Bed of Roses (Bride Quartet #2)(11)

"Okay. Jack? I owe you."

"Yeah, you do." He gave her a grin before he walked off.

When her car continued to run, he shut her hood then his own. Once he'd tossed the jumper cables back in his trunk, he got behind the wheel and flashed his lights to signal her to go.

He followed her through the lace of the light snow, and tried not to think of that moment under the hood when her breath had brushed warm over his lips.

She gave a friendly toot of her horn when she reached the private road for the Brown Estate. He eased over, stopped. He watched her taillights shimmer in the dark, then disappear around the bend that led to the guest house.

Then he sat a little while longer, in the dark, before turning the car around and heading home.





IN HER REARVIEW MIRROR, EMMA SAW JACK STOP AT THE MOUTH of the drive. She hesitated, wondering if she should've asked if he wanted to come down, have some coffee before he doubled back and drove home.

She probably should have-least she could do-but it was too late now. And all for the best, no question.

It wasn't wise to entertain a family friend who banged a booming ten on your spark o-meter, alone, late at night. Especially when you still have some belly vibes going from a ridiculous moment under the hood of a car when you'd nearly humiliated yourself by moving on him.

That would never do.

She wished she could go by and talk over the whole stupid mess with Parker or Laurel or Mac-better yet, all three of them. But that, too, wouldn't do. Some things couldn't be shared even with the best friends in the world. Especially since it was clear Jack and Mac had gotten snuggly once upon a time.

She suspected that Jack got snuggly with a lot of women.

Not that she held it against him, she thought as she parked. She liked the company of men. She liked sex. Sometimes one led to the other.

Besides, how could you find the love of your life if you didn't look for him?

She turned off the car, bit her lip, then turned the key again. It made very unhappy noises, seemed undecided, then fired.

That had to be a good sign, she decided, then switched it off again. But she'd take it into the shop as soon as she could. She'd have to ask Parker about mechanics, as Parker knew everything.

Inside the house, she got herself a bottle of water to take upstairs. Thanks to Sam and the stupid battery she wouldn't make it to bed by the righteous hour of eleven, but she could get there by midnight. Which meant she had no excuse to miss the early workout she'd planned for the morning.

No excuse, she lectured herself.

She set the water on her bedside table by a little vase of freesia and started to undress. Then realized she was still wearing Jack's jacket.



       
         
       
        

"Oh, damn it."

It smelled so good, she thought. Leather and Jack. And that wasn't a scent that was going to give her quiet dreams. She carried it across the room, laid it over the back of a chair. Now she had to get it back to him, but she'd worry about that later.

One of the girls might be going into town for something and could drop it off. It wasn't cowardly to pass the task off. It was efficient.

Cowardice had nothing to do with it. She saw Jack all the time. All the time. She just didn't see the point in making a special trip if someone else was already going. Surely he had another jacket. It wasn't like he needed that particular one immediately. If it was so important, why hadn't he taken it back?

It was his own fault.

And hadn't she said she'd worry about it later?

She changed into a nightshirt then went into the bathroom to begin her nightly ritual. Makeup off, skin toned and moisturized, teeth and hair brushed. The routine and her pretty bathroom usually relaxed her. She loved the happy colors, her sweet slipper tub, the shelf of pale green bottles that held whatever flowers she had handy.

Miniature daffodils now, to celebrate spring. But their cheerful faces seemed to smirk at her. Irritated, she flipped off the light.

She continued the ritual by removing the small mountain of throw pillows from the bed, setting aside the embroidered shams, fluffing up her sleep pillows. She slid under the duvet, snuggled in to enjoy the feel of smooth, soft sheets against her skin, the dreamy scent of freesia perfuming the air, and . . .

Shit! She could still smell his jacket.

Sighing, she flopped over on her back.

So what? So what if she had lusty thoughts about her best friend's brother's best friend? It wasn't a crime. Lusty thoughts were absolutely reasonable and normal. In fact, lusty thoughts were good things. Healthy things. She liked having lusty thoughts.

Why wouldn't a normal woman have lusty thoughts about a sexy, gorgeous man with a great body and eyes that were like smoke wrapped up in fog?