Chapter Ten #2
Sylvie had to remind herself Jack was a polished and practised playboy.
He knew all the moves, memorised all the smooth lines that fed a woman’s ego.
She was cynical and jaded, so why should she feel a tingle of excitement at his comment?
It was madness to believe anything he said.
So many women had walked the road she was currently on with him.
Soon that road would come to an end. She was surprised it hadn’t already ended.
Neither of them wanted the fairy tale. Neither of them wanted forever.
They were only interested in each other for now.
Sylvie picked up her wine glass with her free hand and gave him a slanted smile. ‘Nice try, Jack, for a moment there I thought you were going to say you’d fallen madly in love with me.’
This time the silence was so intense Sylvie heard one of the petals fall from the rose on the table and land on the starched linen tablecloth.
Jack was looking at her strangely, his expression grave yet confused at the same time.
There was a frown pleating his brow, a shadow lurking in the back of his ice-blue eyes and an unusual set to his mouth.
He slowly leaned back in his chair, his hand releasing hers.
‘Is that what you want me to do? Fall in love with you?’ His voice held no trace of emotion, it was almost robotic.
Sylvie gave a tinkle of laughter to cover her own confusion over her feelings about him. ‘Relax, Jack. I’m here for a good time, not a long time.’
‘Good to know,’ Jack said with a smile that for once didn’t match his eyes.
But Sylvie couldn’t stop her thoughts drifting to a scenario where there wasn’t a clock ticking on their time together. The more time she spent with Jack Wilde, the more she realised she had only known a certain version of him, the version he wanted people to see, not the real Jack.
The Jack Wilde who was sensitive and deep, who cared about his brothers even though he claimed they weren’t close.
The Jack who loved and respected his grandmother for all the sacrifices she had made to bring up him and his brothers after they were tragically orphaned.
There were so many layers to the man she’d thought of as arrogant and overly confident.
He was still arrogant and confident and ridiculously privileged, but he was also a complex and deeply layered man. She had vastly underestimated his sensitivity, his generosity and kindness to those less fortunate than him, and the lengths he went to keep his philanthropy anonymous.
Sylvie had spent the last three or four years telling herself she hated Jack Wilde but now she was struggling to define her emotions.
Struggling to accept the change in her feelings.
Struggling to acknowledge the heartbreak she was setting herself up for if she were to reveal those feelings to Jack.
How could life be so cruel as to make her fall in love with a man who could not return it?
Her father had loved and left her and she had never seen or heard from him since.
How could she be sure it wouldn’t be the same with Jack Wilde?
It was better to keep her feelings to herself, to squash them, to smother them rather than let them out to leap and dance with joyful anticipation only to have them dashed upon the rocks of reality.
After dinner, Jack took Sylvie to a nightclub where the music was a mix of modern, jazz and slow sexy ballads they could dance to.
He longed to take her back to the hotel and make love to her but dancing with her was the best foreplay he had ever experienced.
She moved in his arms as if they were in perfect sync, their bodies flush against each other, his erogenous zones firing up with incendiary heat sending his pulse sky high.
He could feel his body stirring against her, the hot flow of blood urgent, desperate, hungry for satiation.
He was expecting his lust for her to have faded by now, to have at least lost its edge, but if anything, it had heightened, grown to a full-throttle force that was increasing every time he made love with her.
He was finding it confusing to define how he felt about her.
Lust was the first feeling but underneath that, something else was growing like tiny shoots pushing up through the cold winter’s earth in search of warmth and sunshine.
He tried to ignore them, to tread on them to stop them developing any further, but every now and again, something Sylvie would say or do would make those shoots push through his defences.
He didn’t want to fall in love with anyone, not even someone as smart and sassy and entertaining as Sylvie Rathbone.
There was so much he admired about her. She was a rag-to-riches tale of success and he couldn’t help but admire her for it.
So many people couldn’t rise above disadvantage but she had.
It said a lot about her determination, her drive, her grit and focus, which in a strange way reminded him of his own, although their childhood circumstances could not have been more different.
He had checked his privilege long ago. He knew he was lucky compared to most, notwithstanding the tragic loss of his parents.
Jack slid his hand down the slender curve of her spine, holding her close to his throbbing need. ‘Whose idea was it to go dancing?’ he said with a wry smile.
She gave a tinkling bell laugh that made his blood sing. ‘Yours, I believe. Are you in a hurry or something?’
‘Or something,’ he muttered, pulling her even closer.
She moved against him like a sensual cat and he had to smother a groan of longing. ‘I never used to like dancing until I met you,’ she said.
‘I like dancing with you too,’ Jack said, swirling her around to avoid another couple who were getting too close. ‘You’ve only stepped on my toes three times.’
Sylvie laughed again and his chest swelled like a party balloon. ‘Liar.’
‘Or maybe it was four.’
She linked her arms around his neck and gazed into his eyes, her nutmeg-brown eyes shining. ‘What have you got planned for us after this?’
Jack turned her again in his arms, enjoying the way her body moved with his in perfect unison. ‘Can’t you guess?’
She tilted her head to one side as if deep in thought. ‘A nightcap somewhere cosy and romantic and then back to the hotel to bed to make love until the wee hours.’
Jack grinned down at her. ‘Should I be worried you’re able to read my mind?’
Sylvie gave a twisted smile. ‘I’d be more worried if you could read mine.’
‘Why?’
There was a beat or two of silence before she answered.
‘Because it was easier to hate you before I spent any time getting to know you.’ There was a note of worry in her voice and her smile had faded.
Jack tipped up her chin with his index finger, locking his gaze on hers. ‘Let’s not let our feelings get out of hand, Sylvie. We’re having a good time together but that doesn’t mean we’re taking this further than a fun fling.’
‘I never said I wanted more than a fun fling.’ Her tone was defensive and her gaze sharpened. ‘I’m just saying I don’t hate you anymore. Or would you prefer it if I did?’
‘No, of course not.’ The last thing Jack wanted was Sylvie to loathe him.
He was enjoying their time together too much.
He had definitely enjoyed the spark of animosity she brought to their relationship at the start but now he liked the fact he could talk to her as an equal.
Although their backgrounds were so disparate, their work ethic and drive to succeed were the same.
He had not experienced such a connection with anyone else before, but he was wary of labelling it anything other than appreciation and respect of her on every level.
He found her forthrightness about what she wanted refreshing. She had been upfront right from the start about not wanting the fairy tale ending or expecting any sort of commitment from him. She was a career woman with no plans for settling down with a husband or partner.
It should have made him feel relieved but instead it made him feel inexplicably agitated.
He kept coming back to it like his tongue would do to a sore tooth.
It kept niggling at him but he couldn’t understand why.
He was a playboy who valued his freedom above all else.
But he was enjoying this temporary relationship with Sylvie and wasn’t in a hurry to end it anytime soon.
But he would end it.