Mistletoe & Hollywood (10 page)

We stopped walking and turned to each other, and I looped my arms around his waist. “You’ve made a lot of changes for me, and perhaps I haven’t made as many for you.”

Jack’s brow furrowed as his green eyes searched my face.

“You said some things last night—”

“I was drunk, I’m sorry.” Jack’s hand came up and raked through his hair.

“Don’t be. I know this stuff has been on your mind, and maybe getting a bit wasted last night, helped you talk to me about how you were feeling.”

“I was
feeling
horny.” He chuckled.

I shook my head with a small grin. “You’re incorrigible. But you were also feeling like you were the only one whose been fighting for us.”

“It was a stupid thing to say. Again, I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t a stupid thing to say. At all.”

MAX TURNED OUT
to be totally charming and down to earth. He had a kind, rounded, but very handsome face and was quick to smile and laugh. We joined him in a small screened off dining area at the back of the light-filled restaurant called Pier Nine. It was a beautiful space with original wood floors and lofty ceilings. “Classic Victorian elegance meets cool contemporary beach-chic,” Max proudly intoned. The Christmas tree in one corner consisted of graduating lengths of driftwood stacked one on top of the other and draped with painted shells and white lights. It was
exactly
my style. I ran my mouth asking Max all about the operating of a small hotel/restaurant establishment.

The food, a modern take on fish and chips, was delicious, and despite being not all that hungry, Jack and I stuffed ourselves.

It was obvious Max thought the world of Jack, and confided to me over a lingering dessert of
Spotted Dick
—I left that one alone—and coffee, that
William Huntley
had been his best friend, and he’d never quite had another friend like him after Jack left school so suddenly at nine years old. Jack had swallowed heavily next to me and flushed along the tops of his cheekbones, but he didn’t say a word. I thought it may have shocked him to silence.

Inwardly, I was happy with Max’s confession. Maybe this would go someway toward helping Jack integrate his childhood with his life now, help him accept it as part of what made him who he was.

“Do you ever go back and see your school?” I asked suddenly, on a whim.

Jack tensed next to me, but I pretended not to notice, having voiced the question pleasantly to Max.

“Of course,” Max responded cheerfully in his deep British baritone. “Always try and go back once a year and do a little tour. See how it’s going. They’re forever raising funds for this or that. Try to help, you know? Though boarding isn’t quite what it used to be, it’s more of a day school now.”

“I’d like to go back and see it,” said Jack.

I turned to him, surprised.

“Not many people will be there over the Christmas hols,” said Max. “Just a skeleton crew. But I bet we could go next week. I’ll probably have a lull in business after Christmas and Boxing Day.”

“What’s Boxing Day,” I asked.

“The day after Christmas is a national holiday too,” Jack said with a small smile like he’d just recovered the memory. “From the days when servants would receive a ‘Christmas Box’ and a day off from their masters or employers so they could, in turn, go and give a ‘Christmas Box’ to
their
families. A full-on remnant of the British gentry.” His face clouded. Presumably Jack was thinking of his gentrified roots. Of his despicable father.

“So maybe the day after that then?” Max asked.

“Perfect,” I chirped and squeezed Jack’s knee under the table.

His hand grabbed mine and kept it in place. “Will you come with us?” Jack asked me seriously. His face was expressionless, but I knew it was a massive mental undertaking for him to go and face some of these early memories.

“Of course. I’d love to,” I said casually but squeezed his knee hard to let him know how much I was there for him.

“Well, now.” Max stretched and slapped his belly. “Don’t suppose you have any single friends who are as charming as you looking for a nice English chap? Can we fly them over for New Year’s? I don’t have a date.”

I couldn’t believe Max didn’t have a date.

“Her best friend is in love with her brother, so that’s out,” Jack answered for me.

“Oh, wow.” Max’s eyes grew wide. “So that incestuous interfamily relationship thing in those southern states is as bad as they make out. Thought it was just an overblown stereotype. And I thought the worst was cousins. Wow!”

I was stunned into confused silence, and Jack suddenly lost his shit—laughing so loud and hard, he had to scrape his chair back and put his head down, his arm wrapping around his midsection.

“What?” asked Max, nonplussed, and I finally let out a breathy laugh through my shock at the reactions of both Jack, who apparently couldn’t stop laughing, and Max, who was still shaking his head. Luckily, our dragged out meal had resulted in us being the last patrons of the establishment, so only a few curious servers popped their heads around the screen.

“Not her
own
brother,” Jack wheezed, now literally crying.

“
My
brother.” I laughed. “My best friend is in love with
my
brother.”

“Ohhhh.” Max’s shoulders shook as he joined in Jack’s mirth. “Ahh well, what about this new fad of movie stars falling in love with ordinary folks? Heard Evan Weston was the last down on the battlefield. Bloody loved his movie ‘
Retaliation.
’”

“Oh yeah, that was a good one. He’s bad ass,” Jack agreed.

“Any actresses you could hook me up with? I could have a little Notting Hill thing, but down here in Hastings.”

We kept laughing and chatting for another hour or so until Max made mention of getting something and being right back. When he did, it was to hand an object wrapped in a napkin to Jack.

Jack took it with both hands and laid it on the white tablecloth in front of me.

“What?” I asked, confused.

Jack took the napkin away and left a small mason jar filled with all different colors of sea glass. “Day seven gift,” he murmured.

“Jack forgot this yesterday. The romantic schmuck spent all yesterday afternoon making me help him find bloody glass on the beach out there, didn’t he?” Max said as if the idea was the most outlandish he’d taken part in.

The bowling ball-sized bubble full of weird emotion was back in my throat again, causing a blockage that made my eyes fill.

Jack slid his hand around the back of my neck and breathed a light kiss on my temple. “Don’t cry,” he whispered.

“Sorry.” I sniffed and gave him and Max a watery smile. “Thank you. Thank you, both.”

“You’re welcome,” said Max with a grunt. “Teaching me a thing or two. Just think. If he’d intercepted my romantic endeavors earlier, I may have had a girlfriend by now. As it is, I’m making it his priority to get me hooked up. Will you help?”

I laughed. “Yeah, I’ll help.”

“It’s been a pleasure, Max,” Jack told his friend. “Thank you. Keri Ann and I have The Grange to ourselves tonight, so we best be getting along to make use of it.”

My cheeks went nuclear.
God, Jack.

“Right-o, old chap. Say no more.” Max hopped up. “I’ll give you a shout about next week.”

We said our good-byes and headed toward the rear exit where the parking was.

Jack stopped in the doorway leading out to the back patio, or
Candle-lit Garden
as Max had referred to it earlier, and pulled me into his embrace.

Looking around, making sure we weren’t being watched, I then shot him a puzzled frown.

He was grinning down at me, and then lowered his face and caught my lips with his. “Mmm.” He released me, and then reached up and stole a piece of greenery hanging in the tall doorframe.

“Jack, stop vandalizing the place,” I teased.

“It’s mistletoe. Now, mobile mistletoe. You never know when I might need it.” He grinned boyishly, his dimple creasing his cheek, and stuck the foliage in his pocket. “Let’s go home and get naked.”

IT WAS A
heady feeling to have been out to lunch and driving back without worrying anyone was following us, or that we’d wake up to some crazy newspaper story tomorrow. Liberating really. “I adored meeting Max,” I told Jack as we drove. “He’s so nice. And I adored what he did with that building.”

“Yeah, he’s a good guy. I’m glad we’re back in touch.” Jack glanced in the side mirror and shifted the manual gear stick. He’d pushed his sleeves up and bared his forearms when he got in, and I was finding his handling of the car hard to tear my eyes away from. “What are you looking at?” he asked, glancing at me before setting his eyes back on the country lane.

“You have the sexiest forearms ever,” I admitted.

“Forearms. You have a thing for my forearms? How did I never know this? I would have been brandishing them in front of you from day one.”

I giggled. “You did.”

“Wait. So this has been about my forearms all along?”

“Maybe.” I shrugged and looked out at the scenery, trying to curb my stupid smile.

“Interesting,” Jack mused. The car turned down the driveway to The Grange, and my heart beat faster as it came into view. “So, I just have to get this out the way and apologize.”

Turning, I looked at him, questions clearly all over my face. “What for?”

Jack climbed out and came around to my side. He helped me out into the bright and cold afternoon and closed my door. Taking my face in his hands, he settled a long lingering kiss on my lips. “Because that’s about the slowest thing I can manage right now,” he informed me as he released my mouth, his eyes serious.

I released a breathy laugh, misting the cold air between us with condensation. “So even though this might mean we go even faster, I feel I should tell you something.”

His eyebrows snapped together.

I bit my lip. “Well, um, I… ahem…” I chuckled awkwardly. “I went on the pill… finally. Merry Christmas.”

Jack’s chest caved, and his mouth dropped open. Then closed. Then he swallowed loudly. “So,” he croaked and cleared his throat. “Um—”

I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the house.

It was his mom’s house, and though we were alone, I felt we should probably confine ourselves to the bedroom out of deference. As soon as we were through the front door though, Jack had an arm around my waist and another tangled in my hair, angling my face just so. His hot mouth was on mine, and I opened to him, moaning as his tongue slid into me.

Vaguely, I heard his booted foot closing the front door behind us, and the light behind my eyelids dimmed. But mostly all I was conscious of was the taste of Jack and the trail of firing nerve endings left in the wake of one of his hands as it trailed down and cupped my ass, squeezing and pulling me hard against him. His soft hair was in a tight grip under my fingers as I drank in his kiss.

A long groan emanated from him, and we moved awkwardly toward the stairs.

Despite my release last night, I was vibrating with want within seconds. Jack had had no such release, and I felt it in his movements, his kisses, his breathing, and the grip of his hands. And I knew my news had added a probably unneeded fever pitch to his desire. His need only fueled the spark of my own, and within moments we were both caught in a torrent of fumbling, clutching, and desperate movements to get closer.

My sweater was whipped over my head and landed on the floor. His followed. Then my hands were blindly pulling at the buttons on his jeans between us as I kissed him again.

I tried to stumble us backward so we could go to our room. My feet found the bottom step and I wrenched my mouth off Jack’s, both of us gasping. Looking Jack in the eye, I stepped up two steps with a grin.

He followed and pulled me back in for another kiss, sliding his hand up under my long-sleeved thermal.

I pulled my mouth away and stepped up again.

His eyes were flinty in the dim light, and suddenly I found myself flipped around, my back pressed to his front and his breath in my ear. I gasped at the sudden movement.

“I want you so badly,” he growled, and his hands were under my shirt, kneading my breasts, roaming my belly and snapping my jeans undone. His actions were jerky and feverish, and the idea that he was losing complete control undid me.