Dinner at the Cottage
Belle
THE NEXT MORNING, BELLE WATCHED Jack close her shop door behind them before she hurried to the alarm panel and put in the code.
After she was done, she turned and jumped when she saw he was close.
He didn’t put his hands to her jaw this time. Instead, he took her hand and led her to the stairway at the back of her tiny store, which led up to her workroom and away from the prying eyes of the media people peering through her window.
He didn’t lead her all the way up, just halfway so only their legs were visible. There, he stopped, turning her to face him on the stairs.
“I have to go to work, love,” he told her when he’d tilted his head down to look at her.
Belle nodded.
She was beginning to read the signs. He put on a suit when he “went to work.” He wore jeans when he worked from the castle.
“Are you going to London?” she asked stupidly, because to ask was to get an answer and she didn’t want an answer.
“No, I’m flying to—”
He didn’t finish.
Of its own accord, her hand shot up and covered his mouth, and before she even thought to stop herself, she blurted, “Nope, no, I don’t want to know.”
She saw his eyes smiling at her though she didn’t know if his mouth was and his fingers wrapped around her wrist and pulled her hand away.
“All right, we won’t talk about my work. We’ll talk about yours,” he started, eyes still smiling. “Is Belinda coming in today?”
Belle nodded.
“Don’t open the shop until she gets here. Send Nola or Carol down to help her. You stay up in the workshop,” he commanded and continued issuing orders. “I’ll phone or text you to let you know when to expect your new assistant, but I don’t want you coming down until she gets here.”
She found herself half pleased, half annoyed that he was telling her what to do in a way that said, quite clearly, he expected her to do it.
“You’re very dictatorial, did anyone ever tell you that?” she asked, letting the half annoyed part take control.
“Occupational hazard,” he replied, eyes back to smiling.
Belle looked down at the steps and muttered, “I bet you were a bossy kid, too.”
Her head came up when she heard him roar with laughter and she couldn’t be angry at him anymore because he looked way too darned handsome when he laughed.
Which, incidentally and contradictorily, she also found annoying.
His face had gentled after he laughed and she screwed up the courage to ask, “Are you going to be home for dinner?”
She watched his face shift from gentle to tender at her question and her heart started beating faster.
“Yes, poppet, though not early enough to come and collect you.”
Belle looked to his ear, to the knot in his tie then with a great deal of effort, she forced her eyes to his and said, “No, um . . .” She hesitated then rushed on, “I was wondering if we could have dinner together.”
“Of course,” he replied.
“No,” she said quickly before she lost her nerve. “What I mean is, can I make dinner for you? Just you and me at my cottage.”
Something changed about him. She couldn’t put her finger on it but whatever it was filled the very air. It made it smooth, silky, thick, like velvet trailing across her skin.
“I’d like that,” he said softly.
Belle nodded again and swallowed before she went on, “My cottage is a short walk from here. You just—”
“I know where you live, Belle,” he cut in, surprising her with this news. “Do you have enough to do here to wait for me to come and collect you?”
She nodded yet again. “I always have enough to do.”
He moved into her space and said, “I’ll let you know when I’m close.”
“Okay,” she whispered, liking the idea of knowing when Jack was close but not as much as liking it when he was close.
“I’ve got to go,” he told her but he sounded like he didn’t want to. In fact, he sounded like he really didn’t want to and Belle felt that trill shoot up her spine.
She nodded once again but he didn’t move.
She waited.
He still didn’t move.
This went on for a while.
Finally, she asked, “I thought you said you had to go?”
“I’m waiting for my kiss.”
A dozen trills shot up her spine and her scalp tingled so much she thought her hair would stand on end.
She was getting there. She’d even met his eyes and asked him to dinner.
She couldn’t kiss him.
The last time she’d kissed him, it led to an orgasm on his couch.
Then she thought about him flying to God knew where. No copilot. Maybe ending his flight in a fiery crash somewhere remote where it would take days of concentrated search efforts (with dogs) to reach his beautiful but broken body.
She hated to admit it, even though she just took one, it was time again to take another risk.
So that’s why she leaned into him, put her hands to his chest, slid them up so they were around his neck and she went up on tiptoe as she pressed her chest to his.
He helped, his hands coming to rest lightly on her waist and tilting his head down so she could put her mouth on his.
And Belle kissed him, softly at first, pressing further and opening her lips just a little bit.
He helped again, opening his mouth over hers.
So, timidly, she slid her tongue inside his mouth and touched it to his.
The second she tasted him, his arms wrapped tightly around her, hauling her against his body and up, taking her to the very tips of her toes (and beyond).
His head slanted and Jack took control of the kiss.
From there, it went wild and hot and nearly out of control.
It was fantastic.
Before it could careen entirely out of control, his mouth tore from hers but he held her close, his lips sliding to her ear.
“I like the way you kiss, poppet,” he murmured there.
“That’s good,” she whispered back inanely, not completely in control of all her faculties and she heard him chuckle.
He set her on her feet but touched his lips to hers one last time.
“Have a good day,” he said.
With that he turned and she watched him leave.
She stood on the stairs, back pressed against the wall, until her legs stopped shaking, her heart quit beating so fast and her scalp halted its tingling.
This took a while too.
Then she went to her workroom and got to work.
Late morning when Nola, one of her seamstresses, was downstairs with Belinda, and Carol, her other seamstress, was upstairs with Belle, both Carol and Belle working at her two sewing machines, Belle’s purse rang.
She ran to it, grabbed her phone, looked at the screen and saw it was Jack.
She pressed the screen to take the call and put it to her ear.
“Hi,” she said and then gave herself a tiny shake because her voice, even on that one word, sounded breathy.
She mentally kicked herself for saying “hi.” She should have said “hello” or a casual “hey, Jack” or a formal “Belle’s phone.”
“Hello, poppet.” His deep, rumbly voice cut off her rampaging thoughts and slid through the phone into her ear giving her a long distance trill and tingle. “Olive is in transit. She and your new assistant should be with you this afternoon.”
Belle’s body went stiff. “Olive is coming?”
“She’s decided to escort your new girl. I’m guessing she wants to meet you.”
“Oh my goodness gracious,” Belle breathed in horror only to hear Jack chuckle.
“She’s a PA, love, not the Wicked Witch of London.”
“Yes, right. Of course,” Belle replied softly, feeling like an idiot.
“She’ll like you,” he assured.
Belle doubted that. She had a lot of people who liked her but she wasn’t a master of the best first impression.
“Of course,” she repeated not because she agreed. Because she thought she should say something.
“There’s a lot to like, Belle,” he continued, his voice getting low and very rumbly and it hit her that he was taking time out of his likely very busy day to reassure her.
Her mind got one step closer to going the way of her heart and soul.
“I’ll be okay, Jack,” she told him.
He was silent a moment then said, “You’ll know her anywhere. She has peach hair.”
Belle forgot about her mind, heart and soul, let out a startled giggle and asked, “Peach?”
“Don’t ask me,” Jack replied, amusement in his voice. “I’ll see you later, my love.”
He rang off and Belle heard his last two words over and over in her head until Carol called her name.
She focused on her colleague who was watching her closely.
“He’s fit, way fit, but girl, you’re a mess,” Carol remarked.
Belle walked over and sat down next to Carol at her sewing machine. “I know. I’m such an idiot.”
Carol grinned at her. “He doesn’t think so and that’s all that matters.”
This was simple but it was absolutely true.
“He’s coming to the cottage for dinner tonight,” Belle shared, and Carol’s brows drew together in confusion.
“I thought you were living with him.”
“I am and so is his mother, my mother, my grandmother and, a lot of the time, his ex-girlfriend now adopted daughter slash sister,” Belle revealed.
“One word for that and that word is ‘eek,’” Carol noted with a smile on her lips. “I’m guessing you want some alone time.”
“I want to show him my grandmother’s landscapes,” Belle replied honestly and Carol burst out laughing.
When she quit laughing, she teased, “That’s what they all say, dear.”
Belle saw the humor and grinned before she asked, “So what do you reckon I should make for a fabulously wealthy man who orders breakfast from his housekeeper every morning, has his bed made for him every day and flies to work in a plane?”
“Meat and potatoes,” Carol answered instantly. “Unless they’re poofs or celebrity chefs, which are just other words meaning poof, men like meat and potatoes. All men. Even fabulously wealthy ones.” She got up and walked to her purse. “Leave it to me. I’ll go to the store. I’ll stock you up. He probably eats so much fancy food, a little home cooking, he won’t know what hit him.” She moved back to Belle and held out her hand. “Keys to the cottage.”
Belle walked to her purse, dug in and gave Carol her keys and some money.
A little wiggle of fear spiraled in her belly, she looked at Carol and opened her mouth.
Before she could utter a word, Carol said gently, “I’ve had dinner at your house, Belle, three times. You’re a great cook. Americans usually are. I’m not kidding, love, he won’t know what hit him.”
Belle nodded, watched Carol leave, and wiggle of fear gone, she went back to work.
Mid-afternoon, Belinda’s head popped up at the landing to the stairs and Carol and Belle looked at her.
Her eyes were bright and her face was flushed.
“You have got to see this,” she breathed in apparent rapture before her head disappeared.
Belle and Carol looked at each other, got up and headed down the stairs.
In her shop, as well as three customers, was a peach-haired woman wearing, bizarrely, a full-on, boxy tweed suit with a light wool turtleneck under it and thick tights even though it was twenty-nine degrees Celsius outside.
There was also a light-skinned, black man with close-cropped hair, dark-brown eyes, a strong, square jaw and the body of a defensive lineman including broad shoulders and massive height that Belle guessed was at least two inches taller than Jack, and Jack was tall. He was wearing an impeccably cut suit and he could easily be scouted as a leading man in a variety of Hollywood movies including romantic comedies but especially action films.
In other words, he was gorgeous.
Not James Bennett gorgeous but as close as Belle ever got.
Eyes to the black man, Belle walked to the peach-haired lady.
“Belle Abbot.” She heard and she tore her attention from the man and looked at Olive who was speaking.
“You’re Olive,” Belle said idiotically.
“That I am,” Olive replied and stuck her hand out.
Belle took it and Olive’s fingers closed around hers. Olive’s grip was so firm it was a little scary and she shook Belle’s hand so stoutly, Belle’s entire frame shook with it and the whole time her hazel eyes never left Belle’s face.
Belle returned her look as best she could and the woman dropped her hand.
“This is Dirk,” Olive said, motioning to the black man. “He’s your new shop assistant.”
Belle’s mouth dropped open as Belinda cried, “Isn’t that great?”
“Oh my goodness gracious,” Belle whispered, her eyes glued to Dirk. “You’re a man,” she told him.
He grinned and his white teeth flashed so brightly Belle was temporarily blinded.
“Last time I checked,” he answered, his voice so deep it hit the room like a thunderclap.
“Oh my goodness gracious,” Belle repeated.
“Until this morning, he worked on Sloane Street. Now he works for you,” Olive announced.
Belle looked back to Olive and asked hesitantly, “Um, can I talk to you a second?”
Before Olive could answer, Belle grabbed her hand and dragged her to the back of the store, up the stairs and into the workshop.
There, she whirled on her and got close. “Does Jack know that’s my new shop assistant?”
Olive’s eyebrows went up. “Not exactly. He told me to get you an assistant. He usually doesn’t follow up once he gives a directive. He just expects it to get done. Which it always does. Hence Dirk,” she finished, throwing a hand casually toward the stairs.
“I think,” Belle said in a voice filled with portent, “he’s expecting it to be a girl.”
“He said ‘get the best.’ I got the best,” Olive declared. “The best just happens to be a man.”
“I’m not sure he’s going to like this,” Belle informed her.
“Why not?” Olive asked.
“Because, well . . .” She paused, not certain how to point out the obvious because it should be obvious. She went with, “He’s a man.”
“So?”
“It’s not just any man, he looks like a superhero,” Belle shared. “Or, at least, he looks like he could play one on TV.”
Olive leaned back, crossed her arms on her ample chest and grinned. “I see. You think Jack’ll be jealous.”
“Um . . .” Belle began but her mind screamed, yes!
“Let me tell you something, Belle Abbot. Jack Bennett doesn’t get jealous. A woman’s stupid enough to look another way, which by the by has never happened, as in never, he’d let her. He doesn’t have a lot of patience for idiots,” Olive informed her.
“I act like an idiot all the time,” Belle shared.
Olive’s grin turned into a smile. “Well, that may be so but you’re also darned pretty, you smell good and you have more dignity in your little finger than every woman Jack’s ever dated while I’ve been working for him all combined. So I’m guessing you get a free pass on being a pretty, dignified idiot who smells good.”
Belle stared at her, dumbstruck then asked on a whisper, “You think I have dignity?”
“I think anyone who can ignore those vultures outside for a year and who turns down offers to cash in on a tragedy has dignity. Yes. And lots of it,” Olive answered but wasn’t quite done. “You’ve got so much dignity I’m soaking some up just standing next to you.”
It was such an outrageous thing to say, Belle let out a surprised giggle.
“I’m thinking you have dignity too,” Belle told her.
“Yes, of course I do,” she replied breezily. “Though, I lose some of it when Jack calls me on a Sunday afternoon and tells me to find a shop assistant by the next day.”
Belle’s heart dropped. “I told him he should leave you alone on a Sunday.”
She leaned in conspiratorially. “My dear, what on earth would I do if Jack didn’t shake up my life every once in a while? I’d be bored silly. Anyway, as a reward, I got to sit next to Dirk in a limousine for the last five hours.” She leaned closer. “You should get a whiff. He smells good too.”
Belle couldn’t help it. She let out another giggle. This one was louder, longer and not self-conscious in the slightest.
After a few seconds, Belle realized that Olive had joined her in giggling.
“I like Olive,” Belle told Jack as they walked along the narrow cobbled street, Jack’s arm around Belle’s shoulders, only a few, straggling photographers keeping their distance and taking photos.
It was evening, the sun still in the sky, the heat staying on the day but a gentle breeze was blowing off the sea.
Olive had long since gone to the castle to settle in as she was staying for a few days as well as to find accommodation for Dirk as he was moving for the time being to St. Ives.
Belle had spent the afternoon attempting to stop Belinda from declaring her undying love for Dirk and explaining her minimal operation to him.
She found he knew his stuff, he had several suggestions, not just about how she ran her store but how she produced her line, all of them excellent, and she’d told him to do whatever he wanted and keep the ideas coming.
Then she, Belinda, Carol and Nola spent a goodly amount of time explaining how fantastic St. Ives was, where to shop, where to eat and how to get along with the tourists.
Dirk didn’t seem at all fazed with his rapid change of scenery.
In fact Dirk was entirely laidback.
Except when an obvious journalist walked in, his beady eyes on Belle.
Dirk got in his way, looked down at him from his colossal height and demanded to know. “Are you buying something for your wife?”
With more audacity then sense, the reporter replied, “I’d like to talk to Belle a second.”
“Ms. Abbot is available only to customers,” Dirk returned.
“It’s just a few questions,” the man said.
“You’ve got two seconds to leave before you’re ejected,” Dirk retorted.
The man smiled. “You put your hands on me, I’ll—”
Then Dirk put his hands on him and deftly and efficiently ejected him from the shop.
“I’m calling the police!” the journalist shouted from the street.
“I’ll look forward to speaking with them,” Dirk replied calmly and closed the door.
It was then Belle lost her battle to stop Belinda who, eyes on Dirk, breathed, “I think I love you.”
Dirk grinned a blinding grin. “That should make our working relationship interesting.”
Belinda fluttered her eyes and smiled.
Things returned to normal after that.
As normal as they could be with the media at the door and a movie-star gorgeous new shop assistant working with the boy-crazy one she already had.
On their walk, Jack squeezed her shoulder. “That’s good. Olive called me, she likes you too.” He paused then said, “She also told me about Dirk.”
Belle read between the lines, mainly because his voice was filled with humor, that Olive had told Jack about Belle’s reaction to Dirk.
She decided her best course was to ignore this and said, “He ejected a reporter today.”
Jack’s arm tensed spasmodically on her shoulders before he muttered, “I haven’t met him and I already like him.”
“Though, the bad news is, you’ve lost Belinda’s blind devotion. She’s now in love with Dirk.”
Jack looked down at her. “I didn’t know I had it.”
She stared up at him in astonishment.
Was he blind?
Then again, women probably fell in love with him when he walked down the street. Like at that very moment, women were probably looking out the windows of restaurants as Belle and Jack walked by, all of them falling madly in love with him.
“You had it,” she told him instead of sharing her thoughts.
“My heart bleeds,” he remarked dryly and pulled her closer, curling her so her torso was twisted to his even as she was walking forward. Her arm had to wrap around his stomach for balance and she had to tip her head way back to look up at him before he murmured, “Maybe you can fill the void.”
“I’ll try,” she breathed, he grinned and leaned down to touch his mouth to hers.
He straightened and uncurled his arm so she was walking plastered close to his side, not half plastered to his front.
He did all of his without breaking stride.
If she tried something like that she’d fall flat on her face.
He could, she thought, do anything.
Anything.
They walked silently the rest of the way to her cottage.
She shared her cottage with a neighbor. They owned the garden level. Belle owned the elevated ground floor.
Therefore they walked up a short flight of steps to get to her door, each step held a pot of burgeoning flowers. Her cottage was painted white. The front door was a brilliant, Prussian blue. She opened the door and led them into the mud room, her many jackets hanging on hooks, ready for her walks.
She closed the door behind Jack but grabbed his hand when he ducked his head to avoid the low ceiling at the foot of the stairs in preparation for climbing them.
He turned to her in inquiry.
“I didn’t ask you here just to make you dinner,” she told him and she watched as his body braced. “I asked you here to show you something.”
He didn’t speak so she moved around him but kept her hand in his. He ducked again as she guided him up the stairs to the landing, which led to her back hall as well as to her kitchen, her bath and her second bedroom. Then she took him up two more steps to the back hall and turned left into the living room.
She knew when he saw it because she felt his body jerk through his hand.
He stopped dead in front of her couch.
Belle stood beside him and looked at the massive canvas hanging over her couch.
It depicted a graceful, Savannah mansion (the “haunted” one where they’d once lived) with lushly blooming garden, an oak tree in front, moss hanging from its branches. Its colors were muted, beautiful blues and grays mostly, and lightning split the sky behind the watery portrayal of the house.
“The Storm Series,” Belle whispered and felt his hand squeeze hers before, slowly, his head turned and tilted down to look at her.
She caught her breath at the raw look in his eyes, a look she couldn’t read but it felt as velvet as the air from that morning.
“I have most of them here at the cottage,” she went on nervously when he didn’t say a word. “I thought you’d appreciate seeing them.” He still didn’t speak and she began to feel funny. “You can, um . . .” She hesitated then surged on, “Take your time. Wander the house. I’ll start dinner.”
With that she dropped his hand and escaped to the kitchen.
Carol had told her the menu. Fillet steaks that Belle was to grill then sprinkle with Stilton to melt onto the meat. Baby new potatoes, carrots and fresh petit pois for the boil. Fresh baked rolls from the bakery down the street to complete the main meal. Pudding was a tarte Tatin, also from the bakery down the street, for Belle to heat and serve with famous Cornish clotted cream.
Belle would have preferred to make everything herself, including the rolls and the tarte, but she didn’t have time. Instead, she did the limited prep work, put the water on to boil, the oven on to heat the grill and was setting the table when Jack arrived in the kitchen.
She looked up from the table, still placing a knife in its spot.
“Did you see them all?” she asked and his eyes moved around the walls in the kitchen. “I don’t keep any in here. Too much moisture,” Belle informed him.
“Of course,” he muttered.
“Did you see them?” she asked, straightening.
His eyes came to her. “I saw them.”
“Aren’t they beautiful?” Belle queried softly.
He watched her a moment then he replied, “I was wrong yesterday. Your grandmother doesn’t love you.” Belle felt her brows draw together in confusion before he explained, “Those pictures, pictures she painted for you, there aren’t words to describe that kind of love.”
Belle stared at his beautiful face as her mind finally caught on.
She knew.
She knew.
She knew anyone who would understand the hidden meaning behind her grandmother’s paintings was someone who would never hurt her.
Someone she could trust.
Someone who would keep her safe.
And she also knew what she had to do.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t terrified out of her skull.
But that didn’t stop her from walking to the oven, turning off the stove, flipping off the grill and then walking to Jack.
She again took his hand and guided him down the two steps to the landing then up the two steps to the hall.
“Belle,” he said behind her but she turned right to her bedroom.
She dropped his hand just inside the door but walked in further and turned.
Looking in his eyes, she flipped off her shoes and crossed her trembling hands in front of her, grabbing her dress.
“Belle,” he said her name again. It was deeper this time, husky and rough but she didn’t see him because she was pulling her dress up over her head and then off.
She’d barely got her arms free, she definitely didn’t get a chance to focus on him but he was right there, she felt his hands at her bottom and she was going up.
She dropped her dress, wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his hips and she was turned, moved and then falling backward to the bed.
It started wild and out of control, and neither Belle nor Jack did anything to stop it.
He had her out of her underwear and him out of his clothes before she could whisper, “oh” (which she did).
Then she pushed him to his back, her mouth on him, lips brushing, tongue tasting, her body igniting as she worked her way down his broad chest, over the planes and angles of his belly and lower, her hand moving to wrap around his hardness, her thumb lightly rolling over the tip.
That was all she got.
He flipped her to the back and did the same thing down her chest and rounded belly, until his mouth was between her legs.
At the feel of him there, she arched her back and neck as he lifted her calves over his shoulders.
Calvin never did this to her. He hated it. He expected her to put her mouth on him but he didn’t return the favor.
Jack was good at it. So good she was writhing under his mouth, noises escaping her lips, her hands deep in his hair holding him to her and she felt it coming and it was going to be beautiful.
Suddenly his mouth disappeared, Belle gave a soft cry of protest but his body came over her. He didn’t rest his weight on her but rolled them, her on top. Without delay, he jerked her knees to straddling him. He shifted his hand quickly between them and sat up, taking Belle with him, filling her as they went.
Her head dropped back with the delicious feel of him deep inside and her arms wrapped around his shoulders and held on tight.
His hands went to her hips and she tipped her head to look at him.
“I thought I remembered,” she whispered, her mouth against his. “How good you felt.”
“Belle,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, a hand sliding into her hair and fisting in it with gentle force.
“I thought I remembered,” she repeated, beginning to glide up. “But I didn’t remember you feeling half this good.”
She didn’t get the chance to slide back down.
She found herself on her back, Jack up on his forearms, his hips pounding into hers.
She loved it, every nanosecond of it.
Of which there weren’t many.
It built and exploded with raw, exquisite intensity.
So much, she almost missed his thrusts deepening and his breath catching against her neck before he sighed.
She took his weight for only a moment before he pulled her legs up his sides, hands behind her knees and, keeping them connected, he rolled to his back.
She rested her forehead against his jaw, trying to get her breathing back to normal. Jack stroked her spine as she felt his erratic breaths with the rise and fall of his chest.
Okay, so, she’d just taken a risk, she’d jumped in with both feet and found something hugely rich and rewarding.
Then her mind, never her best friend, took her back to the morning after their first night together, reminding her of what she said.
It reminded her how Jack responded. How he’d been stunned and insulted when he realized she actually believed he’d used her as a prize in a competition with his brother.
And she had believed that.
Thus she’d walked away and not looked back.
Then she’d gotten pregnant and didn’t intend to tell him.
And she again threw his supposed behavior with his brother in his face in the bathroom after she’d had All Freaking Day Long Sickness and again in the stables.
She’d done all this when (not including the time he was angry at her when she first came back into his life), he’d never been anything but that Jack of the first night.
Okay, maybe he had been something else but that something was his being much more of the Jack of that first night.
She was the idiot to end all idiots.
And she’d been right when she wasn’t able to non-think that evening on the cliffs.
What she’d done wasn’t rude.
It was unforgiveable.
“Oh my God,” she whispered right before her body froze solid.
Instantly, he stopped stroking her spine and his arms wrapped tight around her.
“Belle,” he called.
“Oh my God,” she repeated, pushing away from him, causing their bodies to disconnect but he held even tighter.
“Belle,” he called again, one arm moving up so he could wrap a hand in her hair.
“Let me go, Jack,” she whispered, her voice sounding ugly with fear.
He tugged gently at her hair but she resisted, keeping her forehead pressed against his jaw and pushing at his chest.
“Belle, damn it, look at me,” he bit out, and when she didn’t he rolled again so he was on top.
She took a goodly amount of his weight at her hips, his legs tangled with hers but he twisted his torso away and rested his weight into his forearm in the mattress at her side.
His other hand came to her jaw and he turned her to face him.
When her eyes met his, he looked a mixture of concerned and irritated and asked in a curt voice, “What’s in that head of yours, poppet?”
She studied him for a moment then two. All she could think was that he was criminally handsome even looking concerned and irritated.
Then she burst into tears.
She covered her face with her hands and tried to roll in the opposite direction but he caught her and pulled her to him, positioning them both on their sides, his legs still tangled heavily with hers, his arms tight around her.
“Jesus, Belle, what is it?”
She shook her head and his fingers wrapped around her wrist and pulled one of her hands from her face.
“Belle, talk to me,” he demanded.
She moved her other hand and looked at him, tears still streaming from her eyes.
“That morning after I met you, I walked down the hall to my room thanking my lucky stars that I met you,” she announced, her voice quiet and trembling and she felt his body go still but she ignored it. “Then I . . . then things . . .” she hesitated, “then everything happened. And I said the most awful things to you.” A sob surged up and tore free and she shoved her face in his chest. “And I just realized I was wrong. I was wrong!” she cried and pressed her hand into his chest, not to get away but to let go some of the feeling she felt.
She tilted her head back and shouted, “I spit on my stars!”
These words brought on another wave of tears and Belle shoved her face in his chest again, the sobs rocking her body.
Jack let her cry, stroking her back with one hand, the other one gliding through her hair then up, his fingers sifting in only to glide back through.
She got control of her tears (not much, but some) and tilted her head back again. “I’m not crazy and this isn’t hormones,” she declared hotly.
“All right, love,” he replied in a gentle voice.
“I’m just not good at being rude,” she explained. “Rude is the worst. And what I did was beyond rude. It was unforgiveable!” she ended on a near shout.
Jack stopped stroking her back and hair and leaned into her so she was on her back again and he was looming over her, legs still tangled with hers.
“I think that’s for me to decide, don’t you?” he asked and her body jerked.
She stopped crying and stammered, “Wh-what?”
“It’s for me to decide if what you did was unforgiveable,” he repeated, his hand coming to her face and gently wiping away her tears.
He was right.
“You’re right,” she whispered and held her breath.
He must have noticed it because his eyes dropped to her mouth and they were smiling. “Poppet, I forgave you a long time ago. Around the time I saw you resting your forehead against a toilet seat, talking to our child.”
“That’s not very romantic,” she blurted then her eyes grew wide at yet another display of her rampant rudeness and he burst out laughing.
He shoved his face in her neck and his arms went around her before he rolled them to their sides again and looked at her.
“Okay, how about when I caught you pushing Baron out of your room one of the first nights after you moved into The Point?” he suggested then carried on. “Or when I saw you sleeping in the hayloft. Or when I kissed you later. Or when you tried to stop me from fighting Miles. Or when you kissed me in bed the next morning. Or, just after, when you got out of bed and tried to make rules. Do you want me to go on?” he asked.
Belle shook her head, though she kind of did but her heart had stopped beating on his first suggestion and she was having severe difficulty breathing. If he went on she might accidentally suffocate herself and then where would they be?
His face got closer. “Even if I hadn’t forgiven you, time and again, I would have done it when you told me you thanked your lucky stars when you met me.”
“Jack—” she began, but he cut her off and he was using his low and rumbly voice when he did it.
“We’re not speaking of this again. It happened. It’s over. This is us moving on.”
That was nice, really nice, but Belle felt the need to apologize.
So she said again, “Jack—”
He interrupted again, “Am I understood?”
“Jack—” she tried again.
His face got even closer. “Belle, tell me I’m understood.”
“You’re understood,” she whispered but stubbornly she went on. “But I want to say I’m sorry.”
She caught his smile right before his hand cupped the back of her head and pressed her face to his throat, his other arm holding her tight.
“My love, you already said it when you guided me into this room,” he told the top of her head and then he kissed her there.
Finally her body relaxed into his and she wrapped her arms around him.
“I need to tell you something else,” she said to his throat and she felt Jack’s large frame get tight.
“Belle, I’m feeling pretty fucking good right now, don’t piss me off.”
She thought about his warning then took another risk.
“It’s just that, I think you should know . . . I feel safe with you.”
His tight frame grew statue still.
Then it relaxed.
Then he murmured, nearly inaudibly, “It’s the gift that keeps giving.”
She thought she heard what he said but to be certain, she tilted her head back to look at him and asked, “What?”
He looked down at her. “Nothing, poppet.”
She decided to let it go, got up on an elbow and looked down at him. She tilted her head in inquiry and watched his face grow soft when she did it.
“Do you want dinner?” she queried.
“Not right now,” he replied, rolling to his back and taking her with him, his hands going into the hair on either side of her head and holding it back. “Right now,” he started, bringing her face closer, and when her lips were against his, he stated, “we’re going to work up an appetite.”
And they did.
By the time they ate, they were ravenous.
And it was safe to say even well before he ate the delicious steak Belle cooked for him, Jack Bennett didn’t know what hit him.
But he liked it.