‘Oh my God, Jack!’ Kara stared at him aghast.
‘My sister left a candle burning in her bedroom,’ he went on emotionally. ‘I guess that’s why I feel so alone with all of this.’
SEVEN
KARA
He’s as lonely as I am. My chest constricts as I realise he’s struggling completely on his own with all of this. ‘Jack, I am so, so sorry. That must have been beyond devastating for you.’
His mind clearly back there, he looks at me distractedly for a second, then appears to shake himself. ‘God, no,I’msorry,’ he says, looking heart-crushingly awkward. ‘I wasn’t thinking. You’re obviously still struggling with your own loss. I can’t believe I’ve been so insensitive.’
‘You haven’t been.’ I move quickly towards him as he drags an arm across his face, attempting to scrub away the tears he’s clearly embarrassed to cry in front of me. ‘It was me who initiated the conversation,’ I remind him.
Instinctively, I reach for his hand, and that’s when I feel it. There’s no bolt of lightning, but where before my emotions were frozen solid inside me, his touch ignites a jolt of longing. A longing to be held. To feel safe in someone else’s embrace. Inhisembrace. As I acknowledge it, I’m consumed with such fierce guilt and grief I feel I want to break down and weep. ‘I should get that coffee,’ I murmur.
‘There’s no rush,’ he says, holding on to my hand. His eyes searching mine are filled with unmistakable desire, and I now Ifeel destabilised, utterly. Quickly, I drop my gaze, attempting to retrieve my hand from his as I do.
Jack, though, seems reluctant to relinquish it. I look back at him to find his gaze still on mine, a question there I have no idea how to answer. He takes the initiative, moving towards me. A whisper away from him, I scan his eyes, and then, cautiously, I lean into him. Clearly uncertain, he hesitates, then brushes my lips gently with his. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ he whispers, easing back a little.
I have no idea what to say. My mind is reluctant, but awakened by his touch, by the very proximity of him, my body craves him.
‘Do you want me to go?’ he asks, such obvious concern in his voice, it only increases my desire to be with him.
‘I’d like you to stay. Very much,’ I respond, trying to quash the guilt that dogs me. I will have to deal with it, but not now. Tomorrow will be soon enough. For the rest of my life, I will carry it. Whatever the future brings, right now, I want this. I want him. Plainly reading what’s in my eyes, he leans towards me, seeking my mouth again with his, parting my lips so gently I feel something beyond physical dissolve inside me. His kiss is slow, deeply passionate, his tongue finding mine, exploring me, tasting me. Tentatively, I reciprocate.
Stopping, out of necessity of breathing, he scans my eyes, then presses his forehead to mine. ‘I want you, Kara,’ he says throatily, and another wave of desire, white-hot, surges through me, ‘but I don’t want you to do anything you might regret.’
Glancing away, I examine my conscience. I have to try and move on too. I realise that. Try to stop blaming myself, as Jemma has urged me to do. With Jack’s help, is it possible I might be able to? ‘I won’t regret it,’ I murmur, reaching to trace his lips with my fingertips.
Needing no more encouragement, he draws me to him hard. His kiss this time bolder, he presses himself closer, one hand gliding down my back, the other weaving through my hair. Somehow, we make our way to the stairs, removing clothes as we head up them to the main bedroom, both of us giving in to some primal yearning inside us. There are no words spoken as, with mouths hungrily seeking each other’s, we stumble our way to the bed, where we embark not on the frenetic lovemaking I imagined, but on a slow discovery of each other, our bodies in perfect synchronicity. Whispering softly, he encourages me to relax, making me trust him while he leads me on a beautiful journey of sensual rediscovery. It’s as if he knows instinctively where to touch me, how to touch me, thrusting into me so slowly, my orgasm, when it comes, is like a warm, exquisite ripple flowing right through to the very core of me, and I cry out, tears squeezing from my eyes.
Jack kisses them softly away, smiling so tenderly my heart melts. I feel as if this man knows me. All of me.
A moment later, we’re curled up together, limbs and bodies entwined, my head resting on his chest. As I listen to the steady thrum of his heartbeat, I feel safer than I have since my world disintegrated, everything I loved in life snatched away from me. All that made me who I was – a wife and a mother – gone in a heartbeat. ‘Okay?’ he asks, trailing his fingers lightly over my arm.
‘Perfect,’ I assure him, but though I try not to let it, the guilt at feeling I’m betraying the memory of my husband and child resurfaces, and I reach to brush away fresh tears.
He gives me a squeeze. ‘Can I make a suggestion?’ he asks.
I twist to look at him.
‘I know it won’t be easy, but I don’t think we should feel guilty,’ he says. ‘Maybe consider this as two broken souls helping each other mend a little? What do you think?’
I’m thinking I’m slightly in awe of him. From his lovely gesture bringing the sculpture, his considerate lovemaking, I know he’s intuitive. Now I feel he can read my mind. ‘I think you’re a very caring human being,’ I say, then, forcing back the tears that rise unbidden again, I press a soft kiss to his cheek.
‘I try to be.’ He squeezes me impossibly closer.
As I snuggle back into him, I trail my fingers delicately over his torso. He has a good body, lean and toned. I find myself wishing I could preserve this moment, stay here, cocooned in his safe embrace forever. It’s impossible, I realise as his phone pings, breaking the spell.
‘I should check that. It’s probably Evie. Sorry,’ he says, dropping a kiss on my forehead then climbing off the bed.
I watch as he finds his abandoned jeans and retrieves his phone from his pocket. Noticing the panic crossing his face as he reads the message, trepidation prickles over me. ‘She’s not well,’ he says, his worried gaze flicking to mine.
‘Oh no.’ I push the duvet back. ‘Is there anything I can do?’ I ask, though I realise there probably isn’t.
He shakes his head as he quickly texts back, then hurries to find the rest of his clothes. ‘Thanks for offering.’ He smiles in my direction as he tugs them on. ‘It’s her age, I think. Stomach cramps and so on. I’m not sure I can be of much help, to be honest, but I should get back. I only wish the bloody place we lived in wasn’t such a dump.’ He draws in a tight breath as he pulls his shirt on. ‘It’s cold and damp, depressing basically, which isn’t helping her state of mind. I’m looking for somewhere else, but there aren’t many suitable rentals around here.’
Finding one shoe, he stuffs his foot into it, then rakes a hand through his hair in frustration as he looks around for the other one.
