“Yes, would you like me to return the favor?”
“I don’t see—”
Jack presses a kiss on the corner of my mouth and mine part with the request for more. “I don’t know if I can do a full workup without getting us arrested,” he whispers, grazing the edge of my jaw. “But hopefully, you’ll understand where my frustrations lay after this.”
His finger glides down my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.
He brings his mouth to my cheek, impossibly close, but his lips don’t meet my skin like I want them to. Instead, he blows hot air down the nape of my neck.
The pulse between my thighs grows stronger with everyalmost.
I don’t justwantJack in this moment. I’ve tipped over the edge into need.
My hand twists into Jack’s coat with a slight whine, and he chuckles.
His hand comes up, gripping my ribs, and he runs the pad of his thumb right under my breast. The feel of him, faint over the fabric, isn’t enough. I need more of him. More of his mouth on my skin, more of his touch.
“Please—” I whisper without caring how desperate it makes me seem.
Jack’s hands move over my body relentlessly as he blows a steady stream of air against my skin and ignores my pleas to put me out of my misery.
“Jack, I need—”
A throat clears nearby, and suddenly, my senses flood back. The man tormenting me isn’t Jack. It’s George Wickham, putting on a show for the people that have gathered for my ruining.
It’s a ruining that went way too far. We just needed to kiss. Chastely. That was all.
Instead, I’ve shocked a small family of five, the mother with her hair concealed behind a Badgers baseball cap, pauses mid-stuff of popcorn, kernels now falling out of her mouth.
A camera flashes. I blink, and Diana and her red hair stand with a pleased smirk on her face. She will probably write a scathing article about my impropriety after this. It’ll work well for her, but it won’t be the best marketing for the fair.
Jack pulls away, wearing a wicked, crooked grin. He fingers a curl falling on my cheek, bringing his mouth to my ear. “Do you understand my frustration now?”
I nod, slack-jawed. “I think so,” I whisper back.
Ishouldunderstand anyway. If Jack was sending a message, it was one of sexual frustration, but him feeling that way about me doesn’t compute.
How could I be frustratinghim?The man who could have just about any woman he wanted.
Including me.
If he just asked.
“Good. Now hurry along so I can marry you.”
Lucas drops his Darcy mask for half a second before regaining composure.
“That will be enough, Wickham,” he says. “Come, we have business to discuss.”
Jack glances at me one last time. His eyes sparkle with satisfaction as he takes in my heaving chest, trying to gain composure.
And I have the regrettable feeling that Lydia wasn’t the one who was just completely and utterly ruined.
ChapterTwenty-One
Jack Parker
Play:Baby I’m Yours by the Artic Monkeys
