Sweat Equity: Stewart Realty, Book Two Read online

  He’d taught her so much about how relinquishing her tight control to him was a pure turn on, fueling her libido in ways she had no idea were possible. But giving up any level of control to a man like Jack many times left her feeling cold, scared, and vulnerable.

  The niggling words “you two are too much alike to work” kept coming back, tickling her brain.

  Damn Blake.

  After rubbing her hair with styling gel, she blinked the tears back and tried to focus on the day ahead. Saturdays were notoriously long days for Realtors, and today promised to be a doozy. To top it off, she had the pleasure of dinner with her parents, Blake and his partner, Rob, and her fiancé to look forward to. That was if Jack decided to attend. After last night’s blowout, she wasn’t so sure.

  She grabbed the hair dryer and ignored the growing ache in her chest—the spot she’d come to call Jack’s place. He alone had the ability to fill it with joy and ecstasy one moment, fury and frustration the next. He remained a cipher to her despite the fact that they were supposed to get married in a few months. She knew next to nothing about his family, and he seemed disinclined to share much. He preferred keeping them both “in the here-and-now,” which usually meant in bed, on the floor, or back in his office, with his talented body teasing orgasms out of her at will.

  * * *

  Fortified by caffeine, Jack made his way upstairs. The hair dryer fired up as he entered the bedroom suite. His head still pounded but he knew part of it was from dread. Failure threatened large on his horizon. He knew it and didn’t want to subject her to the messiness. The whole down-the-aisle concept made him numb with terror, while the thought of Sara not in his world made him want to lose his lunch.

  He leaned on the doorjamb, watching her. She’d given him her trust. He’d wanted it—demanded it, even. But did he deserve it? Sometimes he wondered.

  Christ, what a mess.

  Only he had the power to fix it. That kind of responsibility for another person’s emotional well-being had been easy for him once, and something he thought he knew how to handle—until recently, when he doubted everything about his ability to do that very thing for the woman he loved.

  Her dark blonde hair formed a curtain over her face as she worked the hair dryer under its many layers. Jack’s hands clenched into fists, resisting the urge to bury them in it, drag her to the bed, apologize with his body and not his words.

  She’d called him on that, too, hadn’t she? Yes. She had.

  He suppressed a groan, sat on the only half slept-in bed, and looked up at the ceiling.

  His base nature had emerged when she’d given him the “dinner-with-the-parents” news after the insufferable party they’d attended at her insistence. He had no desire to meet them, but knew it had to be done. He’d sloshed bourbon into a crystal glass and knocked it back before turning to her and accusing her of ambushing him with that little tidbit. He’d reminded her that he was perfectly capable of paying for their wedding, even if she wanted to ship all two-hundred invitees to fucking St. Bart’s on private planes. She had no business involving her father.

  But she did, didn’t she?

  The man had every right to be involved in his only daughter’s wedding plans. Jack knew damn good and well, thanks to a conversation with Rob over a few beers, that Sara’s father was a class-A prick who had been a shitty role model relationship-wise. That certainly didn’t preclude him from financial participation.

  He ran a hand over his face again.

  Things had quickly devolved from there. Sara had her own shot of brown liquor and basically accused him of being a man-whore, expressing her unhappiness with the constant stream of gossip about all his escapades from their real estate colleagues. Jack didn’t regret much in life, but at that moment, he had nothing but remorse for all the women he’d pissed off if their animosity had caused the kind of pain he’d seen in Sara’s eyes.

  Of course, he couldn’t have just said that, could he?

  Oh no.

  He’d laughed like an asshole. Told her to get over it. He was what he was and she damn good and well had partaken of the Jack fun herself, hadn’t she?

  He looked up in time to see her bend over to give her hair a final heat treatment. The sight of her ass up in the air, barely covered by a thick towel brought his body to strict attention. He sucked in a breath, staying out of her line of sight. He narrowed his eyes at the sight of her face as she brushed her hair.

  Tears.

  Great.

  She dropped the towel. Lotion came next, smoothed over her long, strong legs, across her luscious ass, around her firm breasts. He sucked in a breath at the sight.

  He had to learn to communicate better. His head kept buzzing as he stood, walked into the cavernous bathroom, stood behind her, and put his hands on her smooth shoulders. She looked up into his eyes, gaze flat and noncommittal.

  The words he’d prepared froze in his throat as Jack ran both hands down her arms, letting the essence of her infuse his senses. He wanted this, more than he wanted to draw a breath. He wanted her, there, every morning. The concept of screwing it up with his bullshit made him nearly blind with frustration at himself. But, right then, he wanted nothing more than to touch, to caress, to soothe and kiss.

  She didn’t respond, standing stock still as he kept touching, down to her hips and thighs. He moved to her side and put a hand to her cheek, making her turn to face him. Unshed tears glinted in her deep green eyes. He swallowed but words still refused to form. His lips found hers, desperate, seeking to fix it but unable to as she sighed and molded herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he picked her up and carried her to the bed.

  “Jack,” she muttered as he pushed her back against the pillows and made his way down her body with his lips.

  “Shh,” he dipped his tongue into her navel, went lower, and nuzzled the small bit of hair covering her sex. His entire body ached for the now-familiar connection with hers—the one time he felt truly complete. His brain engaged long enough to acknowledge that he’d meet her damn father, suck up properly, and let the guy pay for some of the ceremony. If not doing so meant he would lose this woman, then he simply had no choice.

  He smiled against her flesh as he sucked the hard nub of her clit into his mouth, before sliding two fingers inside her, brushing that magic spot, sending her over the edge. He rode out her orgasm, then licked his way back up her torso, giving each nipple a suck.

  “Look at me,” she whispered. He did, caught off guard by the depth of emotion he found in her gaze. “I love you, Jack. I truly do. But I’m afraid. I’m… oh, God.”

  Jack let his body speak for him. He stroked deep and firm, filling her, groaning at the amazing tight glove of her body that enveloped him, milked him, as he eased in and out. She put her hands to his face. As always, the deeper connection he felt with her roared over him, deafening him with urgency and no small amount of fear at letting go. They hadn’t used condoms since the New Year’s trip and the whole barebacked thing was, in a word, glorious, although they were playing with fire, and he knew it.

  “Tell me.” Her voice was low, rasping, and sexy. “Tell me, Jack.”

  “Ah God, Sara,” he ground out, as her orgasm gripped his cock, tightening and pulling him to the precipice. “I love you, oh Christ. Yes!” With a final thrust, his world burst into a thousand pieces behind his eyes. She cried out with him, and held on tight, arms and legs wrapped around his body, bringing him to this new place of utter and complete happiness.

  Sara smiled at the man next to her. He’d grabbed hold of her world and yanked it into his orbit so hard and fast her head still spun some days. God help her, she did love him. She put a hand on his sweat-slicked chest and draped a leg over his, propped up on her elbow.

  “Hmm?” His sleepy voice reminded her how much they both needed more shut-eye, having passed out rather than actually sleeping last night. He pulled her close. “I’m sorry,” he muttered into her hair. “It’s just…” She nodded in
to his shoulder. “Shit week, you know. All this wedding talk is not my thing or something. I don’t know. I do know I don’t deserve you.”

  “True. Look, we still have dinner with my parents tonight. My dad is a know-it-all doctor. I dread having the two of you in the same room, frankly, but we have to do it. They’re my family and they want to meet you.”

  She felt him tense beneath her before he spoke.

  “That’s fine. I’ll be on my best behavior. But I don’t want him paying for any of this,” he swept a hand toward the small table where she’d piled up magazines and spreadsheets of wedding planning paraphernalia. “I’m doing it. You’re grown, not some little girl needing daddy’s money anymore.”

  She bit her lip. “If he wants to I’m not going to stop him. It’s his prerogative. Can’t you just go with it?” She sat up and swung her legs to the floor, shocked all over again at the depth of his caveman stubbornness.

  He sang the same song, different verse, every time. They’d fight, make up by making love. She’d let him get away with it. They wouldn’t talk about it. Again.

  Sighing, she stood, stretched her sated and tingling body, her mind back on the day’s massive to-do list. Glancing over her shoulder, she allowed herself a long look at the man who would be her husband. His six-foot-four-inch frame firm, legs and arms covered with a light dusting of black hair, torso mostly bare but for a line of jet-black hair beneath his navel leading down to the part of his body that he had, apparently, shared with so many.

  Her eyes trailed up, to his firm, square jaw, in need of a shave. Her palm itched to reach out, feel the sandpapery rasp of it, keeping him real.

  Mine.

  How completely unreal that still seemed, even now after he’d given her yet another mind-boggling set of back-to-back orgasms. That should’ve been solid evidence he was there, with her, “hers” even. But he wasn’t. That small voice in her head, the Old Sara, with its nagging and worry, poked her psyche once again.

  You’re too alike. It will never work.

  Jack’s eyes opened at the sound of his own light snore. His sleepy grin made her smile in spite of her heavy heart.

  She was no sap. Her own parents’ relationship had made her a cynic to the extreme when it came to men. She knew it. She fully acknowledged her own emotional constipation. Yet she let the man who currently held her heart in his large, talented hands tug her down onto the bed, into the circle of his arms. His skin, smell, and feel eased her as always. She closed her eyes, just for a few more minutes.

  Chapter Two

  “Why in the hell did you leave it here?” Sara bounded up the steps to Jack’s bedroom, having yet to acknowledge it as “hers.” She was hoping to talk him into selling the Burns Park bungalow next year and find something more to her taste, something mid-century modern with a bigger yard. But that was a discussion for a different day.

  She yanked his suitcase out of the closet where he’d placed it after his Vegas trip to the National Association of Realtors convention. Still smarting from that week, she set her jaw, determined not to bitch or whine about it another minute. The extreme tidiness of Jack’s space—no, her space now—made the small voice of self-doubt speak a little louder, yet again. She tossed the suitcase up on the bed and unzipped it.

  “Do you see it? I must have tucked it in the front pocket. At the top.” His voice was tight, tense. She frowned as she fished around in the pocket. When her fingertips touched something, she grabbed hold and pulled it out without thinking.

  “Yeah, I found…” she stared at the strip of wrapped, unused condoms in her hand. “Holy shit.”

  “What?” She heard voices, and remembered he had a final meeting with the city council today. “Sara, did you find it?” Her ears buzzed as she reached back into the recesses of the case and located his driver’s license.

  “Yes.” She sat, and let the room narrow as her heart pounded so loud she was ready to make a 911 call for herself.

  “Thank God. I’ve been scrambling around for it all morning. Sorry, babe. Thanks for going back to the house to check.”

  She let him talk as she stared hard at the evidence of her humiliation. Gripping them, letting their crinkly noise fill her ears and cover the building hum of fury, she acknowledged that the circles of latex encased in foil represented so much that was wrong about her relationship, she couldn’t form words.

  “Sara? Baby? You there?”

  “Yeah. I’ll put it on the kitchen counter. I’ll be late tonight. Meeting Blake for dinner.” She quickly made up plans, knowing if she said anything more it would come out as a primal scream of outrage. “Bye.” She let the handful of incriminating latex slip from her hands and hit the floor as tears blinded her vision.

  Since getting engaged last fall, she hadn’t gone more than twenty-four hours without talking to him, either by phone or by text, even when they were apart. The level of control he wanted over her, the connection they shared since first meeting nearly a year ago, demanded it. As practically programmed to need to hear his voice in her ear. So when he’d disappeared onto that plane for the convention in Las Vegas, it felt as if he’d dropped into a black hole.

  The four days of near complete radio silence had made her insane, first with anger, then fear, which had circled back to bright red indignation by the time he got home. She’d stayed at his house, alone in his cavernous, Jake-infused space for the first two nights, and then decamped back to her own neglected condo, unwilling to talk to anyone, not even her brother who’d banged on her door after she had ignored his calls for an entire day.

  It had given her a clear glimpse into her future and she had zero desire to live through anything like it again. She knew she should trust him. He’d told her many times she could. The complete silence from him as he “worked” in a place she knew he’d be sorely tempted on many levels had built in her until she’d nearly exploded from the stress. When he’d arrived, fresh faced, only slightly reeking of old booze and cigars, she’d welcomed him home, relieved beyond measure to see him again.

  And now…

  She stared at the phone that had started buzzing in her other hand. Blake. She wiped her eyes and answered it. “Hey. Can you meet me for dinner? I need—” She stopped, unwilling to give anything away as her voice broke.

  “Sure. What time?” Her brother’s clipped answer made her shut her eyes with relief.

  Thankful beyond words that he didn’t ask what was wrong, she blurted out without thinking. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

  “Nothing that I know of, other than a serious bout of poor judgment lately. But that’s an argument I know I’ll lose.” He kept his voice easy, light, but she knew he’d picked up on her unhappiness. She bit her lip. “So… what time?”

  * * *

  The pub already buzzed with activity by the time she walked in, her mind clear for a change. She’d used the entire busy day avoiding Jack’s calls and texts and had reached the conclusion that she’d overreacted. Who knew how long those condoms had been in there, anyway? But she still wasn’t quite ready to talk to him. Not yet.

  She smiled when she spotted Blake’s face behind the bar as he flirted with the many women sipping beer, giving him their full attention. Pocketing her phone, after reminding her fiancé that she had plans for the evening with her brother, she watched as Rob exited the kitchen, tension etched onto his handsome face.

  “Blake!” He called. Her brother glanced up from a couple of very attractive ladies and frowned at his partner. “An alarm is going off in the brewery. Can you please handle it?” Rob asked.

  Sara narrowed her eyes at the look of frustration on Rob’s face. “I’ll be right back,” Blake patted her shoulder on his way past. She sipped the beer the bartender put in front of her, observing the two men and the palpable tension between them as they made their way back into the recesses of the building behind the restaurant. Within fifteen minutes, her brother had returned and perched on a barstool next to her, his green eyes clouded wit
h something Sara realized was likely reflected in hers. She sighed and put an arm around him, kissed his rough cheek.

  “We are quite the pair, aren’t we?”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He kept glancing to the kitchen door, but it remained devoid of the tall, broad, blonde man Sara knew he wanted to see. “So, what’s the issue?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing, really.” She picked at the food she’d ordered, suddenly afraid to admit what she’d found. Her eyes felt hot and tired when she glanced over at him. Blake stared at her.

  “What the fuck has he done now?”

  “I found condoms in his suitcase. The one he took to Vegas. The week he…”

  “The week he made you a basket-case by not calling and talking to you at all. Huh. Imagine.”

  Anger flared in her chest. A sudden desire to defend Jack nearly made her as mad as Blake’s asshole-ish reaction to her dilemma. “Never mind.” She sipped her beer and studiously ignored him.

  “You’re really willing to live like this, Sara?” Blake kept his voice low but she sensed his tension mount as Rob made his way from the kitchen and took a spot behind the bar, picking up the flirtation where Blake had left off with the gaggle of women at the other end. “I mean, did you and I not live through this sort of shit already?”

  “What are you talking about?” But she knew exactly what he meant. Her face flushed and her ears started buzzing again.

  She flinched when Blake put an arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry.” He sighed and kissed her hair. “I don’t mean to point out the obvious.” Wiping at her eyes before the tears could flow, she shrugged him off.