food, I voiced my concerns. “If there’s even an infinitesimal part of you worried about how I feel about what I heard in there today—about the blackmail and everything—Jack, I don’t blame you. All I kept thinking was, God, it must’ve been awful for you, being forced to be a party to those things. I hurt for you. I wish I had known back then so I could’ve been a comfort.”
His tired eyes moved to me from the screen and something eased in his expression. “You were a comfort.”
We shared a small smile. Sensing we were okay, that Jack was genuinely exhausted, I let silence fall between us. Once we’d eaten, I removed all my jewelry and placed the silver on my coffee table. I caught Jack watching me. He did this a lot—watched me take off my jewelry. As if the familiarity satisfied him in some way.
I ignored that possibility because it made me feel weirdly needy for him.
I casually reached for my e-reader and while I read, Jack watched a rugby game between New Zealand and Wales. My father liked rugby. I remembered him taking me to a match when we were in England as part of a European summer vacation. I was ten. Dad had done a ton of business while we were abroad that summer, so the game was my fondest memory of my father. It was one of the few times he was focused on me, trying to teach me the rules of the game. My mother thought rugby was inappropriate for a young girl, and I don’t recall my father ever taking me again after that.
As I was talented at doing, I drowned out the TV and fell into my book.
I didn’t know how much time passed before I realized I needed to use the bathroom. Uncurling myself from the sectional, I glanced over at Jack and faltered.
I’d missed him stretching his long body on the couch and he’d fallen asleep on his side, his head on an oversized cushion. My sectional had deep, wide seat cushions, and the urge to tuck myself in beside him was real. He’d taken off his suit jacket and tie when we’d come into the house. The buttons of his collar were opened, and he’d rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing his tan, corded forearms.
I felt more than a tingle of need in all my good places and glanced away guiltily. The last thing Jack deserved was me ogling him. With a sigh, I got up quietly and went to the restroom. The art deco clock on the wall above the dining table said it was only eight forty-five. It was still fairly early and yet, it might as well have been midnight for how tired I was. On my return, I yawned as soon as I looked at Jack.
That urge to curl up beside him and sleep grew stronger.
My hand automatically moved to my stomach.
The three of us cuddled up together sounded so nice, tears pricked my eyes.
Scoffing inwardly at my nonsense, I put the emotion clogging my throat down to the difficulty of the day. Being pregnant, I did find myself in need of more naps than normal. There was absolutely nothing wrong with taking a nap with Jack. It would be my way of offering him comfort, even in his sleep.
Mind made up, practically itching to feel him pressed against me, I switched off the television and tentatively laid down beside Jack. I held my breath, worried I’d wake him. But Jack must’ve been completely out of it because he barely even moved as I pressed my back to his front and rested my head on the cushion beside his. His chest pushed gently into my back as he breathed.
It was nice.
More than nice.
I closed my eyes and listened to Jack breathe and followed him quickly into sleep.
35
Jack
It took awhile for the warm, soft body pressed against Jack in his dreams to pull him out of unconsciousness and gradually into waking.
Before he opened his eyes, he felt the soft curves of her ass against his groin. His arm was settled over a slender waist, his fingertips touching what he discerned was the lower curve of a breast.
Her scent invaded him.
Emery.
Jack’s eyes flew open, adjusting to the dark.
Where am I?
Then it hit him. Crashing at Em’s after the trial because he was so exhausted.
His lips and nose were settled in Emery’s soft hair. Her shoulders rose and fell with light breaths as she slept.