“Jack, I’m being serious,” she snapped.
He moved his face away from hers and fought back a grin. “Of course, my apologies. Carry on.”
Her eyes widened at his invitation then they narrowed then she hissed, “Carry on? Do I need to remind you that I also spent the night with you, I was dating your brother at the time and, icing on the cake, I got pregnant. Now, I’m adding ice cream, whipped cream and sprinkles by fooling around with you on your couch.” She emphasized the last three words then, as if his study was open to the public and they were on view, further stressed, “In your study.” She waited for his response to this damning information and when there wasn’t one she finished, “If that doesn’t define brazen hussy, nothing does.”
Jack made a guess and knew, intuitively, it was no risk.
“Have you ever had sex with someone the first night you met?” he asked.
“No,” she answered instantly.
“Have you ever had sex with someone when you were dating someone else?” he went on.
“No!” she responded rather more forcefully.
His hand drifted up her spine and he continued light-heartedly, “Have you ever fooled around on a couch in a study with the father of your child?”
He felt her body tense then relax before she said, “Jack –”
He didn’t let her continue.
“What that means is you aren’t a brazen hussy.” His face got closer to hers and his voice dipped lower. “What it means, my love, is that I’m a very lucky man.”
“Jack –” she began again, he had no idea what she intended to say but he didn’t care.
He again didn’t let her finish.
Instead, he changed the subject by saying, “Thank you, poppet.”
He watched her head jerk and her face grow confused before she asked hesitantly, “For what?”
He moved, using his body to push hers back into the couch so he was mostly on top of her, tangling his legs with hers but protectively avoiding resting any of his weight against their child in her belly.
His lips went to her neck as he tugged down her skirt.
“For letting me make you come,” he answered on a murmur.
Her hands moved to rest against his chest and, even as he felt her tremble, she suggested, “Maybe we should have that talk now.”
His head came up and his hand moved to frame the side of her face.
He watched her a moment and then asked softly, “Do you feel safe with me?”
She blinked then wet her lips but she did not answer.
His thumb traced her lower lip while he muttered, “That’s all right, it’ll come.”
“Jack –” she started yet again but he dipped his head and kissed her, thoroughly. He didn’t break from her mouth until her hands slid from his chest, her arms were tight around him, her body was pliant under his and he knew, at least for that moment, she was his.
Then he rested his forehead to hers, his thumb stroking her cheekbone and he commented, “I think I’m going to very much like Sunday afternoons.”
She tipped her chin up, pressing her own mouth against his.
Jack smiled in triumph against her lips and slanted his head to deepen the kiss when a sharp, urgent knock came at the door.
Both of them froze. Jack with extreme irritation. Belle, he suspected, with something else entirely.
Jack moved first, knifing away from her. He leaned down, pulled her to sitting and fully righted her skirt.