She had her very first premonition. Her mother, who had them all the time (practically hourly) would be in fits of delight when Belle told her.
She’d had the premonition that she’d meet Jack and it would be as wonderful as it was.
On that thought, she heard the jangle of dog tags and saw Baron sit up from his place on the floor at her side of the bed. His head swung toward Belle and he rested it on the mattress, his doggie eyes blinking at her.
Belle stretched out a hand to stroke his soft head and whispered to the dog, “Morning handsome.”
She heard Baron’s tail thump on the floor as the arm around her waist moved, curling up to become what she knew was a strong, long-fingered hand curving around her breast.
Belle felt a tingle slide up her spine as Jack’s body pressed forward.
His chin moved the hair at the back of her neck and then he said in a just waking up growl, “I take it you aren’t talking to me.”
Belle smiled at Baron and shook her head, saying, “No.”
Jack kissed the back of her neck then its side. His body and hand disappeared but only to press her to her back. He got up on an elbow and loomed over her.
She looked at him in the daylight.
He looked slightly sleepy but no less handsome.
In fact, he looked better than ever.
Really, it should be against the law (but she wasn’t going to turn him in, no way).
She smiled again, Jack’s eyes moved to her mouth and then his hand came up to frame the side of her face.
“Sleep well, poppet?” he murmured.
Belle nodded and his gaze moved from her mouth to her eyes.
“Good,” he muttered, his head descended, his mouth touched hers in a sweet, effective, barely there, morning kiss. When he lifted it again, his gaze turned toward Baron and he remarked, “You’ve stolen my dog.”
Belle let out a surprised giggle and asked, “What?”
Jack’s eyes came back to hers and she saw they were smiling even though his mouth was not.
It registered somewhere in the depths of her soul that this was the most beautiful sight she ever beheld about a nanosecond before he repeated, “You’ve stolen my dog. He always sleeps on the floor on the other side. My side. He never sleeps on this side.”
Belle’s head tilted enquiringly on the pillow. “You have a side?”
Jack studied her face a moment before asking, “You don’t?”
She shook her head. “No, I sleep in the middle.”
He kept watching her before his face went soft and he said quietly, “That’s good news, poppet.”
“Why?” Belle asked, confused at his statement.
His head descended again, this time to bury his face in her neck where he muttered, “No reason.” Then he went on to say, “Feel free to sleep in the middle with me.”
Belle let out another giggle and she slid her arms around his back, curling toward him as she informed him unnecessarily, “I did, last night. You did too. We’re in the middle now.”
“Mm,” he replied, mouth against her neck and Belle felt a shiver slide through her right before she felt his tongue touch her neck which made the shiver turn into a full blown, luscious tremble.
“Jack,” she called before things got out-of-hand which, if their experiences of last night were anything to go by (both times before their talk and the time after), they could do.
And fast.