His kisses were moving north, and he plucked lazily at her nipples. His gaze rolled over her, before he gave a little smile that was part smirk.
“You know, I don’t really want to let go. Ever.”
Well, then.
He must have read her mind. Because while giving him an out seemed like the polite thing to do, she didn’t really want him to let go either. Ever.
Chapter 8
At what had to be right smack in the middle of Saturday afternoon, Jamie stared at the ceiling above Jack’s bed, tired but wide awake, and sighed with contentment.
Wow. Double wow with a cherry on top.
Never in her life had she imagined sex could be so hot. She wasn’t feeling like anybody’s mother after all of that.
Jack had been the most incredible, thoughtful, sexy lover she could have imagined. And the things they had done.
Who knew they were possible? She was pretty sure they had invented a new position or two during the course of their bedroom adventures.
She had the satisfied ache between her thighs to prove it.
He had called her beautiful.
The sun was pouring through the window and dancing across her face. There was no way she could fall back asleep. Her mind was whirring a million miles a minute.
Jack was on his stomach, mouth open, his arm thrown across her chest protectively. She couldn’t resist stroking his hair just a little, curling a strand around her finger as she studied his smooth back.
She wanted to wake him up, but he looked so tired, so deep in sleep, that she knew she couldn’t do it. They’d been up for more than twenty-four hours, and had expended quite a bit of energy before they’d finally collapsed in sleep around noon. Maybe she should just leave him in bed and take a shower or fix some coffee.
With that in mind, Jamie slid out from under his arm, pulled Jack’s shirt off the floor, and slipped it on.
Checking to make sure he wasn’t awake to catch her being a fool, she buried her head in the collar and breathed deeply. It smelled like him. Woodsy and masculine.
In the strong summer daylight, she looked around as she walked down the hall to the kitchen, intent on starting some coffee.
It was a big apartment, filled with expensive, though haphazard furniture. It had the feel of a man, with lots of electronic toys and little in the way of color. She wondered what it would look like if it were Jack’s apartment. A lot homier than this, she imagined.
Lack of color worried her. It was like a metaphor for an empty life. Her own side of her room was stuffed with flea market finds like lava lamps, throw rugs, and fuzzy daisy wall hangings. The dominant colors were purple and orange.
Allison gave her a hard time about it, since she leaned toward the beige family in her decorating, but Jamie liked warm, happy colors with soft fabric.
The kitchen in the apartment didn’t look like it was used very often. After poking around, she found the coffee, and the French press coffeemaker. It took her a minute to figure it out, and while the water was boiling she wandered into the living room. Even though she’d spent some time in there on the couch, she hadn’t been looking at anything but the cashmere blanket and the ceiling. Now she took the room in without distractions.
There were pictures on the console table behind the sofa. She was a little curious to see who Jack’s friend was who could afford this pricey address.
It was a pleasant surprise to see Jack in the first picture she picked up. He was with two other guys, one of whom must be the apartment friend. They were on the beach, and Jack looked a few years younger than he did now. Probably college age. He had told her last night he was thirty.
He even looked cute in an eight-year-old photograph, tanned and windswept, showing off that chest she had explored and licked so thoroughly that morning. Jamie put the picture back and grinned to herself. Yep. She was definitely gone if she was cooing over old photos of him.
Absently she grabbed the next frame. Then did a double take. Jack was in this picture, too. Only it was Jack and a couple in their fifties, their arms around Jack while he stood in a graduation gown, holding a diploma.
Wait a flipping minute.
Why would Jack’s graduation picture be sitting in an apartment that wasn’t his?
And why did that woman look so familiar?
Curiosity compelled her to grab the next picture. Only she barely managed to keep from dropping this one on the floor in surprise.
Bigger than a surprise. More like breath-robbing shock. Jack was in that picture, too.
But that meant nothing compared to the fact that the woman standing next to him looked way more than familiar.
It was Caroline, Jamie’s roommate.
And her arm was slung around Jack and vice versa in a friendly way.
Jamie gasped and looked back at the graduation photo. No wonder that woman had looked familiar to her. She was Mrs. Davidson, Caroline’s mom, who Jamie had met when they had gone for a fitting for her bridesmaid’s dress for Caroline’s wedding.
Which meant that Jack must be Caroline’s older brother.
Oh, my word. Aside from the fact it was a strange coincidence she had met Caroline’s brother by accident on the subway, there was even more shocking news regarding Jack.
If he was Caroline’s brother, then he was also Jonathon Davidson, who just happened to be a millionaire.
The filthy rich Wall Street whiz who had retired a year ago. Mrs. Davidson had told her all about him while Jamie had been getting stuck with the seamstress’s pins.
She dropped the frame in her hand as if it were a bomb.
Which in a way it was.
Because if Jack was Jonathon Davidson, then chances were this was his apartment after all.
Meaning he had lied to her.
And she had slept with her friend’s brother.
Who was so completely not her type it was unreal.
The phone rang, causing her to jump and look toward the bedroom, feeling guilty and embarrassed. Like an idiot. A complete fool. She had fallen for Beckwith’s promise of a perfect man and had flung herself off a cliff without checking to see what was down below.
Sitting on the console table next to her, the phone continued to ring, and she couldn’t help but notice the caller ID with its little digital clock that read 4:02 P.M. The caller was Hathaway, Stephen.
It was a name that meant nothing, other than that Hathaway was also the name of the foundation Jonathon worked for, and she couldn’t help but wonder who would be calling Jack on a Saturday afternoon. Friend? Relative? Not that it was any of her business.
Really. Since she didn’t know any of his business at all. Since he was in fact a total stranger that she had only eaten dinner with, talked to all night, then engaged in multiple sex acts with.