Weathering Jack Storm (Silver Strings G Series) (28 page)

She poured a glass of wine and curled into the chair in his bedroom playing a game on her phone while glaring at Rusty who was peeping from his bed. When the next text came, she jumped in excitement.

J
ACK

Pulling up now. Meet me outside?

3:01 AM

Hitching her robe tighter, she started from the room in stocking feet. On a whimsy, she stopped by the guest room for, and pushed her feet into, the pair of shoes worn to his drop party.

Mindful of her heels and her excitement, she descended the stairs carefully even though she wanted to run. As she neared the landing, she clutched the bannister with both hands and practically leaped the rest of the way.

Tearing the front door open, she pulled up short upon seeing it. In the shadows of the night, Jack was leaning against the red Lamborghini limo.

He was even hotter than he ever had been if that were possible. Maybe it was because the fantasy limo was his backdrop. Maybe he exuded an overload of charisma from being on tour. Maybe it was because she had not seen him in more than a week.

All she knew for sure was seeing him caused her breath to reflexively suck into her chest before it whooshed out again as if she had been sucker punched.

Although his features were shadows from the driveway lights, she could feel his heated perusal. His arms had been crossed over his chest, and now they fell to his side as he vaulted the stone steps, two at a time, toward her.

A steady breeze was blowing, and she twisted her head so that her face was clear of her hair. Holding her robe as she continued down to him, she enjoyed the tingle buzzing through her body as she watched his hair billow about.

They crushed together and wound together. She inhaled him in as her lips moved against his chest and clamped her arms tightly around him as he nearly cut off her airflow with his own embrace.

Her feet left the ground, and for a second, she was spinning before he set her down and their lips came together. The fiery kiss raged, they melded tightly together, and their hands roamed leaving tingling trails.

“What are you wearing, Mariss?” Jack reclaimed his tongue long enough to speak but was back to kissing her before she could answer.

His hands had inched up the silky robe. Beneath the fabric, they alternately groped and caressed any skin left exposed by the lingerie. Fingers glided down, toying with the stockings.

Taking a step back, she made one of the boldest moves ever in her life. Especially, considering this house was prone to tree lurkers, and there was surely a driver in that limo.

In one smooth motion, the silken belt was untied, and her body shrugged from the silky shroud. Neither of them took notice of the robe catching the wind like a kite, or if it landed.

She was too busy glowing beneath Jack’s heated gaze, and Jack was too busy stroking her from head to toe with those dark eyes.

“Holy shit, Mariss...just...holy shit...”

He swooped and she was in his arms. She did not notice that they were going down the stairs instead of up until she felt the leather of the limo.

Jack was immediately on her for another one of those mind-bending kisses. When his lips left hers, she melted into the seat enjoying the friction of his hands over her skin and his wandering kisses.

They were so starved that it was barely five minutes later when his hopeful inquiry was a pleasurable murmur against sensitive skin, “Please tell me it’s been long enough?”

“It’s been long enough.”

In response, for the first time since that shower five years ago, there was no scramble for a tiny foil packet. Actually, she was three days short of the recommended time for the pills in the little plastic case to get in her system, but she wasn’t worried.

His unrestricted pleasure came in a loud groan and curse, then sweet seductive words. Every movement was soon pleasurable beyond words...

Jack roused himself first. “Dax didn’t answer my text...” He stretched an arm, moving enough to check his phone and then sighed. “I’m going to go give Tristan a hug and tell Dax we are leaving.”

“Leaving?”

“Ride to the airport with me?”

“You can’t stay longer?”

“I’m flying myself. I can’t log the hours if I don’t get back within the next two. The lack of sleep thing. Also, there is a storm coming in that I really want to beat. I’m sorry Mariss. Believe me, there is nothing more I want to do than go upstairs and get into that bed with you, and wake up to chocolate chip pancakes with Tristan.”

Quelling her disappointment, she combed her fingers through his hair. “I made you gumbo.”

His face lit, and he grinned dropping a kiss of thanks to her lips. “I will get some while I’m inside. Wait here? Make yourself a drink?”

He left, and she occupied herself with the requested drinks. When time seemed to stretch, she played with the t.v. Finally, she just lay back mesmerized by the lighting on the ceiling.

The car door opened, and he was back with a plastic container and spoon in his hand. Tossing it to the side, he picked up the condensation covered glass and took a long sip. His eyes widened, and he dropped it with a clatter back to the table.

“I can’t drink tonight. I’m my own pilot.”

“Oh!” She felt her own lids rise in horror at her mistake, but he shrugged it off and selected a Coke from the fridge.

“I can’t believe this shit.”

“I’m sorry. Really. Will you not be able to fly now?” A secret part of her hoped this was the case.

“No, not that, Mariss honey.” Resting his forearms on his thighs, he seemed lost in thought and then explained, “I went to make sure Dax was awake and to recruit him to sleep upstairs until you came back. Emma was with him.”

Words failed her, and when she found her voice, she repeated, “Emma? I don’t under—oh! Oh! Emma?” She floundered while he continued to stare at the floor. “I thought Randi?”

“I knew it was someone. But I never thought Emmajesty.” He looked up and seemed to remember he had a drink in his hand. Taking a sip, he studied the can. “It all makes sense now. I don’t like to think it, but I already had my suspicions...”

“About Dax and Emma?”

“About somebody ratting out our every move to the paparazzi. About it being Emma.”

“Why would she do that?”

“I guess because she is a publicist. Who the hell knows? But I will get to the bottom of it.” Jack shook his head, and when he moved to her seat, she quickly figured out neither of them wanted to waste what little time they had on this newest development. His kiss tasted of gumbo, and he moved from it long enough to send a text. Immediately, the car went into motion.

In the seconds they were apart for his text, she pulled the slinky top completely off, and in suspenseful trepidation, waited for his notice. The phone went into his clip, and he peeled his own shirt off. Then, his thumbs froze in the waistband of his jeans.

“Mariss, my honey...what have you done...”

“Do you like it?”

The question was seductive, not hopeful, as she could already see that he did. Like liquid fire, his gaze took in the surprise.

Never raising his eyes from her torso, he put out his calloused fingertips, skimming over the art. The bands of music that circled his arms had been the inspiration. However, on her, the inked artistry curved from just below her naval around to her back.

“I do. I like it. Very much...” His lips replaced his fingers.

The car was idling on the tarmac as they dressed. Every cell in her body tingled from slow, sweet loving. She began to realize that she was going home barely dressed, and remembered that her robe had blown to who knew where.

“I guess I should have hung onto my robe,” her musing drawled with much irony.

Jack took off the shirt he had just pulled on and instead settled it over her head.

“Do you have a shirt in the plane?”

“I’ll be fine.” He grinned as she threaded her arms through. “I still can’t believe you did that...”

At first, she thought he was speaking of her semi-strip on the steps, and she speculatively watched him step into his shoes. “Why?”

“Mariss who hates metal.” He said it as if it answered the question, and it did when he moved to wrap her in his arms with a husky wheedle, “Let me look again...”

She lifted the layers of clothing to reveal the henna. Randi had mentioned getting one done for a photo shoot, and it had sounded intriguing enough that she had gone along. But she wasn’t going to bring Randi’s name in this conversation. “I just wanted to get an idea before I commit.”

“As in for real?” Surprise lit his gaze, and his lips curved.

“You think?”

“I love it, Mariss. I love you. I want to be there when you commit though.” Fully dressed, he was running a brush through his hair. Tucking it in a backpack, he moved to her and wrapped her in his arms. “No strange guys inking you up without me there.”

The ride home was lonely but blissful. She occupied her mind by imagining the scenario he spoke of. Getting a tattoo with him right there. Would that be good or bad? Would he calm her fears or be privy to them?

The winding roads woke her from a doze, and she did a search for her shoes. With them in her hand, she was about to step from the car to the driveway when the driver passed her robe inside to her.

The image of him chasing it down amused her enough, even in her lonely misery, to smile as she put up the food before going to bed.

HER MOTHER’S RINGTONE
rattled her phone, waking her after what could have only been a couple of hours of sleep. After opening her eyes for the split second it took to grab the offensive device, she blindly pressed ignore, turned the ringtone off, and tossed it aside.

She had no idea how Jack was doing a radio show at this very minute after no sleep.

In the week since he left on tour, she had alternated between his bed and the guestroom looking for peaceful sleep. A few nights ago, she had settled on his bed.

The phone vibrated beneath her arm as she drifted off again with every detail of Jack’s short visit swimming in her mind.

Flopping restlessly over, she covered her ears with her arms when Rusty went nuts, as the dog always did, over the mail drop. Any morning was the same if the house was quiet enough for canine ears to hear the mail truck idling outside the gate long enough for the mail carrier to fit their articles into the mailbox.

The dog was a nuisance, and how Jack and Tristan could like him, she had no idea. She wanted her own dog back.

“Rusty! It’s just the mail!” Tristan’s voice rang out from down the hall. Her annoyance at the dog having waked her son diminished when Tristan’s pratter continued coming closer to the master suite and there was no clink of a crutch.

Raising her head from the pillow, she saw that his fingertips were barely touching the hall wall for support, and when he reached the room, he took unaided steps to the edge of the bed.

“When you wake up, Momma, can we have chocolate chip pancakes?”

“Chocolate chip pancakes? Is that all you eat?”

When she used Jack’s line on him, he laughed. Then a thoughtful look came over his face, a flit of recollection, and he asked, “Did Daddy come home last night?”

As they took the elevator to the first floor, she explained why Jack could not stay longer. Tristan went on into the kitchen, and she opted for the quick walk down the driveway to the mailbox hoping the outside air would wake her.

Lightly shoving the dog aside with her foot, she slipped out the front door and jogged down the steps. After waving through the fence to a neighbor who was walking their well-behaved dog she punched the code into the box.

With the small bundle of letters in hand, she headed back to the house abstractedly scanning them as she walked. Her eyes froze when the addressee on one envelope jumped out.

Jackson Loren and Tristan Jack Duplei.

In the entry hall, she absently let the rest of the mail fall into the basket on the table but held tight to the ominous envelope.

The return address was a local lab. The envelope did not need to be open to confirm the ugliness inside, but she did so anyway, ripping it with no care of Jack finding out.

The cover sheet read:

‘Dear Mr. Loren:

The attached protocol contains the results of ….’

Her eyes skimmed to the next paragraph.

‘From the testing shown on the attached protocol it can be determined that you, ARE one of the biological parents of Tristan Jack Duplei.’

“I got the chocolate chips out!” Tristan sang from the adjoining room.

Clenching the papers so tight they crunched, she carried them into the kitchen.

“Tristan?” Keeping her voice carefully neutral, she inquired, “Where did you and Daddy go? The day before he left on his trip?”

“Um...” Placing a mixing spoon by the bag of chocolate, he turned, “To eat. Chicken and French fries. Ice cream for dessert.”