“Jumping?” Jennifer asked, frowning, not sure if she’d missed something.
“You are so not skydiving right before our wedding!” Marcie said, rushing to Mark’s side, glaring up from her five-three to Mark’s towering six-three. “You’re a computer programmer turned bar owner, and while that shows impressive diversity, you are not Special Forces, like Bobby.”
Special Forces. Jennifer had not even known Bobby was Special Forces. Her stomach twisted a little.
“Still,” Mark said. “I’m going to jump while Bobby is here and can go with me. And you might as well come with us. I mean, if anything happens to me the wedding is off anyway.”
Oh, ouch. Jennifer knew that wasn’t going to go over well. And it didn’t. “Mark!”
Jennifer and Bobby exchanged a cringe and headed to the door. Outside, the hot Texas night encased them as assuredly as the tension, both sexual and emotional.
Bobby whistled as the door shut behind them. “I wish I would never have brought up jumping last night. They’ve been snapping at each other ever since. Not exactly what I call wedding bliss.”
“Wedding jitters,” Jennifer corrected. “It’s not uncommon, and it’s not your fault. And they’ve been at it a few days now.” Guilt twisted in her gut as they stopped beside her blue Mazda 626. She drew a breath and turned to face him. “Which is why I really want to put the past behind us, Bobby. The next two weeks is about them, not us. Let’s call a truce.”
He stared at her, his deep blue, beautiful eyes smoldering. “A truce it is,” he said. “Why don’t we start this truce by finding me a way out of inviting Mark to skydive. He’s determined to go. She’s determined he won’t. Why don’t you convince Marcie to come along?” He wiggled a brow. “A foursome.”
Ignoring the joke, and the undercurrent of “coupleness” or whatever real word one might call it that escaped her now, Jennifer argued, “Marcie is already upset over that idea, Bobby. Pressuring her isn’t going to help matters.”
“Well, I can see the look in Mark’s eye. He’s out to prove something and this isn’t over. But we can end it together, like I said. Come jump with us. Convince Marcie to come, too.”
She shook her head. “Me. Jumping out of a plane? Not in this lifetime. That’s way too out of control for me.” She opened her door and tossed her purse inside, before clicking the lock to the back door where the champagne was stored.
“You can tandem jump with me,” he said. “You’d be tied to me. I’ll have control then. I’ll keep you safe.”
He’d have control. There lay her problem. Bobby had control—when he’d left; for the past seven years, as she’d secretly wanted, needed and wondered; and now, because she was running from him. She had to take control, stop wallowing in the past. Deal with the right here and now.
“You can trust me,” Bobby said in a low, sandpaper-rough voice. “When I left—”
She did the only thing she knew to shut him up—she kissed him. She stepped forward, pressed her hand on the solid wall of his chest, pushed to her toes and kissed him. That was taking control. This was taking control. She was taking control.
They hadn’t been in love. Love endured. Love was honest. Love didn’t run away and never look back. They’d been in lust, and she was all about lust in that moment. All about pleasure. For two weeks, he was here, the man who’d been the best sex of her life. She’d be a fool to run from his flavor of pleasure. She would enjoy him, and then she would say goodbye.
Starting with this kiss. The instant Jennifer’s mouth touched Bobby’s, he pulled her closer, taking her mouth, as if he feared she might change her mind. His tongue parted her lips, intimately, full of demand. One of his hands tangled in her hair, the other slid up her back, pressing her close, molding her against all that delicious hard muscle. Her hands slid over his back. Long, strong thighs entwined with hers, his hips settling against hers. His erection, already thick, hard, pressing against her stomach.
She moaned into his mouth, heat pooling in the V of her body. She’d told herself she’d kissed him to shut him up, and while true, it had also been for pleasure. The same reason her hand was under his shirt, her palm absorbing warm, taut skin. Feeling pleasure was so much better than talking about the past. Feeling pleasure. Yes. Pleasure. He knew exactly where to touch her. She knew exactly where to touch him.
Images of their naked bodies entwined, their passionate, impossible-to-forget lovemaking sizzled in her mind and melted her body against his. Kissing him, tasting him, feeling him close.
“Jennifer,” he murmured against her lips, pulling back to stare at her. “I—”