Come Dancing (11 page)

“Hello, Julia,” he said, smiling and handing me the key.

He was outrageously handsome in denim that hugged his thighs, worn almost bare in places, and a cowboy shirt with metal buttons. His face had a bit of dark stubble that made me want to rub my cheek against it. Instead, I just said hello and asked if he wanted a drink. “I bought some whiskey.”

“I’ll have some of that.” He followed me to the fridge. “Give me a glass; I don’t want to drink so much tonight.”

I wonder if that means what I hope it means
. I handed him the bottle and let him pour his own.

“You don’t get hot in here?” He pinched the front of his shirt and fanned it.

“I’m used to it. Plus I get—”

“I know, you get a cross-breeze. Hey, you’ve still got that manuscript on your bed.” He ambled over to my futon, where several chapters were spread out.

“I’ve been working on it.” Stupidly I’d forgotten to finish clearing them off in my muddle over what to wear. I repressed the urge to leap on the bed and kick them all to the floor.

“So where are your blues records?” he asked, going to my wooden crates.

“In a special place.” I sat on the couch, watching him prowling around.

“Where? I want to see what you’ve got.”

“I don’t have nearly as many as you.”
Please, please don’t look in that crate
.

He turned to me, frowning. “That’s okay, baby, just show me. I’m in the mood for something good. You got any Muddy?”

Great; now I’m in for it
. “In that covered one there. Lift up the scarf.”

He draped the scarf over his shoulder and peered into the crate. “Hmm, what have we here … you’ve got all our albums.” He thumbed through them and looked at me, eyebrow raised. “You’ve got our stuff in here with your blues. Is this the place of honor?”

“Um … it might be.”
Why didn’t I realize this might happen?

“I didn’t even know you listened to my music. You sure kept that bit of information to yourself,” he said, eyeing me.

Pull yourself together, Julia
. “You don’t need me to tell you how good you are. You have enough people doing that.”

He held up an Albert King. “You think I have a swelled head? Thanks a lot. Here we have Howlin’ Wolf; very good. Here’s Otis and Billie … Wait, what’s this?”

He held up an index card I’d taped to the front of the crate. “Please Do Not Touch,” he read.

A flush crept up my face. “Sometimes my friends aren’t careful with my records. I just didn’t want those particular ones to get scratched.”

“Well, I’m honored to be in the Please Do Not Touch section,” he said with a wicked grin. He sauntered over and sat next to me, putting his glass on the table. “Actually, though … ”

He slid closer, his dark eyes seeming to glitter in the low light. “I’ve been really wanting you to touch.”

He took my hand, and a swift blue jolt shot up my arm. He pulled me toward him and his lips met mine; whiskers, whiskey, tongues slow. He kissed me again and then again, more urgently as I responded.
God, his lips, his sensual tongue
… I wound my fingers in his thick hair, his hands moving on me, flashes of lust darting through me like quicksilver.

“Julia, I’ve been waiting … so long for you,” he murmured. He moved his mouth down the nape of my neck, making my skin tingle and my insides melt. “Since your bed’s occupied by Mr. Collins,” he said, his lips brushing my ear, “let’s go to my place.” He kissed me once more, sending a pang of desire twanging through me.

“Okay,” I whispered. I reached for my sandals under the table. I could barely fasten them, my hands were shaking so much. I locked the door, and we flew down the stairs and into the waiting car.

“My place,” he said to Rick. “Fast as you can.”

We sat smashed together, tongues entwined. With a groan he pulled me onto his lap. I could feel him hard beneath me, his fingers stroking my nipples through my blouse, each caress a teasing bee sting. We pulled up at his place and tumbled into the elevator, kissing and grabbing each other as it rose.

Jack tore off his shirt the minute we got inside. I gave a nervous giggle, unable to tear my eyes away from his muscled chest, his hard abdomen, the dark line leading down from his navel.

“You’re next,” he said, taking my hand and leading me back to his bedroom. He pulled off his jeans, all of him springing out at me. My breath caught as I took in his gorgeous body. He slipped off my clothes, picked me up in his strong arms and lifted me onto his bed; the warmth of his weight, hot skin on skin.

“God, you’re beautiful.” He tongued my breasts, and my back arched in response. “Do you know how much I’ve wanted to do this?” The length of his lean body, rock-hard against my slipperiness, his taut arms holding me. The line of his cheekbone above me, jaw tensed. Then he entered me, making me feel all of him, making me gasp. I splayed my hands on his back, sensing the coil and release of muscle as he glided in long, deep strokes. His breath started to come faster. He gripped me tightly and thrust, building until he exploded, throbbing inside me for a long time. I gazed at his dark eyelashes as he lay next to me, one arm flung across my chest. I could barely believe I was there with him, in his bed.

After a while Jack opened his eyes. He climbed on top of me and lavished my nipples with his tongue, then mouthed his way down to my belly, my inner thigh. When he pressed his face between my legs I propped up on my elbows, a little unsure about this.

“Relax, baby. I’m gonna make you feel great.” Jack went back to what he was doing, and I lay back on the pillow and tried to follow instructions. After a while I started to be less tense. A few minutes later, every iota of my being was focused on his lips.
This feels amazing … but what if I make a loud noise? Maybe he wants me to … Ahh, I don’t care what I do
…

I did make a lot of noise; it seemed to go on and on. What he did was so intensely pleasurable, I almost couldn’t bear it. My whole being was thrumming when he plunged into me again.

“Oh, Julia,” he said. “You feel ssooo good.”

I wrapped my legs around him and this time we went more slowly, his measured strokes creating ripples of my earlier rapture. He cried out as he filled me, face buried in my neck. The thumping of his chest gradually slowed to a regular beat. He fell asleep before I did, his arm twined around my waist.

In the morning I watched Jack slumber for a while, not wanting to wake him. I was still amazed that I was in his bed—not to mention the way he’d made love to me last night, which was a revelation. Now I got what the magazines and books were talking about; I’d always thought the descriptions were exaggerated, or maybe I was one of those women who didn’t get that much out of sex. Now I realized the fault didn’t lie with me.

I slipped into the bathroom. When I came out, Jack lay with arms behind his head, his handsome face framed by disheveled hair. His eyes followed my goose-bumped body across the floor. He lifted the sheet and I got in beside him. For a minute we lay smiling at each other on the pillow.

“Well,” he said, trailing his thumb down the curve of my hip, “I thought that would never happen.”

“Neither did I.” I reached up and traced the lines near the corner of his mouth, like I’d wanted to all along.

“I’ve been grinding away so hard at the album. I decided you were going to be my reward for all the blood and sweat. I’d get home at the end of a long session and lay here all night, imagining what it would be like …”

God, he’s a good kisser
.

“Then I’d get up in the morning and think about it some more,” he continued, his growly just-awakened voice sounding even more deeply British. “To tell the truth, it was early afternoon that I got up. Morning sounds more romantic though, doesn’t it?”

I laughed. “I guess so.” I put my arms around his neck and rubbed my face against the roughness of his cheek. His hands went to my breasts, sending twinges of yearning through me.

“So were you thinking about me?” he asked, pulling back to look at me.

“Maybe once in a while. When I had nothing better to do.”

“I’ll get it out of you.” Jack turned me over so he was behind me, one hand teasing my nipple. His long fingers parted me and dipped inside, then he began to stroke me, dipping again, stroking.

“You feel nice and ready,” he whispered in my ear. I was so immersed in the luxurious brimming sensation that I couldn’t reply. I heard myself starting to pant like an animal being pursued. My hips were moving in rhythm with his hand; I was mounting, peaking. Suddenly Jack thrust into me, and I burst.

As my cries subsided, he rolled me onto my stomach and began to move faster and harder. He bit my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. Inexplicably he slowed down.

“Don’t stop,” I gasped.

“You want me?” he asked, holding still.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes!”

“Good, because I really want you.” Afterwards, he showed me the indentations of my teeth on his fingers.

We got up eventually and showered, exploring each other’s bodies with lips and tongues until the hot water ran cold. The steam was so thick, we went into his room to towel off. The wide-open sex made me feel kind of exposed, but Jack acted like nothing was out of the ordinary. He must be used to women totally losing it in his bed.

“Hmm, I never would have guessed,” he said as we sat side-by-side on the edge of his mattress. He licked a drop of water off my shoulder.

“Never guessed what?”

“That you wanted me too.” Wet hair fell into his eyes, and he brushed it back.

“Who says I did?” I crossed my arms over my nipples, which were giving me away.

Jack raised his eyebrow. “Baby, you can’t tell me that. You were squeezing me like a glove.”

I blushed. “Okay, I admit it.”

“But you have to tell me when you first did. You were so inscrutable.”

I laughed and shook my head.

“See, you’ve got me using big words now. You’re rubbing off on me.” He put his hand on my bare thigh and smiled. “I have to confess, when I saw you in that black dress before the party, I felt like a schoolboy with his first wood. I had to put on my jacket to cover it up. I was looking out the window trying to think of something depressing so I wouldn’t offend you walking around all stiff.”

So that’s what he was doing
. “I wondered why you suddenly took an interest in the view.”

“Well, now you know. Let me go clean up a little before you get whisker burn.” Jack went whistling into the bathroom to shave, and I got up to borrow his brush. I stopped short, seeing several long blonde hairs trailing from the bristles. The heat of my passion dissipated. I wondered who’d used the brush, and how long ago. From what he’d just said, I thought maybe he wasn’t seeing anyone else; a dumb thing to presume about someone like him. I stared at the tendrils for a minute and then laid the brush down.
I guess I have a lot more to learn about Jack Kipling
.

I looked around the room, so large that even the king-sized bed didn’t diminish it. There were two guitars on armchairs, and a big dresser littered with change, rolling papers, and a few pictures of him with groups of people. One photo caught my attention; Jack kneeling next to an adorable little boy with sparkling brown eyes and dark hair standing straight up from his head.
So he must have a son
, I realized with a sinking feeling.
I wonder how involved with the mother he is. Maybe I can ask him about it if we keep seeing each other. Which doesn’t seem too likely, given the leftovers in his brush
.

I heard a dryer going for a minute, and then Jack came out of the bathroom. He plucked my discarded blouse from the floor. “I’ll give you something to wear. This one’s seen better days.” He went to his closet, disappeared inside, and emerged with one of his silky shirts.

“That might be a little fancy for Saturday morning,” I said. “Unless I was headed over to Tenth Avenue. What else is in there?”

“In here? It’s a bit of a mess.”

Curious, I went over to the door.

“Go on and take a look. You’ll see it sooner or later.”

I followed him inside the expansive walk-in closet …
Wow
. Clothes were strewn all over the floor, in baskets, on shelves, partially draped over hangers; men’s clothes, women’s clothes, all in a big jumble. Several of his jackets were thrown over hooks in the back. He picked up a shirt from the floor, sniffed it, then dropped it and picked up another. “I think this one’s okay,” he said, handing me a ruffled pink blouse.

“I don’t want to put on some floozy’s clothes,” I teased.

“You calling me a floozy?”

“Where did you get that?” I pointed to a frowsy blonde wig tossed on a high shelf.

“I dunno. Once in a while I have to go into deep undercover.”

“Which stuff is yours? It’s kind of a hodgepodge.” I picked through a pile; shirts of all colors, draw-string pants, patched jeans, spangled trousers, scarves, belts, black leather, brown leather … “Is it a rule that everyone who comes over has to leave one item of clothing behind?”

“Most of this stuff is mine. It’s me look; I wear what I like. I don’t care if it’s meant for women or guys.” I loved the way he slid back and forth between Cockney and American, especially when he used
me
instead of
my
.

“Uh-huh. I don’t know that this would fit you.” I held up a red bra that had to be a D cup.

“That was one of Sammy’s friends’.” He grabbed it and threw it into a corner. “You giving me a hard time about my wardrobe?” he asked, putting his hands on his hips. He was still naked, so the effect was intriguing. “I just need to get it organized.”

“I like your wardrobe. It’s an embarrassment of riches.” I picked up one of his cotton shirts and slipped my arms into the sleeves.

“Leave it unbuttoned so I can see the girls while I make breakfast.”

“Here you go; if you’re cooking, you’ll need this.” I untangled a lacy maid’s apron from a snarl of stockings and tied it around his waist. “Now you look ready for the kitchen.” The frothy fabric made quite a contrast with his black stubble and muscled chest.