“Plenty of people, Eve. And stop trying to change the subject just because you know I’m right.”
I gave him my very best eye roll and folded my arms. “Fine. Where were you planning on sleeping?”
“In the bed, of course,” he answered with a grin. “Icancontrol myself, you know. Your virtue is safe with me. That is assuming you have any.”
I had no quick, pithy reply for that barb, so I threw a pillow at him. He ducked, laughing, and took his bag into the bathroom.
I sat on the edge of the bed and put my head in my hands. What was I doing? Playing with fire was what I was doing. But how to stop it? Jack was like a force of nature that steamrolled over all my reasonable, logical, mature decisions. Grinning that sexy smirk while he did so.
Jack came out of the bathroom wearing, oh dear Lord help me, nothing but boxer shorts. Plaid boxer shorts. I refused to ogle his strong arms or his sculpted chest. I’d already seen it, and he knew it. Instead, I focused on the boxers. Not really a better choice, but it was all I had.
“Plaid boxers? Really? You wear plaid by choice?” I could hear the squeak in my voice as I tried to hide my rising heart rate.
“What’s wrong with plaid? You know, there’s a whole country that takes great national pride in wearing plaid,” he replied with a knowing smile.
“Yes, I’ve heard of Scotland,” I said, waving a hand dismissively. “But I’m hardly going to take fashion tips from a country that thinks it’s OK for men to wear skirts.”
The corner of jack’s mouth lifted as he replied, “They’re called kilts, and I’ve heard they’re pretty comfortable. Plus, there’s the mystery of what a man has on under his kilt. Maybe I should try one.” He waggled his eyebrows at me. I couldn’t quite suppress the smile that was threatening to break out.
“Fine, wear your plaid boxers. But don’t expect me to appreciate the view.” Oh, I did, believe me, I did.
With a chuckle he said, “No one’s forcing you to look, Eve.” And he waved me into the bathroom.
I shut the door and looked in the mirror. Did I always look this flushed around him? Damn, he knew he’d flustered me. I needed to channel my inner Elsa and regain my ice queen mantle. I could not allow him to rattle me.
I took off my dress and put it on a hanger. I’d only packed the one sleepwear set, so Jack would get a rerun. Which was fine. I wasn’t putting on a show for him. I removed my makeup, put my hair into a messy bun, and scrubbed my teeth vigorously. I would NOT try to look sexy or tantalizing. Or like I wanted to ravish him. Nope nope nope, all such thoughts were banished. Until I realized I had no more reasons to be in the bathroom, and I was basically hiding in there.
Well, it was my room. There was no reason I should be skulking in the bathroom. I could just ignore him. Yes, that was the right course of action. Pretend he wasn’t in my room. In my bed. Oh dear, there went my heart rate and my face was flushed again.
I knew this was a bizarre incident that would one day make a great story around the dinner table, but for now I needed to get control of my emotions. I closed my eyes and pulled up a mental picture. LCB. Lying Cheating Bastard. On the day of betrayal. I allowed myself to feel the sharp, icy, stab as he revealed his duplicity. I usually kept that feeling well hidden, but tonight I needed it to be my armor.
I opened the door and walked out into the bedroom. Jack was sitting in bed, looking at his phone, but he looked up with a smile when I entered. I gave him a brief, icy glare and he looked confused. I hung my dress in the closet, then went to my side of the bed (good gosh, did we already have sides?), got in, and turned off the light.
There was a heavy silence between us. Finally, Jack sighed and said softly, “Eve, are you really mad at me? I was just teasing, you know.”
I wanted to be the ice maiden, glacierly cold and unapproachable. But I’d forgotten the aftermath emotion that followed the betrayal. The utter rejection. The depression. The total aloneness.
“No, I’m not mad, Jack. I just need to get to sleep.” I might have gotten away with that if my voice hadn’t broken at the end.
He rolled over and put his arm around me, his breath warm in my hair. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. What’s going on?”
I couldn’t help it. His warmth engulfed me and made me feel so safe, so secure. Hot tears squeezed from my eyes and silently tracked down my face. Once I was sure that I could talk in an even voice I whispered, “It’s nothing, Jack. But could you…just huggle me to sleep?”
He chuckled in my ear, “I would if I even knew what that was, hon.”
“Huggle? You know, hug plus snuggle equals huggle. How did you not know that when you use a word like rapscallion?”
“I’m pretty sure huggle is not in Webster’s dictionary. But for you, hon, I’ll overlook that and try my best to huggle without offending your virtue.”
“Thanks, Jack,” I whispered, sleepily. “You’re very sweet.”
“I know. I’m glad you’ve figured it out, too,” he laughed softly.
“Good night, Jack.”
“Good night, Eve.”
Chapter 8
