“Oh, Jack! How awful.” He caught the betraying glitter of tears and felt something shift inside him, something deep and powerful. Something he wanted to protect himself from because it came from a wellspring of emotions he preferred to deny. “What happened to Joanne? Did she move back to Charleston to live with you and your father?”
“No. She was in college by then and flat out refused to have anything to do with our father.”
“Or you?” she dared to ask.
He refused to acknowledge the hit. For years he’d believed just that, until Joanne had finally set him straight. But by then he’d found a way to insulate himself from the sort of emotional pain that came from sentiment and familial attachment.
“We managed to revive our relationship, despite my father.” His mouth twisted. “Hell, Jo even found it in her heart to forgive him, not that he ever believed he required forgiveness. Ironically, Dad helped her find the lawyer who handled Isabella’s adoption.” Jack stood then, careful not to wake his niece, while putting an unmistakable period to the conversation. Annalise’s hand fell away, leaving behind coldness where once there was warmth. “Time I put our little one to bed. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He took his time settling his niece, needing those handful of minutes to rebuild his barriers. He’d told Annalise far more than he’d shared with any other woman, opening parts of himself that he’d sealed away for almost two full decades. He didn’t ordinarily let people in, didn’t dare. That sort of closeness often became messy, risked creating emotions like the ones that had sent his parents’ relationship spiraling into vicious arguments and acts of revenge.
He’d made up his mind at a very young age to avoid marriage at all costs. Even when he’d witnessed firsthand his mother’s loving relationship with her second husband, he still hadn’t trusted that their marriage was anything other than pure dumb luck. The union he contemplated with Annalise wouldn’t involve an emotional commitment. When they married it would be carefully scripted with neat, tidy, legal boundaries that specified every aspect of their wedded “bliss” right down to the date of their future divorce. As for any potential romantic entanglements …
That would be determined by contract, as well. He had no objection if she chose to share his bed. But she would enter the affair with her eyes wide open and all the cards on the table. He wouldn’t trick her with claims of affection. Theirs would be a mating of body and intellect. A sensible blending rather than an emotional one.
Satisfied that he’d fully regained his self-control, he turned and found Annalise watching him from the doorway. And that was when he realized he had no self-control when it came to this woman.
None whatsoever.
Chapter Five
Jack had no memory of closing the door to Isabella’s room. No memory of striding toward Annalise. No memory of backing her against the wall. But from the instant his mouth found hers, it was like a recorder flicked on, burning every tantalizing moment into the pathways of his brain.
He was overwhelmed by the distinctive fragrance of her skin and driven insane by the low, soft moan that reverberated in her throat. The heat of her hands and lips and flesh burned like wildfire, sweeping straight through to the frozen core of him and melting away walls of ice that he’d believed too tall and thick to ever be breached.
“I’ve tried, Annalise,” he said between quick, biting kisses. “I’ve tried to keep my hands off you. How many times have I promised I would? And yet …”
A husky laugh exploded from her, and she leaned her head back against the wall, exposing her throat. “Somehow it doesn’t quite work out that way.”
“You don’t understand. I always keep my word. Always. It’s a point of honor with me. But with you—” Frustration tore through him. “It’s like my body and brain are out of sync, or speaking different languages.”
“No communication?”
“None.” His hand drifted along the golden length of her neck. Then the urge to taste her consumed him and his mouth followed the same pathway his hand had taken. “Well, except for one single urge. On that point, all of the various parts of me are in total agreement.”
A line from the movie they’d just watched played through his head: Resistance is futile. It described his predicament precisely. Temptation beckoned again and he fought it for all of ten seconds before he tumbled. Unable to help himself, he cupped her breast and traced the rigid peak through the thin cotton of her tank top. The breath exploded from her lungs and her sooty lashes fluttered toward her cheeks in clear surrender.
He used his knee to part her legs and settled into the cradle of her hips, sliding against a body that combined a lean, tensile strength with a sensual softness. He wanted her in his bed, wanted those endless legs wrapped around him. Wanted to sink into her warmth until the last vestige of ice had been driven from his body.
Everything about her propelled him toward a place he’d never been before, never even knew existed. A gentle place. A place of solace. A place of beautiful urgency and endless possibilities. A place where he could safely lose himself in arms that would never let him go, while he basked in the warmth and light of her embrace.
He reached beneath her tank top and found a hint of what that sweet place would hold, and he lingered there while the heat built. Her br**sts slipped into his hands, filling them with their silken weight. Her ni**les were two hot buds of desire against his palms. He rocked his hips into place between her legs, setting a slow, torturous rhythm that ripped a moan from her throat.
“Sleep with me tonight,” he urged.
He watched the struggle play out across her face, a fierce battle waged between common sense and desire. He was intimately familiar with that particular battle. For a brief instant he thought she’d capitulate. But something held her back, something that caused a glimmer of panic to break across the planes of her face and an intense vulnerability to tarnish her eyes. It would seem he wasn’t the only one with painful memories.
“I can’t. We,” she corrected, “we can’t. Isabella has to come first. And if we do this, we’ll be torn between responsibility and desire.”
“I’ll always put Isabella first.”
“Then you won’t fight me about this. Because having sex with you isn’t putting Isabella first.”