Copyright © Nicole Austin, 2011
All Rights Reserved
Note: Nicole Austin’s books are intended for those readers 18 years old or older.
Leaning casually against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles and thumbs hooked through his belt loops, Jack Taylor gave the outward appearance of relaxed calm. His restless agitation remained bottled up inside, where he paced like a caged lion. For him the crowded, noisy airport didn’t exist. All he saw and heard were his turbulent thoughts churning in an endless loop, always coming back to the same point.
Sara bought sex toys.
A suitcase full of sex toys.
“I bought flavored lube, arousal cream, a bullet, an egg, a rabbit, a dual penetrator, a glass dildo and a vibrating cock ring. Oh, and nipple clamps—can’t forget them.”
No, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—forget them. In fact, he had no trouble picturing them compressing Sara’s swollen nipples into diamond-hard points.
Was she finally ready to get on with her life? Leave Richard “the Dick” Pembroke in the past and live again? Have sex again?
Jack had waited so damn long, been as patient as a saint. Was his suffering at an end?
In his mind, if Sara wanted to have sex, there was only one conceivable conclusion. She’d be having sex with him. There were no other options, because hell if he’d let her turn to someone else. No fucking way. Sara would be his and his alone.
Yeah, and what if she has other ideas?
Too bad.
She’d have to change them. End of story. Jack intended to spend days, if not weeks, exploring Sara’s gorgeous body, showing her how to use each and every one of those toys to achieve more pleasure than she’d ever imagined. Until they were so exhausted and sated they couldn’t move. And then he’d start all over again.
He’d leave no room for doubt or misunderstanding. Sara belonged with him and Jack intended to hold on tight with both hands. For the rest of their lives. But with Sara he’d have to move slowly, use every ounce of patience, ease her into a relationship.
From the first moment they’d met…was it eight years ago?…while working together on a charity project, the two of them had been casual friends. That friendship had grown and over the past few years they’d become as thick as thieves. They clicked, like pieces of a puzzle fitting together smooth and seamless. Their personalities were a good fit, and they shared many similar interests. Yet regardless of how close they’d become, Sara had kept quiet about her marriage.
Her ex resented their friendship and had done his best to keep them apart. Jack gritted his teeth thinking of how Richard Pembroke had harassed Sara since the divorce, acting as if he had a say in what she did and with whom. If Sara didn’t put an end to it soon, Jack would. Someone had to stand up to the dickhead, and Jack was the perfect man for the job. He would have done so already, but confrontation upset her. She had enough stress without him adding to it.
Clipped to his belt, his cell phone vibrated. Grabbing it, he glanced at a text from Sara.
Landed. Getting on shuttle.
His spine stiffened and his heart beat faster as Jack’s focus locked on the escalator delivering passengers to the baggage claim area. Agonizing minutes and hundreds of people later, a familiar pair of kick-ass black leather boots with metal heels and draped in thin chains came into view, followed by the most spectacular pair of long, toned and tanned legs.
A smile curved along his lips as he recalled Sara’s excitement when she’d special ordered the New Rock boots from Spain. The two-month wait for them to be handmade had driven her nuts. When the company emailed the tracking number, she stalked the shipper’s website. On delivery day she’d lain in wait for the poor delivery guy who had no idea what was coming. In her desperation to get her hands on the boots she practically tackled him on her front lawn.
Regardless of the summertime Florida heat, she wore those damn boots almost every day for a month. At least now the fall weather made them a bit more practical.
She had on cutoff denim shorts, and the red tee shirt from a barbeque joint that claimed to serve “Tender butts and sweet racks” molded to her pert breasts. Hell, she needed a shirt warning of dangerous curves ahead because there wasn’t a red-blooded man alive who wouldn’t kill to get his hands on the sexy bombshell.
Her shoulder-length honey-blonde hair was in its typical state of wavy disarray. And wouldn’t you know it; her mouth ran a mile a minute, talking with a man who crowded into her personal space on the narrow escalator.
Jack straightened, body going stiff as he stepped away from the wall. He scowled as the interloper handed Sara a business card that he’d likely scrawled his number on. He watched as she carelessly shoved it into her front pocket and considered how difficult it would be to accidentally-on-purpose help her lose the little slip of paper.
But the guy didn’t stand a chance. As soon as her boots hit the tile floor, Sara’s gaze swept the area, lasering in on Jack. Biting her lip, she held back for the space of several heartbeats, giving him a thorough once-over. Then, with a loud squeal, she dropped her carry-on and ran the remaining distance, launching herself into his wide-open arms.
Holding Sara’s lithe body plastered against his, Jack buried his nose in her hair, drinking in the familiar scents of sunshine, cinnamon and woman while spinning her around in circles.
“It’s so good to be home,” she breathed against his neck.
Heedless of the crowd moving around them, they held each other tight until Jack reluctantly set Sara back on her feet. Keeping one arm wrapped possessively around her waist, he guided her over to the discarded suitcase. She didn’t notice his deft fingers plucking the card from her pocket and dropping it in a trash can.
“Come on, sweetness. Let’s get out of here.” He squeezed her hip and bent to whisper in her ear, “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”