Yet again I’m guessing my mother is far too lazy to get off her bony ass to answer the door to her daughter. I mean, she hasn’t even texted me to see if I’m alive. A stark contrast to my father who has sent several messages regarding all the ways in which he plans to dispose of Toby’s body by the time I’m back. One side of the large double doors swings open, and I stumble back slightly in surprise.
Jack’s eyes widen lightly, his gaze burning a hole right through me because he clearly doesn’t recognise me. Not surprising considering I doubt my mother has shown him a picture of me in the last three years.“My god, Robyn, haven’t you gained some weight,”she blurted out in the middle of a café the last time I saw her when Jack was on a business trip three years ago.
“Hey.” I raise one perfectly manicured eyebrow at him, waiting for the penny to drop on who I am.
He steps through the entryway of the house, his stare flaring with something I can’t quite place. But as quick as it flickers through his eyes, it’s gone just as fast.
His eyes widen when he finally realises who I am. “Robyn?” The gruff tone of his voice sounds like he’s been smoking fifty cigarettes a day, but in actual fact, his tone is just naturally deep. It always has been.
He doesn’t look bad for a guy one year off fifty, either.
“The one and only.” I smirk. “Are you going to let me in, or make me stand out here all night?” I don’t give him a chance to respond. I just walk through the door and into the foyer.
Ebony wood flooring is placed throughout, with several archways leading off to different parts of the house. As always, it’s perfectly tidy, smells good, and is decorated to a minimalistic dark, modern Gothic chic.
He closes the door behind me, and I turn to face him, shaking my head slightly at my mother’s ignorance. “I’m guessing my mother was far too busy to come and greet me?”
Jack frowns, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest and tilting his head to the side in confusion. “What exactly are you doing here, Robyn?”
I frown, looking at his tall frame as he leans against the wooden archway that leads into the living area. “I was supposed to stay for the weekend, my mom and I had plans, but I guess she just forgot, and—”
“Your mother isn’t here.” He interrupts me with a bluntness to his words.
I snort, not expecting anything less. “What is it this time? Spa weekend with the girls? Travelling to the lost city of Pompeii?” I cock my hip out, resting my hand firmly against the dip in my waist. “Or did she just decide she’d rather not see me?”
“She’s gone.”
“Okay?” I draw out the word, screwing my face in confusion. “Gone where, exactly?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “All I know is she left the house for good, meaning she no longer lives here.”
“I see.” I nod in understanding, biting the corner of my lip. Silence stretches between us for a moment as I weigh out my options, seeing as I can’t exactly stay here now that they’re no longer together. That would be a little weird. “Well—” I widen my eyes comically and clap my hands softly in front of myself. “This is… awkward.”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply places his hands in the pockets of his suit trousers and stands there staring at me for what seems like forever. I don’t really know what happened between them, but if there’s one thing I know, it’s that Jack Miller has aged like a fine wine. And yes, I know I shouldn’t be ogling the man that’s been my stepdad for the past seven years, but I can’t help it. He looks good.
Really good.
Tall—well over six-and-a-half-feet—broad shoulders, and what seems to be a body that’s well taken care of underneath the black shirt and trousers he’s currently wearing, due to the way the fabric stretches over his masculine form. A short, well-kept beard, no longer than an inch in length matching the salt and pepper hair on his head.
Jack really has the beekeeping age thing going on.
At forty-nine he doesn’t have many wrinkles either, just the usual ones around his eyes from laughing, or… enjoying life. His arms? Yeah, don’t even get me started on those, they look like fucking weapons hidden beneath his shirt. His sharp features and strong jawline are perfectly proportioned, but nothing, and I mean nothing, compares to the colour of his eyes. The lightest green I’ve ever seen. So light, in fact, they’re almost inhuman, sitting behind almond-shaped eyes and framed with thick black lashes.
I toss my thumb over my shoulder, clutching the retractable handle of my suitcase again and backing up a few paces towards the door I just came through. “I’ll find a hotel. I don’t want to make things awkward—”
“It’s late.” He cuts me off mid-sentence and I stop moving. “You might as well stay here for the night. You can rest, and then leave in the morning.” I watch as he ever so slightly curls his bottom lip inwards, and follow the slow tracing of his tongue over the plump skin. The act alone transfixing me for some unknown reason.
“It’s fine, really, I wouldn’t want to put you out in any way.”
“You’re not.” Jack’s tone is a little more irritated now. “Like I said, it’s late, and” —he clears his throat— “it would… make me feel better if you stayed.” He closes the space between us, reaching forward and removing the luggage from my hand before pressing down the long retractable handle and picking it up. “There’s only one problem,” he says as he moves towards the stairs. “You’re going to have to sleep in my bed.”
“Excuse me?” I jerk my head back slightly in surprise.
Share his bedwithhim in it?
“You want me to sleep in your bed with—”
“I’ll take the couch, Robyn.” The corner of his mouth ticks. “Your mother got rid of your bed.”
