15. Ember #2
In the end, I didn’t get to ask, because right there, with the waves crashing around our legs and one arm banded around my back, Jack kissed me like he’d been telling the truth.
I was freezing cold, and he was so hot. His lips tasted like salt and Jack.
He smelled like the ocean and sweat and man. My head spun. My body pulsed.
I’d never felt desire like this before. My fingers raked over the wet strands of hair at the nape of his neck, and my other hand slid over his wet shoulder, his chest, his arm. He was so hard and warm and male. Sensations overwhelmed me, scrambling my mind. He kissed me and kissed me and kissed me.
And then a wolf whistle cut the air, and it felt like half the ocean had been dumped down my back.
I jerked away from Jack, stumbling in the shifting water, my sodden shoe sinking into the wet sand beneath my feet.
Jack’s arm remained around my back, and the corners of his eyes tightened as he looked at the shore.
A small clump of people were grinning at us and waving.
Jack swore viciously, then smiled like nothing happened and lifted an arm in greeting, and I—I died.
I perished right there, because I’d believed him.
I’d thought he actually wanted to kiss me, that he was doing this because… because he was attracted to me?
What was wrong with me?
A man like Jack Mars didn’t go for women like me. He went for glossy-haired brunettes or beach-jogging women with perky boobs and tiny dogs.
My throat felt raw, like a gigantic, jagged boulder had been shoved down my gullet and left there. I couldn’t look at the people on the shore, couldn’t even acknowledge their presence. I just stared at the water and shivered.
“Come on,” he said, “let’s go back.”
I nodded, pulling away from his grasp so I could stumble back to shore on my own. The audience scattered as we approached, but I felt their gazes prickling over my neck, my back, my face. My sweater tried to float away, but I grabbed it and focused on wringing the water out as we walked.
It was a long, cold walk back to the car. By the time we got there, my teeth were clacking. Jack got a towel out of the back of the car and looked at me, frowning. “You’re freezing,” he said.
“I’m fine. But I’m going to get your car seats wet.” I reached for the towel he handed me but before I could grab it, he’d unfurled it and had it wrapped around my shoulders.
“Take off your clothes,” he said. “I’ve got a spare pair of sweats and a T-shirt in the back.”
“Ex-c-cuse me?”
He was already disappearing around the back of the car and opening the trunk.
“You need to get warm and dry. Shit. I wasn’t thinking.
I shouldn’t have brought you into the water, I just—” He cut himself off as I clutched the towel, shivering.
When he reappeared on my side of the car, he frowned at me. “Take off your clothes, Ember.”
“You c-can’t just order me to t-take my clothes off.”
His eyes flickered, but there was no heat or laughter in them. “You’re freezing,” he repeated. “You need to get warm and dry. This was my fault.” He opened the back door and set a change of clothes on the seat, then gestured for me to approach. “I’ll hold the towel. You stand there and change.”
“I’m not t-taking my clothes off in front of you,” I protested weakly.
“Your lips are blue.”
I tried to formulate a retort, but nothing came out. Instead, the only sound was my chattering teeth.
He was right. I was way too cold.
“This is your f-fault,” I said, moving to the shelter of the open car door. I shoved the towel at him, and he unfurled it to form a barrier.
“I know,” he said, and he had the decency to sound remorseful.
“No p-p-peeking.”
“I promise.”
I nodded, shooting him a glance over my shoulder, then untied the sodden sweatshirt from my waist and shoved my leggings and undies down with frozen fingers.
The fabric fell to the asphalt with a wet slap, and I stepped out of them—along with my shoes and socks—to pull on the pair of gray sweatpants Jack had left for me.
They were cozy and soft and dry, and they felt like heaven.
When I darted a glance over my shoulder, he had his eyes closed and his face turned away.
I faced the car again and started on my sports bra, pulling the wet fabric up so I could tug it off over my head…
and quickly ran into the same problem I’d had with my sweater.
Except this time was worse, because my arms were pinned above my head, my elbows unable to bend, and my breasts were fully exposed to the cold autumn wind.
“You okay?” Jack asked, the towel moving as he shifted his weight. “You’re making weird noises.”
“Um,” I said.
“Ember?”
“Keep your eyes closed.”
“They’re closed.”
“Okay,” I said, taking a quick peek around to make sure he was telling the truth. Then in a small voice, I admitted, “I’m stuck.”
“…What?”
“My sports bra. It’s wet, and the salt water…” I exhaled sharply, struggling to get the tangle of straps up my arms. “I can’t get it off, and I can’t pull it back on. It’s stuck around my elbows.”
“You really are into exhibition and bondage, huh.”
“Jack,” I growled, and his lips kicked. “I need your help again. But don’t look.”
“Okay. Um. How do you want me to do this, then?”