Floor Time (21 page)

* * *

The next morning Sara woke, stretched and rolled over to find the bed empty. She rose, wrapping the robe back around her, crept out into the quiet hallway.

"Jack," she called down the steps. Silence greeted her. The dim early morning light flooded the hall from a bank of large windows. She found the coffee maker, figured out where he kept all the supplies and marveled at the extreme neatness and organization of his kitchen as she assembled a pot. He'd left his phone on the counter, and it buzzed at least twice while she was standing there, staring out the window, unable to process the fact that Jack Gordon had actually said that he loved her. She was close to admitting that the entire thing terrified her to the point of jumping in her car and escaping until she realized her car wasn't here.

At the next buzz of the phone, she picked it up, realizing too late her mistake. Three messages from "Heather" popped up.

"Hey, we still on for tonight?"

"I'm getting in the shower, I'll be thinking about you and our last shower together."

And finally, the showstopper:

"Call me lover. I miss you. I need you. I love you."

Sara was cold and hot all at once. Her natural tendency to compartmentalize, to shove anything resembling real emotion aside in a self-preserving reflex, had failed her. She'd opened up. She had admitted the worst possible thing to the worst possible man on the planet. She set the phone down, resisting the urge to hurl it against the wall. Sun pierced the fog outside, hitting her square in the face. With it came the hard realization that indeed, Jack was indeed going to hurt her and she had no one to blame but her own, weak self.

She spotted her own phone next to the chair where she'd sat last night, snatched it up and called Blake.

"Come get me," she spat out. "I'm still…"

"I'll be there in fifteen," he cut her off. Running upstairs to find her clothes, she started to pull them on and then tossed the ripped shirt into the bin in Jack's over the top bathroom, tears blinding her as she reached into one of his dresser drawers for a replacement. She pulled the first t-shirt she found over her head, and ran back downstairs. She heard the door slam and Jack's voice.

"Smells good in here," he called. She scowled at the sound and walked into the kitchen. His large torso gleamed with a sheen of sweat from his run.

"Hey," he turned and tried to pull her into an embrace. She ducked to the side.

"Gotta go," she said, unwilling to engage in any level of conversation with him, unsure what she might say. She glared at his confused look. He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest still heaving with exertion.

"So soon?" His voice was non-committal.

Infuriated beyond reason, Sara turned to him.

"Yeah,
lover
," she spat out. "Sounds like you should rest up for tonight."

His brow furrowed in confusion he followed her gaze to the phone at his elbow. Grabbing it, he stared at the screen and rolled his eyes.

"Oh shit, honey, this woman is like a stalker." Sara held up a hand.

"Don't bullshit me you ass," Sara insisted. "It insults me."

"I'm not bullshitting you Sara," he insisted, his eyes darkening. "But I guess since you're used to being right, you won't believe me so," he turned and pulled a coffee mug out of the cabinet, his stance nonchalant. She stared at his broad back and resisted the extreme urge to wrap around him, cover him with kisses and forgive. Old Sara held her back, kept her distant, kept her angry.

He sipped his coffee, not speaking. Sara raised her chin at him, about to say something, anything to recover what she thought she had with him, but when Blake's horn sounded outside it brought it all back. All the rumors, the innuendo about him, her own stupidity thinking she'd had any effect on him beyond physical. When would she learn? Letting her body lead, letting him control her, it was all so lame. She turned on her heel and left without saying another word, slamming the heavy front door behind and flopping into Blake's car, tears squeezing from her eyes.

"Don't talk." she gritted her teeth at her brother. "Get me to my car and away from here," she looked up to see Jack standing in the doorway, coffee still in hand, staring at her.

Her brother pulled out of the long driveway and drove her home, where her car waited, like yesterday and all its extreme drama had never happened. Blake kept a hand on her clenched fist, his touch warming and comforting.

* * *

Walking back through her own door had been a relief -- more so than she thought it would be. After an hour-long soak in the tub she emerged, revitalized, and reached for her phone anticipating a message from Jack but saw nothing on her screen. Disappointed in her own weak need to hear from him, she fielded a call from Blake. He did his usual big brother fussing over her, scolding her for staying at Jack's, reminding her she shouldn't consider him a "boyfriend" in any sense of the word, and invited her over for dinner. She smiled but put him off, wanting some time to herself. 

She lay down and slept on the couch for most of the day, her body still processing the extremes of the previous forty-eight hours. When she awoke her mouth dry and empty stomach rumbling her phone buzzed with a call.

"Sara," Craig's voice was as soft and soothing as she remembered.

"Hey you," she curled up on the couch.

"You home?"

"Yeah," she twirled a lock of damp hair around her finger. "I just slept the entire day away. I'm starving" Talking to her rescuer made some of the residual anger and frustration with Jack fade ever so slightly.

"Funny you should mention that. I happen to have a spare peach pie with me."

Sara sat up straighter.

"Peach pie? That's my favorite," she smiled at the coincidence but had to wonder why the hell a grown single man would have a "spare" peach pie on him.

"Yeah, I know," he said. "And if you'll open your door, I can hand it to you."

She jumped up and pulled the door open to find a smiling blond man, clad in plaid shorts and soft white plain t-shirt, closing his phone and holding a boxed pie imprinted with Blake and Rob's restaurant logo. She rolled her eyes and leaned on the doorjamb, appreciating the young, fit and tanned vision in front of her.

"And here I thought you went and baked for me," she motioned for him to enter.

He shrugged and walked over to her kitchen placing the pie on the counter.

"All I know is I've been smelling this thing for the last fifteen minutes and have got to have some or I will kill somebody." He leaned on the counter and looked at her, his loose-limbed stance sexy and comforting all at the same time. She pushed him aside so she could reach for plates and forks and encountered that just-washed smell on him. It brought Saturday's drama crashing back to the forefront of her brain.

The kitchen walls closed in her and she felt the jerk's hand ripping her shirt, smelled his stink, then, Jack's words, face and body, owning her, making her admit things she shouldn't have. She let out a sob.

Craig put an arm around her waist. "Hey, you okay?" She turned to him and he held her close as her body shook. He ran his hand down to the small of back, which had a direct effect on her state of mind. She relaxed into his touch and reached out to grasp his shirt with both hands to hold herself upright. He was not an exceptionally tall man, and she liked how she could fit herself against him.

His lips grazed her ear. "Shhh, it's fine, relax." He continued to knead her lower back, his hands circling her hips and Sara was mortified to feel her nipples harden. Images of Jack rose in her brain and she started to pull away, letting go of the fabric that she'd bunched up between her hands.

Craig kept her close, and she let herself be held, arms curled between them, head turned to face his neck.
God he smelled so clean
. She closed her eyes but opened them in surprise when lips covered hers.

"Mmmph," she started to pull her head away and speak, but Craig put a hand under her hair and held her in place. His impossibly soft and full lips firm, his tongue caressed her, was gentle yet confident. He made a noise in his throat and pulled away.

"Sara, I'm sorry," his hoarse voice stayed low. "I," he kissed her exposed collarbone and she leaned her head back. Her nipples pressed against the worn felt of her robe. "Oh hell, I didn't mean to make this more complicated." He let go of her.

Sara held her elbows, suddenly cold and shivering. The doorbell rang, making her nearly jump out of her skin. She took one last look at him standing there, hands on hips, head bent, avoiding her eyes, before she turned to take the few steps to her front door. She glanced out the peephole to see her friends Val and Cathy, brandishing a pizza and a bottle of wine. She pulled her robe together, took a deep breath and opened the door. They burst in, made their familiar way to her kitchen and stopped dead at the sight of their latest office heartthrob holding a plate of pie keeping himself behind the tall counter Sara knew to disguise what had to be a still-bulging zipper. She grinned to herself but stopped.

What the hell are you playing at with him, Sara?
New Sara chided her
. He is not what you want. Don't use him to cover what you really need -- Jack. Back in your arms.

The girls popped open the wine and started pouring everyone a glass but Craig put his plate in the sink and begged off, giving Sara a chaste hug on his way out. She followed him to the door. As he was going to take the single step down to the sidewalk, he turned, walked back up to her, pulled her out onto the tiny front step and planted a firm kiss on her lips, one arm around her waist. He ended the kiss before she could wrap herself around him. "I'm actually not sorry," he said. "Can I call you?" She nodded, stunned and quivering and watched him fire up his ten year old SUV and screech out of the parking lot. She pulled her hair up off her neck and sighed. The girls had piled in behind her and were staring, open mouthed.

"What," she asked them as she breezed past back into her home.

"No fair, Sara," Cathy complained before they clinked glasses. "You get both Stewart hot guys?" Sara rolled her eyes.

Apparently, she did. Now what?

The next few days were a blur of business and gut-churning denial for Jack. The urges he'd resisted for years, the need to control and dominate, to be responsible for the emotional and physical satisfaction of a woman roared through him, coloring his every waking and sleeping moment. Sitting down and writing out in an email to Sara how sorry he was. explaining away Heather's texts the day she'd left, had gotten him some forgiveness, at least online, but he hadn't actually seen her since. He was sick with worry after what she'd been through. Needed her to need him. Yet he left her alone, thinking that was best for someone as strong-minded as Sara. But it sucked; every single minute of it.

"Jack." He tore his eyes from the computer screen and focused on his assistant.

"What." He stood, stretched, felt the pleasant soreness in his limbs from a punishing ten-mile run earlier and let Jason walk him through the next couple of days. He zoned at one point, completely unlike him, but unable to stop images of her eyes, her ass offered to him, her down on her knees in front of him.

"Yo! Dude!" Jason snapped his fingers. "Stay with me, there's a lot going on."

"Nope, sorry, I'm no use to anybody today." Jack grabbed his suit jacket from the chair and pulled it on. "Send me an email with all details. I gotta get out of here." He breezed past agents, secretaries and others. His vision had darkened, tunneled, and he knew if he didn't get out he'd rip into somebody who didn't deserve it, or worse.

Without thinking about it, he found himself at Evan and Suzanne's brewery, sitting in the car, trying to catch his breath. Closing his hand around his phone, he bit down on the urge to call her, to reach out somehow. No. She needed to come to him this time.

He took a seat in the already busy tap room, not meeting anyone's eyes, unwilling to engage in conversation other than the one he came here to have. Suzanne brought him a beer without a word, sensing his need for quiet. Evan emerged from the brewery, wiping his hands on a towel and tossing instructions over his shoulder. His smile widened at the sight of his friend. Jack raised his glass to him.