He was not used to doing anything other than what he damn well pleased.
He’d been doing exactly what he damn well pleased for over twenty years.
And what would have pleased him was to pack a bag, load up his dogs and spend the f**king night at the cottage with Belle who he’d make absolutely certain was na**d the vast majority of the time.
However Belle felt it necessary to perform this act of contrition.
He found this odd, he didn’t like it but he’d speak to her about it later.
At that moment, he had another mountain to climb.
“Belle,” he called and he felt rather than saw her eyes turn to him from their study of the landscape.
“Yes?”
“I spoke to Elaine today,” he told her.
There was silence then a hesitant and somewhat confused, “That’s good.”
“About your things,” Jack went on.
“My things?”
“She’s moved them into my room.”
He heard her sharp intake of breath.
“Jack –” she began.
Jack cut her off, “There’s no longer any reason why you or I have to roam the halls in our pyjamas every night.”
“But…” she started and trailed off.
He glanced at her to see she was staring at him. He saw she looked that annoyed confused or a confused annoyed, he again didn’t know which.
He still thought it was adorable and wanted to grin but he bit it back, looked at the road and asked, “Can you give me a reason?”
“A reason for what?”
“A reason why you or I need to be roaming the halls at night.”
There was more silence then a quiet, “No.”
“Good. That’s settled then,” Jack declared decisively.
“Jack!”
“Belle,” Jack said to the windshield.
“What will Elaine think?” she asked and Jack couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing.
When he glanced at her swiftly again, the confusion was gone. She was still staring at him, definitely now just cross, before turning his eyes to the road.
“Poppet, you’re pregnant. I think Elaine has guessed by now we’ve been sexually active.”
There was another moment of silence, she sighed then she asked, “Don’t you think it’s too soon?”
“What’s too soon?”
“Any of it. All of it,” she replied.
He knew what she was asking.
Jack looked to her lap, reached out and took her hand then his eyes turned back to the road. He brought the back of her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips against her knuckles.
Then he dropped their hands to his thigh and kept hold of hers.
“No,” he stated simply.
“You’re sure?” she whispered.
At her question, a number of memories rapidly tore through his head. They included that tendril of hair against her neck the first night they met. The way she responded to his first kiss and every one since. Last night, the third time he’d had her, after they ate, when she was on top, moving on him but bent forward, her face in his neck, the sexy noises she made sounding direct in his ear while he felt her sleek, tight wetness sliding against him. And that morning, her excitement about eggs and her resulting, adorable chatter.
“More than I’ve been of anything in my f**king life,” he replied firmly.
He felt her hand convulse in his.
Finally, she said softly, “Okay.”
The Point came into view and Belle, clearly ready for a subject change asked, “How did The Point get its name?”
“It’s a house on a cliff,” Jack replied.
“I know but how did it get its name?” Belle repeated.
He gave her hand a squeeze, “Chy An Als, in Cornish, means ‘house on a cliff’.”
She let out a surprised giggle, something she’d been doing a lot lately, the sound of it something he enjoyed immensely and said, “That’s it? Your ancestors named their formidable castle the House on the Cliff?”
“Apparently they weren’t very creative,” Jack remarked dryly.
She emitted another giggle. Jack squeezed her hand. She squeezed his back and said in an amused whisper, “I love it.”
“The name or the house?” Jack asked.
“Both,” Belle gave her answer, an answer which Jack thought earned her another brush of his lips on her hand and that was exactly what he did.
He’d parked in front of the house and they were halfway up the steps when she stopped and turned to him.
Jack looked down at her.
She met his eyes instantly which made Jack smile.
“I have a feeling,” she started softly, “at some point you should explain exactly what I agreed to in the car.”
There was no anxiety in her voice or self-consciousness in her posture.
She knew it was important, Jack moving her things to his room.
But she wasn’t frightened of it.
This indicated to Jack that she trusted him.
He had the intense desire to snatch her into his arms and carry him to their room and, in celebration, christen it exhaustively.
He controlled that desire and instead told Belle, “We’ll talk soon, poppet.”
She looked away and kept walking up the stairs saying only, “Okay.”
They’d stepped a few feet into the entry hall when Rachel, wearing another of her strange t-shirts, this one green with yellow writing that declared “I said… I want coffee!” came flying down the stairs.
“I found them,” she shouted, skidding to a halt in front of Belle and Jack before she continued excitedly, “And they sound perfect.”
“Who sounds perfect?” Belle asked.
“The Ghost Helpers!” Rachel cried with enthusiasm and Jack tensed.
“The Ghost Helpers?” Belle asked Jack’s question and she asked it in an alarmed tone that reflected Jack’s feelings precisely.
“Yes.” Rachel got closer. “They don’t work together all the time but Cassandra thinks this might be a case where they need to team up.”
“Cassandra?” Belle queried.
“Cassandra McNabb. She’s a clairvoyant white witch,” Rachel answered.
“Fucking hell,” Jack muttered and Rachel’s eyes went to him.
“No, she’s good. I called her references,” she informed him.
“Fucking hell,” Jack repeated at the thought of a witch having references and Rachel’s eyes narrowed ominously.
“You said she’s working with someone?” Belle put in quickly, seeing, and probably knowing far better than Jack, the level of portent behind Rachel’s narrowed eyes and they cleared when she looked back at her daughter.