CHAPTER SIX
Jett stuffed his mouth with the last morsel of shepherd’s pie, the meal warming him from the inside out. At home, he’d go another three servings, but it would be rude to clean out Mac’s pantry. He’d survive, plus he had several beef pies in the fridge back at the ranch—that was if Ace hadn’t eaten them. He was an eating machine even at the age of nine. Jett’s mum gave him whatever he wanted, including what Jett had stashed for later.
Setting down his fork, Jett caught Paris stealing another glance his way, her brows pinched. She’d been doing it throughout dinner, and when he prodded, she pleaded ignorance. What was up with her?
“Anything else?” Mac asked and wiped his mouth. “Last time you were here, you ate an entire roasted chook, now you’ve only eaten a small piece of pie.” When he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkled, reminding Jett of his mum. Ace called them laughing lines.
“The pie was incredible,” Jett said. “But I’m full. Besides, last time I’d just come back from a day of shearing, and I’d skipped lunch. And that rotisserie chicken with spices was heaven.”
Christine laughed. “I will make it again next time you visit. Plus, extra for home.”
He nodded, adoring how she always packed him food to take home whenever he visited.
“I might have to get your recipe later,” Paris added, sounding too polite, yet she hadn’t said anything else during the whole meal. She scooped the last piece into her mouth. Her attention darted between Jett and her empty plate. Unable to work her out, Jett stood and collected the dishes. Mac was on his feet, helping. Before long, they sat at the table drooling over a warm apple tea cake, making the worsening storm seem bearable. Dessert always made things better. Hail banged against the house, and the backyard resembled a snowfield, but with warm apple and custard in his mouth, there could be an apocalypse outside for all he cared.
Paris padded over to the glass door, staring outside, and his attention fell to her cute butt in tight jeans. Yep, she hadn’t lost her sexiness an inch. Yet, she stood there alone, lost in her own world. Was she eager to return to her parents and be away from him?
“Not sure you two are going anywhere yet if the storm doesn’t let up,” Mac added.
Jett reached for a bite of cake as Paris twisted around. “We don’t want to burden you. We’ll head home later, hopefully the rains will die down.” She shot a meaningful glance at Jett.
A loud clap had Paris flinching. Jett turned toward the kitchen. Christine had her hands to her chest. “Wonderful then. You can join us for the carols in the community hall.”
“The what?” Paris asked as she slid into the seat next to Jett. Her elbow brushed his, and a tingle swept up his arm, the kind he’d always had when he used to kiss Paris. She was the only girl who’d ever caused that reaction, but right now, she gave off a cold vibe.
“It’s a yearly tradition,” Mac said, twirling the edges of his moustache. “The whole town gathers in the hall, some people sing carols, and then we hand out Santa’s gifts to the kids. Courtesy of Jett.” He slapped Jett on the back as he passed them. “It will be fun, son.”
“I’d be honoured,” Jett said.
“Good, good. While we prepare, why don’t you two go in the main room and watch television while we tidy up,” Mac said.
Jett nodded, figuring they’d intruded long enough. With Paris by his side, they trailed down the hallway without a word. The worn fabric on the couches looked welcoming in the living room. He crashed on the three-seater and reached down for the remote control cord curled near his foot, pulling it out from under the sofa. He’d spent nights here before when the weather turned nasty.
“Why’s it tied up?” Paris asked and plopped down next to him. Her heat spread over to him. He couldn’t help imagining her in his arms and tasting her lips as he once had. But that would lead to complications and heartache he didn’t want to deal with again.
“Mac misplaces the remote, so he’s tied it the foot of the sofa.”
She nodded and folded a leg under her, turning to face him, despite him switching on the television.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “You’re acting strange.”
She tugged down on her long-sleeved T-shirt, revealing a bit too much cleavage, but he wasn’t complaining at all. Paris had always been gorgeous, but now she exuded a sexiness that drove him insane. Even in jeans and a black top, her curves called to him, and at that moment, he pictured taking her from behind, gripping her ponytail. God, that wasn’t helping calm his raging pulse.
“You have a kid,” she blurted. “Why didn’t you tell me? Are you married? Or—”
Okay, he didn’t expect that question and wondered how she found out. Must have been Christine as she adored Ace. “You never asked.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Are you kidding me? Why would I ever ask you if you have a child?”
He shrugged, adoring how her lips thinned when she got mad. “Lots of people ask me that question.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I bet the girls do.”
He broke into laughter. “Are you jealous of other women or that I might be hooked up? It’s hard to keep up.”
With a huff, she shifted in her seat. “Oh, please. As if.” She chewed on her lower lip for a few moments. “So, are you married? Just be straight with me.”
“Are you?”
“No! Otherwise, why would I be coming home on my own?”
“Lots of reasons.” He switched off the television, clear they weren’t planning on watching anything. They were in interrogation mode apparently.
“Don’t ignore my question.” She poked a finger into his bicep.
“Since when is it a crime to not spill my entire life when I meet someone. Maybe, I’m not the sharing kind.” With his leg bent, he pivoted to face her and studied the way she waited. Not a single blink. Did she care that much if he was with someone else?
“Bull. You used to tell me everything, even about that time a bee stung your finger and you swore it was the worst pain the world.”
He tilted his head. Did she forget five years had passed between them? “First,” he began, “tell me why it bothers you so much?”
Her mouth opened, but it took a moment for her words to come out. “Oh, you actually think I care? Not at all. You could be married with three wives. I just thought it was what normal people did, you know, talked about their loved ones. Otherwise it makes me wonder what sort of relationship you’re in. Maybe you are married with three wives.”
That time he snorted a laugh. “I only ever need one wife. Plenty enough.”
“So, you are married!” Her eyes widened, and a blush crawled over her cheeks. Her gaze locked onto Jett’s, unmoving, watching him with intent.
“You’re funny and so easy to rile up. I don’t know why you’re so bothered with whether I am or aren’t married… unless you intend to ask me out on a date. Then I get it. So, are you planning on hitting on me?”
“Yeah right. Stop twisting my words.” She huffed and leaned closer, their faces so close he inhaled her jasmine fragrance. “Two can play that game,” she continued. “The fact you’re being illusive tells me so much about you. Maybe you haven’t changed that much since we were last together.” Her pale blue eyes sparkled.
His mind travelled to the few nights they went out camping. When she looked up at him with those crystal irises, the world faded away, and they had more sex during that outing than their whole time together. His gaze dipped to her pouty lips.
Her voice dropped an octave, and her words grew soft with the smile already playing on her face. “You still like to tease and play your tricks.”
“You never complained before about my teasing.” He winked. Even before his hand swept to the back of her neck, his fingers tingled for a touch. She’d gotten under his skin and into his head.
Their gaze lasted a few seconds, enough for him to decide there was no going back. With his heart banging faster, he leaned in, his lips brushing hers. He’d pictured this moment hundreds of times. Their bodies came together without the need for words. The urgency to keep tasting her fogged his mind. Take her. Claim her.
Paris melted beneath him, and he forgot himself. A moan rolled across his throat when she arched into his chest, her breasts pressing against him as she slid her tongue into his mouth. His resistance crumbled, and all that remained was his desire for Paris. It was a longing that had haunted him for years… the devil’s cruel joke of taking from him the person he’d cared for the most.
His hand sailed to her hips, holding onto her, drawing her closer. He needed her skin to skin, now!
She released a small whimper of anticipation. His pulse gushed through his veins, fast and exhilarating. Arms entangled, breaths merged. God, he’d missed the softness of her skin, her small noises, and the honeyed taste in her fiery kiss.
When she broke away, they remained inches apart, frozen, their arms still clasped around one another. Passion flamed in her gaze, and he never wanted to leave her. Those few moments of silence carried their past, their secrets, their sparks of desire for one another.
“Does that answer your question?” he asked and cupped her cheek.
She studied him. Her mischievous expression had his hands tingling to draw her closer and never let go.
“Not necessarily.”
“So you still think I’m a cheater?”
Her cheeks reddened. “No. It’s just that… well, I haven’t seen you for five years, and who knows what kind of person you’ve become.”
He lowered his hands, and Paris did the same, slumping back onto the couch. “You’re right,” he said. “We’ve both changed. You have trust issues, and I’m now a dad. Oh, and not married.”
She arched an eyebrow, the wheels behind her eyes spinning with a million questions. Jett contemplated telling her how Ace came into his life, but in all honesty, he wasn’t in the mood for an interrogation. Besides, she needed to learn to trust him on her own.
Mac stepped into the doorway with a huge grin. “You two ready to join us in the community hall? Jett, we’ll go in your van as it’ll be easy to transport the toys.”
“Let’s do this.” Jett climbed to his feet, fishing the keys out of his pocket. He turned to Paris and offered her his hand, which she accepted. They headed to the front door, and he caught her glancing his way again. He smirked to himself, remembering how much he used to adore teasing her. They’d always end up together afterward, falling into a kiss.
After she had left for the city and refused to call him back, he’d dealt with moving on. Well, at least he thought he had… except in her presence, old emotions stirred. They kept whispering nonsense in his ears about second chances, about trying again.
Despite the passion in her kiss, it didn’t mean she wanted anything more than getting together for memory’s sake. Hell, he was sounding like a teenager.
With his shoulders squared, he opened the door, tensing against the deluge of winds and rain that smacked into him, driving him back a few steps.
“Oh, crap,” Paris muttered. “It’s a typhoon out there.”
“Nothing impedes Christmas.” Jett turned to Paris, Mac, and his wife. “I’ll go first, and then you run to the ute and jump in.”
Jett darted outside, the wind buffeting against his side, rain drenching him in a second flat before he managed to jump into the driver’s seat. “Shit.” The rain pelted the car, sounding like thousands of tiny bombs detonating.
With everyone piled into the van, soaked, Jett started the engine and nosed along the long driveway at a snail’s pace. Even with his wipers at ultra-speed, the track ahead of him blurred.
“You sure the townsfolk will still attend the party?” Paris asked. “Maybe we ought to remain indoors.”
Mac chuckled. “A small storm like this ain’t stopping anyone from attending. They’ll be there.”
Paris stared out the window. “At this pace, we’ll never make it back home later.”
Jett glanced at Paris. “Hate to break it to you, but if this weather doesn’t calm down, we aren’t going anywhere tonight.”
She met his gaze, her eyes narrowing. And right there he had his answer. She wasn’t interested in spending more time with him, just getting home fast. The kiss must have been a spur of the moment thing. He was a fool to think otherwise. While something in his chest twisted, he couldn’t let himself go there again.