Mistletoe & Hollywood (6 page)

He kissed desperately, and I matched him, my gloved hands grabbing on to him, trying to get closer. Impossible with all our layers. “God,” Jack groaned, wrenching his mouth away like it was the hardest thing he’d ever done. “Do you realize how long it’s been since I’ve been inside you?”

My stomach flipped as it always did when he spoke so plainly. I inhaled sharply as his hard thigh hit the right spot between my legs. Dull with all our clothes but perfect. Perfectly not enough. “Yeah,” I gasped. “Three and a half weeks.”

“Twenty six days. To be precise. Not that I’m counting. Except, yeah, I’m totally counting.” His mouth nuzzled the spot under my ear, and my skin prickled.

“I’m so sorry I passed out last night.” We’d had an early dinner, and I’d gone upstairs to get the hostess gift I’d brought for Charlotte and Jeff. I hadn’t been able to resist stretching out on the bed for just a moment, and that was the last thing I remembered until I’d woken this morning wrapped in a cocoon of bedding. I was undressed to my underwear, but there was no sign of Jack. He’d gotten up early to spend some time with his mom.

“Well, surely you’ve, uh, relieved some of the pressure over the last—” The sight behind Jack stopped my words mid sentence. “Shit,” I whispered in horror at the large black bull ambling in our direction over the deep green field. “Uh, Jack, it’s a pretty big bull with rather large horns, and he’s heading straight for us.”

Jack turned his head, his body unmoving, just as the bull seemed to zone in on us and picked up his pace to a trot. I could see the condensation blowing from its nostrils. Or was it steam? Shit. I was frozen in panic. Any minute and it would stop, drop its head, and start pawing the ground ready to charge.

“Oh, fuck,” said Jack.

JACK SPRANG INTO
action. His hands went around my waist and lifted me up onto the wall and out of the way. The stones were cold and loose under my butt, and I wobbled.

“Quick, see if you can get down the other side,” Jack said urgently. The bull snorted loudly.

I glanced behind me, a drop, but not terrible. “But what about you, can you climb up?” The bull slowed to a stop fifteen feet away, and we both froze. Its eyes were black and glossy, and it tilted its head up and to the side. “What’s it doing?” I whispered. “Should we move or will it charge?”

“See if you can slowly slide off the other side. I’ll edge back toward the stile.”

“No, it’s too far. Can you climb over the wall? It’s loose though, be careful,” I added as I dragged my legs over, dislodging a rock that went crashing off the side.

Just then the bull dropped its head. I scrambled over the other side, landing heavily, and turned back to see Jack leap up and get his torso over the wall that was almost as high as his chest. The bull charged, and I screamed. My chest caved, he wasn’t going to make it. Without thinking, I ripped the scarf from around my neck, and waving it madly, ran down the hill along the wall. It was lower here, and in a stroke of luck, the bull was distracted for a second and turned toward me, stumbling with the abrupt move.

Jack scrambled over the wall, and found his feet, landing perfectly.

I dropped the scarf, and raced back up the hill toward him, launching myself into his arms.

“Ooof!” The muffled sound came out of Jack’s mouth as my momentum tumbled us both down onto the wet ground.

I leaned up. “That’s the last time I follow you blindly into a field.” I smacked his arm.

“Ow.” He laughed.

I slapped the top of his head.

He tangled his legs with mine, rolling me over onto my back and immobilized my wrists. “Wench.”

“Idiot.”

“Scaredy-cat.”

“It was a fucking horny bull!” I squeaked.

“Ohh, dirty mouth. I love it.” And his eyes zeroed in on the feature in question.

“You can at least thank me for saving your ass.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I distinctly remember lifting you up out of harms way. I think I did the saving.”

“I
literally
saved your ass. You would’ve had a horn up it if I hadn’t waved my scarf around as a distraction.”

Jack winced. “I guess it was lucky I gave you the scarf then. Again,
me
to the rescue.”

“Ugh, you’re impossible.” But I was laughing at his ridiculousness.

“Impossibly turned on. I think it’s officially becoming a dangerous condition.”

“Certainly if it impairs your judgment and leads us into deadly situations.”

“I’m thinking actually, more along the lines of those commercials where they tell you to seek medical help after four hours.”

I giggled. “That’s what I mean. The blood isn’t circulating in your brain at all. Starved for oxygen, clearly. I’ll have to take over all the decision-making from now on, or until we can find a way to remedy your malady.”

“Funny girl. You’re telling me you’re just fine, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Really?”

“Well, I managed twenty-one years without any at all, I’m sure I’m still surviving after three and a half weeks.”

“Twenty-six days,” he corrected. “And what? I thought I was irresistible to you.”

I flushed, the telltale heat warming my cold cheeks. Was I that easy to read? “You’re heavy,” I complained evasively.

Jack rolled off me, and I took a deep unconstricted breath. We could still hear the bull snorting on the other side of the wall. “Anyway, it was clearly
your
ass he was going for. Can’t say I blame him,” Jack said on an exhale.

“Is the sun finally burning off this mist, or am I imagining it?” I asked, squinting up into the whiteness above us. The earth was cold at my back but thankfully not seeping wetness through to my clothes thanks to my waxed jacket.

“We should be so lucky.” Jack turned his head to look at me. “Apart from our near death experience, are you enjoying England?”

I smiled. “Yeah. It’s exactly how I imagined it, actually. Which is a huge relief.”

“So you’re not missing being home? What’s Joey decided to do for Christmas?”

“Dang, I was supposed to call him last night, and I forgot. I don’t know yet. Last I heard he said he was going to stay at school and study. Which seems pretty bleak, but that’s what he wanted. Will you remind me to call him when we get back to the house?”

“Sure. How’s it going with Jazz? Have they still not sorted their shit out?”

“Jeez. One minute they’re hot and heavy, and the next… well, let’s just say my brother hasn’t figured it out yet.”

“What?”

“That she’s his destiny. His homing beacon. The beach to his sea turtle.” I cut my eyes over to him.

Jack rolled up onto an arm and looked down at me, black lashes framing his mesmerizing eyes. “Like you are to me.” Then he put a gloved finger between his teeth and pulled his hand free. The hand went to the buttons of my jacket and undid them one by one.

I captured my bottom lip between my teeth as I waited to see what he was doing. Braced against the cold air, my insides swirled with heat. When his hand found the skin of my belly under my sweater, I jolted and stopped breathing. But he merely dragged his hand slowly upwards between my breasts until it was flattened palm down on my chest. There it stayed, my heart beating wildly against it like a bird in a cage.

“This. This right here, is my destiny. In here.” He pressed down, his hand splayed on my breastbone as if imparting his emotions through his palm, willing me to feel something more than he was saying. “You’re the beach to my sea turtle.” He gave a lopsided grin, his dimple showing up. “My homing beacon. Actually, just… you’re my home. You’re where my heart lives.”

I released a long sigh. “Jack.”

He leaned down and kissed me gently, briefly, then raised his head again, his eyes burning into me. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about. I was going to wait, but…” he trailed off, his brow furrowing like he wasn’t sure he should have said anything. Light began warring with clouds in his eyes.

Wait to talk to me about something? Why? Maybe I wouldn’t like what it was about… or maybe he was going to wait for a special day, like Christmas. What would he talk to me about on Christmas that he couldn’t talk about any day? Unless it was something special. Like… worry hurtled through my body. My jaw locked and my chest seized. My eyes widened. I wasn’t ready to talk about settling down or getting married. What did that even look like with our crazy schedules? It was a recipe for us to try and fail and possibly fracture apart forever.

“Don’t,” I rushed out.

“Don’t what?” he asked, taken aback by my abrupt interruption.

I swallowed the weird ball of panic that was suddenly clogging my throat.
Don’t panic, don’t panic.
You don’t even know what he was going to say.

Jack’s eyes were creased in confusion, and then hurt seemed to fill his face. “What did you think I was going to say?” he whispered. His lips looked pale.

“Nothing, I don’t know.” I swallowed again, since the damn thing in my throat was still there, now filled with guilt. And I
didn’t
know what he was going to say. No, not at all. “I just… you didn’t seem sure you wanted to talk about it, whatever it is. So don’t.” I was babbling awkwardly.

“Bullshit,” Jack said. His hand slipped out from under my sweater, leaving me chilled, and sat up. Resting his arms on his knees, he looked off over the green fields and into the white-coated distance.

I sat up and drew my coat back around me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I panicked.”

“I gathered that. The question is ‘about what’?”

“I—nothing.”

“Hence the reason I called bullshit,” Jack said with a weary sigh. He pulled a tuft of grass free and threw it. “Aren’t couples supposed to be able talk to each other?”

“You’re one to talk. You’ve had something bothering you ever since you met me from L.A. Even before that, I could tell on the phone. And you haven’t talked about it at all.”

“Well, maybe that was what I was going to talk to you about just then,” he said. But he didn’t sound convincing.

“Bullshit,” I whispered, and hated that I said it. He’d made a good point after all, if he
was
going to tell me, I was the one who’d cut him off.

He turned his head to look at me and gave a slight shrug. “It was a part of it.”

“Oh.”

Jack got to his feet and dusted the wet grass off his jeans, then pulled his glove back on. He reached out a hand to help me up, and I gratefully accepted.

As I brushed the wet grass and dirt from my own outfit, Jack retrieved my scarf from the ground down the hill. It was damp and probably ruined.

“Come on, let’s head back before we catch colds,” Jack said absently and set off along the wall back to the footpath, my red scarf tucked under his arm. I did my buttons up hastily and then folded my arms across my chest, hugging myself tightly, and followed. After a few minutes where I tried to keep up and not feel hurt he was marching off without me, he stopped and held out his hand. I ran, wellies sliding on wet grass, and grabbed it. He shook his head with a small smile, and we kept walking. Sometime soon, Jack and I were going to have to get really intimate. And by that I meant we were going to have to have some really honest and vulnerable conversations about our future.

“So, Jeff’s awesome,” I said as we walked, choosing a neutral topic of conversation for now.

“He is, isn’t he? It’s clear my mom and he have a great relationship. He adores her.”

“That must be a huge comfort to you, living so far away.”

“Yeah, it is. I wish he’d retire, though; he works too hard. Spend some more time with my mum. She’s happy, but I get the sense she’s a tad lonely out here all by herself.”

“Really? I don’t know her that well, but I think she enjoys the solitude.”

“You might be right.”

“So is Charlotte her real name?”

Jack pursed his lips. “Sure is.”

“But yet, everyone calls you Jack? And not William?”

“I’ve been Jack since I was nine years old.”

“But isn’t—”

“That’s who I am Keri Ann,” Jack snapped, stopping and letting go of my hand. “Jack-freaking-Eversea, remember?”

“Don’t speak to me that way, Jack. And how could I
freaking
forget?” I mimicked.

“Dammit. Sorry.” He turned to me and stuffed his hands in his pockets, blowing out a misty cloud of condensed breath. His nose was red from cold, his cheeks ruddy, but he still was the most beautiful man in the world. And something was bothering him. I hated to think it had been me who upset his carefully balanced mood. I knew he disliked being back in England, his mother notwithstanding. He started to say something, then stopped, and mashed his lips together.

I didn’t know what was coming, but I felt like we’d probably have a better time to talk about serious stuff when we were warm and dry, and in a better place than this odd edgy moment we were having. “So, not sure how you feel about this, but you’ve been sliding into a British accent.”

His eyes widened in surprise as his head drew back abruptly. “No, I haven’t.”

“Yeah.” I laughed. “You have. You’re all… ‘bloody hell,’ and ‘spot of tea,’” I mimicked in a overdramatic way, dropping down several octaves.