Page 14 of This Time Around (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #3)

He reached for her without thinking, palming the curve of her waist and pulling her tight against his body. He watched her pupils dilate, her lips part.

“Allie.”

“Hm?”

Her lashes fluttered, and Jack tightened his hold on her waist. “That was a very nice try.”

She blinked. “What?”

“The boob graze. The hair tickle.”

Her eyelashes fluttered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It was a good trick when we were eighteen.” He reached up with his free hand to brush her hair off her forehead, rewarded by her sharp intake of breath. “Back then, the boob graze would have distracted me from an appendectomy.”

He watched her eyes darken, and she licked her lips again. “You’re saying I’m not hot enough to be a distraction at thirty-six?”

He almost laughed. “I’m not saying that at all.” He was still gripping her waist, and he leaned in to brush his lips over the top of her ear, triumphant when he felt her shiver beneath his palm. “You’re still hot as fuck.”

He drew back, half expecting her to slap him. He probably deserved it. He was being cocky as hell, and rude, too. She had every right to haul off and smack him.

But he watched her throat move as she swallowed, and knew from the flush in her cheeks that she wasn’t unaffected by her own attempt at seduction. She’d gotten to herself, too.

“But I’m smarter now,” he said. “Smarter than I was at eighteen, anyway.”

“I noticed,” she whispered.

Something flashed in her eyes that he’d never seen before. Awe, maybe. Respect. All the things he’d wanted to see when he’d shown up to gloat the other night.

But he hadn’t expected to see those things up close. Not like this, with his hand on her waist and her pelvis arching toward him. He wasn’t sure if she was responding to a desire to distract him from the contents of the steamer trunk or plain old desire. Did it matter?

He pulled her closer. She came willingly, head tilted back, breasts curved toward him. He was kissing her before he’d made up his mind to do it.

The momentary shock of it melted into something else as Allie arched against him, arms lifting to twine around his neck. What had started out as a game had morphed into something else, and it took every ounce of Jack’s self-control not to get swept away.

He was still kissing her and the sensation was both foreign and familiar, like revisiting the scene of a party where he’d had too much champagne. She was soft everywhere—lips, breasts, thighs—every place where her body pressed against his was warm and yielding.

“Jack,” she gasped, grinding against him.

He broke the kiss and reached for the clasp above his hip. “For the record, that’s my hammer.” He let the tool belt drop to the floor and reached for her again, pulling her tight to his body.

Her eyes widened a little and she glanced down before smiling up at him. “But that’s not.”

“Nope.”

He kissed her again, remembering all over again what this felt like. He’d almost forgotten, or tried to, anyway. Not kissing—he’d done plenty of that—but kissing Allie, all her sharp edges giving way to something softer as she curled her whole body into his.

She made a soft moan in the back of her throat, a sound so subtle he would have missed it if he hadn’t been listening for it.

But he was listening. He was listening to the thrum of his own heartbeat in his ears, the whisper of her hair sliding between his fingers, the soft patter of rain on the oak leaves outside.

She broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, “Don’t stop,” before moving her lips back to his.

He agreed without words, sliding his hand around to cup her ass.

He would have remembered the curve of it anywhere.

He could have picked it out of a lineup of a hundred asses, a visual that jackknifed through his brain and made him dizzy all over again.

He dropped his hand from her waist to the hem of her sweater. He lingered there for a moment, giving her a chance to pull back. To say this was a bad idea. It probably was, though he’d forgotten why.

Her eyes flashed with assent so Jack slid his hand up under her sweater. He let his thumb graze the edge of her breast, lightly at first. She pressed into his palm, and he moved his whole hand over the softness to lay claim to it.

This time she did pull back, but only for an instant. Just long enough to level him with those molten green eyes as she reached for the hem of her sweater. Her wrists crossed in a delicate X as her fingers gripped the pink fabric. Her gaze locked on his, and her cheeks flushed deep pink.

“I want you,” she said.

“Okay,” he replied dumbly as she began to lift the sweater.

It happened in slow motion, and Jack stared mutely as her navel came into focus, the soft hollow he’d kissed hundreds of times.

Then he saw the smooth ridges of her ribs, one, then the next, and another until they rounded up to perfect cups of lavender lace and?—

Clack-clack-clack!

The sweater dropped back, and Allie let go of the edge. She stared at him, eyes wide, face flushed. Jack stared back, trying to figure out what the hell was making that racket.

Clack-clack-clack!

“The ladder!” He turned and leapt across the beams, moving as fast as he could toward the attic door.

The clacking was moving away, which meant someone must be dragging the old wooden ladder down the hall.

Jack dropped to his knees beside the opening in the floor.

He heard Allie clomping behind him, and she landed in a heap next to him with her thigh pressed against his.

Each of them grabbed an edge of the attic door, fumbling to get it open.

The door swung up and bonked him in the head. Allie went sprawling backward as light flooded the space. She righted herself and leaned down through the opening to call out.

“Skye!” she yelled as Jack grabbed the back of her jeans to keep her from falling through the attic door. “Wait!”

He set Allie back on her heels and leaned through the opening himself.

A freckle-shouldered brunette in a long rainbow-striped skirt looked up at him from halfway down the hall.

She’d folded the ladder neatly and was dragging it down the hall.

She had the wooden rails gripped in both hands and an alarmed look on her face.

It probably wasn’t every day she saw a strange man peering down at her from the ceiling.

Allie stuck her head out further and the woman’s face lit up. “Allie. Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were up there. The door was closed.”

“We were looking through some of my grandma’s things and wanted to keep the cats out.” Allie shot him a look that told him not to say more about what else they’d been doing up there. Was she worried about the money or the kissing?

Jack wasn’t sure which of the two had shocked him more.

Allie gestured awkwardly between him and the befuddled-looking woman. “Skye, meet Jack. He’s an old friend from school.” She looked back at him. “Skye is the caretaker I was telling you about.”

“Caretaker, of course.” He tried not to think too hard about the “old friend” label, or the fact that she’d described Wade with exactly those words.

But he could still taste Allie on his lips, and he wondered if she kissed all her old friends like that.

Did she press her body against them and reach for the hem of her sweater with a look of?—

None of your fucking business, he told himself. You’re being a dick.

“Nice to meet you,” he managed, offering Skye a smile he hoped wasn’t too stiff.

“It’s great to meet you, too. Sorry, I was just putting this away.” She gestured to the ladder, then smiled and pushed her hair off her face, showing Jack a few flashes of blue woven through her dark curls. “Are you from Portland?”

“Kinda,” Jack said. “I’ve lived near LA for ages, But Allie and I went to middle school and high school and college together in Portland. I’m in town for a college reunion.”

“That’s awesome! I didn’t realize you had a reunion to go to.

” It took Jack a second to realize she was talking to Allie, not him.

“You have to let me do your hair and nails for the event! Please? I just passed the final for both, but I need the practical experience. I’d do it for free, and I promise I’ll make you look like a million bucks. ”

“Oh,” Allie said, glancing at Jack. “Actually, I’m not?—”

“You should do it.” The words were out of Jack’s mouth before he’d thought them through. The look on Allie’s face told him they surprised her as much as they did him.

But the idea wasn’t half bad, so he kept talking.

“I know I ended up graduating five years after you did, but I think you’ll still know a few people.

Remember Kent Rogers? He was a freshman our sophomore year, but had to quit for a few years when his dad got sick.

And Trista Madden? The girl in the next apartment who drove the?—”

“—pink Volkswagen, of course.” Allie cocked her head. “She’s going to be there?”

“Yeah, she married someone from my graduating class. I think there are a few others, plus a few professors you might remember. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Allie gave him a dubious look, and he didn’t blame her. He felt rather dubious himself.

But a small part of him wanted her there. Wanted the comfort of an old friend, even if he’d just compromised the friendship by groping her in the attic.

More than anything though, he wanted a buffer.

Wanted an attractive woman by his side so people would think twice before approaching to put a hand on his arm and gaze at him with a look of deep concern.

“I was so sorry to hear about Caroline,” they’d say, wrapping him in a tight hug before he had a chance to flee. “How are you doing?”

The thought of going through that once, twice, a dozen times over the course of an evening was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat. He was sweating now, or maybe that was still the result of kissing Allie. It was tough to tell.

Allie kept looking at him oddly, so Jack shrugged like it was no big deal. “It’s up to you, but I think it’d be fun. Dinner’s being catered by Meg Delaney.” He’d never heard of her, but apparently she was a big deal. “Everyone’s saying she’s really good.”

“She is.” Allie bit her lip. “I hire her all the time for events I host.”

“Then you know you’ll eat well.”

She seemed to think about it a moment, then nodded. “It’s tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Six o’clock.”

“Okay. Yes, I’ll go.”

“Great!”

He probably sounded way too eager, but Allie didn’t seem to notice. Several feet below, Skye was still looking up at them.

“So can I do your hair and nails? I mean, you probably have a regular person you go to, but?—”

“Actually, that’s perfect.” Allie smiled. “I usually go to the beauty college closer to my apartment, so I’ve never been to the one where you’re training.”

“I thought you always went to that fancy place downtown,” Jack said.

Allie raised an eyebrow. “I’m not allowed to change beauty routines in sixteen years?”

“No. I just thought?—”

He stopped himself from saying whatever the hell he’d been about to say. Probably something like, “You’d still be a snob,” or “I thought no one but Francois was allowed to touch your hair.”

Allie had a point. A lot could change in sixteen years, and beauty habits were probably the least of it.

Sensing this was a dead-end conversation, he looked down at Skye. “Any chance you could put the ladder back?”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Skye pushed her hair out of her eyes again and hurried over, ladder in hand. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to trap you up there.”

“Not a problem,” he said.

“Not your fault,” Allie added. “We should have left a note or something, but I didn’t think you’d be back until late.”

“My client didn’t show, so I came home early.” Skye unfolded the ladder and righted it under the attic door before glancing at Jack. “I’m pretty close to graduating from the Aesthetics Institute.”

“But she’s going to keep looking after the B&B until then,” Allie added.

“And the cats.” Skye grinned. “Have you met them yet? They’re just the sweetest.”

“They’re pretty impressive,” Jack agreed. “All those toes.” His heart rate was almost back to normal now, so at least all this benign banter was good for something.

“Vicky used to say they’re all descended from some famous cat in Florida,” Skye said. “Or maybe it was the Bahamas.”

“Like a show cat?” Allie asked.

“I’m not sure. Anyway, she just loved the polydactyls. The way it looks like they’re all wearing mittens. They pet each other sometimes, did you know that?”

“I didn’t,” Jack said, trying not to think about how much he wanted retreat back into the depths of the attic for some heavy petting of his own.

But a quick glance at Allie told him there was little chance of that happening. She tugged down the hem of her sweater and folded her arms over her chest.

“Right, well, I’m going to go feed everyone now,” Skye said from below as two tortoiseshell cats twisted themselves around her ankles and meowed. “A couple of them get pills, too, so it’s a bit of a chore. It was a pleasure meeting you, Jack.”

“Likewise. Thanks for putting the ladder back. We might have been trapped up here forever.”

Which wasn’t the worst thought in the world, though the look on Allie’s face told him she felt otherwise.

Skye hustled off down the hall, a stream of cats yowling behind her. When she was out of earshot, Jack sat back on his heels and turned to Allie. “So,” he said. “I take it you’re keeping your shirt on?”

Allie’s cheeks turned pink, and she tugged at the hem of her sweater again. “Right. Um, I think we kinda got caught up in the moment.”

“Not the first time.”

One corner of her mouth tilted up, and he could tell she was trying not to smile. Trying not to remember that summer after their senior year in high school in the backseat of the car, windows fogged up, hair wild, Allie’s skirt pushed up around her hips as Jack?—

“That would be dumb.” Allie’s words jolted him back from the memory. “Fooling around, I mean.”

“Right,” he agreed, nodding for emphasis.

“We already know we’re an awful match,” she said. “No sense going down that path again.”

“Agreed. Nothing but potholes and landmines and slugs on that path.”

“Definitely.”

The certainty in her expression told him she believed it. So did he, dammit. There was no reason to even toy with the idea of starting anything with Allie Ross again.

But his brain flashed to the memory of her mouth on his, fingers twisted in his hair, a small moan in the back of her throat.

Right now, he couldn’t say for sure if the memory was sixteen years or sixteen minutes old.