The corner of his mouth lifts, the phrase next time glowing in the air between us like a lightning bug. He reaches a hand out between our chairs—an apology, an olive branch, and a promise all wrapped in one—and lets it hang there, patiently waiting, until I clasp it and hold on for dear life. I may never let go.
I stare at him, letting my eyes travel a leisurely field trip across his face, taking a slow and steady inventory of all the little details I’ve missed so much: the dimple bracketing the corner of his mouth; his hair, ruffled and windswept, my favorite wayward front tendril misbehaving even more than usual; the stubbled jaw I’m desperate to graze my knuckles over; the gleaming blue of his eyes, clear as sea glass.
I love him. And no matter what potholes and speed bumps we’ve encountered on our path to get here, I know I always will. What was it Gran said? All love is a leap of faith.
Well, I’ve looked, and I’m leaping.
He gives my hand a little tug and I take the hint, sliding off my lounger and hopscotching over to his. His arms automatically open for me and I climb on, curling up against his side and resting my head against the solid cushion of his chest. This chair definitely isn’t built for two—the wrought iron arm is digging into my spinal cord—but right now, it may as well be a bed of roses.
“I know who you are, Jack.” I give in to the temptation and trace a fingertip along his jaw, the familiar prickle of his stubble lighting a fire in my belly. “And I’ve already forgiven you. That is, if you can forgive me.”
The words have barely escaped my lips when he presses his mouth to mine, kissing me so passionately that any mature, articulate thoughts I may have had about absolution instantly fly out of my head, leaving only raw desire in their place. This kiss is not patient or gentle; it’s crushing, bruising, intense. It’s weeks of pent-up emotion and angst, yearning and hunger. It’s a pot boiling over, a raging wildfire consuming everything in its path.
I can’t believe I’ve gone so long without this. It’s been six weeks since he touched me, six weeks since he learned my body so thoroughly, and he makes it clear he hasn’t forgotten an inch. His hands roam and rediscover and I let him take his fill, then steal mine in return. We kiss and taste and worship to our heart’s content and I don’t know how much time has passed before I come to, but when I do I’m straddling him like a horny cowgirl.
“Jack,” I say breathlessly. I’m panting like a hiker at high elevation. “I hate to do this—and I mean I really hate to do this—but we have to stop.”
“But do we really?” he murmurs, his lips placing swirling kisses beneath my ear, his hand slipped beneath my sweater and splayed against the bare skin of my rib cage.
“We do, because I can pretty much guarantee my grandmother has found a way to spy on us.”
That stops him cold.
I drop my head into his neck and laugh as I roll off him. “If I’d known all I needed to say was ‘I forgive you,’ I would’ve done it sooner,” I tease, fanning myself.
“You know who hasn’t forgiven me? Cliff. He’s barely said two words to me since you stopped coming around. He won’t even look me in the eye. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be hated by your doorman?”
“I admire his loyalty,” I say solemnly, then remember something. “Wait, so how did you find me?”
“Ah.” He resettles us in the chaise, his arm nestling me against his side. “So I’d hit a dead end in my search, but worse, I’d started to think you really didn’t want to be found. I worried I was being selfish, that if I did find you I might just end up screwing your life up all over again. So I paused to figure out my next move . . . and then the Olivia Sherwood interview came out.” He clasps my hand to his chest and squeezes. “I couldn’t help but think you were sending me a message? I nearly murdered Tom for not telling me about it.”
“Tom understood the assignment.”
He makes a frustrated noise. “I can’t decide if I’m annoyed that you two colluded behind my back or happy that you’re finally getting along.” He lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Anyway, at that point I was out of options, so I had to play my ace.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “I called Greg.”
“Of course Greg spilled the beans. I swear, that guy needs a muzzle.” I make a mental note to rename the villain in my book after Greg. “Though in this case, I suppose I owe him one.”
“Well, actually, it was your sister who answered the phone, and boy, did she rip me a new one,” Jack says, chuckling at the memory. “She chewed me out for a solid ten minutes about what a horrible human being I am and how I don’t deserve you.”
I wince. “Oof. Christine might be tougher than all the Siren women combined.”
“You’re not kidding. She told me—and I quote—that she’d ‘cut my balls off’ if I even considered coming back around before I’d gotten my shit together. And that I needed to be prepared to grovel.”
I smile and kiss the tip of his nose. “I don’t need groveling.”
“Oh no, she was very clear about the groveling, and I do not intend to piss her off further.” He is resolute. “She’s rather scary, your sister.”
“Yeah.” I smile fondly. “I love that about her.”
He brings our clasped palms to his lips and kisses the back of my hand. “So what do we do now?”
I hum. “I think maybe we just date like normal people who aren’t professional rivals or secretly plotting to take each other down.”
“Start over, then? What’s so funny?” he asks when I immediately start cracking up.
“Can you just imagine us on a first date? Talk about a disaster,” I say, wiping my eyes.
His brows knit. “Um, I’m feeling a little offended by how hard you’re laughing.”
I roll off him again and maneuver into a sitting position before sticking out my hand. “Hi, I’m Cassidy Sutton.”
He eyes me quizzically but plays along. “Jack Bradford.”
“So what do you do, Jack?”
He starts to speak, then stops, sheepish. “I’m actually between jobs at the moment.”
I feign surprise. “Wow, what a coincidence. Me too! You think maybe one of us should be gainfully employed?”
“I do have a small nest egg,” he says modestly. “And some ideas about my next move.”
“Phew.” I mock-wipe my brow. “So you can float me for a while as I write my book, then?”
He grins, getting into it now. “Sounds perfect, I’ve always secretly dreamed of being a househusband anyway. Speaking of kids, I hope you want them. I’m not getting any younger and my biological clock is ticking.”
I’ve created a monster. “I think this first date is going really well.”
He’s on a roll now. “Whatever you do, just don’t google me. I was recently involved in a bit of a tabloid scandal, and I wouldn’t want that to scare you off.”
“That’s so weird. Me too! This app that paired us up really knows what it’s doing.”