaping in a shaky whoosh. Jack’s mouth hovered so close she could taste his breath. The pub’s chaos faded to white noise, leaving only the throb of her pulse in her ears.
He slid his hand to her cheek, his palm rough against her skin. His thumb skimmed along her jawline, like he was memorising every angle. It made her skin prickle.
‘You know what I think? I think you wanted me to kiss you for real under the mistletoe. I felt it.’
‘Doesn’t matter. We shouldn’t.’
‘Naw, probably not.’ But he made no move to let her go.
Her gaze flicked to his mouth, noting the slight upturn at the corner. She ran her tongue across her bottom lip. His eyes dropped to follow the movement. Time slowed as they stood there.
Her chin tilted up. The rational part of her brain screamed about boundaries and complications, urging her to jump off this runaway train before it careened out of control. But it was drowned out by the thundering of her pulse and the tangible charge crackling between them.
Trish’s fingers pulsed with the urge to tangle in his hair, to map the strong lines of his shoulders. She craved more than just a snapshot of life. She wanted to plunge into the frame.
The world snapped down to slivers of sensation: the grit of his stubble, the heat rolling off his skin, the wicked curve of his lips that dared her to dive headfirst into disaster.
Fuck it.
With a soft gasp that was half surrender, half defiance, she closed the infinitesimal gap between them.
It was soft at first. Cautious. And she felt his smile – smug, like he’d won a bet. Jack’s mouth played with hers, drawing her into a deeper kiss. His scruff rasped against her chin as he angled his head, the sound impossibly loud in the bubble they’d created. A tremor kicked low in her chest as his gentle touch became a firm grip, yanking her closer, like a bass note thrumming through them amid the distant sound of fiddles and laughter.
She sank into it, every nerve ending alight with the heady thrill of his closeness. Her lips moved with fervour, dragging over his with a hunger that surprised even her. Each roll of her tongue one more moment on the edge of a cliff, calling her to leap. Her fingers clutched at the fabric of his shirt.
This was real.
Jack groaned, and Trish’s back hit the wall, the impact jolting through her as his body crashed against hers.
He tore his mouth from hers. ‘Fuck. Trish. Don’t kiss me like that.’
‘What… Like what?’ She was a lot less experienced than him, but…
‘So fucking sweet.’
‘Jack…’ Her voice carried a warning.
‘I know.’ He trailed kisses down her throat. ‘You’re leaving soon. I’m a mess. Our friends… This is a bad idea.’
‘The worst.’ Her hands still fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer as her brain howled at her to push him away.
‘A disaster.’ His hand slid down her side, following the arc of her hip before settling on her inner thigh. ‘But you want this.’
His hand moved between her legs.
‘Do I? And…what makes you so sure?’
‘Because I can see it in your eyes.’ He pushed his palm against her mound. ‘The same hunger that’s been eating me alive since that day.’
‘Yes… But this is crazy,’ she whispered as her hips arched into his touch.
‘Aye.’
She felt the warmth of his hand, the weight of his touch through the barrier of her clothing. Her head fell back against the wall, her eyes drifting shut. ‘Fuck, Jack…’
‘Aye, that would be fun.’ He moved his fingers, applying just the right amount of pressure to make her gasp. ‘I can feel how hot you are for me, even through these damn jeans.’
Trish’s legs went soft at his words. Her hips moved of their own accord, grinding against his hand. The seam of her jeans rubbed against her sensitive nub with each movement of Jack’s hand. ‘I… We can’t…’
‘Now is neither the time nor the place. I know.’ Jack’s hand stilled, his forehead resting against Trish’s. ‘Fuck.’ His breath was hot on her cheek. ‘I shouldn’t have…’
Her body roared in protest as he withdrew his hand from her.
They stared at each other, chests heaving.
Oh God. Did I seriously just kiss him?
‘We can’t… I mean, Marla and Niall…’ She straightened her clothes, acutely aware of how close they still stood.
‘I know.’ Jack sighed and leaned against the opposite wall. ‘It’d be a right shiteshow if they found out. I lost half of my friends with the divorce already.’
Trish nodded, a taut pull in her stomach. ‘Yeah. There’s that. And I’m leaving in a week. It’s not like we could—’
‘What, have a hot Highland fling?’ Jack’s mouth quirked into a half-smile. ‘Fuck our brains out until you bugger off back to the big city?’
She pinned her lower lip between her teeth to suppress a grin. ‘You’re being silly. And I’m not someone who’s good at casual.’
‘Part of my charm.’ His expression sobered. ‘And I’m not good at anything but casual. I’m not cut out for a relationship. Three weans, a job that barely pays the bills, and more baggage than Heathrow at Christmas.’
Trish’s heart clenched. ‘You’re making it hard to walk away, you know.’
‘Listen,’ he rubbed the back of his neck. ‘You’re worth more than some rushed moment in a closet or a bit of shagging. You deserve something real…and better than what I can offer. Talented, kind, pretty – the triple whammy.’
She snorted. ‘Smooth talker.’
‘I try.’ Jack’s eyes met hers, serious now. ‘But I’m generally a fuck-up, plain and simple.’
Trish’s chest ached at the self-loathing in his voice. ‘Bullshit. That’s not true. You’re—’
‘A part-time da who won’t keep his dick in his pants?’ Jack’s laugh was bitter. ‘I’m not the bloke you bring home to mummy and daddy.’
Like I’d ever bring anyone home to those tossers, not even myself if I could help it.
‘I’m not exactly…well, anything at the moment, really. No career, no stable roots. It’s all up in the air,’ Trish said, forcing a lightness she didn’t feel. ‘Guess I’m not the type you’d bring home, either.’
‘So, neither of us is looking to complicate life.’ He blew out a breath. ‘See? Wrong place, wrong time.’
‘So… Friends without benefits?’ She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing her jittery heartbeat to steady.
‘Aye. Friends without benefits.’
The door banged open, shattering their bubble. Hamish McTavish, local sheep farmer and notorious lightweight, stumbled in. ‘Oi!’ he slurred, squinting at them. ‘This isnae the gents!’
Jack stepped in front of Trish. ‘Christ, Hamish. You’re fuckin’ steamin’.’
Hamish swayed, grabbing the doorframe for support. ‘Aye, and I need a pish. So if ye dinnae mind…’ He waggled his eyebrows at Trish. ‘Unless the lassie wants tae hold it for me?’
‘Let’s get you sorted before I have to deck you for sexual harassment,’ Jack said. ‘Because steamin’ or not, that’s not okay.’
Trish grimaced. ‘Yeah, I’ll pass.’
‘Suit yersel’.’ Hamish lurched forward, nearly face-planting into Jack’s chest.
Jack steadied him with a frown. ‘Come on, ya bampot.’
As he steered Hamish towards the proper facilities, he glanced back at Trish. Their eyes locked, the sizzle from moments ago still simmering beneath the surface.
Trish mouthed, ‘Later?’ before she could stop herself.
Jack’s answering grin had tiny fireworks flaring under her skin. He winked, then disappeared around the corner with his inebriated charge.
Trish sagged against the wall, her legs wobbly, and pressed her thighs together, all too aware of the ache between them.
Friends without benefits, like hell.
She fled back to the main room, lips still tingling with that forbidden warmth. The ceilidh after-party was blurry, a series of fleeting impressions rather than a cohesive whole. Only the memory of Jack’s kiss remained vividly clear.
Trish spotted Marla by the bar, deep in conversation with Niall. Guilt gnawed at her gut. What kind of friend was she, snogging her best friend’s neighbour and postie in a dark corner by the bogs? Her best friend’s best friend. That was a no-go in any rule book. And for good reasons. Marla trusted her. Getting mixed up with Jack – for the second time – crossed an unspoken line.
But as Jack re-emerged, looking deliciously rumpled, Trish’s traitorous body thrummed with want.
You’re here for one more week. Then you go back to Edinburgh, and this…whatever it is…becomes a distant memory.
Nothing but a wildly hot wank fantasy.