Lisa Jones - Jump Start

Her eyes went wide and a pink flush touched her pale perfect skin, telling him she remembered that day on her velvet bedspread as much as he did. “Come sit with me,” he urged, rescuing her from a reply.

She crossed her arms in front of her, staring at the couch, his hand and the coffee. “Why are you back, Bobby?”

Why was he back? That was a loaded question. He could say for Marcie’s wedding—which was partially true—but overall, a copout, and they’d both know it. He’d never lied to Jennifer, and he wasn’t going to start now. Besides, there wasn’t an easy answer anyway. Aside from—he had to come. He had to see her. Still, too much too soon, he decided.

Instead, he simply replied, “What’s wrong with old friends sharing coffee and donuts?” And then added in a soft plea, “It’s getting cold.”

“Old friends,” she said softly. “Is that what we are?”

Their eyes locked and held, tension, both sexual and emotional, stretching between them. “Aren’t we?” he challenged. Friends and so much more.

Indecision flashed across her face. “I should go put on some clothes,” she said, clearly avoiding his question.

“I won’t complain if you stay in your robe,” he teased gently.

The pink in her cheeks flushed redder, as if he hadn’t seen her naked a million times over. “Bobby,” she chided.

“Sorry,” he said, meaning it. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. But he did want her. “I couldn’t resist. I promise not to look.” She gave him a disbelieving gape. He lifted a defeated hand. “Okay, I won’t look—much. Or I’ll try not to. Really.” Not really. He scrubbed his jaw in further defeat. “How about I promise not to stay long?”

She tilted her head, studied him. “I don’t know if I should grab something and throw it at you or just drink the coffee and eat the donuts.”

“While I’m sure throwing something at me might hold a certain degree of pleasure,” he commented, “I recommend caffeine consumption before making that judgment.”

“Valid point,” she conceded, and walked to the other end of the couch. “For the record, I reserve the right to throw something, or many things, at you, one or more times, during the next two weeks.”

He smiled. “I can live with that though your father will probably do it for you after the wedding.”

“True,” she agreed happily.

Her father was protective. Bobby had hurt her. He’d have some things to say to Bobby and Bobby guessed she wasn’t feeling too inclined to stop him. Jennifer picked up the coffee and sipped. Her lashes fluttered, dark circles on creamy white skin as she added, “Okay. For the moment, the coffee is way better than throwing something at you.”

“That’s good to hear.”

She blinked several times. “Thank you. I so needed this.”

“That’s what you used to say every morning.”

She breezed past the comment. “I’ve never been very human without my coffee, I guess,” she admitted and grabbed a donut.

“I guess some things never change,” he teased, barely containing the urge to reach for her. He wanted to kiss her. To taste her. To lay her down on that couch and feel her close.

She bit her bottom lip. “Bobby—”

“You have chocolate on your mouth,” he said. Taking advantage of her hands being full—one with coffee, one with a donut—he reached over and ran his finger to swipe off the offending icing, when he longed to use his tongue. He licked his finger. “Good.” Her. Not the chocolate.

“Stop,” she objected, setting the donut on the box and the coffee on the table. “I know what you’re trying to do.”

He arched a brow. “Which would be what?”

She glowered. “Bobby—”

He leaned a little closer. “I like hearing you say my name. Even when you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad,” she said and pushed to her feet. “And I’m not having sex with you. I’m not some two-week, wedding fling.”

He stopped. “Wait,” he said. “We’re talking about sex, and I don’t know about it? But okay on the two weeks.” He lowered his voice to a velvety-blue shade. She looked adorable, all flustered and ready to take his head off. “Two weeks would never be enough.”

Her eyes went wide and she opened her mouth to speak when her cell phone rang, from what sounded like the pocket of her robe. “You know it’s Marcie,” he said. “You should talk to her. Put her out of her misery. She thinks you’re mad, too.”

“I am mad, at her,” she said, her brows dipping.

“She didn’t know I was coming,” he said.

“I know,” she said.

He narrowed his gaze. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“She didn’t know you were going to be there last night,” she said. “But for ‘years,’ she admitted, you two talked and I never knew.” Her voice cracked, lifted. “And it shouldn’t matter she was talking to you and I didn’t know, but clearly Marcie was smart enough to know it would matter, because here I am, standing in front of you, wanting to throw something again—because it matters.” She flung her hands in the air and let them drop. “I’m going to shower. Please don’t be here when I get back.”

It mattered because she cared. Which meant Bobby had two options. Let her go and give her space, as Marcie had declared was necessary. Or he could do what he would have done in the past and launch a full-out assault. Make his intentions clear.

Bobby went for the all-out assault. He was on his feet, pulling her close in seconds. And though not his intention, before he could stop himself, he was kissing her.

She gasped into his mouth and he swallowed it, drinking her in like sweet honeyed tea on a sizzling summer day. And though she tried to resist, holding herself stiff, unyielding, the minute his tongue stroked hers, she surrendered. His hand slid up her back, molding her close, if only for a moment, when her cell phone rang again.

Bobby reached into her pocket and pulled it out, forcing himself to end the kiss. “Talk to Marcie,” he said. “You’re mad at me, not her. She needs you.” He pressed the phone into her hand, stared down at her, and then turned and headed for the door.

“Don’t come back, Bobby,” she called behind him.

He paused and turned to look at her only long enough to vow, “I’m already back.”

Bobby passed the kitchen, certain Jennifer wouldn’t follow him to the door. Not after that flipping amazing kiss that said they could easily rekindle the bedroom bliss and a whole lot more. Jennifer would wait for him to leave, and then analyze and plan a way to deal with him. For now, Bobby had to settle for repairing her friendship with Marcie.

But tomorrow was another day. And after that kiss, he was certain, he had to have another. For the first time in seven years, there was more than a mission, and some unnamed enemy. He felt like more than a machine. He felt alive.

“YOU KNOW YOU STILL WANT HIM,” Marcie declared.

It was near dark, hours after her encounter with Bobby, and Jennifer stood in Marcie’s kitchen, stirring chocolate mousse for the next night’s bachelor/bachelorette party. The two acres sprawling Lake Travis property, with the ranch-style house, that had once been Mark’s parents’ place, was a perfect location for such fun.

Jennifer grimaced and pointed at Marcie with the spoon. “I do not still want him. And I wouldn’t have called you to apologize if I’d be coming over here to be abused.”

Marcie reached over the counter and scooped some of the mousse off the spoon a moment before it would have dropped on the counter. She tasted it. “Hmm. Good stuff.” Her eyes twinkled. “And yes. You would have apologized. Because you might be stubborn, but you’re a good friend. And yes, you do still want Bobby.”