Intoxicated (25 page)

“You’ve already had three helpings,” she said, incredulous. “Where do you put all of that? You don’t have an ounce of fat on you. If I ate that much, I’d be a hippo.”

“What can I say?” He shrugged and reached across the table for her plate. “Are you going to eat the rest of that?”
 

“No, go ahead.” She slid her plate toward him with a laugh.

“Fucking always makes me hungry,” he said and grinned at her resultant blush. He gulped down her remaining biscuit in two bites, pushed back from the table, and patted his stomach in satisfaction. “I thought you couldn’t cook.” He took both of their plates and headed for the sink where he proceeded to load the dishwasher while she watched in amazement.
 

“I never said I couldn’t cook. I said that I don’t cook. Two entirely different things.” The blatant pleasure on his face gave her a curious thrill and a sudden pang of satisfaction.
 

After a few minutes, he slid the dishwasher door closed and turned to face her. She had been staring blatantly at his broad back, admiring the play of muscles as he moved, and blushed at the angry red scratches left there by her nails. His front side was no less spectacular, if less colorful, with the swell of pectoral muscles high above the thick cords of his abs. Caught in the act of checking him out, she swallowed hard and risked a glance at his face. The brown eyes had darkened to black and his nostrils flared when he realized what she had been doing. He reached out a hand to grab the belt of her robe then gave it a small tug so that it fell open to bare her breasts.

“Jack!” She made a feeble attempt to pull the edges of the robe back together, but he slipped a hand inside and around her waist, drawing her against him.

He nibbled along her neck just below her ear. “I could get used to this. I like waking up in bed with you. Watching you cook for me. I might never leave.”

 
“I might not let you leave,” she said as her robe fell to the floor.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

One day melted into the next. As impossible as it seemed, the heat of summer continued to climb. The crime rate across the city reached an unprecedented high as the sultry temperatures caused patience to wane and tempers to flare. The grass turned a sickly shade of brown and heat shimmered over the pavement like a mirage. Ally took no notice, too engrossed with the flattering attentions of Jack to care about anything as mundane as the weather.

Jack came to her office every day with lunch, to make her laugh and steal kisses. That thirty minutes meant more to her than she cared to admit. When the hands of the grandfather clock in her office approached the noon mark, her stomach began to flutter with excitement and her palms to sweat. Jack brought a different cuisine for each meal and delighted in her hearty appetite. He also brought some inconsequential gift for Penny. The old bat lit up like a neon sign every time she saw Jack and began to treat Ally like less of a pariah and more of a trusted co-worker.

The days were wonderful, but the nights bordered on pure bliss. Jack kept her up most of the night with his lovemaking, testing her boundaries and forcing her to admit that the desire between them continued to climb alongside the searing temperatures. She was happy.
 

Still unconvinced that they belonged together, she had to admit three things. First, the sexual chemistry between them could not be denied. Second, he seemed determined to remain in her life despite the obstacles that fate kept throwing into their path. And third, he overwhelmed every shred of common sense she’d ever possessed. Like the finest scotch served at Jameson’s, he left her breathless and intoxicated. Damn him, damn his sexy black eyes, and damn those long sensual fingers that seemed to hold magic in their touch

The morning after a particularly grueling sexcapade, Ally struggled to stay awake as she scrolled through the financial statements. Her thoughts kept returning to Jack’s proposition and the possibility that he might be right. Maybe they belonged together. Maybe she would be passing up the opportunity of a lifetime if she ignored their connection. Maybe she needed to take a chance on him. Maybe…maybe she loved him. The revelation brought a flood of panic that forced the breath from her lungs with a whoosh.

The intercom buzzed and interrupted her revelation. “Mr. Reyes would like to see you in his office.” Penny’s voice echoed through the room.
 

“Are you sure?” Ally dropped her pen in alarm. Mr. Reyes only called people to his office for one of two reasons: to promote them or to fire them. Her stomach lurched with dread.
 

Fifteen minutes later, Ally sat in her car with a cardboard box full of her personal belongings and a pink slip lying on the dashboard. She gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white.
Un-freaking-believable!
How could this be happening? She’d been downsized…outsourced…
eliminated
…in an effort to reduce expenses and increase efficiencies. Life seemed to be fond of playing cruel tricks on her while she could do nothing but stand by and take it. Feeling numb and out of control, she sat in the car and watched as the number of cars in the garage dwindled until there was no one left on her floor.
 

Her cell phone rang and like an automaton, she answered it.
 

“Popsicle?” The voice on the other end of the call was deep and masculine, slightly rough, like gravel underneath silk.

“Jack?” Dismay gave way to pleasure at the sound of his voice, followed by a fluttering between her legs.
 

He chuckled, the sound warming her numb body. “Hi, baby. I missed having lunch with you today.”

“Look –– it’s really not a good time, Jack.”

“Why not?” He paused and she could picture the unlit cigarette dangling from his lips as he spoke, a gleam in his dark eyes. “What are you doing?”

Oh, hell
, she thought.
Why fight it?
She felt like a salmon swimming upstream only to be pushed back time and time again. The strength to resist had ebbed away with her latest disappointment.
 

“Uh, well, I’m sitting in a parking garage staring at the wall.”
 

“Bad day, baby?” His voice lowered to a caress that raised goose bumps on her arms. For some reason, the compassion in his voice brought tears to her eyes.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m having a bad day.”

“Come and see me,” he said. “I can make you forget all about it.” Like a lamb being lured to slaughter, she was powerless to resist him when he spoke in that tone.

“I’m not sure you can,” she replied as she traced the curve of the steering wheel with a finger.
 

“Such a pessimist. Come and see me,” he repeated, his voice turned seductive. “And take your panties off before you get here.”

“Okay,” she whispered. She teetered on the edge of an emotional precipice, afraid to look down, knowing that one step in his direction would allow him to slip past the tattered barriers of her self-control and send her spiraling into the abyss.

 
“I promise you won’t regret it. Get over here.
Now
.”
 

And just like that, she stepped over the edge.

As it was only Tuesday, Felony was quiet and empty when she arrived. Her footsteps echoed down the deserted hallways, reverberating off of the walls like gunshots. An air of tension always thrummed beneath the surface. The place slept like a caged lion biding its time with tail swishing and claws sheathed. In the broad light of day devoid of the swirling smoke and flashing laser lights, the place seemed smaller and shabbier, with peeling paint on the walls and stains on the floor.

She ducked through The Rabbit Hole and came out on the other side to find Jack pacing the length of the bar, unlit cigarette in one hand and his cell phone in the other. He kept his head down and turned away from her. She couldn’t quite make out what he was saying but his tone couldn’t be misunderstood. Twice he slammed his hand against the wall hard enough to make the liquor bottles shake on their shelves. After a few minutes, he turned to look at her. The light in his eyes frightened her. His muscles were coiled tight like a cobra about to strike. Not for the first time, she realized how lethal Jack could be if he didn’t keep a leash on the tension that always lurked just below the surface of his easy going manner. When his gaze caught hers, his expression softened. As if coming to some sort of decision, he pulled the phone away from his ear and spoke directly into the receiver. “Do not call here again. I mean it.”

He hung up the phone and took a second to run his hands back through his hair as if regaining his composure.

“Sorry about that,” he said with a charming smile meant to distract her. “Stupid phone solicitor.”

“Is everything okay?” she asked. “You look pretty mad.”

“Not mad, frustrated. Some people can’t take no for an answer.”

“Sounds like the pot calling the kettle black if you ask me,” she muttered.
 

“Oh, it’s not the same thing at all. I know when you say
no
, that deep down inside you’re dying to say
yes
.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over hers, lightly enough to make her skin pebble with gooseflesh. “Only your words deny me. Your eyes and your body are all screaming my name.
Jack, Jack, OH JACK!
” He threw up a hand in a dramatic gesture to emphasize a perfect imitation of her ecstatic screams from the previous night.
 

She giggled and tried to stop it by covering her mouth with her hand then cast a quick glance around to see if she should be embarrassed by his outburst. No one was watching. Four guys played billiards in the side room; Ally recognized one of them as a bouncer and another as one of the new bartenders. They were deep in conversation about a music video. Underneath the smack of the billiard balls, the muted refrain of the jukebox could be heard.

“Come on over here. I have just the thing to make you feel better.” Cigarette in hand, Jack gestured toward the bar and the odd-looking contraption that sat there. He must have been to Jameson’s Pub earlier that day; he wore those tight black dress pants and a white dress shirt with a skinny black leather necktie hanging untied around the collar.
 

“What is this?” With a tentative finger she traced the intricate filigree around the edge of the object and touched the tiny spigot on the end of one of the extended arms. A blown glass globe with hand-cut facets cast prisms of light onto the counter top. Below that, a Grecian goddess fashioned from sterling silver balanced the glass globe on outstretched arms. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s an absinthe fountain,” Randy interrupted, appearing from nowhere, to take a seat beside her at the bar.

“I got this for Jameson’s.” As he spoke, Jack removed the top of the glass globe and filled it with ice and bottled Evian. “It was my dad’s. My mom found it and thought I might be able to use it.”

“You’re going to love this.” Randy drummed his fingers on the counter in anticipation.

“I’m not so sure about that.” Ally eyed the contraption that looked like some kind of fantastic Rube Goldberg machine. “I’m not a fancy-drink kind of girl. Give me bourbon on the rocks any day.”

“That’s my baby.” The note of pride in Jack’s voice sent a wave of warmth over Ally. He winked at her and smiled. “You need to try this, though. It’s all about the process.
La louche
, it’s called. The customers at Jameson’s will eat this shit up.”

“
Absinthe is the aphrodisiac of the self. The green fairy who lives in the Absinthe wants your soul
,” Randy said, eyes transfixed on the fountain. He’d shaved his head smooth as a billiard ball and wore a leather fedora. He looked like a deranged gangster.
 

“Okay. That’s creepy. Is he okay?” Ally lifted an eyebrow and nodded toward the giant red-haired man.
 

Jack shrugged. “He’s weird. Just ignore him.”
 

“That’s a quote from Bram Stoker’s
Dracula.
Can’t get any cooler than that,” Randy said with a scowl. “Absinthe is the shit, man. Look at all the great minds that have enjoyed it — Van Gogh, Oscar Wilde, Hemingway, Guy de Maupassant...”

Ally’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline.

“Maupassant wrote some killer short stories about war,” Randy said. At her look of disbelief, he shrugged. “I like to read.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but Van Gogh cut off his ear, Hemingway committed suicide, and de Maupassant went insane from syphilis. Not exactly great references, in my opinion,” Ally said.
 

The broad mouth split into a grin. “Yeah, maybe, but they had a helluva ride on the way to madness.”

Jack brought out four crystal glasses that matched the style of the fountain and then brought a brown bottle of absinthe from underneath the counter.
 

“One hundred and sixty-nine dollars a bottle.” He lifted the bottle to the light and scrutinized its contents with one eye closed. “This is good shit. About the best there is, I think.” The liquid sparkled like emeralds as he poured it into the faceted glasses.
 

Over the top of each glass, he placed a slotted silver spoon fashioned like a dragonfly with delicate outstretched wings. On top of the dragonfly he balanced a sugar cube. With theatrical precision, he slid each glass under one of the fountain arms and adjusted the spigot with great care. A slow drip of water melted the sugar cube into the glass. With each dramatic drop, the air filled with a sweet herbal scent.