Kitabı oku: «Can't Help Falling In Love», sayfa 5
5
FRIDAY NIGHT, Jack slid into the seat next to Skyler just as the mayor called the Independence Day Committee meeting to order. “What’s the emergency?”
“I have no idea,” she whispered back. She shrugged her shoulder—bare except for her dress’s bright pink spaghetti strap. The rest of the thigh-skimming dress clung to her curves and matched perfectly with her heeled sandals and toenail polish.
Delicious. He considered dropping a kiss on her icy pastel pink lips, but knew public affection was definitely a move in the wrong direction. He focused on positive thoughts. Their date might be a secret, but she’d prepared carefully for the event. Definite good sign. In the past few days, he’d managed to dispel the niggling spark of worry that she didn’t want to be seen with him. She was worried about his job. She cared. Her motives were sweet. She wasn’t using her brothers as an excuse. She didn’t have to remind him of the “good girls” in high school, who flirted with him on Saturday nights, then ignored him during school, where he’d certainly not been a part of their clique.
“Okay, people,” the mayor said, rising from behind his desk. “I know it’s Friday night, and I know y’all have plans, but we’ve got ourselves a crisis.”
Eyes wide, Jack had a hard time concentrating on the man’s serious tone. Mayor Franklin Collins was dressed as Elvis—the Vegas years—in a white-sequined jumpsuit, gold necklaces and huge rings on his fingers. The First Lady didn’t disappoint in complementing her husband. She had the voluptuous figure, exaggerated makeup and headdress of a Vegas showgirl.
Jack leaned close to Skyler’s ear, inhaling the sweet, flowery scent clinging to her skin before he asked, “What’s with the costumes?”
Before she could answer, a male voice called out, “Hold on, honey.” Roland swished into the room. At least Jack thought it was Roland. He wore glamour-girl makeup, a blond wig and a gold-sequined evening gown, so only the voice was recognizable. The pet store owner waggled his fingers in Skyler’s direction as he crossed the room.
Jack glanced from the mayor, to his wife, then back to Roland. He asked Skyler, “Did I miss a dress code meeting?”
“No.” She met his gaze, her blue eyes twinkling. “The mayor’s an Elvis fanatic, and Roland performs at a local bar on the weekends. His act is a riot, sort of Ru Paul meets Tony Bennett.”
“These are the people who voted against a lingerie shop?”
“No,” she whispered back. “The mayor only votes if there’s a tie, which there definitely wasn’t. Roland was my only supporter. The rest of the committee—led by two Baptist deacons—trounced the idea.”
The mayor waited while Roland arranged himself in his chair, crossing his unshaven legs. “Could we get back to the problem at hand?”
Everyone fixed their gaze on Mayor Collins. How they could do so without busting out laughing, much less not cracking a smile, Jack had no idea. He bit the inside of his cheek.
“A local band wants to play at the festival,” the mayor announced.
And? Jack waited for the other shoe to drop.
“They’re calling themselves The Metal Heads this year,” the mayor said wearily, shaking his head. “Last year they were The Punk Heads, the year before that The Dixie Heads, before that The Rock Heads.”
A collective groan rippled through the room.
“Not them again,” one of the other committee members said.
“I got rid of them last year,” Roland called out. “It’s somebody else’s turn.”
Before Jack could ask what was so awful about The Metal Heads and why this was an important enough crisis to delay his and Skyler’s date, the mayor turned to him to explain. “They’ve been trying to get into the festival for the past three years, each year with a different act and collection of horrible songs.”
Roland tapped his red-tipped fingernails against the arm of his chair. “The year they went country they planned their opening song to be ‘I Shot My Dog Then Got Runned Over by a Train.’”
Ouch.
The mayor sank onto the edge of his desk. “This year they can’t wait to play ‘I Bashed My Mama with My Guitar Last Night.’”
Double ouch.
Still, this problem seemed easy to fix. Everyone agreed The Metal Heads were a bad idea entertainment-wise. They could just send them a letter—thanks for your interest, but after a decisive vote by our committee…blah, blah, blah. Problem solved.
Jack dusted his hands together and rose. “No problem. I’ll send them a rejection letter and—”
“Won’t work,” the mayor said. “Last year, after they got their letter, they camped out on the steps of City Hall for three days and nights until I listened to an entire set of their songs.” He shuddered.
“They’re really very sweet,” Skyler said, looking troubled.
“And desperate,” Roland put in.
“You know…” the mayor began, staring up at Jack. The beginnings of a smile crept to his lips.
Uh-oh. Jack had the feeling he was about to pay for his impulsive volunteering.
“You could turn them down, Jack. But in person.”
Everyone in the room focused on Jack. Their gazes followed his height and breadth carefully. Obviously, they all thought brawn would come more in handy than brains. The story of his life.
Mrs. Collins clapped her hands, gazing up at her husband adoringly. “Oh, Franklin, you’re brilliant!”
Everyone rose, obviously considering the matter settled, chattering about their plans for the night. Within minutes, only he and Skyler stood in the mayor’s office.
“I’ll help you,” she said, laying her hand on his arm. “They sometimes play on the street corners for tips…at least until Wes threatens to arrest them.”
Jack glanced down. Her fingertips felt cool and delicate against his skin. Flowery perfume drifted to his nose. He inhaled deeply, and smiled at the heat invading his blood. “Forget The Metal Heads for now.” He grabbed her hand, urging her to spin. “Turn for me, ’tite ange.”
He could see her outfit was actually a top and a miniskirt. Of course, she hadn’t worn exactly what he’d suggested. His ange was such a rebel. And she had great legs.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, pulling her close.
She glanced toward the door. “Thanks.”
“We’re alone.”
She smiled, but nervously. “I know.”
Setting his jaw, he fought the urge to comment on their “secret” relationship. It was no big deal. He didn’t need to claim her. He didn’t need her at all.
He wanted to stay focused on his career. But Skyler was fun and smart, and the contrast between her “good girl” and “bad girl” sides intrigued him. And the way she was biting her lip and glancing around as if they might be caught touching at any moment just shouted for him to give in to his own bad side.
He cupped the back of her head, leaning close. “We’re very alone.” Her eyes widened, and before she could give him a reason not to, he kissed her.
Her mouth softened, and a sigh escaped her lips. He slid his tongue against hers, slow and easy, wanting, maybe even needing, to lose himself in her sweetness. Her womanly curves pressed against his body as she gripped the front of his shirt, her fingers clenching and releasing, like an itch she was desperate to scratch. She was going to drive him totally crazy. He wanted her, needed her, absolutely had to have her.
Who was he kidding about his career being his top priority? Every time he touched her, he couldn’t even remember what he did.
He wrapped his arm around her waist, dragging her closer. Her head dropped back, and he left her lips to trail hot, openmouthed kisses against her jawline. Against his chest, her heart pounded like a freight train. Every inch of his body had hardened, and he was considering the sturdiness of the mayor’s desk when she gasped his name.
“J-Jack,” she said, her tone breathy and uneven.
He nibbled her lips. “Mmm.”
“We shouldn’t be—”
He slid his tongue against hers, and she moaned, pulling back.
“—doing this here,” she finished breathlessly.
Jack made an effort to tamp down the devil—the one Sister Katherine had fought unsuccessfully to rid him of in his formative years—sitting on his shoulder, urging him on. “Wild Jack” wasn’t the kind of man for an angel.
Still holding her against him, he tucked her head beneath his chin and savored the sensation of having her close. He drew deep breaths and fought for control of his body. Why did she have to feel so special, so right next to him?
He’d kissed her to prove to her she wanted him in spite of the danger, that he could override her cautious nature, only to confirm for himself that no matter how much he wanted her, he sure as hell didn’t deserve her.
He released her, taking a physical and mental step away from temptation. “I’m sorry.”
She angled her head. “For?”
In some ways she seemed so innocent—big blue eyes, petite frame, pale hair and skin—but as he watched those eyes narrow he remembered her looks were deceiving. A determined businesswoman resided beneath that angelic package. In addition to scandalous purple panties. Hell. His gaze automatically dropped as he wondered what delights that pink skirt hid. Had she asked him a question?
He tunneled his hand through his hair. “Uh, I just didn’t mean for things to get so, um, out of control.” Oh, that was real smooth, Jack.
“It’s not your fault. I wasn’t exactly fighting you off.” She grinned. “That whole might-get-caught part was kind of fun actually.”
He grabbed her hand, tugging her through the doorway and down the hall. “Glad you approve. I’ve got lots of fun ideas.” He led her to the parking lot, and, as he tucked her into the passenger’s side of his Jeep, the slit in the back of her skirt bared her thighs to a sweat-inducing height.
Oh, yeah. He had lots of ideas.
6
HE TOOK HER to dinner at a rowdy Irish pub. She liked the fact that Jack hadn’t felt the need to take her to some hoity-toity place with sleep-inducing harp music in the background, while impressing her with his platinum Visa card. He was attentive and fun, and she’d loved every blasted minute of it. Dammit. Weren’t great first dates supposed to be followed by even better second ones?
She was pondering this glitch in her “one date only” plans as they stumbled upon The Metal Heads at the corner of Fifth Street and Presley Boulevard. Fitting, Skyler thought.
Over screaming guitars and the singer’s screeching voice, she understood little of the song they were performing, but she did catch two lines of the chorus— “My girlfriend dumped me, so I jumped her friend. Now I’m in the hospital nursin’ my rear end.”
Charming.
If possible they’d gotten worse over the last year. Skyler had been secretly hoping they’d improved, any, so they could find a way to include them in the festival. Maybe they could do an “unplugged” session.
She waved her hands above her head. “Excuse me, guys!” she yelled. “We’d like to talk to you.”
Oblivious, they sang on. People passing by shouted at them. “Shut up! Go away! I’m callin’ the cops!”
Skyler stood directly in front of the guitar player and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hellooo!”
He played on, his head banging to the beat of the music.
A loud whistle echoed behind her. She turned to see Jack dropping a twenty-dollar bill in the tip bucket.
You could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed.
Passersby applauded—not for the song certainly, but for its absence.
The four musicians surged forward, surrounding her and Jack. “Hey, man, thanks,” the skinny singer with long blond hair said. “It’s been cold out here tonight. Like frigid.”
“Yeah, man,” the sweaty, shirtless drummer put in. “People just don’t get it, ya know.”
The bassist, who wore sunglasses even though it was past ten o’clock, and the lead guitar player, who wore red leather pants so tight you could tell his religion, just grunted in agreement with their band mates. They looked so much like Def Leppard, Skyler was tempted to ask for ID. They’d obviously researched their genre well. If they lip-synched, they might have a prayer.
“Happy to support our local artists,” Jack said—and with a straight face. “I’m Jack Tesson and this is Skyler Kimball, we’re—”
“Oh, man,” the bassist interrupted.
Four avid gazes roved Skyler from head to toe. “Wanna be our first groupie?” the lead singer asked.
If it was possible to be flattered and disturbed at the same time, Skyler was. “Uh, no. Thanks.”
Jack dropped his arm across her shoulders. “She’s with me.”
Four nervous gazes slid up, way up, Jack’s body. “Uh, right, man,” the lead singer mumbled.
“We’re part of the Fourth of July festival committee,” Jack went on. “We’d like to talk to you about performing.”
Four pairs of eyes widened in hope. The naked need displayed on their faces was painful to witness. If desire was a talent, these guys were loaded with it.
They couldn’t reject them, she realized suddenly. Maybe with a little guidance. And voice lessons. And song writing lessons. And music lessons.
Worried, she glanced at Jack. He met her gaze and smiled. “Don’t worry, chère.”
He turned back to the band. “I have some suggestions for your act. Let me buy you a beer, and we’ll talk.”
That cheered the guys considerably. They broke down their equipment, storing it in a purple-and-yellow airbrushed van parked at the curb. Then they walked down the street and into a sports bar.
Once they were settled at a table and the guys had taken their first sip of beer, Jack began. “How important is performing in the festival to you?” He met each man’s gaze, but they all just looked at each other and shrugged, obviously uncomfortable.
Finally, the lead singer—who’d introduced himself as Masher—took a fortifying gulp of beer then said, “It would be the total ultimate, man.”
A positive sign, Skyler decided, though she had absolutely no idea how Jack was going to pull this off.
“Well then, mon ami, you have some work to do.”
The bassist—his name was the baffling Golden Boy, though everything about him was dark. Hair, skin, eyes, clothes. Maybe it was an ironic rock ’n’ roll thing. Golden Boy snorted as if he was thinking, I knew there was a catch.
“Your songs need work.” Jack glanced at Skyler, and she nodded in encouragement, though he just seemed to be trying to include her in the conversation. As usual, Jack had everything under control.
“How long did you spend writing the one you were singing earlier?”
Masher angled his head, then looked to Golden Boy for advice. “That one’s mine,” GB said. “Maybe six months.”
Skyler bit back a groan. Six months on “My girlfriend dumped me, so I jumped her friend. Now I’m in the hospital nursin’ my rear end”?
But Jack nodded as if he’d expected this answer. “It ain’t gonna fly, boys.”
Golden Boy pouted.
“But I have an idea,” Jack continued with such confidence Skyler found herself smiling. His voice was calm and controlled. His brown eyes reflected determination. The man could sell snowballs in Phoenix. My hero. She was tempted to sigh and bat her lashes.
Wait just a dang blasted second. My hero? She did not want, at all, under any circumstances whatsoever, a hero.
Especially one who was leaving. One she could never keep.
“You should be a cover band,” he said before she could panic about the direction of her thoughts.
Masher and Golden Boy exchanged confused looks, but the drummer understood. “You want us to sing other people’s songs?”
Jack nodded. “Audiences are more accepting of songs they already know. You could get some experience while you work out your own sound.” He slid his hand along Skyler’s thigh, causing her pulse to hum with pleasure. “Skyler actually gave me the idea.”
Startled, she glanced up at him.
“She said you’ve changed your style several times over the last few years. If you looked like the others as much as you look like a metal band today, you obviously understand about image and performing. All that’s left is—”
Musical ability? Skyler thought, suppressing a giggle, while the guys stared in rapture at Jack.
“—practice,” he finished. “How often do you rehearse?”
“Once a week or so,” Masher said.
Jack shook his head. “Try once a day. How many paying gigs have you played this month?”
Masher looked away. “Uh, well…we got that twenty bucks from you.”
Golden Boy snapped his fingers. “And we played Masher’s granny’s birthday party a couple weeks ago. She gave us five bucks each.”
“If you work at this, you could be earning a hundred bucks each, maybe more.”
The guys remained silent a moment, absorbing the possibility of a raise. Finally, Masher said, “If we do this—playin’ other people’s songs—you’ll let us in the festival?”
“We’re only two votes on the committee, but we’ll do our best to convince the other members.” Jack leaned forward. “It’s up to you to do the work. We’re just offering you an audition.”
“Okay, man,” Masher said. “We need to take a vote.” The guys stood, then ambled to the other side of the bar.
Skyler propped her chin in her hand. “That was pretty ingenious. Do you really think they can do it?”
“We’ll see.” Jack leaned back in his chair. “I knew some guys like that back home. They wanted to perform at my grandparents’ bar. My grand-père gave them the same advice. Now they’re the biggest hit in south Louisiana.”
The man flirted outrageously and helped a hardworking bar owner in his spare time. He owned a motorcycle, but had compassion for four talent-challenged rock wanna-bes. He fought fires, floods and disease, but held her in his arms when she was scared. How was she supposed to fight against that reckless, but gentle contrast?
He squeezed her thigh. “Sorry, chère. This isn’t exactly how I planned to spend the rest of our date.”
The warmth of his hand burned her skin, even through her clothes. “What did you plan?”
Stroking his finger along her leg, he grinned. “How ’bout makin’ out in my Jeep?”
She smiled back. He was joking, right? She hadn’t made out in a car since she was a teenager, and even then not for very long. One of her brothers always found out.
Brothers?
She glanced around quickly. They were in a public place, touching, talking. Half-empty beer mugs rested on the table. To anyone who didn’t know they were on a mission for the committee, this looked suspiciously like a date. The bar wasn’t very crowded, and no one seemed to be paying any special attention to them, but Wesley always popped up in unexpected places. She’d told her brother to let her handle Jack, but she doubted he’d listened. And she really couldn’t blame him. She’d always welcomed his protection before. Before Jack.
Jack’s hand tightened on her leg. When she looked up at him, she noted a glint of anger in his eyes. “Worried about bein’ seen with me?”
“Yes,” she whispered, brushing his hand off her leg. “This is committee business, remember?”
A muscle along his jaw pulsed. He said nothing.
What is his problem? Skyler thought with a touch of irritation. She was trying to protect him. His precious fire fighting career would be over before it began if he wasn’t careful.
He looked away. “Right. Committee business.” He sounded hurt.
Well, hell. “You know what I mean. The committee can be our cover.”
“You got a lotta covers, chère. Dates. Lingerie. You ever worry you can’t keep ’em all straight?”
She stiffened. “My shop doesn’t have anything to do with—”
“You got a deal, man,” Masher said, suddenly appearing next to the table, the rest of the band trailing him. “When’s the audition?”
Jack stood, shaking Masher’s hand, then following through with the others. “How about two weeks from tonight? At the Leather and Lace. You know the place?”
“Sure, man.” Masher’s face broke into a wide smile. “Cool joint.”
“I’ll have to check with the owner. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
They exchanged phone numbers, and within minutes, the new and improved Metal Heads were strolling out of the bar with considerable bounce to their steps.
Jack glanced at her. “I guess the meeting’s over.”
His eyes were distant, even cold. His jawline hard. She’d never seen him like this. He was in a real snit. Well, that was just fine with her. She certainly didn’t appreciate him insinuating she liked keeping secrets. If he didn’t understand her efforts to protect him, he could just stuff it.
“Let’s go.” She turned, making sure her hair swung out in a wide arc, so he’d have no doubt she was annoyed, then stalked from the bar.
In the Jeep, she felt queasy. The lighthearted, teasing relationship she’d enjoyed with Jack had disappeared, replaced by silence and chilled air. As much as she resented his resentment, she wanted the old Jack back.
This is for the best, her heart whispered. She’d told herself all night this would be their one and only date. If he stayed angry with her, she wouldn’t have to explain her one date only theory. Yes, it was better this way. Certainly safer.
By the time he pulled into her driveway, though, she knew she couldn’t let anger lie between them. She had to make him understand about her family…and about her.
He got out of the car, then walked around to open her door. When he grabbed her hand to assist her to her feet, she said, “We need to talk.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned back against the hood. “Fine by me.”
The distance in his eyes, in his stance was depressing. “I had a great time tonight, but you know as well as I do if my brothers found out we’ve gone on a date, they’ll make your life miserable, possibly get you fired.”
He just shook his head. “No, I don’t know that.”
“Well, I do.” How could she make him understand? She paced beside the Jeep, her heels clacking on the driveway. Then she remembered when she’d called Wes the day before, bugging him about arresting a burglary suspect—by confronting him in the man’s driveway, alone at night, with no backup. “I give as good as I get, you know,” she said, spinning to face Jack. “I don’t get in the middle of my brothers’ love lives, but I nag them about their jobs, the risks they take. And if the price of being able to do that is a few missed dates then that’s okay by me.” At least it used to be okay, she started to admit. Before Jack arrived she’d never worried too much about the social life she was missing.
“You’re saying I’m too risky.”
Hell yes. “No. I’m trying to tell you I’m too risky for you. Wes has already thrown you in jail.” She planted her hands on her hips. “What do you think he’ll do if he finds out we went out? It won’t be pretty, believe me.”
“You know that bossy side of yours turns me on, chère.” He arched one eyebrow. “Do you want that, too?”
Looking at him, leaning against the black, adventurous-looking Jeep, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his shirt pulled tight across his broad chest, those intoxicating eyes focused on her face, she wanted him to put his arms around her more than she wanted to draw her next breath. But drowning herself in their physical attraction wasn’t a solution. And she didn’t understand why he couldn’t be circumspect—for his own good.
This wasn’t getting them anywhere. “How long have you been a firefighter?”
“Five years.”
“Why did you become one?”
He shuttered his feelings as if she’d flipped off a light switch behind his eyes. Shrugging, he returned with “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Okay. Wrong topic.
“What does your job mean to you? How would you feel if you couldn’t do it?”
“My job is everything,” he said softly, dropping his gaze.
She sucked in a breath. She’d suspected as much. Be careful, she wanted to plead. Don’t take unnecessary chances. Don’t leave a widow, kids without a father. Don’t—
She ground to a halt, rolling her shoulders. “You want to move beyond Baxter. You want to work in Atlanta—the big city, you said. True?”
“Oui.”
Swallowing a lump rising in her throat, she fought for the right words to push him away. “You won’t be able to make that move without Ben’s recommendation.” And I can’t deal with losing someone else I care about. Maybe she wouldn’t lose him the way she lost her father, but he’d leave Baxter. Lost to her either way.
He was quiet for several long moments, and Skyler waited for reality to settle over him. But, as usual, he surprised her. “I think you’re worryin’ over nothing. I’m pissed about hiding our date. I thought I could deal with the secret, but I can’t.” He pushed away from the car, turned away, then back, staring directly into her eyes. “I don’t know what’s real.”
Realizing she was getting what she wanted, yet inexplicably miserable about it, she said, “You don’t want to see me unless I tell my family about us.”
“I don’t want to hide.”
“So, this is like, what? An ultimatum?”
He inclined his head. “If you like.”
Unconsciously, she’d suspected he wouldn’t settle for hiding. And hiding their date was an easy way of hindering the relationship before it even began. Take a risk, while still playing it safe. “I won’t risk your career.” Or my heart.
“Don’t you think it’s ’bout time your brothers let you lead your own life and make your own decisions?”
She lifted her chin. “I am making my own decision.”
He cupped her jaw, stroking his thumb across her cheek. A gesture of regret if she’d ever seen one. “’Tite ange Skyler, the great protector.” Without another word, he walked around the Jeep, opened the door, then slid inside. As the engine sprung to life, he closed the door.
“See you around, chère,” he said through the open window.
“I don’t even get a kiss?” she shouted after him. Of course, being the great protector—especially of herself—she’d waited to yell after his Jeep had already roared down the street.
“COMMITTEE BUSINESS, my ass,” Jack muttered to himself as he counted boxes of bandages in the firehouse supply closet.
Why did she want to hide so much? And why did the idea bother him?
He’d hidden relationships before—the prom queen, who hadn’t wanted her old man to know about Jack and his motorcycle; a woman in paramedic school, who he’d later learned was married. He’d brushed off these bumps in his love life with a shrug.
But the idea of Skyler being ashamed of him filled him with an anger and pain he didn’t want to consider too closely.
“I brought you something.”
Skyler?
Jack glanced around quickly, then noting he was still alone in the storeroom, rested his forehead against a shelf. Hell, now he was hearing her voice.
“Steve, get your hand out of that basket this instant!”
That he’d hadn’t imagined. He stuck his head out the storeroom door, and saw Skyler strolling through the den, a large wicker basket looped over her arm.
A line of firefighters trailed in her wake. Drooling.
Even as a grin started to tug his lips, he smelled the chicken. Fried chicken. Biscuits, too.
That explained the line. The drooling could either be the food or the candy-apple red tank top and denim shorts barely covering Skyler’s curves.
He walked down the hall and fell in behind his colleagues. They formed a line along the bar separating the den from the kitchen. Skyler batted her brother’s hands off the food as she unpacked the basket.
“Hey, Jack, I think we’ll move gumbo night,” Steve said. “Cool?”
Skyler’s head jerked up at his name. She met his eyes, then her gaze danced away just as quickly.
He’d switched his work day with another guy, so she couldn’t have known he’d be at the firehouse. He tried, and failed, to tamp down his disappointment at her reaction.
She was running like a scared deer from their attraction. And damned if he knew whether it was to protect him, or herself.
Part of him knew she’d been right the other night. His career was vital to him—a career that would take him away from Baxter. Getting involved in a serious relationship was not a good idea at this point in his life. And he couldn’t imagine dating Skyler casually.
But that didn’t make him want her any less.
He kept his distance as the food was served, then sat at the opposite end of the table during dinner. Resentfully, he watched her smile and chat with the other guys.
He finally managed to casually brush against her as he carried his dishes to the sink. “Dinner was great, chère. Thanks.”
She glanced up at him, staring over his shoulder. “You’re welcome.”
He half smiled, his gaze skimming down her body. “I’d prefer to be welcomed.”
Her gaze darted to Steve. “Be quiet.”
He clamped his teeth together for a moment in an effort to keep the resentment from his voice. He leaned toward her. “You’re much more fun when you’re playing rebel. How rebellious are you underneath?”
Though her face flushed, her gaze met his, the heat in her eyes unmistakable. Why was she resisting? How was she resisting? He was on the verge of grabbing her, of telling her he’d hide in a cave indefinitely, when Steve bumped her aside.
“Sit, Sky,” her brother said. “We’ll clean up.”
“Uh, sure.” Skyler backed away, stumbling over a firefighter, then knocking over a chair. “I need to get home anyway. Bye.” She grabbed her basket, then fled the room.
Jack watched her go. Wanting her. Wanting her way too much.
AT THE Leather and Lace a few days later, Jack nursed a beer and his temper, reflecting on another awkward encounter with Skyler. He’d sat next to her during another “emergency” committee meeting called by the mayor—where they’d discussed the proper shade of red for the banners for two hours—yet, a stone statue could have been beside him for all the warmth she showed.
He had to face facts. His own parents never wanted him. Why did he expect Skyler to? She could have anybody. They didn’t belong together. Simple as that.
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