Bad News Cowboy (20 page)

Which meant she was going to go ahead and speak the words that were rolling around in her head, making her tongue restless. Because before they'd started doing
stuff
together, she would have spoken them.

She looked up at him. “If you didn't minimize your contributions to everything, maybe people wouldn't think all of your achievements were dumb luck.” As soon as she spoke the words, she realized how accurately they described Jack.

He was quick to extol the virtues of Connor and Eli, to remind her of everything they had done for her, and yet he never brought up all the ways he'd been there. In fact, when she tried, he often changed the subject.

And now he wouldn't even accept a compliment for the event that he had inspired.

He shrugged, leaning forward, the casual gesture exposed for the lie it was by the tension in his jaw. “I'm being honest. I'm not the kind of guy who has to trumpet his own achievements. I know a lot of people assume I am, but I'm not.”

It hit her then what a funny mix of things Jack was. He had an easy kind of cockiness, and only moments ago she had accused him of having a massive ego. But when it came to important things, he was quick to shift the credit.

In contrast, he never shifted blame.

He was quick to call himself a bastard or a jackass or any other derogatory name, all while laughing it off. She wasn't quite sure why.

“Jack, it's more than that,” she said, her tone grave.

He raised his brows. “Listen to you, missy. Pulling rank now like you gained a decade on me instead of being one down. Why? Just because we've...”

“Shut up,” she said. “I'm serious. If you're going to be an ass just because I stepped into some thorny business, then shut the hell up right now. I'm not in the mood to listen and separate out what you said just because I scared you and decide what should offend me.”

“Scared?” he asked, his tone incredulous.

“Yes. Scared. You know how I know it's scared?” She didn't wait for him to answer. “Every time I took a shot at you, it was because I was scared. Of what you made me want. Of what you made me feel. I was so scared I shoved it down deep enough that I couldn't recognize what it was. So scared I never let myself think the word
want
. But it didn't change the fact that I felt it. And you know what? It's better this way. Brought up to the top and dealt with. Naked and...and...and raw and real. It's better than pretending it isn't there.”

He was silent for a moment. Then he leaned back, his gaze assessing. Dark. “But in your scenario you got sex instead of sexual frustration. What will I get?”

She gnawed on the inside of her lip. “Release? From...issues?”

He snorted and shook his head. “Right. Because you're so into talking about your feelings?”

She frowned. “What do I need to talk about my feelings for? I'm fine.”

“So am I,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “We just had a discussion about the not fine.”

“You had a discussion. You drew conclusions. All on your own. I think it's bullshit.”

She stared him down, that familiar feeling of uncontrollable determination gripping her, anchoring itself deep in her gut. When she had that feeling, backing down wasn't an option. Ever. Sometimes it got her in trouble.

It had earned her a scar on her shoulder blade when John Norton had dared her to walk the top of a fence like a tightrope back in second grade. And right now who knew what it would get her. But in the moment the consequences never mattered. Only the win.

“Jack...”

He looked back down at the papers in front of him, pen in hand, discussion clearly closed.

Her anger reached its peak, and there was no one left to help Jack Monaghan now except for God. And she doubted Jack would ever even ask
him
for help.

Jack would never ask. And he was apparently done listening.

Fuck. That.

She gripped the hem of her T-shirt and stripped it up over her head, that bullheaded determination steering the ship now. And now that it was, there would be hell to pay.

It just remained to be seen whether hell would bill Jack or her.

She reached back and unhooked her bra, then let it fall to the floor with a soft thump. That garnered Jack's focus.

His blue eyes connected with hers, then lowered, heat flaring bright and hot in their depths. For a moment she lost the thread of her intentions completely. She could only stand there and bask in her newfound power.

She'd always been strong. Hell, she'd been able to beat up every boy in her class before they started growing body hair. She was tough, and no one had ever questioned that. She hadn't, either.

But this power? This was new. This was different.

Her body had the power to turn some kind of tide inside the infamous Jack Monaghan. To take him from anger, to take him from purposefully ignoring her to looking at her with the kind of keen focus she'd never seen him train on anything.

She'd known there was power in strength. In a closed fist and a quick tongue. In the ability to ride faster than the boys, fix the fence with better skill. But she hadn't realized how much power there was in her body. In its softness, its innate being. No walls up, no clothes on. No front of bravado or show of toughness.

She'd already realized that she'd discovered a hidden layer of Jack, a deeper level of who he was. In this moment she realized she'd found the same in herself.

She took a step toward him and pressed her knee down beside his thigh on the couch before following suit with the other, sitting on his lap, facing him. “Is that paper still more interesting than what I have to say?”

His eyes flickered downward. “No. But now you have the issue of what you have to say not being quite as interesting as how you look.”

Completely against her will, a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “I've heard women complain about that, but I don't think I've ever had that problem. It's certainly an interesting one.”

“I'm being offensive. At least have the decency to get mad at me.” He reached up and cupped one of her breasts as he spoke, teasing her nipple with his thumb.

“Can't,” she said, her voice thin now, breathless. “It's impossible to be mad at you when you do that.”

“That's interesting,” he said, flashing a wicked smile at her. “Makes a man want to try.”

He wrapped his arm around her, planting his palm between her shoulder blades, holding her steady as he let his other hand drift down to her stomach, all the way down to the waistband of her jeans.

“Somehow I don't think you're trying to make me mad.”

“No. But I might be trying to change the subject.” He flicked the button on her jeans open and drew the zipper down slowly.

“And I might allow it. For now.” She had achieved one portion of the victory she'd been aiming for. She hadn't allowed him to push her away. So she would stick a little flag in that and claim it as a triumph for Kate Garrett.

It was either that or she was weak.

She didn't really care which it was at the moment.

He slipped his hand down between the fabric and her skin, his fingertips teasing the edge of her underwear. His expression changed, the mischief, the wickedness gone, replaced by that intense focus he'd treated her to earlier. As all-consuming as the things he made her feel were, as intense and wonderful as it was when he dipped his fingers beneath the fabric of her panties, gliding through her slick folds. Watching the intensity on his face as he set about the task was almost more compelling. Almost.

His touch set her on fire, created a deep, restless ache, the impression of a spark that was about to burst into flame.

She touched his stomach, hot and unbelievably hard, pushing the hem of his shirt up before pulling it resolutely over his head. It forced his hands away from her body, but it was a small price to pay to earn the pleasure of seeing him.

Of giving herself another chance to look at him and really feel what it did to her. Rather than trying to push it down, rather than getting angry, rather than acting disgusted. She had spent so long pretending because she hadn't been able to deal with what it meant. That gnawing, beastly ache in her stomach that seemed to appear whenever Jack was around. It grew more intense when he lifted something heavy or stripped down to nothing more than his jeans.

She remembered, vividly, when he'd done that during the rebuilding of Connor's barn. The show she'd put on about being irritated that he was showing off.

No wonder Liss had figured it out. With hindsight, with less innocence, Kate could see her own excuses for the paper-thin constructs they were.

“You've gone very still,” Jack said. “Either there's a rabid wolverine behind my head about to attack, or you're thinking.”

“Wolverine. Stay perfectly still if you value all of your body parts.” He went still beneath her hands, his muscles tensing. She leaned in, kissing his neck, angling her head and biting his ear.

“I'd say I have to worry more about the badger-cat than the wolverine,” he said, his voice rough.

“It's true. I am fearsome.” She pressed her mouth to his, then nipped his lower lip.

She reached between them, making quick work of his belt, opening his jeans, then pulling his underwear down to reveal the package beneath. He shifted, raising his hips and reaching behind him, digging in his back pocket until he produced his wallet. “Very important,” he said as he opened it and fished out a condom.

“Very.”

He took care of the necessities, his jeans only partway down his hips still since she hadn't ceded her position on his lap. “Katie. I'm desperate.” He sounded it. And she would have been lying if she said she didn't like that.

She stood, getting rid of the rest of her clothes before moving back to him, over him. She waited for nerves, for uncertainty. She'd never done this before, and it was putting a lot of the control into her hands when their other two times Jack had firmly led the way. But her nerves didn't show. The confidence she had found in a fleeting moment during their kiss outside, and more permanently when he'd demonstrated just how much she affected him, held fast.

She put her hands on his shoulders and rose up on her knees, adjusting her position carefully, reaching down and taking hold of his thick arousal and guiding it slowly inside of her body as she lowered herself onto him. He wrapped one arm around her waist, anchoring her, and reached up, gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face down, forcing her to meet his eyes.

Jack was big on eye contact, and that was another thing that sent a wave of satisfaction through her. He wasn't tuning her out, concentrating only on the physical feeling. He was forging a connection between them. Far from denying that she was the woman he was with, the way he looked at her, with such focus, proved that he was embracing this. That he wanted her, not just the way sex made him feel.

She moved above him, trying to recall the way he did things when he set the pace. The speed and pressure at which he seemed to lose control. She rocked forward and he released his hold on her chin, moving his hands to grip her hips, holding her steady without taking the control.

“Is that okay?” she asked, breathless, barely able to force the words out.

He didn't say anything. His only response was to kiss her, deep and savage, none of his skill or carefully learned moves on display. But it was okay. She liked it. Jack was all around her, in her. And she was more than happy to be consumed, by him, by this. By the firm grip of his hands on her hips, his lips, his teeth, his tongue. And those blue eyes that looked into hers, unflinching, uncompromising.

Emotion expanded in her chest, blending with the pleasure unfurling in her stomach, both of them bleeding out and meeting the other, mixing together until they were one and the same. It was so all-consuming, so very much, that she could barely breathe.

And all the feelings down deep beneath that layer she had uncovered today rushed up inside her. It was too much, too much for a woman who had only just discovered that all of this existed within her. And now she was being pelted with it, like raindrops, hard and sharp, threatening to break through her skin in the downpour.

And the only thing keeping her from succumbing, from being completely destroyed, was those blue eyes. Familiar where everything else was so foreign.

“Jack.” She hadn't meant to say his name out loud, but she was beyond thought, beyond control.

His grip tightened as he began to meet her thrust for thrust. And then she lost the thread of who was in control and who wasn't. It was equal, a joint pursuit. Him following her, her following him, each of them recognizing what the other needed, what the other wanted.

His movements became erratic, rough, pulling her body down on his as he thrust up to meet her. He moved one hand from her hip and placed it on her cheek, drawing her down nearer to him and kissing her throat, his teeth scraping over her delicate skin. She tightened her hold on his shoulders, bracing herself as he flexed his hips one last time, pushing her from the outskirts of the storm into the center of the tornado.

It roared over her, in her, through her, but Jack held her steady. Even while his own release shook his frame, he held her.

When it was over, she raised her head, half expecting to look around the room and find furniture upended, papers scattered everywhere. But everything was the same. Even the spreadsheets they'd been looking at before were in their place, completely undisturbed by what had just passed between them. It didn't seem possible. The disconnect between what had happened inside of her and the state of the room was too sharp for her to process.

He patted her thigh and somehow she recognized it as a signal he needed her to move. She complied. He disappeared from the living room and returned a few moments later with his jeans done back up and the protection taken care of. She hadn't bothered to get dressed again. Instead she took the blanket that was draped over the back of the couch and pulled it over her body.