Blackjack and Moonlight: A Contemporary Romance (26 page)

They hadn’t pulled the curtains, so the sunrise—nearly at the solstice—woke her early. She rolled over immediately to see if—no, he was there, solid, rumple-haired and asleep. She slumped against the mattress, her fear and tension dissolving immediately. He’d slept through the night.
Bless you, weird turkey chemical.

When she woke the second time, Jack was gone but she heard the shower before she could organize her thoughts into a coherent panic. She pulled one of his pillows toward her, inhaling that wonderful Jack smell. He was in the shower. Wait. He was in the shower. Wet. Naked. Soapy. Three things she was determined not to miss.

After she’d taken care of her morning breath, she hopped in the shower with him.

“I hope you’re not all done,” she said.

“I’m sure I can stay a little longer.” He slicked his hair back from his forehead. With some other guy, she would have suspected the point was to strike an artful pose, but not Jack. He probably had no clue how good his chest and shoulders looked.

She grabbed the body wash, handed it to him and turned her back. “Do me?” She laughed when she heard his rumble of amusement.

He was very thorough with the soap, but economical with water after he’d turned the shower down to a trickle. When she was slick with lather, she turned around and jumped up against his torso. She had to hold on to his neck and shoulders, fighting against the combination of gravity and zero friction, but that just made it easier to kiss Jack’s lips, gaping at her in surprise.

“Are we really going to try this? Sex in the shower?” he asked when she pulled back finally.

“That’s what the condoms are for.” She nodded at a shelf. “But hurry, okay? I’m in decent shape, but I can’t hang here forever.”

His hands tightened on her ass. “And how am I supposed to get a condom on?” Jack used his “Oh, really, Mr. Stupid Lawyer?” courtroom voice.

She tipped her head back in sheer joy. “Okay, okay, I’ll do it. Are you saying you’ve never had sex in a shower before?”

“I did warn you. I’m an old-fashioned guy.”

“Well, it’s one of those things, like having sex on an airplane, that’s more fun to say you’ve done than to do, but it’s still fun.”

“You’ve had sex on an airplane?”

“I’ll plead the Fifth on that.” She struggled to open a condom package with soapy fingers. Finally she used her teeth, having to
ptui
the soap taste from her mouth afterward.

Worth it, though, when she got to put the condom on Jack. She even got him to groan, low, in the back of his throat. So much for judicial neutrality.

She applied herself assiduously to the task of transferring soap slick from her body to his, then jumped back into his arms. “Now you press me against the tiles, remember some high school physics, and have fun.”

They were giggly for a few minutes, which was as delightful as the sex. Then there was a flash of fire in Jack’s eyes and the laughs stopped abruptly. She felt that tug, that pull toward an orgasm, a striving and eagerness and intense sense of purpose, urging, pushing, working until he got some soap in between them, and the touch of his fingers, his thumb—right there where she wanted it—was enough, was sublime. He kissed her, hard, as her body shuddered and pulsed, and she could feel his muscles tense, hold, then slowly relax.

“Remind me to fly someplace with you.” He rested his forehead against hers.

“Want to join the Mile High Club, huh?”

“I like the way you undersell these things,” he murmured against her temple, panting a little in the steamy heat.

Jack could get used to this. Relaxing in the garden with his beloved…

The sunny weather held through brunch, which they ate surrounded by newspapers weighted down with stones painted in primary colors and dated. He hefted one up to look at it—yellow with “June 18, 1989” in dark blue—but the newspapers fluttered and he promptly returned it.

“Where did these come from?” he asked as Elise emerged from the kitchen with more coffee.

“Huh? Oh, the rocks. Souvenirs from summer camp. I’d make one every year for Father’s Day. My father kept them all, but when they downsized after their youngest left for college, I was presented with a box of rocks. Literally.” She stared at the rock he’d replaced on the Sunday magazine section. He thought she was about to say something, but then she was back with him in her garden and the moment had faded to nothing.

Did she really not know that it was Father’s Day? Maybe she’d sent a card to her dad. Jack wanted to ask about him, about this man Elise never talked about, but it would just bring about that blank expression. Who knew? Maybe it was good that his presence stopped her thinking about her father.

“More coffee?”

He passed over his mug and watched as she poured. “Why don’t you talk about your family?” The question was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“What would you like to know?”

Her voice was pleasant enough but it smacked of those awkward interviews with a potential witness who feigned cooperation while not volunteering anything. Jack poured some milk into his mug. What he’d like to know is whatever she actually wanted to tell him. Failing that, he’d like to know why she didn’t want to tell him anything without his digging for it. Neither outcome was likely if he started deposing her.

He cradled his coffee mug and watched as the milk swirled the blackness into brown then mocha tan.

“Oh, you know. What you were like as a child. That kind of thing.”

Elise settled into her seat. He looked up to see if she was defensive or defiant, but she was smiling a suspiciously jovial smile.

“I was smart and sassy, of course. Why would you even need to ask?”

Because a minute ago you looked bleak and unloved
. He bit back the words. Elise wasn’t ready for an honest conversation about her feelings, even assuming she knew what they were.

“Of course, silly me.” He shook his head in self-derision.

When the afternoon got too hot, they moved indoors and clicked on the air-conditioning, then settled onto the couch with the Sunday crossword.

Halfway through the across clues, Elise said, “Do you want to stay tonight as well? You could go get your suit and briefcase before the Phillies game starts and then leave for work from here.” She didn’t look up from the grid.

She was cradled in his arms, her head bent over the puzzle in her lap. Jack couldn’t see her face. He leaned down to kiss the back of her silvery hair.

He’d watched her blow-dry it after their shower. He’d learned her silky-smooth hair style was the result of a time-consuming routine. He’d asked what would happen if she toweled it and let it dry naturally. It’d be like straw, she answered. It reminded him of fairy tales where straw was never good enough.

He didn’t want a relationship built on straw. He wanted something solid and stable and honest. He wanted Elise—who never talked about her childhood, her parents’ divorce, her first boyfriend, college, law school, or even who she was friends with online—to trust him enough to tell him who she was, where she’d come from.

For now, having her want him in her bed for an extra night felt like he’d won the lottery. He couldn’t celebrate too loudly, though. He needed to keep the real goal in focus.

“That would be great, thanks.” He could feel the tension leave her body. Had she been worried he would say no or worried he’d say too much? No way to tell.

She came back to his house with him, insisting that she wanted to see his magnificent walk-in closets. She was pawing through his silk ties while he filled an overnight bag with shoes and socks and an extra pair of boxers.

“This one.” She held out a blue Ferragamo tie he rarely wore.

“Giraffes? Why that one?”

She shrugged, leaning against the doorway to his bedroom. In shorts and a cute T-shirt, she looked the age his nieces had been when they’d given him that tie.

“It’s cute and silly. And I’ll enjoy knowing you’re wearing it.”

“Sounds good.” He rolled the tie up carefully and placed it in a shoe. “I’m set.”

They returned to her house for a lazy afternoon of sex followed by watching baseball.

The Phillies were up three-to-one against the Mariners when Elise’s phone rang. Jack expected it to be her friend Christine checking to see how the latest “sex date” had gone, but when Elise’s face froze and her body withdrew into marble stillness, he knew something was wrong.

“I see. How is she?” Elise tucked her free hand in under her arm as she stood near the kitchen, listening. She was pale and focused. He caught her eye and tried to convey his concern. She turned away slightly.

Something was very seriously wrong.

He stood up, waiting for her to say more. Elise wouldn’t look at him.

“When do you operate?”

Silence. Jack guessed her mother or stepmother had been in some sort of accident but he realized he didn’t know how many women Elise had in her life. He willed her to face him, to reach for his help or even some support.

“I’ll get the next plane out.” Pause. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

She replaced the phone in its charger and finally glanced at him. Her left shoulder was facing him and he could see her profile, the color of skim milk under the curve of her hair.

“Elise—”

“It’s my mother. She’s had a heart attack.”

He caught her in his arms and murmured against her hair, “What can I do?”

What
could
he do? He couldn’t prevent the horror that might be waiting for her in some hospital. He couldn’t spare her the pain of dealing with a sick parent or—
please God not dying. Don’t let Elise’s mother die
. He tried hard to think of something useful to offer, but he knew all he could do was to hold her safe in his arms. If she’d let him.

Jack’s body was solid and warm, tempting Elise to let him take care of everything. But she didn’t dare. There were things she needed to do. She couldn’t lean on anyone in this situation. She pulled away just enough to make him release her.

“Elise…”

She turned to look at him, her arms rigid across her chest. She saw his anxiety and concern. But she also saw Jack McIntyre again. The man who’d started this nonsense. The cover model from
Philadelphia Magazine
. She had no business assuming he fit in her life. She’d stopped noticing how handsome he was, tall and perfect even in casual clothes. Who was he? A stranger, really, even if they’d seen each other naked.

“I need to pack,” she said.

He stopped her with a light touch on her arm. “Elise, who called? What did they say?”

She forced herself not to push him out of her way. She had to get to Oregon, not explain things to—to this judge. A voice in her head tried to remind her this was
Jack
but she couldn’t entirely lose the sense of him as a stranger, someone she didn’t know well enough to trust.

She tucked her hands tight under her arms, hugging herself. “Her cardiothoracic surgeon. I gather she had symptoms at home, got to the ER and they’re rushing her into surgery. My number was in her wallet, so they called just to let me know what’s happening.” She kept her voice flat and discouraging. She saw the concern on his face, but she couldn’t care about his fears. She nodded once, then walked around him toward the stairs.

Her bedroom was a mess, the bed a rumpled playground. The room smelled of sex, which ordinarily didn’t bother her. It seemed obscene—depraved—while her mother was naked on an operating table. She stripped the sheets and stuffed them into the laundry hamper, which was already full with her regular laundry. She’d skipped doing laundry just so that she could lounge around with—with some judge.

“Where’s your linen closet?”

“What?” She swung around at Jack’s question. She’d thought he’d stayed downstairs watching the game, still audible in the background.

“I’ll make the bed while you pack.” His hands were open. He held them away from his body, as if he needed to demonstrate he was safe and not holding a weapon.

He looked worried. Worried about her. She tried to corral her thoughts into an orderly to-do list, but Jack’s presence was confusing her. “Okay,” she said finally, and pointed him to the closet on the landing.

She was pulling clothes from her dresser haphazardly when he spoke again. “Do you want me to find a flight for you?”

She looked over. He’d made the bed and tidied the room a bit. He was sitting in the armchair with a smartphone in one hand. Downstairs, the crowd at Citizens Bank Park cheered.

He waved the phone at her. “Where in Oregon?”

“Eugene.”

Elise went into the bathroom to get her toiletries. She tried to ignore the shower and the sensations it conjured up. That had been in a different life. She only had room for her mother and work right now.

“The latest flight that connects to Eugene leaves in less than two hours. Or there’s a later direct flight to Portland,” Jack called from the bedroom.

It was a two-hour drive from the airport to Eugene, but that would have to work. “Book the flight to Portland.”

“Promise me you’ll stay at a motel when you land, sweetheart,” Jack said softly from the doorway to the bathroom. “Or let me come with you.”