The Family Simon: Jack Part 8

Donovan's b.r.e.a.s.t.s were full, aching, and she cupped them, angling her head so she could watch this beautiful man kiss her. Tease her.

"Jesus, Jack," she whispered hoa.r.s.ely. It had been so long since she'd had an o.r.g.a.s.m by anyone's hand other than her own.

Jack glanced up and her throat closed so tightly that she was afraid she'd choke. Without thinking, her hands slid to his face, and she traced his gorgeous mouth. "You're so beautiful," she whispered.

"You still have my tattoo."

Donovan swallowed, blinking rapidly and praying that the tears poking the edges of her eyes would not fall. They couldn't fall. Not now. She said nothing because she was pretty sure that if she attempted to speak she'd fall apart.

The tattoo.

They'd each gotten one, a small Celtic symbol with each other's first initial. She held her breath as his thumb rubbed over the intricate 'J'. Located beneath her bikini line, it had only been meant for his eyes. She had to wonder, did he still have her mark?

His eyes flattened, and his fingers dug into her hips. "Open your legs," he ordered.

The rain slid down his chiseled features and her fingers sank into his wet hair. Donovan was trembling in antic.i.p.ation as she slid her feet along the wet dock.

"Don't let me fall," she whimpered.

"I've got you."

Those three words nearly undid her.

"Jack," she whispered, suddenly very afraid that she was making the biggest mistake of her life. But he wasn't listening and any chance she had to make an escape was lost when he bent forward and slid his tongue inside her.

"You taste just like I remember," he growled against her. "So d.a.m.n sweet."

She barely held on as Jack licked and sucked and stroked her into a jumbling mess of red-hot need. His large hands cupped her a.s.s as his lips and tongue continued to tease. Her legs were jelly, her body nearly convulsing as that exquisite pressure flared to life and burned its way up from deep inside her.

Whimpering, she threw her head back, still clutching his hair as she held on for dear life.

"Come for me, Donnie." His voice was rough. So d.a.m.n intimate. "Donnie," he said hoa.r.s.ely, a finger inserted deep inside her, curled up at the just the right angle. "Now, babe."

She shattered against him, her o.r.g.a.s.m ripping through her body in a blast of pleasure that left her breathless.

"Oh, Jack," she whispered. It wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. All thought fled. There was nothing but Jack. Nothing but the need to have him inside her. It was like a fever rolling through her body, and she frantically began tugging on his shirt.

"Jack," she managed to say, swaying unsteadily on her feet as he scooped up the edge of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head. Her fingers were at his zipper, her body leaning into his because if not she would have fallen off the dock.

The rain continued to fall as she pulled his shorts down and before she could process the sight of his naked beauty, Jack had her on her back, one leg pulled up around his waist as he positioned himself between her legs.

For a moment he stared down into her eyes, rain cascading down his face onto hers. His chest heaved and the muscles along his neck were corded tight.

His mouth slid over a nipple, and she cried out as a surge of heat infused her body, winding her up so tight it was painful. Never had she been this aroused. This much in need to connect to a man.

To Jack.

Only, Jack, she thought.

"Please," she whispered.

For one second their eyes connected, and she saw the heat and desire and raw need that she felt, reflected in him. That fear she'd felt earlier hit her hard in the chest and for one crazy moment, the responsible side of her began to scream.

What the h.e.l.l are you doing?

This won't end well!

But then his mouth was on hers, and he slid inside her, the long length of his c.o.c.k going as deep as he could.

"Christ," he muttered hoa.r.s.ely. "You feel so f.u.c.king good."

There was no long drawn out loving. No, gentle caresses as Jack gazed lovingly into her eyes. There was only the raw, animalistic need that the both of them couldn't deny.

She let Jack set the tempo, his thrusts fast and hard with a need that she understood. She kissed him with all the pa.s.sion and sorrow inside her. She met him thrust for thrust, her eyes not leaving him, because she knew she needed to memorize every detail.

She hadn't done that the last time, because it wasn't often that a person knew when a 'last time' was actually happening.

It wasn't long before they both came, and for Donovan, the release was unlike any she'd ever had. It was full bodied and heart pounding. Pa.s.sionate and fierce. It was coming home and knowing that she had to leave again, because he could never belong to her. She loved this man too much and she would do whatever it took to protect him.

It was all of those things and so much more, and it was the so much more that left her broken.

When Jack shuddered into her that last time and rolled onto his back so that she was able to collapse on top of him, Donovan turned her head to the side. She let the rain slide over her, the cool water mingling with her tears.

She felt his heart thudding like crazy beneath her. Heard his ragged breaths as his hands slid up to her waist. She inhaled his scent and felt an ache deep inside.

Then Donovan closed her eyes and pretended that Jack Simon was hers-that the future she'd always wanted was in fact real. That the man she loved, loved her back and that Cooper Simon and Derek McKenzie didn't exist.

She drifted away in a sea of illusion.

Stupid and girlish maybe, but for the moment, it was all she had.

Chapter Eleven.

Jack woke up slowly, eyes fluttering as he stretched. The sun was beating through the windows, and he groaned, rolling back onto his stomach with a grimace. Jesus, why hadn't he closed the blinds last night?

Groaning he laid there for a few moments, caught in that half asleep in-between place that felt like heaven. A bird cried out, the sound echoing, and in the distance, he heard a rush of waves buffeting the beach.

Voices on the wind.

A motorboat accelerating.

Motorboat?

Jack's eyes flew open. He turned to the side. Saw the empty pillow. A strand of blond hair. His nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply and yanked his head back the other way.

He was in Belize. In Donovan's room.

He thought of the night before. Of the dock, slick with rain. Of her body open and ready for him. Over and over again. How many times had he had her? Listened to her come for him?

Holy h.e.l.l he was hard with the memory of it and, Christ, his mark was still on her.

He glanced down at himself, at the place on his lower hip where he'd once sported an intricate D in her honor. The tattoo was long gone. Hurt like a son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h when he'd had it removed and though he didn't regret it, he was surprised she'd kept hers.

Jack was out of bed in a shot, striding through the guest house. "Donovan," he growled, already hungry for more. But there was nothing. Only silence. What the h.e.l.l?

He thought of the boat and voices and relaxed a bit, realizing that she must be down at the docks with Roger and Mary. Rubbing his hand over the stubble on his chin, Jack glanced around, noticing a piece of paper on the counter in the kitchen.

It was pale pink and a frown fell over his face as he scooped it up. There was no mistaking Donovan's neat handwriting, and as he unfolded the note her subtle scent filled the air. Deja vu washed over him, along with a wave of anger.

A f.u.c.king note? Again?

He knew what it was going to say before he read it, and for a moment, he considered crumpling the d.a.m.n thing and tossing it. The moment pa.s.sed and Jack read the note. Just like before.

Jack, I've decided to head back early and let you stay here until the time is up. I didn't wake you because I knew it would be awkward and I didn't feel up to a scene. Last night was amazing, I want you to know that, but it can't happen again. I meant it when I said only one night. I wish you well, Jack. You have a bright future and deserve to be happy. I only ask that you keep these last few days under your hat. I need for this stay between the two of us. I can't chance the press getting hold of the story. I hope you understand.

D.

With a savage growl, Jack crumpled the paper and strode out of the house, uncaring that his feet were bare or that he was as naked as the day he was born. He was going to kill her.

Another f.u.c.king note?

By the time he reached the dock, his anger was black and the scowl that sat on his features harsh. But there was no one there to see it, because the place was deserted. He shaded his eyes and gazed out over the water, but already she was lost to him.

"Not for long," he muttered, eyes falling away from the sea. He swore a blue streak and turned toward the guest house, but only took a few steps before he spied something in the water near sh.o.r.e. He hopped off the dock and his feet kicked up spray near the edge. When he reached the spot, he grabbed up the remnants of Donovan's panties. The ones he'd ripped off her the night before.

He clutched them in his hand, a rage he'd not felt in a long time taking hold. She must think he was a f.u.c.king idiot. No way was he playing this game with her. Not again.

A ruthless grin took the place of his scowl and a new idea took hold. Jack was done playing by her rules. It was about time Donovan James learned what it felt like to lose.

Twenty four hours later, Jack was back in Florida. Grace had already vacated his beach house and that was probably for the best, because his anger was just as strong, and if anyone deserved a taste of it, it was his sister. He'd called ahead to give fair warning, and he wasn't surprised to find the place deserted.

He tossed his bag toward the general area of his bedroom and was just fixing himself a stiff scotch when there was a soft rap at his back door. He considered not answering the d.a.m.n thing-it's not as if he was expecting anyone-but then he heard another knock and the distinct sound of the door squeaking open.

What the h.e.l.l? Jack figured it was either a Simon or a thief and since he was pretty sure it wasn't a thief, he continued fixing his drink.

"Your dog s.h.i.t in my flowers."

He grimaced. Great. Jack turned around and took a good long sip from his tumbler as he eyed up his visitor.

"Miss Ella."

"James."

An eyebrow shot up. The woman called him James even though Jack had told her several times that James had nothing to do with his name. He was Jack. Nothing more, nothing less. Just, Jack.

She was a small little woman with delicate features, and he had a pretty good idea that she had been quite the beauty back in the day. Her white hair was pulled into a casual bun that sat at the nape of her neck, her lips were bright pink. She wore a dress that dwarfed her frame, the black and yellow print G.o.d-awful to look at coupled with the purple rain boots she wore. A red rose was stuck haphazardly into her hair, and it was in danger of falling out.

Coco, the little s.h.i.t in question, sat in her arms as if he had every right to be there, panting happily, looking between the both of them.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asked, not because he was being polite but because he already knew the answer.

"I don't drink and neither should you."

She really was the crankiest person he'd ever met.

"Ah," he replied conversationally. "But everyone's allowed a vice or two, don't you think?"

She let Coco jump to the floor and smoothed the big wrinkles in her dress. But when she glanced up at him, for just that one second Jack caught a glimpse of something he'd never seen before. He wasn't exactly sure what it was, and it was gone before he could get a handle on it, but there were more layers to Miss Ella than he thought.

"So where were you?" she ignored his question with one of her own and helped herself to an overly ripe apple in the basket on the counter.

"Did you miss me?" Jack downed his drink and poured himself another. His mood was still black, but it was easing a bit. He wasn't sure if it was because the scotch was just that d.a.m.n good, or if Miss Ella was taking the edge off.

She scowled. "What in tarnation did Grace do to her hair?" She clucked and bit into the apple. "I told that girl there was no way in h.e.l.l any man in his right mind would look twice at a woman with hair like hers."

Miss Ella looked up at him. "Do you know what she told me?"

Jack shook his head, enjoying the burn from his scotch and thinking a couple more should just about do it.

"She told me that she didn't give a d.a.m.n." Miss Ella took another bite. "Imagine that. A girl that young and already so jaded. Makes you wonder."

"Hmmm?" he asked, not really paying attention.

"Makes you wonder what's wrong with all you Simons."

Jack tried to hide a grin but wasn't entirely successful, judging from the dark look on Ella's face.

"I watch that there Hollywood Tattler, and I know that most of you are up to no good."

Jesus, Jack thought, glancing at the clock. I'm gonna need another bottle of scotch to get me through.

"It's a miracle that your brother Beau is settled. My goodness, that boy was dipping his wick into more places than was proper."

Jack nearly lost a mouthful of scotch at that comment and had to turn away and clear his throat.

"And your cousin Cooper. Well, he's nothing but a hound dog. Why just last week, he was seen leaving some married woman's house." Her eyes got narrow with disgust. "A married woman's house."

Huh. That was new. Jack wondered who she was.