Jump Start. Lisa Renee Jones
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And then damn him, his mouth twitched, the one she’d kissed that very morning.
“Never is a long time. I reserve the right to try to change your mind.”
The declaration sent a sudden flutter of butterflies through her stomach. She wanted him to want her. Wanted to kiss him again. It scared her how much, terrified her how easily she could once again have her heart broken.
Marcie cleared her throat. “Since you’re here, Bobby,” she said, “can you grab Mark and get the rest of the champagne out of the cars?”
“Sure,” he said. “Where are the keys?”
“Mark has mine,” Marcie said. “Is your car locked, Jen?”
She nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll get my keys.” From her purse. By the door. That she couldn’t get to without squeezing through the slim hallway where Bobby’s big, muscular, too-sexy body currently resided. The same way he’d been in the back of her mind, blocking the way into the future. Damn. Marcie was right. She hadn’t dealt with Bobby. She’d simply ignored her memories.
“They’re in my purse,” she said to Bobby and motioned him onward. “I’ll follow you out.”
He stood there an instant, his eyes lingering on her lips, as if he were thinking of the kiss they’d shared, before he stepped backward, into the hallway, and motioned her forward.
“Ladies first,” he challenged, leaving her a tiny space to pass.
Bobby arched an expectant brow. It was then that Jennifer realized Marcie was right—whatever happened needed to be on her terms. Melting into the floor wasn’t on her terms. She had to face Bobby and face her past. For now, though, she’d settle for getting past him and to her car.
Jennifer drew her shoulders back and charged forward, self-consciously thinking about the black jeans she’d be strutting in front of him. Wondering if he still thought she was attractive. Telling herself he did or he wouldn’t have kissed her. Telling herself that it didn’t matter, but knowing it most definitely did.
She breezed past Bobby with a determined stride that brought her inches from touching him, but she stared forward, refusing to look at him. Oh, but she felt him, might as well have touched him, imagined touching him. Her skin tingled, her stomach did a funny, fluttery thing. And his scent. Her nostrils flared with his delicious, familiar scent. All spicy and male. She knew that smell so well; she knew the name of the cologne, and the hot way it meshed with his body chemistry and turned to an aphrodisiac that drove her insane.
Jennifer grabbed her purse from the table by the door and turned to find Bobby towering over her. She swallowed hard. He was close. Inches. Awareness tingled in her nerve endings.
She was so in trouble. Clearly, avoiding Bobby wasn’t an option. Definitely. Not. But she would not have sex with Bobby either.
Holding up her keys, she jangled them. “I’ll walk out with you.” And leave, but she didn’t say that.
Mark appeared in the hallway, his shoulder-length dark hair tied at his neck, a contrast to Bobby’s short blond locks. And where Bobby was tall, broad and athletic, Mark was simply tall and lean.
“I’ve been ordered to remove all boxes from the cars,” Mark said, his tone laced with a hint of irritation. He eyed Bobby and nodded. “Hey, man. Sorry I didn’t say much when you came in. I was on the phone with one of our liquor vendors.”
They shook hands, as if they’d just recently met. Then again, for all she knew, Bobby had been home before now, and she didn’t know. Marcie had only started dating Mark two years before, but they might have casually met before now. Though Bobby’s mother had died of cancer when he was in his teens, and he had no siblings, his father owned an auto shop outside San Antonio, a little over an hour away. It was hard to believe that in seven years he hadn’t been home once.
“Talk Marcie into jumping yet?” Bobby asked Mark.
“No,” he said. “She’s too chicken. But I’m all about giving it a go. When do you have in mind?”
“Jumping?” Jennifer asked, frowning, not sure if she’d missed something.
“You are so not skydiving right before our wedding!” Marcie said, rushing to Mark’s side, glaring up from her five-three to Mark’s towering six-three. “You’re a computer programmer turned bar owner, and while that shows impressive diversity, you are not Special Forces, like Bobby.”
Special Forces. Jennifer had not even known Bobby was Special Forces. Her stomach twisted a little.
“Still,” Mark said. “I’m going to jump while Bobby is here and can go with me. And you might as well come with us. I mean, if anything happens to me the wedding is off anyway.”
Oh, ouch. Jennifer knew that wasn’t going to go over well. And it didn’t. “Mark!”
Jennifer and Bobby exchanged a cringe and headed to the door. Outside, the hot Texas night encased them as assuredly as the tension, both sexual and emotional.
Bobby whistled as the door shut behind them. “I wish I would never have brought up jumping last night. They’ve been snapping at each other ever since. Not exactly what I call wedding bliss.”
“Wedding jitters,” Jennifer corrected. “It’s not uncommon, and it’s not your fault. And they’ve been at it a few days now.” Guilt twisted in her gut as they stopped beside her blue Mazda 626. She drew a breath and turned to face him. “Which is why I really want to put the past behind us, Bobby. The next two weeks is about them, not us. Let’s call a truce.”
He stared at her, his deep blue, beautiful eyes smoldering. “A truce it is,” he said. “Why don’t we start this truce by finding me a way out of inviting Mark to skydive. He’s determined to go. She’s determined he won’t. Why don’t you convince Marcie to come along?” He wiggled a brow. “A foursome.”
Ignoring the joke, and the undercurrent of “coupleness” or whatever real word one might call it that escaped her now, Jennifer argued, “Marcie is already upset over that idea, Bobby. Pressuring her isn’t going to help matters.”
“Well, I can see the look in Mark’s eye. He’s out to prove something and this isn’t over. But we can end it together, like I said. Come jump with us. Convince Marcie to come, too.”
She shook her head. “Me. Jumping out of a plane? Not in this lifetime. That’s way too out of control for me.” She opened her door and tossed her purse inside, before clicking the lock to the back door where the champagne was stored.
“You can tandem jump with me,” he said. “You’d be tied to me. I’ll have control then. I’ll keep you safe.”
He’d have control. There lay her problem. Bobby had control—when he’d left; for the past seven years, as she’d secretly wanted, needed and wondered; and now, because she was running from him. She had to take control, stop wallowing in the past. Deal with the right here and now.
“You can trust me,” Bobby said in a low, sandpaper-rough voice. “When I left—”
She did the only thing she knew to shut him up—she kissed him. She stepped forward, pressed her hand on the solid wall of his chest, pushed to her toes and kissed him. That was taking control. This was taking control. She was taking control.
They hadn’t been in love. Love endured. Love was honest. Love didn’t run away and never look back. They’d been in lust, and she was all about lust in that moment. All about pleasure. For two weeks, he was here, the man who’d been the best sex of her life. She’d be a fool to run from his flavor of pleasure. She would enjoy him, and then she would say goodbye.
Starting with this kiss. The instant Jennifer’s mouth touched Bobby’s, he pulled her closer, taking her mouth, as if he feared she might change her mind. His tongue parted her lips, intimately, full of demand. One of his hands tangled