AS SHE CLIMBED THE stairs to Jack’s apartment, Natalie told herself to just set the mailer against his front door and leave it there, then ring the doorbell and run. But then she remembered that she was a grown woman. A grown woman who did not need to be fashioning spy scopes out of rubber bands and hand mirrors and paper towel tubes. Not only would she return Mrs. Klosterman’s two rolls of Bounty in the morning, but she would knock on Jack’s door tonight. She would get him out of the shower all naked and wet and hot and naked and wet and hot and naked and wet and hot and naked and wet and hot and—
Oops. Her mind got stuck there for a minute.
Anyway, she would knock on Jack’s door tonight, and she would get him out of the shower all…you know…and she would be mature about it. She would be totally unfazed. She would be cool, calm and collected. She would hand him his mail, and he would thank her, and then she would turn around and march upstairs and forget all about seeing him all…you know. And then she would stop skulking around her own home and get on with her life.
Squaring her shoulders, Natalie made a fist and knocked. Rap. Rap, rap. Rap, rap, rap. And then she waited. She shook out her hair and brushed a hand down over her clothes again because she was incredibly nervous, and she waited. Then she tucked an errant strand of hair behind one ear and shifted the mailer from one hand to the other because she was incredibly nervous, and she waited. Then she listened at the front door for the water to shut off and waited.
Okay. So being an adult was going to have a wait a few more minutes.
This time Natalie rang the doorbell. Buzz. Buzz, buzz. Buzz, buzz, buzz. That, finally, seemed to do the trick, because she did hear the water shut off then. Then she heard heavy footsteps padding across the floor. Then she heard a mildly irritated male voice say, “Who is it?”
“It’s Natalie,” she said. “Mrs. Klosterman asked me to bring something up for you.”
She wasn’t sure, but she thought the irritated male voice sounded even more irritated when it said what it did next, which was pretty much one of those bathroom wall words that she’d been reluctant to use for whatever it was burning up the air between her and Jack. She told herself it wasn’t an invitation—or even a command, more was the pity—and steeled herself to see him, knowing that particular word was never going to happen for them.
“Is what you have for me mail?” he asked through the door.
“Yep,” Natalie told him.
“Did it come overnight, separate from the other mail?”
“I’m afraid so.”
He said that word again, louder this time, and Natalie tried not to get her hopes up.
“Come on, Jack,” she coaxed. “Be a man about it, for God’s sake. I answered the door when you brought my mail to me.”
“No, you didn’t,” he said, still speaking through the door. “It was already open. And only because you didn’t know it was going to be me.”
“A minor detail,” she told him. When he offered nothing in reply—and still didn’t open the door—she cajoled, “You can run, Jack, but you can’t hide. We might as well get this over with, because she’s not going to knock it off until we prove to her that nothing will come of her machinations.”
She heard him blow out a long, perturbed sound, then heard the thump of the dead bolt and the rattle of the door-knob. And then the door opened, and Jack stood on the other side.
All naked and wet and hot and…
Wow.
Then she realized he wasn’t quite naked. He was half-naked. A navy blue towel was slung around his waist, knotted at one hip, and hanging down to just above the knee. He was, however, wet, deliciously so, and she could almost feel the steam emanating off of him. He smelled clean and damp and masculine, and Natalie watched, fascinated, as a single droplet of water tumbled from his broad shoulder and wound slowly down his chest, spiraling leisurely through the swirls of dark hair, exiting above his flat torso and taking a new route, circling around his dusky navel, through more dark hair, before finally ending its journey in the dark fabric of the towel.
And suddenly, Natalie felt hot and wet, too, and she wanted very badly to be naked.
So she jerked her gaze back up again, making herself look at Jack’s face. But that was no help at all, because he was looking at her much as he had that night in her apartment, just before he’d reached for her and pulled her to himself.
Remembering the padded mailer, she thrust it toward him and said, “You’ve got skin.”
“We need to talk,” he said.
Which was odd, because talking was the last thing Natalie wanted to do just then.
“You better come in,” he added, stepping aside.
She told herself to decline the invitation, to just throw the mailer into his living room then turn and run screaming like a ninny back to her apartment. But there was something in Jack’s voice, and something in his eyes, and something in his stance—and, okay, something in his towel, too, she conceded—that prevented her from doing so. More important, there was something in her that prevented her from doing so. Instead, she forced her feet forward, being careful not to touch him as she strode past him, and looked at everything in the room except Jack.
Unlike Natalie’s apartment, this one came furnished to the renter, which was probably another reason why there was such a high turnaround for it. People who rented this apartment were short-termers, between jobs or working here temporarily, or living here until they could afford a larger place with their own stuff. Still, Mrs. Klosterman had furnished it nicely, with solid, comfortable furniture in neutral colors. Plain cotton rugs in more neutrals covered much of the hardwood floors, and built-in shelves housed an eclectic assortment of books. The kitchen was smaller than Natalie’s, and a breakfast set situated near one window constituted the dining room. The bedroom, Natalie knew, because she’d visited this apartment before when other renters had claimed it, lay beyond the living room and to the left, in the turret of the old house. It was just big enough for the bed and antique armoire that filled it.
All in all, it was a small, but comfortable apartment, made more so by Mrs. Klosterman’s things. Still, it would have been nice to see a few personal touches, she thought. Something that might tell her a little bit more about Jack as a man. She made one final, quick survey of the room, searching for something along those lines, anything that might give her some small peek into his character.
And that was when she saw the gun.
It was holstered, hanging over the back of a wing chair in the living room, as if that were the most natural place in the world for it to be. A revolver, she saw, even though her knowledge of firearms was limited, to say the least. It was black and heavy-looking and ugly, and its significance was even uglier. She could only think of two kinds of people who carried handguns, and neither of them worked in advertising: cops and criminals. So which one was Jack?
The former, she hoped. But she couldn’t quite quell the ripple of doubt that crept into her brain about the latter. Her head snapped back around, until she could look at Jack’s face. But he was too busy shutting the door to have noticed where she was looking. Shutting the door, she saw, and locking it. And then turning to face her with his big body between her and it. And suddenly, he seemed even bigger than he had before. Stronger. More powerful. More potent.
More dangerous?
And that was when Natalie decided she couldn’t be an adult about this, after all. Gosh, she would have liked to, really she would, but the gun thing on top of the towel thing—not to mention the water streaming over the chest thing—had her emotions in an uproar, and she just wasn’t feeling especially mature at the moment. Sorry about that, thanks for playing, but if Jack didn’t mind, she’d just go screaming like a ninny back to her apartment now.
Instead of telling him that, though, Natalie heard herself say, “Is that a gun over there, or are you just happy to see me?”
Jack’s eyes widened in panic at the question, and he glanced over to where the weapon lay in full view of anyone who happened to be making a casual survey of the apartment to see if there were any personal effects that might reveal something personal about the occupant, and wow, there’s a gun, which says quite a lot about the occupant, now that you mention it.
“Uh, yeah, that’s a gun,” he said when his gaze flew back to connect with hers. “And yeah, I’m happy to see you. Really happy, Natalie,” he added. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot this week.”
Translation, she thought, We’re not going to talk about the gun.
“But,” she began, lifting her hand to point to the weapon. Not to put too fine a point on it, but it did seem rather like a matter they should address. “But you have a—”
“A crush on you, yeah,” Jack said, interrupting her. “I guess that’s pretty obvious, huh?”
Oh, no, she thought. She was not going to get sidetracked like that. She was not going to let him sweet-talk her out of addressing the matter of the—
“Crush?” she echoed plaintively. “Really? You have a crush? On…on me?”
He nodded and took a step forward. “You’re in my head all the time lately. Ever since last weekend, when we almost…”
Oh, yeah, Natalie recalled. Last weekend, when they almost made love, and she asked him to come back, and then he stood her up. Get your head on straight, Natalie, she instructed herself. Don’t be swayed by a man just because he’s all hot and naked and wet and wow. He’s also got a gun.
Inevitably, her gaze fell to the towel knotted loosely around his waist, and she realized that yes, indeed, he did have a gun. And it was more than half-cocked.
“I gotta go,” she said hastily. “Here’s your mail,” she added when she remembered that, holding it out to him. Then she added, in case she forgot to tell him, “I gotta go. Now.”
But Jack didn’t move. He didn’t step aside so that she could open the door herself, and he didn’t take the package from her, which, naturally, made her think about his package again, which, naturally, made her reluctant to leave. Until she remembered the gun. The one that was hung…uh, the one that wasn’t half-cocked. The other gun. The one that wasn’t part of Jack’s package.
Oh, hell…
She tossed his package…ah, his tool…ah, the thing Mrs. Klosterman had asked her to bring up to him, onto a table near the front door, then took a step forward, which she hoped he would realize meant she intended to leave. But still Jack remained rooted…ah, still he stood firm…ah, still he didn’t move aside.
So Natalie said, “Jack? Would you mind?” She couldn’t make herself look at him, though, because she was afraid if she saw that look on his face again, the one that was so hungry and needy and fierce, all of her resolve would dissolve.
He didn’t say anything for a moment, as if he were silently willing her to look up at him. Natalie, though, kept her gaze fixed on his chest—his naked and wet and hot chest—and tried not to think about anything except being on the other side of that door.
Then, finally, she heard him reply, “Would I mind what?” She licked her lips, swallowed with some difficulty and repeated, “Would you mind…you know…stepping aside so I can leave?”
He seemed to give her question a lot more thought than it actually required, because it took him another moment or two to reply. When he did, though, he seemed to have made a decision. It just wasn’t the one Natalie had anticipated.
“Yeah, I think I would mind stepping aside so you can leave,” he told her. “In fact, I think I’d mind that a lot.”
She did make herself look at him then, her gaze connecting with his really for the first time since she’d entered his apartment to find him standing there in little more than a towel and a few dribbles of water. A few, very sexy, dribbles of water. But she said nothing in response to his statement, only wondered what it meant, and feared she already knew.
“I don’t think I want you to leave, Natalie,” he told her, his voice a velvety purr.
He lifted his hand to her shoulder, dipping his fingers beneath a shaft of her hair to lift it away from her. Slowly, he began winding it around his middle and index fingers, his hand nearing her face with every circular motion. Then his fingers were brushing against her jaw, and his palm was cupping her cheek, and he was dipping his forehead to press it against hers. His skin was warm and damp from the shower, and Natalie grew more than a little warm and damp in response. Except that it wasn’t just her forehead responding that way.
“In fact,” he added, his voice dropping to an even lower, even silkier pitch, “I think it would be a big mistake for you to leave.”
Natalie’s heart began hammering hard in her chest, rushing blood through her body at a rate that made her dizzy. Or maybe it was just Jack’s nearly naked body making her feel that way. Or maybe it was her own desire to touch his nearly naked body. “Wh-why do you say that?” she asked.
He lifted his other hand to her face now, curving his warm, rough fingers over her jaw on the other side, then began to stroke her cheeks gently with both thumbs. Natalie’s eyes fluttered shut as wave after wave of longing purled through her. And before she even realized she was doing it, she lifted her own hands to circle them around his wrists. But she didn’t try to pull his hands away. No, she only wanted to be a part of the fiery current arcing between them.
“Because I think,” Jack said, “you should stay here with me tonight. All night.”
“But you have a gun…” she objected again, halfheartedly this time.
“Yeah, I do,” he said. “For protection, that’s all. It’s no big deal. And, in case you were wondering, I have, you know, protection, too.” He dipped his head again and brushed a featherlight kiss across her cheek. Then he moved his mouth close to her ear and whispered softly, “So stay with me, Natalie. Spend the night with me. Let me make love to you. Don’t go.”
The flame that had flickered to life inside her blossomed into full fire at his quietly uttered declaration, and she remembered how good it felt to be with a man. It had been too long since she’d wanted someone the way she wanted Jack, too long since she had been wanted in such a way herself. And then she stopped kidding herself and made herself admit that she’d never wanted anyone the way she wanted Jack. Because he made her feel things she’d never felt before. She didn’t know why that was true, only that it was. And she couldn’t help wondering if he felt that way about her, too.
And then she decided not to question it. Any of it. He must feel something for her, otherwise he wouldn’t be asking her to stay with him. And all the rest of it, her doubts, her fears, her worries, all of that, she somehow knew then, would work itself out, make itself clear. But what really made Natalie capitulate was the fact that she wanted very, very much to stay here with him tonight. All night. She wanted to make love to Jack, too. She just wished she knew what would happen after they woke up in the morning.
“Don’t go, Natalie,” he said again.
And her own voice came to her, from a place she scarcely recognized, replying, “I won’t.”
Because Jack’s softly uttered petition made Natalie forget about everything else. Gone were her misgivings about what kind of man he was. Gone was her fear that he would only be in her life temporarily. Gone was her worry that his feelings for her might not mirror her feelings for him. But how long those things would stay gone…
Well, that was something she chose not to think about right now, either.
She honestly wasn’t sure how they ended up in Jack’s bedroom. She only knew that one moment the two of them were standing at the front door talking in low tones, and the next moment, she was standing beside him in his room pondering a slice of silver moonlight that fell across his unmade bed. Silence enveloped them, save the quiet murmur of their individual breathing, which mingled and became one psalm.
And then Jack kissed her, and even that soft sound faded away. His lips on hers were sweet and gentle—more loving than passionate, more persuasive than demanding. He kissed her mouth, her jaw, her cheek, her temple. Then he bent and pressed his forehead to hers again, as he had at the front door, and the gesture was all the more endearing to her for being repeated. Then he drew her into his arms and held her close, bunching her hair in one hand again, stroking her back with the other. For a long time he only held her, just kissing her and kissing her and kissing her. The heat in Natalie’s belly grew hotter, building to a fire whose flames licked at her heart. She lifted her hands to his bare chest, her fingers curling into the dark hair she discovered there, and silently begged him to pull her closer still.
He smelled wonderful, she thought vaguely as she tilted her head to the side, slanting her mouth more completely over his. So clean and musky and masculine. She traced her fingers along the strong column of his throat, loving the rough feel of the skin she encountered. Dipping her hand lower, she skimmed her fingertips over his collarbone and back up again, curving her hand around his nape. Then she tugged her mouth free from his, pushed herself up on tiptoe and buried her face in the warm, fragrant skin that joined his neck to his shoulder. The skin of his throat was warm and rough and salty, and she flicked the tip of her tongue over his neck to savor him a second time. The taste of him on her mouth sent a shiver of delight shimmying through her, and she couldn’t help wondering if he tasted that good all over. Instinctively, she dropped her hand to the knot in his towel, but hesitated before loosing it completely.
Jack stilled when he realized where her hand had fallen, his hands settled on her hips by now. When Natalie glanced up at his face, she saw a man highly aroused. Perhaps almost as aroused as she.
“Do it,” he said, his voice gruff, almost fierce.
But still, Natalie hesitated. It had just been so long…
“Then I’ll do you,” he told her quietly, seeming to understand.
She closed her eyes as he moved his hands to the hem of her sweater, but she lifted her arms as he began to draw it up over her torso, her breasts, her shoulders, her head. When her hair cascaded down over her face as he divested her of the garment completely, Jack’s fingers joined hers in pushing it away again, back over her shoulders. But his hands lingered, tripping lightly over her skin, until his thumbs burrowed deftly beneath the straps of her brassiere. He lifted first one, then the other, nudging the thin bands of elastic over her shoulders, then farther, dragging them over her arms.
Automatically Natalie crossed her arms over her breasts in a misplaced act of modesty, preventing her bra from falling away completely. So Jack released the straps, but curled his fingers loosely and brushed the backs of his knuckles over the tops of her breasts. Back and forth, he skimmed them, each stroke moving his hands lower, until he wove his fingers with hers and urged her hands away. Feeling a bit bolder then, Natalie reached behind herself to unhook her bra, hesitating only a moment before allowing the wisp of white lace to fall away. For a moment, Jack did nothing, only gazed first at her bare breasts, then back up at her face. Then he smiled and lifted his hands again, cupping one over each breast—thoroughly, completely.
And then he bent his head to taste her.
The sensation was quite lovely. Natalie squeezed her eyes shut tight and enjoyed the ripple of heat that wound through her when she felt his lips moving reverently over her tender flesh. Then he opened his mouth over her more fully, and he drew the dusky peak of her breast deep inside, flattening his tongue against it. She buried her fingers in his hair to urge him closer, gasping when he nipped her playfully with his teeth. Immediately he laved the place he had gently wounded, then tugged her deep into his mouth again. For long moments, he so favored her, first one breast, then the other, until he dropped his hands to the waistband of her jeans.
He pushed the button through its hole, then slowly, slowly, oh…so slowly, he drew down the zipper, pushing aside the folds of denim, dipping his hand inside the heavy fabric to explore her own folds more explicitly. Natalie gasped at the intimate touch, the simmering heat inside her exploding into a white-hot rush. Again and again he pushed his fingers against her, tilling her sensitive flesh until Natalie began bucking her hips against his hand. Her fingers circled his ample biceps, gripping his bare arms with a fierceness that reflected the storm that was raging inside her. She felt Jack penetrate her with one finger, then two, and she heard his breath coming in gasps as ragged as her own. She was about to go over the edge, but he must have sensed that, because he withdrew his hand from her panties before she lost herself completely. He didn’t go far, though, only moved both of his hands to her bare back and scooped them down into her jeans again, this time to cradle her bare bottom.
As he pulled her body forward, he leaned into her, until his pelvis was pressed hard to hers. She felt him against her, swollen and solid and ready, and she gasped to realize just how far things had gone. She wanted him now, here, like this, standing, or even to couple with him like an animal on the floor. She just wasn’t sure she could make it to the bed at this point. But Jack seemed to have other ideas, because he dipped his forehead to hers again, his breathing slower now, as if he were trying to concentrate.
“The towel, Natalie,” he said roughly. “Take it off.”
She could no more ignore the request than she could have stopped the sun from rising in the morning. Gingerly, she lifted a hand to the terry cloth bunched at his waist, skimming her fingers along the damp fabric from one hip to the other before pausing at the tuck on one side. She glanced up at his face one last time, to give him one last chance to keep this from happening, since he was the one who’d had second thoughts about it before. His dark eyes held hers, and he nodded, and with one swift, deft maneuver, Natalie freed the towel from him completely.
She gazed at all of him after performing the task, studied each part of him, marveled at the magnificence of his body. His arms were truly things of beauty, roped with sinew and corded with veins. His chest and torso were a symphony of muscle and dark hair, his legs brawny, vibrant, powerful.
He could overpower her if he wanted to, she thought, crush her with his bare hands. Or he could touch her and caress her as he would a delicate violin. The thought that he could be so rough, and the knowledge that he would be so gentle, just made her want him all the more.
Her gaze roved hungrily over him again, traveled the length of him from head to toe, lingering at his midsection to study the full, ah…potential of his, ah…masculinity.
“Oh, my,” she whispered with a reverent little smile before lifting her gaze to meet his again.
Jack smiled back. “Not yet, I’m not. But I’ll be yours whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m ready,” she replied immediately, knowing it was a lie. She could never be ready for a man like him.
But she couldn’t tolerate the distance between them any longer, either. She wanted to touch him, wanted to be touched by him. Wanted to feel him inside her, his body rocking against hers in the most primitive, most basic, most intimate way. The press of his body against hers now was like something she had only dreamed about before. She had forgotten what it was like to be this physically close to a man, had forgotten how being physical with a man could make her feel—safe and secure, beautiful and loved. Even if those feelings never lasted for very long.
She wasn’t thinking about that, though, as they fell backward onto the bed, because Jack was hot and hard and heavy atop her, and Natalie was consumed by a need that very nearly overwhelmed her. A need for him. For Jack. No one else would do.
He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him until she lay draped over his torso, wrapping his arms around her waist—fiercely, as if he still feared she intended to leave. Then he kissed her again, grazing one hand down the expanse of her bare back to settle it securely on her bottom, looping a long leg over her calf. Natalie tangled the fingers of one hand in the coarse hair scattered across his chest, trailing the fingers of the other down over his abdomen until she found the part of him that had so intrigued her. Cradling him in her hand, she let her fingers explore him, skimming down the full length of him and back again.
Jack growled almost ferally as Natalie touched him, still not sure how or why this was happening, but helpless to make it stop. Mostly because he didn’t want it to stop. He’d never in his life experienced the overpowering response to a woman that Natalie had commanded, virtually since the moment he’d laid eyes on her. He should have seen this coming from a mile away, should have realized that first day that his preoccupation with her would inevitably lead them to bed. But he hadn’t seen her coming. And he didn’t know where either one of them would go after this. He only knew he wanted Natalie, and Natalie wanted him, and there was no reason why the two of them shouldn’t enjoy each other for as long as that wanting lasted.
She continued to stroke him, deftly, maddeningly, until he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to last any longer. Then he reached down to circle her wrist with sure fingers, and guided her hand back up over his belly and chest, holding it to his mouth so that he could place a soft kiss in the center of her palm. In response to her curious gaze, he only smiled, then settled both hands firmly on her hips and drew her up to sitting, so that she was straddling his waist. Then he cupped his hands under her buttocks and, with a soft nudge, urged her forward more.
She moved her body accordingly, but still obviously wasn’t sure what his intentions were. Not until Jack had prompted her up to his shoulders, where her eyes went wide in something he thought might be panic. Nevertheless, she rose up on her knees and arched her back to give him fuller access to the prize he sought. When Jack tasted her the first time, she sucked in her breath as if fearful of drowning. When he tasted her a second time, she exhaled in a rush of pleasure. When he tasted her a third time, she moaned out loud, her body arching harder against him. Finally, though, she stilled and let him enjoy her.
For a long time, Jack did just that, loving the way she responded to every caress of his tongue. She was wild. She was wanton. She was beautiful. But then she was moving away from him, scooting back down the length of his body until the solid reminder of his desire for her halted her. Reaching behind herself, she curled her fingers firmly around him, and began to guide him toward the heated heart of herself.
Before she could join herself with him, however, Jack rolled again, shifting their positions so that she lay with her head on the pillow, her dark hair tumbling about her face making her look even wilder and more wanton than before. He wanted to be close to her when he entered her, wanted every part of his body to be touching every part of hers. He didn’t want to know where his body ended and hers began. He wanted them to be one.
And that should have scared the hell out of him. Funny thing, though. It made him feel good. Better than he could ever remember feeling before. There was one thing, however, he did remember. He remembered he needed to protect them both, so that they could go on feeling this way for a long, long time.
When he was properly sheathed, Natalie wrapped the fingers of both hands around him and guided him toward the heated center of her, bending her legs and pushing her pelvis upward as she welcomed him inside. Then she looped her arms around his waist and arched her back, urging him deeper, so that Jack could only close his eyes and forget about everything except the way it felt to be with Natalie. He withdrew from her only long enough to drive himself more completely into her, repeating the action again…and again…and again…until Natalie, too, captured the rhythm and joined in the dance.
And as their lovemaking grew more furious, a frenzied sort of fever nearly swamped Jack. Farther and farther he drove himself, losing a little more of himself to Natalie with each frantic thrust. And then he did lose himself, utterly and completely, free-falling in the gale of completion that stormed around him. And then he landed, back on his bed, panting for breath. His damp cheek was pressed to Natalie’s, her arms were draped weakly over his back. Her hair was tangled in his hands, and her legs were entwined with his. Her chest rose and fell in rhythm with his own, and her heartbeat buffeted madly against his.
He had gotten what he wanted, he realized vaguely. The two of them felt like one.