21. Then
21
THEN
In nothing but their alcohol jackets to fend off the wind , Brooke, Chels, and Kieran ventured across town. The Caves was a club off the Cowgate, a low road through the touristy part of Edinburgh that was once the path to bring cattle to market. All that remained of that illustrious history was the back half of a cow sculpture mounted on the outside of the building facing the street and the front half sticking out down the alley.
As that seemed like a clear indicator of their destination, Brooke followed Chels and Kieran to the door with a metal placard reading, “He who is without mathematics shall not enter.”
“Decidedly not what we’re here for…” Kieran said scornfully.
Brooke wasn’t, either. She was here to see Jack. She could admit to herself that she shouldn’t be going out of her way to see him and that she was absolutely going to anyway.
Past the bouncer, they descended into the Caves. The tomb-like space should’ve been claustrophobic, but with the music bouncing off the stone walls, the shadowed alcoves promised secrets and stolen moments. Lights embedded in the wall cast hazy purples and blues over the rounded bricks and rippled like they were underwater. It made the night surreal, an alternate reality.
They made their way to the bar under a low stone archway—the obvious place to find Rohan.
Sure enough, he was there shouting to the bartender, but Brooke’s attention snagged on Jack, elbows resting on the bar, eyes on her.
Her heart fluttered, a smile exploding on her face. She took in his dark jeans and the way they clung to his thighs before trailing her gaze up to the white T-shirt that hugged his chest and shoulders, the lights from the stage painting it pink and teal.
Jack shook his head at her perusal and took a deep pull from his beer, casting his eyes to the ceiling. Brooke’s heart pounded in time with the beat of the song, a helpless want, want, want.
She’d been so sure he’d kiss her at the top of the Scott Monument. They’d had a moment before he’d retreated, saying they didn’t actually want to find out what Old Marty would say about their trespassing.
This thing between her and Jack felt a bit like a contest of who would break first. And she was tired of being smart. Of playing by the rules.
Chels and Kieran got to the bar first. Kieran swiped Rohan’s drink and started a brawl between brothers, but Jack never took his eyes off her, his gaze lingering on the scoop neck of her black top, on the curl of her hair over her shoulder.
She stepped into his space, her toes lined up with his, and looked up at him. “Captain,” she said with a flirty quirk of her lips. The blue-and-purple lights flickered over him like a mirage. She wanted to reach out and touch him, drag her thumb over his lips, just to make sure he was real. Wanted to feel the weight of him and the slide of his tongue and his hands on her body, and compare it to the way he’d touched her in the snow.
He clenched his hands into fists. “Brooke,” he said with a warning in his voice that only wound her up.
Brooke turned to the bar, standing on tiptoes and leaning over the top to get the bartender’s attention. She moved her hair over one shoulder and when she looked back, Jack’s gaze was tracing the ridges of her spine exposed by her halter top. He ran a hand over his face, pushing his glasses up and resettling them, and she bit her lip against the smile she couldn’t hold back.
Brooke paid for her drink and turned around, sliding into the space between Jack and the bar. If he so much as leaned, their legs would be touching. She twirled the straw in her drink before closing her mouth around it. Jack stepped toward her, his hips brushing hers, and leaned down to her ear. “Are you trying to tempt me?”
She looked up under her eyelashes. “I would never.”
He growled and she grinned.
Chels appeared and yelled, “Let’s dance!” over the volume of the music. She tugged Brooke away, Kieran in tow. Brooke looked over her shoulder and her gaze hooked on Jack’s.
He didn’t strike her as someone who liked dancing, but he followed anyway.
On the dance floor, Chels and Kieran did an excellent impression of jumping jacks. Most things were a joke to them, and dancing especially must not be taken seriously. Rohan nodded along with the band, his shoulder bumping into Jack’s every so often.
The thumping beat filled Brooke’s ears, casting a spell over her that made her feel heavy and light at the same time. The humid heat pressed in on her, and she wondered if Jack was noticing the sway of her hips.
The song changed to one Rohan must’ve known because he jumped forward to hook an arm around Kieran’s neck, knock ing into Brooke. She stepped back, directly into Jack, her ass pressed against him. His hand went to her waist to steady her and then lingered. She closed her eyes, consumed by the heat of his hand against her bare skin between her top and jeans.
The lights scanned across the crowd from the stage, leaving the room in foggy darkness most of the time. It made the dance floor feel anonymous. All their friends were in front of them, facing the stage. No one could see them; no one could tell.
Before Jack could drop his hand, Brooke covered it with her own, her touch soft, her fingers slipping between his.
Jack lowered his head by her ear, his heavy exhale brushing her temple, and chills broke out across her skin. She rolled her hips gently to the beat and Jack dug his fingers into her hip, sending sparks through her.
This was a bad idea and they both knew it, but damn, she felt powerless to stop. The sexy pulse of the music, the press of bodies around them, the darkness—it had all gone to her head.
Jack slid his hand flat across her belly, drawing her tighter against him. Her stomach pulled in with a hitched breath as he kept his palm pressed tight against the sway of her movements.
Brooke reached behind her for his other hand, linking their fingers together. Lightheaded, she tipped her head back, rested her temple against his jaw, zeroed in on the soft brush of his breath against her skin.
He slid his pinkie finger along the top of her waistband, back and forth, and Brooke fisted his jeans. Her heart beat between her legs, screaming at the injustice of being so close but with so many barriers between them.
The light from the stage scanned the room, flashing into her eyes—a wake-up call that doused the spell around them.
They were in the middle of a room of people with their hands all over each other.
Jack stepped back and when Brooke turned to face him, he raised and dropped his hands. Shook his head. Looked like he was about to leave.
She wrapped her fingers around his wrist. He paused, let out a helpless breath, and then said, “Come here,” though she wasn’t sure she heard it.
She followed him through the crowd, just like that night at his flat, keeping close behind before people pressed back in on her.
Past the bar, he turned, looked over her shoulder, and gently pushed her into an alcove. The pulse of the music was quieter here, the overwhelming noise of it all dampened by the wall Brooke leaned back against.
Jack ran a hand over his jaw. Stepping into the cradle of her hips, he rested his forearm against the stone by her head, blocking them from view. Her heart raced from the feel of him pressed against her, at the promise in the way he caged her in.
“You’re destroying me, Brooke,” he said into her ear. “I’m desperate to touch you.”
She was desperate to touch him, too, and flattened her palm against his stomach, trailed her hand up and over his pec. He stopped breathing. “So do it,” she said.
He leaned in closer, his temple against hers, and she breathed in his fresh scent.
“I can’t touch you in a fraction of the ways I want to.” He tilted his head, placing soft kisses along her jaw. “We shouldn’t.”
The corner of his lips brushed the corner of hers. Not a kiss, not a real one, not anything that counted. Just the tiniest step over the line, negligible.
But her heart had never beat faster.
His bottom lip tugged on her top lip as he breathed against her and she slid her fingers into his hair, holding him there. The tenderness and tentativeness in his barely-there kiss broke her heart open.
“Jack,” she whispered. “What do you want?”
“You.” There was no hesitation in his voice and she’d never loved a word more.
She brought her lips to his ear. “Then no one has to know.”