Intoxicated (21 page)

“Jesus, Randy. Didn’t I tell you to stay away from her? Shit! Don’t tell me she wants to quit.” His head began to thump with a ferocity that made his brow furrow. He rubbed at the crease.

“She’s pissed,” Randy admitted sheepishly. “I slept with someone else. I don’t know how she found out about it.” He scratched his head as if still puzzled. “It’s not like we’re exclusive or anything.”

“What did I tell you about that? You should never shit where you eat, man.” The throbbing grew, intensified, until his head felt like it might burst wide open. “We’ve got a big weekend coming up and I can’t get through it with no waitress. Hell, even one waitress won’t be enough.”

“I don’t need any lectures from you. You’re life is ten times more fucked up than mine.” Randy’s eyes flared with temper. “I’ve got this. You go take care of your own shit and let me handle Tasha.” With that, he sauntered into the hallway and left Jack alone on the barstool.

Although he hated to admit it, Randy was right. He was in no position to give advice to anyone about relationships. His relationship with Chelsea had been an epic failure from the start and after today, he and Ally were headed down the path of failure as well. The thought of her soft green eyes filled with hurt as he confessed his transgressions made his chest ache with unfamiliar remorse.
 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Hey, Jack. It’s Ally again. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I’m sure you’re busy but give me a call back or text me.” The day had passed without any word from Jack. She hung up the phone and drummed her fingernails on the kitchen counter. She was beginning to feel like a stalker and didn’t like it. Still, she worried about him in a way that she’d never worried about anyone before. There was vulnerability beneath Jack’s machismo that brought out a new tenderness within her and a sense of responsibility toward him.
 

Despite her concern for Jack, there was no time to stress over it. Her nerves hummed as she prepared for dinner with her father. He’d called her up out of the blue an hour earlier and asked to see her. They had been close once, but she hadn’t seen him since moving to the city. Their weekly phone calls had dwindled to monthly and even though he lived less than an hour from the city, they never saw each other. The idea of sitting across from him in a restaurant made her palms sweat. To know that he had deliberately sought her out didn’t help matters. Michael Taylor had a reputation as a hard-nosed businessman, rough around the edges, and as unyielding as the steel beams he installed in his buildings. His method of parenting was just as cold and unforgiving. That he loved her she had no doubt, but he had never in word or gesture given any hint of emotion behind his blue eyes.
 

Although he had assured her on the phone that the motives behind his visit were purely altruistic, she suspected that he meant to break some sort of devastating news to her.
 

As Ally stepped out of the shower, the doorbell rang.
Shit.
It was way too early for her father; he was such a stickler about punctuality. In a panic, Ally wrapped her wet hair in a towel and trudged to the door. Without checking the peephole, she flung the door open.

“Nice towel.”

“Jack? What are you doing here? Is everything okay? Shouldn’t you be at the hospital?” She was so relieved to see him that she nearly flung herself into his arms. As always, her heart soared at the sight of him, but the flood of endorphins was followed by immediate panic. With bearded stubble darkening his square jaw and rain drops glistening on the shoulders of his t-shirt, he looked like her father’s worst nightmare. Mike, conservative and narrow-minded when it came to his daughter, would never approve of Jack’s long hair and disheveled rock star chic appearance.
 

“Nope. I’m right where I should be.” One black eyebrow cocked in amusement as he lounged against the door frame, a yellow rose clutched in one hand. She let out a sigh of exasperation. Jack ran a hand through his wet hair and grinned. It was so hard for her to be irritated at him, with his dimples flashing and his eyes twinkling. With one hand clutching her towel at the breast, she used the other hand to grab his shirt and pull him over the threshold.

He stumbled, laughed, and lurched into the foyer with uncharacteristic awkwardness.

“This is for you,” he said and waved the rose in front of her with a flourish. The sweet scent mingled with the smell of rain. Delicate pale yellow petals were tipped with pale pink, dotted with drops of water that glistened like diamonds. It was a hybrid tea, a peace rose, her favorite. She knew the name because her grandmother had grown them in her garden and Mrs. Hinkle, the old biddy who lived next door, raised them as well.

“Jack, where did you get this?” She took the rose from him, careful to avoid the thorns, and took a sniff at the delicate petals.

“There’s a bunch of them next door,” he said. “You want some more? I can get them for you.”

“Uh, no. But thank you.” Despite her mortification, she smiled at him. If Mrs. Hinkle caught him in her prize rose bed, there would be hell to pay for both of them. The sweet gesture warmed her however.

“Jack?” As he walked by her, a whiff of whiskey burned her nostrils.

“Yep?”

“Are you drunk?”

“Nope. I passed up drunk around lunchtime. I think the proper term is
shitfaced
.” He pulled off his boots one at a time, listing to one side like a sinking ship, stepped out of the foyer and took in the living room with brazen interest.
 

In all the times she had seen Jack, he’d never once shown signs of intoxication. He must have been pounding them down to get so drunk.
Ah, well, boys will be boys,
she thought as he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of those sexy low-riding jeans that he always wore and let out a long low whistle.
 

“So this is your crib, huh?” He turned in a slow circle but the movement proved too much and he plopped onto the sofa. “How come you never invited me over here?”

“I was going to, but you never called me back. And you can’t stay now. My dad will be here shortly and he won’t appreciate finding a strange drunk guy in my house.” She went back to the door and waited, but he remained on her sofa.

“You ever been to that little pub down the street? The one with all the hats on the walls?” One of the sofa pillows slipped to the floor. He bent to retrieve it and nearly followed it off the sofa. “Whoa, shit. Sorry.” He tucked the pillow under his arm, stuffing it into the space behind him with enthusiasm, as if it might try to escape again. “Great drink specials and a very nice waitress too. Katie or Kitty or Kathy…I don’t know…something like that. I asked her if she wanted to come work for me, but she said…”

“Her name is Margaret and she must be at least fifty years old. Jack! Focus.” Ally wavered between amused and irritated. His brown-eyed gaze slid past her, returned, and sharpened. “Did you hear what I said? You can’t stay. My dad’s on his way here. I need to get ready.”

“So get ready.” He slid deeper into the sofa, taking a copy of Vogue magazine from the coffee table and leafing through it. “I’ll just hang out while you get dressed.”

“Well…suit yourself.” She shook her head and bit her lip to hold back the smile that threatened to escape. To her growing amusement, he followed her down the hallway, bumping along the walls to the bedroom and proceeded to watch as she dried her hair and applied her makeup. For a time he wandered around her room, touching her things and rummaging through her classic album collection. She glanced away and when she looked back, he had a garter belt and thong in his hands. He whistled admiringly.

“How come you never wear this?” he asked, holding it up as if imagining her in it.

“Maybe I do,” she answered with a shrug and made a swipe at the garter belt. Her hand slipped off the elastic and it snapped his hand like a rubber band. He laughed like a schoolboy.

“Will you wear it now? And then let me take it off?” The lopsided grin on his face made her laugh out loud.
 

“As enticing as that idea is, I don’t think now is the time.” She snatched the undergarments from him, shoved them back into her dresser drawer, and slammed it shut with a bang. She wasn’t quite sure how to control him. Finally he sprawled out on her bed, his long legs hanging over the edge as he leaned back on his elbows, looking like a disheveled GQ cover model.
 

“You can’t just come over here unannounced and shitfaced. You make me crazy.” She turned around, put her hands on her hips, and tried to look menacing.

“Yeah, yeah, stand in line,” he replied. “That’s why I’m here. To make peace. Or get a piece. Whichever.” He smirked and leered at her towel. “I missed you, Popsicle.” One black eyebrow arched to taunt her while his dimples deepened.
 

“Oh my God! You are infuriating!” With her self-control ruined, she grabbed a pillow from the bed and proceeded to beat him about the head and neck until feathers flew, putting all of her frustration into flogging him. He raised his hands in a feeble attempt to protect himself, laughing so hard that his face turned bright red beneath his tanned skin.

 
“Damn, but you’re hot when you’re mad,” he said. “Remind me to make you mad more often.” She rewarded him by swatting him with the pillow again, raining blows over his face and shoulders until her arm ached. Exhausted and exasperated, but feeling somewhat vindicated, she stopped to catch her breath.

“Come here. I want to kiss you so bad right now.” The low timber of his voice made her toes curl. He crooked a finger at her and beckoned in a seductive
come hither
motion.

Deep inside that sexy man was an incorrigible little boy, she realized. She raised the pillow to swat him again, but he caught her by the forearm and gave it a tug. She bounced onto the mattress with a squeak of surprise. A glimpse at his face told her that he was enjoying this way too much. With a speed that surprised even her, she rolled over and landed on top of him, pinning his arms down by the wrists.
 

“Ha! Now I’ve got you,” she exclaimed in triumph. His face was red from laughing and his dimples deeper than ever. They were both breathing hard. He squirmed beneath her, testing her grip. She scrambled up into a sitting position, straddling his waist, and tightened her thighs around him. “Ha!” she said again.

Suddenly he bucked and before she could draw her next breath he rolled her beneath him and stretched over the top of her, holding her captive.

“If you’ve got me, it’s only because I let you, baby girl,” he said in a low and dangerous voice. He lifted his head to kiss her. She’d forgotten how soft his lips were. The taste of whiskey burned her tongue; she almost felt intoxicated from the contact.

“How much have you had to drink anyway?”
 

“Dunno,” he replied. “Lost count. Kitty…Kathy…Katie cut me off.” He snorted. “She cut
me
off. Can you believe it?”

Ally made a mental note to thank Kitty…Kathy…Katie the next time she visited the pub.

“Let me up, Jack.” She wriggled beneath him. “I’m serious. My dad hates it when I’m not ready.”

With a melodramatic sigh, he rolled away from her. “Fine,” he pouted.
 

She finished with hair and makeup, just a sweep of blush and clear lip gloss, and proceeded to put on her outfit. Casting a wary glance in his direction, she hesitated.

“It’s not like I haven’t seen it before,” he said as if reading her mind. She scowled and was rewarded with another one of those rare devastating smiles. “You aren’t wearing that, are you?” He nodded at the clothes draped over the end of her bed.

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” She had chosen a sleeveless black shell and dark gray slacks. She had put a lot thought into that outfit, searching for the perfect mix of casual and sexy, hoping to impress her father with her conservative good taste. Jack shook his head in disapproval.
 

“Great if you want to look like an Amish schoolteacher,” he answered. “What about that green dress you wore to the bar a while back?”

“You remember that?” For a minute, she forgot to be mad at him, stunned that a man –
any man
– could recall such a thing. Brian hadn’t noticed when she cut her hair during a personal mini-crisis, let alone her wardrobe on any given day.

“Sure. Your tits looked amazing. I wanted to rip it off of you – with my teeth.”
 

“I spilled a drink on it,” she said. “Besides, we’re only going to dinner.”

He frowned, deep in thought, then leaped from the bed and began going through her closet. He threw a pair of jeans at her, the ones with bling on the pockets. “I bet your ass looks amazing in these,” he said before she could interrupt him. “Now for the top.” He rifled through the hangers before pulling out a simple short-sleeved white blouse. She raised an eyebrow at him and he shrugged.

“I’ve got six sisters,” he said as if that explained everything.

“Can you turn around?” She contemplated dressing in the closet but there really wasn’t room between all of the purses and shoes.

“No,” he replied. His eyes brightened with mischief. “I’ll help you get dressed.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” As usual he ignored her and rummaged through her lingerie drawer for a pair of pink silk panties. “You’re going to fall down and break something.”