Chapter 14 #2
“No. Hypothetically, if one neighbor were responsible for a glittering, it was probably because the other neighbor had done something to deserve, if not that specific reaction, then definitely some reaction. But if, say, the glitter recipient were to retaliate for being glittered, it would just perpetuate a nuclear arms race that couldn’t possibly end well.
Probably best for the glitteree to graciously admit that they were party to the lead-up to their glittering. Hypothetically.”
“You’re a loon.”
“Never had a complaint before.” I’ve had so many complaints. “Don’t expect to have complaints in the future, either.”
A smile pulls at the corner of his lips. It’s very distracting. “The future? In general? Or did you have someone in mind?”
“Hmmm.” I take a sip of my wine and innocently raise my eyebrows with a shrug.
He laughs. “The suspense. All right, truce. And how is this… Even though I’d still love to buy your apartment and my own, I’ll help you put up the wall.”
“You? Fix the wall?”
“That look is insulting. La said she would only be able to set you guys up and then you’d be on the hook for the rest of the work.
This way you don’t need her. I know what I’m doing.
Unlike your ‘crew.’ And Gence said he can do the finishing work for a small fee.
He’s got a side business. I’ll even split the cost of materials with you. ”
“Why would you do that for me?”
“Because it’s what a normal neighbor would do?”
He holds up his glass, and I clink to cement the agreement. I can’t repress my grin at the thought of putting up a wall with Jack to replace the one I broke because of Jack.
His eyes drop to my lips, then languidly climb to meet mine again. I feel my pulse speed. This corner of the terrace feels private, insulated. Intimate. And Jack’s mysterious little half grin feels like a fishing lure. My knee bumps his, slides. I’m not confident it was accidental.
“Wonder where Margie is?” I ask, trying desperately to break this spell, whatever it is.
He’s always got a certain swagger to him.
But right now it feels magnetic. Like he knows what he’s got, and I’m lying to myself if I pretend I don’t want it.
Fucking Pirate Duke. He’s back to rubbing his finger along the rim of his glass.
“Want help looking?”
He says it softly, the way you’d call a stray over to your car. I swallow hard, nod wordlessly. He turns to Avery and Anna, leaning over to say something in Avery’s ear.
Avery looks at me questioningly, but I pretend not to notice.
Jack reaches for my hand.
I slide mine into his firm, callused grip, and we make our way into the party, working through the crowd.
I stare up at his profile, heart beating in my ears, as he scans faces in the blue-tinted light.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
We move through the hangar deck, from one end to the other, but Margie is nowhere to be seen.
At the very end of the hall, stairs to the right lead up to the flight deck or down to the bathrooms. Jack leads us down, the pulse at my wrist hammering like a tell-tale heart between our palms. The stairwell opens to a small alcove, painted black, with three doors leading to unisex bathrooms. There’s a curtained closet to our right that appears to function as storage for additional chairs.
No Margie.
You weren’t looking for Margie. You want Jack Craig.
Jack turns to me and says, “Maybe she left.”
“Hmm.”
He sees something in my face that has his eyes darkening and his hand tightening on mine. He tugs me closer.
I lift my chin, our eyes lock. My bottom lip feels heavy. I wet it with my tongue.
His lids twitch; he’s registered the invite. He leans in.
Oh fuck yes, kiss me, you menace.
“Your move, 5A.” His breath is warm against my ear, his cheek a sensuous, rough slide against my soft one.
Goose bumps erupt along my arms. His face is so close.
I can smell the whiskey on his breath, the fresh sandalwood-and-pine-spiced scent of his skin.
Why did I think he smelled like car air freshener?
There’s an electric current between us, licking and looping.
I can’t think. I’m pure instinct. Ravenous.
I take his face in my hands and pull him down to me, open-mouthed, tongue seeking.
He moans deep in his throat and yanks me close, his teeth biting my lip gently, his tongue dipping in and out, tangling with mine.
We’re dueling, vying for dominance. His hand grabs my silk-clad ass, and the other wraps more tightly around my back.
He lifts. I feel my red dress ride up, feel his hot hand on the back of my thigh, holding me against him.
He maneuvers us behind the curtain into the storage area and presses me against the wall without once removing his lips from mine. My hands are in his hair, then dig into his shoulders. He nips at my lobe and eases me down off his thigh until I’m standing, clinging to him.
“You are so fucking hot.” His mouth is now on my neck, sucking, biting, kissing.
“Sometimes I think you were put in my life to torture me.” His head knocks a few errant wooden hangers on a coat rack, and he swears.
I laugh, then gasp when he growls, running the hand that isn’t on my ass over my throat, skimming slowly, turning my face.
He drops his head to my neck, running the wet underside of his bottom lip up my throat until he reaches my ear.
And then he hooks his finger under the crimson spaghetti strap of my dress and leans back, staring at me with heavily lidded eyes, asking permission.
I give a barely-there nod, and he tugs the strap down slowly.
His breathing is as ragged as mine. The fabric hugging my chest goes slack on one side, held up by my pearled nipple.
Things never last. Even the Vaughns barely made it work. What’s the point of trying? You might be living next door to him for a long time. What are you doing?
He pulls at the other strap, dragging it down my shoulder. He lowers his mouth to the neckline.
Milk keeps longer than guys around you. My mother’s words echo in my ear. They’re a bucket of ice water. I push off him and turn my back, sorting myself out.
“What’s wrong?”
I sip the heated air in the coat check and turn, trying to control the riotous prison break of upset within.
“This isn’t right. I don’t even like you. I’m not interested in you,” I say. I don’t mean it, I want to shout when I see his expression.
Jack, with his hair disheveled from my ministrations and his hard-on unavoidably evident, looks like he’s been smacked in the face with a bat. He recovers quickly. “No kidding? I mean, I apologize if I read your tongue down my throat the wrong way.”
“I’m sorry. This was a mistake.”
He laughs. It’s not a kind sound. “This isn’t what ‘normal neighbors’ do in your book? Too bad.” He crosses his arms. “For the record, though, I don’t like you much, either.”
I turn and push through the curtain, needing to get away before I cry.
Jack follows in a rush, his brows drawn together.
At that moment, Margie and La emerge from one of the bathrooms, arms around each other’s waists, looking a bit disheveled themselves. Margie and I take in each other’s appearance in shock, and the next thing I know I’m on my back, my dignity has fled, and my ankle is on fire.
“Her heel. Oh no,” La cries.
“Pen! Are you okay?” Margie rushes over, helping me sit up. I see my strappy shoe, heel wedged in a grate. Fucking warships and heels don’t mix. Mortification and pain fight for supremacy within me, but the former is the best medicine.
“I’m fine,” I say, shifting. “Just tweaked my ankle.”
Margie reaches for my foot.
“Ow, ow, ow, fuck,” I hiss.
The next moment, I’m hefted up in Jack’s arms as he strides up the stairs.