Chapter 3

Jillian had been kissed before—gentle kisses, polite kisses, sloppy kisses all from dates that never really worked out because she was just too absorbed in work to follow up or be interested in the men she had dated. She’d always assumed that was the case, always blamed everything on her work and pretty much written men off as a waste of time.

But Jack Bailey just proved her wrong on the matter.

He was interested in her—an interest that she was wary of at first, considering his introduction as her fan and her general aversion to too-friendly strangers. But that dinner together had changed her mind completely about him, especially when they started talking about things that weren't art-related and she began to note things about him.

He seemed to love his job, though she could understand the careful words due to its nature. He loved steak as much as she did. He listened to her, never interrupting even when she had a hard time expressing herself at times. He gave out his opinion and genuinely wanted to know hers.

He had a soft spot for his sister.

And then there was the kissing part. Oh, boy. Jillian had been kissed before, but never like that—never with that quiet kind of intimacy that screamed chemistry between them that she still couldn't believe was real.

And if she was honest with herself, she wanted to explore it more than anything.

At first, she thought it would distract her from work. Instead, she found that it inspired her to work more—something Paula noticed during her first few days and was pleased with, complimenting her endlessly about her superb work ethic. The painting was mentioned again, but Jillian evaded the topic and focused on her job, wanting to impress more than anything. She still hadn't made any headway with Mr. Grimshaw, but it wasn't for lack of trying. The man really was rude, especially when he walked off at her compliment about his gallery. Maybe she should just leave that be for now.

Her second date with Jack passed by in a whirl of food and conversation, this time in a different restaurant still near the harbor. The disappointment came when he didn't kiss her on that date. But disappointment turned to pleasure when he asked her on a third date. Then a fourth.

Then, a fifth.

Then it was Friday again, and Jillian was finally getting impatient.

He took her to yet another restaurant, talked about art and books and anything that was normally interesting to her. But there was no kiss, and Jillian realized that her body craved it. Did she do something wrong? Did the kiss turn him off? Did he want to take it slow? Was he really not that interested, after all?

The questions drove her crazy, and Jillian had to scold herself and try to calm down. When dinner was done, she expected him to take her to the taxi stand again and be all polite and charming like he usually was. She was torn between being resigned and wanting to take the step to move things forward.

Before she could decide, Jack took her hand to stop her from walking, turning her towards him.

“Is something the matter?” he asked.

That he could read her brooding even when she tried to hide her thoughts from him spoke of how attuned he was to her. She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye.

“Are we friends?”

The question seemed to startle him, but he nodded his head easily. “Of course.”

“Good. Friends can talk to each other.”

“Well, yes. What did you want to talk about?”

“Are we something more?”

The question had him blinking. Jillian stood there as patiently as she could, waiting him out. She was even prepared for the rejection, for him to admit that he was only in it because he’d been curious about her.

And now maybe that curiosity was gone.

Just as her thoughts were starting to wander again, fingers settled on her chin, lifting her face so she could look at him again. She was always blasted with…something whenever she looked at him—whenever she looked at that thick black hair and those intense gray eyes that looked like storm clouds. Then there was that somewhat rakish grin, which he often used to tease her and make her laugh.

He wasn’t grinning now. Instead, the look he was giving her had her toes tingling.

“You’re a very special woman, and I want to take it slow,” he said, his voice low and doing things to her insides. A thumb lightly raked her cheek, and her breath sharpened.

“No hints, please. I can’t take hints,” she blurted out.

His mouth quirked. “I like you a lot.”

Jillian’s cheeks burned, delight seeping in her at the truth she heard in his admission. She’d always been the type to shy away from anything that involved men and their come-ons, however slim the chances were. But this time, she found herself taking a step forward and kissing his cheek—a light graze that had his jaw clenching and delighted her further.

“Did you want to come to my apartment for coffee?”

It was bold. It was lightly suggestive but not so much, and she was pretty proud of herself.

“I…It’s rather late. And I think we should both get some rest.”

The answer, especially with how much progress they had with the conversation, had her blinking. The disappointment was stark, but Jillian tried to swallow it back and gave him a smile.

“Maybe next time?” she asked and almost cringed at how lame it sounded.

Something sad flashed in Jack’s eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came. He squeezed her hand before continuing walking her to a taxi, where she brooded the whole way home.

So much for progress.

* * *

The next few days passed in a blur, with no contact from Jack, and Jillian threw herself into her work until she was exhasuted. She crashed into bed right after, which was a good thing, because it made her forget about all the things that particular man had made her feel. She didn’t want to analyze what happened anymore, because analyzing only brought more questions than answers, and it would just continue driving her crazy.

Work was a blessing, really, and so was Paula. The only downside regarding Paula was how she kept badgering Jillian about the painting, even after two weeks. Jillian had already decided she didn’t want to sell the painting, and she kept it somewhere safe.

She got home that night quite late, after getting dinner by herself and a few glasses of wine. The first thing she looked at when she got in was the painting, proudly displayed on the wall in her living room facing the couch.

Well, a replica of it. But no one needed to know that. She had replicas everywhere, mostly because she wanted to see if she could recreate old stuff.

Jillian didn’t have a television, so the painting in front of the couch was a good alternative—mostly so she could criticize it over and over and get ideas for improvement. She really couldn’t figure out the interest, but she was ready to make all the necessary excuses.

The thought of getting another glass of wine came to mind, along with maybe a slice of chocolate cake. But said thought halted as someone knocked, and she strode in that direction instead and opened the door.

“Hey.”

Jillian blinked, torn between too many emotions. “How did you find…?”

His cheeks reddened a bit, and Jack cleared his throat. He looked so good in his dark jeans and white shirt that she ached looking at him. He was tall, dark and handsome—the perfect stranger who swept her off her feet. “Your address was in the security file.”

Her mouth dropped open. “So you snooped as opposed to calling me?”

“I didn’t think you would answer.”

She had a feeling he was right, but she lifted her chin, anyway. “And did you think I would like this?”

Something sad crossed his expression, similar to the one he’d given last week before he took her to the taxi. Something softened inside her in response. He hadn’t hurt her physically, and there was no need to be scared of him.

“I’m sorry, Jillian.”

There was no point in holding a grudge, either.

She sighed. Then she opened the door wider, ushering him in. “Did something happen? I just want to know.”

Jack nodded. “Yeah. Something at work came up. I can’t…”

“Yes, I know you can’t tell me,” she said before he could finish. Jillian smiled. “Don’t even worry about it. Have you had your dinner?”

Jack looked at her quite oddly, and she almost took a step back at the intensity of his gaze.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re too kind to me.”

Jillian shrugged. “I always am. I mean, you’re not a serial killer, are you? That’s the only time I’m not kind.”

It was meant to be a joke, but he just kept looking at her with that dark gaze that spoke of a certain longing. It made her insides tighten, and the joke was lost as he didn’t respond at all. She supposed she should get him that dinner—maybe put something in the microwave or stir-fry some vegetables. They could even share that slice of chocolate cake.

But for the life of her, her feet were frozen in place.

“No, I’m not a serial killer,” he said. Again, she heard the ring of truth and the huskiness in his voice.

Those gray eyes lowered, looking down at her feet, which were bare. They tingled, of course, and she tried to ease her nerves by clearing her throat.

“So, um. Now that it’s established you’re not a serial killer, I have some steak in the fridge. Or maybe you want dessert first? I know you like steak, though…and…”

“Are you drunk?”

She blinked. “A little bit.”

“You had a date?”

Something in his tone went hard, and she shook her head. “No. I drank alone. Celebration.”

“For what?”

“Nothing. Just wanted to celebrate the end of the week. So…steak?”

His eyes flared. He took a step forward, and she expected a nod. Instead, he reached out a hand and wrapped it around her neck, pulling her forward and covering her mouth with a hard, searing kiss.

Her breath caught in her throat, and her mind and body warred with indignation and a certain kind of lust that exploded in her belly. The lust won out and had her opening her mouth willingly for him, letting herself feel those lips of his move and nip at hers. She kissed him back, clumsily at first before she managed to get a grip and show him just how willing she was—and the delight was stark when she heard him suck in a breath, when she felt something hard pulsing at her stomach area.

Jack yanked her closer, and she gasped. Then she clung on to him, letting herself feel—letting herself experience this glorious moment that never happened to her before. Her tongue slid inside his mouth, a curious experiment. A rumbling groan came from his throat, shooting straight down her core.

Oh, God. This had to be heaven.

Jack's mouth slid down her throat, and sounds of pleasure came out of her mouth.

He was still essentially a stranger, and he was kissing her like he was thirsty. And she didn't care.

She wanted more.

“I'm sorry.”

The words were so at odds with how good he was making her feel, and she couldn't figure out why he would say it. She opened her mouth, about to tell him to just keep kissing her. The words died when his tongue licked her collarbone.

Then something hard hit her head—something painful, and it radiated all over her body and had her stilling.

Then darkness was taking over.

* * *

When Jillian woke up in the morning, she was on the living room couch and still wearing her work clothes, but with a blanket over her. It took her about five minutes to remember what happened that night.

It took her another five to realize something else.

The painting on her living room wall was gone.

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