Jack Who? (Silver Strings G Series) (2 page)

THE OBVIOUS ANGER
focused on her, the rescuer of his dog, was confounding, and her gaze fell to his black high-tops. Impatiently, he skipped stairs in his bound from the bus to the ground. When he snatched the leash from her hand, she met his angry gaze with an indignant one.

“What do you mean? ‘What am I doing with your dog?’” Her voice dropped several octaves to mimic his tone. “Your dog was running loose! Way back there.” With a sweep of her arm, she indicated the west stage area before continuing, “And instead of le
tting something happen to him, erm…or her, I tracked you down!”

He had picked up the pup petting it during her tirade. Now, he set it down and his arms irritably crossed as he asked, “Oh? Out of the goodness of your heart? You brought Rusty to me?” One dark eyebrow rose as he arrogantly awaited the answer.

“Rusty?” A bubble of hysterical laughter spewed along with her query.

“Should I even ask what’s so funny?”

“Seriously? Should I even ask what is not?” Two dark eyebrows lifted in annoyance as she stated the obvious, “The dog is a Jack Russell Terrier?” When he would not move his chin in confirmation or denial, she pushed on, “You are Jack, and your dog is Russell or Rusty?”

“Rusty, not Russell.”

“Tomato, tomahto.” Blowing the answer out on a weary sigh, she fell a few steps away back in the direction from which she had come. Somehow, Olivia be damned, she would find her way home.

Another weekend night to herself suddenly sounded amazing. Maybe she would stop by the sandwich deli and pick up a grilled chicken sandwich on a whole-wheat bun. Her wish to get through this life-altering breakup with fewer pounds than tears, stemmed from the weight problem she had fought
durring her adolescent years.

“Wait!”

Responding with only a slight turn, she did exactly that wanting to see what he would say next.

“Yes. The name was a joke at first. But it suited him, and I kept it.” The disclosure seemed grudging as he explained the name Rusty. “I’m sorry for accusing you. I left him tied up out here, just for a sec while I went back in for my shirt and shoes. I just assumed you took him. Because you wanted to meet me...”

“Other than your name, I don’t know who you are.” Facing him fully, she smoothed a sweaty palm over her ragged jean shorts.

“Yeah. I’m starting to get that. Again, I’m sorry.” His dark brows were now straight, instead of drawn together, and the incredible dark eyes beneath softened. “Obviously, or I guess, not so obviously, I’m Jack.”

“Marissa.” She supplied her own introduction, and southern manners prevailed causing her hand to automatically shoot out.

Moving closer, he squeezed her fingers in his and a tingle of awareness buzzed every cell as their palms lightly met. The husky timbre of his voice was an intriguing rumble to her eardrums. “You look hot, Marissa.”

Determined to take the compliment as smoothly as Olivia would, she conjured a sultry look returning, “Thanks. You too...”

Surprise flickered through those dark eyes, and when he quirked a smile, a dimple actually revealed itself. “I meant hot.” A slight breeze had begun to blow. The next gust, from the southerly direction of the ocean, cooled the sweat on her face and helped to clear up the misunderstanding. Quickly, he amended, “And, of course, hot in every way.” The eyes that slid admiringly to the neckline of her shirt, and down, supported that endearing statement. “Want something to drink?”

“Sure,” Lifting a shoulder in a shrug, she waited expecting him to pop inside the bus and out again, but upon ascending the stairs, he held the door invitingly open.

As she gaped around taking in the extravagant interior, he played host verbally offering up the fridge contents until she settled on a beer. Courteously, he popped the top from the bottle before handing it over. After selecting the same for himself, he filled a water bowl for Rusty. Water sloshed as he set it on a tiled floor and then straightened to lean a hip against the mahogany looking cabinets.

Quickly, she averted her eyes, but she had looked long enough to find his backside as pleasing as his front.

“Thanks again. About Rusty. Probably shouldn’t have brought him on tour, but I did. And it would kill me if something happened to him.”

Genuinely impressed by his attachment to his pet, she smiled as she sipped, and his eyes seemed to hone in on her throat as she swallowed.

“So, are you here with someone? At the fest?”

“My friend.” Switching her drink into the other hand, she pressed the cooled fingers against the back of her neck as she joked, “But she deserted me for the first junk this side of the fence.”

Only the barest husky chuckle followed that answer, and she wished she could take it back. Had selling Liv out as a groupie made herself look like one?

“What kind of music do you listen to? Obviously not mine...” Again, that sweet yet sardonic smile that was already becoming addicting.

Rusty finished lapping up at least half of the water and sprang onto a cushy leather bench
-style couch. Swinging her eyes from the pup to its master, she again felt wowed by both his looks and the charisma exuding with his every breath.

Just a few weeks ago, she had learned to hate tattoos, but now as her eyes ran over the ink decorating both arms, she saw not hurtful memories, only beautiful art. The inside of his left forearm depicted a guitar neck faded into his wrist. Sheet music bars spiraled around biceps and triceps, and she wondered what the song was. He took another sip, and the movement of his arm broke her fixation.

Remembering he had asked a question, she answered, “Everything. Mostly rock. A little metal. But I don’t know most of these bands.” With the last part, she alluded to the festival. “They are harder than my normal listen.”

“You don’t know mine?” Shaking her head, she asked if he had played his set yet. Now he was the one to shake his head. “It’s two hours from now. I’m just chillaxin. Trying to get in the mindset, you know?” She found herself nodding, as if she knew, and he held up the beer with yet another engaging grin. “Best cure for stage fright.”

“Stage fright?” Dubiously, she doubted this claim while her eyes riveted to the way the bottle touched his lips and the swallow convulsing his Adam’s apple.

“I guess you find that funny too.” Challengingly, his gaze held hers
, and a slight grin quirked the corner of his lips.

“Who wouldn’t?” Defensiveness coated her words, and determination kept her shy gaze on his face. “A musician afraid to perform...”

“It’s not uncommon.”

Although he sounded slightly rebuffed, she still couldn’t seem to stop debating her position. “Well, if I w
ere afraid of dogs,” here she pointedly glanced at Rusty, and the pup’s ears flattened against his head, “I wouldn’t be a veterinarian...”

“No?” Those dark brows
mockingly arched, and the gleam in his eyes was amused, no longer offended. “Not even if you put a Band-Aid on a lost puppy, and some guy saw that and decided that you were great with Band-Aids. Then, the guy offered you a quarter of a million dollars to take care of a whole litter of puppies?” Rusty’s ears quickly perked when his master glanced his way.

The comparison obviously alluded to performing and record contracts. Not lost was the pun of ‘band aids.’ Eying him with a new respect, she wondered, “Is that how it happened with you?”

Shaking his head, he paused for another sip of his beer then teased, “No, I would never put a Band-Aid on a puppy. Impractical with all that fur...”

Normally, she was not an eye roller
, but she felt the unconscious action and saw the answering gleam in the depths of his dark eyes. How easily she had relaxed as if he was a familiar friend, yet at the same time, every neuron transmitted awareness of this man.

Jack was turning her on, simply by standing, more than Kel had affected her in the midst of so much more. Because of that, an override was occurring, her words and actions governed by libido and impulses instead of logic and instinct. He remained silent, assessing her next sip as closely as she had done his.

Relaxing into the sweet spell that seemed to settle around them, she whispered, “So, the best cure for stage fright...is this?” She tilted the bottle for an extra sensuous sip.

Dark eyes welded with hers conveying instinctive and primal understanding, male to female.

“Well, maybe not the best-best...” His voice deepened a few decibels, and the husky whisper was possibly the most sensual sound ever to reach her ears.

“What’s the best?” Her inquiry rode more on a breath than a whisper.

With her fiancé, she had made the first move hundreds of times and with college hook ups a few times when extremely inebriated. Now, despite this guy being a stranger and her being relatively sober, she tailed her fingers down bare skin, from the art just above the first row of pecks, to the still open fly.

Struggling for casualness she couldn’t feel, she tipped the bottle for another sip and wanted so much more than that swallow. Not for a favor, or because he was famous. Simply because an intimate connection with him became something she needed– even if it only came down to her knees on the cool tiles of the floor.

Jack had more in mind. His bottle clinked as, reaching behind her, he deposited it on the granite counter top. Next, he used one long tan finger to hook a strand of her hair, pulling it over her shoulder.

Automatically, her body leaned into his as he closed the two steps between their toes. Her heart pounded hard, racing with the knowledge that she might be kissed by him...this man that awakened lusts of a nature that she had never felt in her twenty-two years.

The anticipation when his head dipped sent the blood roaring through her veins.

His lips angled against hers, testing with a frictional brush, then his tongue was swiping in a way that stole her breath. After a teasing pull with his teeth, he deepened the kiss and her tongue eagerly mingled with his.

There was not a way to pinpoint what was different about this kiss from any other she had ever had, but it was incomparable.

Hot and sweet, it kept her hoping that it would never stop.

When it did, she couldn’t care after all because this luscious attention had moved. The touch of his lips singed the side of her neck, and a shiver screamed down her spine as this concentration continued to her throat and trailed to the other side.

His fingers splayed over the ribs beneath her arms
, and his thumbs lazily traced their sensitive targets making her wish the thin barrier of her bra and shirt nonexistent.

Resting her forehead on his shoulder, she pressed closer putting her lips to the skin of his chest. Deeply, she breathed in his showered scent and tried not to worry that she had sweated for the better part of the day. Her hands flattened on his chest, greedy for the feel of his skin, then encircled around to the muscles of his back. With the addition of his tongue to these searing kisses, her knees gave out
, and she clasped his torso for support.

A groan left her lips
, and after a moment, he suspended this delicious torture. His hands roved, roamed, and when she was able to do more than hang on, she took a taste of the tan chest that had tantalized her senses from first sight.

This caused him to pause as she continued, and without the distraction of what he was doing, she gave herself over to what she was doing. With a slight push to separate them, his fingers fiddled with the hem of the stretchy tank top she wore.

“Marissa?”

Her ears savored the sound of her name in that deep timbered drawl
, and then her muddled mind comprehended that he was waiting for permission in one form or another.

Pushing at his hands, she yanked at the shirt herself, and the air conditioner cooled her fevered skin as the scrap of material fell to the floor. His fingers immediately inflamed it again as they slid here and there, appreciatively pausing on curves and contours. Guitar calloused fingers caught on smooth silk, and impatient with the lacy triangles hindering his new targets, his fingers dipped beneath the red fabric where they caressed and teased with toying tugs until crazed, she unclasped the garment hoping his wandering mouth would move that direction.

Her feet left the floor, and she found herself perched on the counter while he gratified that longing. The shaggy strands of his hair were silky against her chin, and the pads of her fingers pressed into his scalp unconsciously holding him to her as she gulped back a moan. Her gaze fell on Rusty finding the animal intently watching. Blocking out that bizarre image she pressed her eyelids closed, but the enhanced sensation from doing so, and the next swipe of his tongue caused her head to loll on her neck and her eyes to fall open to the track lighting on the ceiling.

With no bra to hinder, his lips, tongue and teeth generously lingered with tickling swirls and laps of liquid fire, tugs and nips that tightened her grip– each pulling at some current connected to the fires flaming her innermost core, and pulling stifled moans past her lips.

This sensory overload came to a gradual end, his thumb brushing one of the damp tips, then her moist lips. His head leaned to hers as he stared into her eyes. She felt a crushing weight. Not the physical one she wanted of his body against her, but a mentally crushing letdown when she saw the resignation in his look.