Sweat Equity: Stewart Realty, Book Two Page 4

  “God, you’re cute when you blush.” She jerked her face away from him.

  “Fuck you. Listen to me. Seriously, Blake is hyper-protective of her, but he does want her to be happy. Maybe you should talk to him?”

  “Right. The guy would just as soon chop me in half with his fucking black-belt Kung Fu skills. He scares the living shit out of me.” Suzanne sipped her coffee and looked away from him. “Sorry, babe. I know it’s tough for you.” He watched her swallow and blink fast.

  Jesus, way to go, Gordon. Make your one friend mad.

  “No, no, it’s fine. I just can’t get past the goddamned irony of you, in love with Blake Thornton’s sister. Jesus. Seriously.”

  He pulled his friend to her feet and gathered her in for a hug. She sighed and leaned into his chest. “You might want to check your Insta page.” He groaned.

  “I hate that shit. Talk about a necessary evil.”

  “Yeah, well a few of your pretty new friends from last night have you posted and tagged. Enjoy..”

  “Great. In the meantime, thanks for letting me pass out here. Some other time I’ll admit that I have no memory of getting here. Humor me and tell me how fucking fabulous I was for you.” She pushed him away.

  “Yeah, right. Get the hell out of here and get Sara back. Or I will kill you.”

  * * *

  Sara’s skin pebbled in the cool air. The sensory deprivation mask was soft against her closed eyes. She’d accepted how much enjoyment she got from this, but trust was still a tough thing for them both to accept. When she sensed him return to the room, she tried not to let her teeth chatter.

  “Shh, my Sara. All is well.” Jack’s deep voice rumbled in her ear. His lips caressed her cheek, neck, fluttered over her lips. She didn’t respond. Knew she wasn’t supposed to, not yet. His hands trailed down her skin, bushed over her erect nipples, across her stomach and hips all the way down to her calves. “I’ve got you. You know I’ve got you.”

  She nodded, moisture slicking the top of her thighs as he continued to caress, tease, and massage her entire body. She loved not knowing where his hands would land next.

  As his fingers grazed her sex, teasing and tantalizing, dipping in and out enough to make her squirm and her skin flush with inner heat, she bit down on the urge to thrust her hips into his hand. “Mmmhmm, lovely.”

  “Ahh…” She couldn’t help it. The fingers stopped. All was quiet. Then his lips reappeared at her breast, sucking hard on her nipple then roaming upwards to her neck, jaw, and then her mouth. Dear God, the man was a class-A kisser. She sighed into his mouth, letting him work his magic, the creaking of the ropes a musical complement to the soft sounds they made between them. Then he was gone again.

  Sara shifted, knowing he’d be back. After what felt like an hour, she took a chance. “Jack?” Silence descended. Her feet and hands were freezing and she had a sensation of abandonment she didn’t like.

  Strange sounds started trickling in, Feminine noises, but not from her. Shuffling, moaning, Jack’s voice raised but unintelligible. Then the absolutely unmistakable sound of a woman in the throes of a monster climax worthy of a porn movie. Sara gritted her teeth. “Jack?” She lay perfectly still even as claustrophobia hovered on her horizon. “Get this blindfold off me! Where are you?”

  Then, blinding light as the cover was ripped from her eyes. A tall, sultry brunette stood over her, eyes gleaming, hands on her hips as she surveyed Sara’s prone and vulnerable position. “Nice work, honey. Thanks for waiting your turn.”

  Sara squirmed. “Where’s Jack?”

  “Didn’t you know? He can’t be trusted. Don’t even try, Sara. Don’t even try.” Then the woman was gone, and Sara saw her, wrapped around the tall frame of the man she had loved, had trusted, once.

  The sound of her own scream woke her up.

  She sat, clutched blankets to her mouth. Habit lead her to touch her left ring finger, to feel the heft that she once thought was proof of Jack’s love and loyalty. But it was empty. Tears trickled down her cheeks and she flopped back on her pillows.

  Oh yeah. She’d given it back to him.

  And this weekend she had to face him again in front of everyone at the Stewart Realty company picnic.

  Wonder if faking a case of Ebola would suffice for an excuse? She sighed and climbed out of bed.

  After a scorching hot shower, take-out coffee, and a deep breath, she entered her office, slipping in the back so she wouldn’t have to face the inevitable gaggle of colleagues at the front. She fired up her computer and stared at the screen. It glowed, sharing more than she wanted to know.

  Stupid social media. She should have known better. She’d spent two days hiding out, gathering her mental and emotional resources together so she could face the office, ready to admit that she’d failed to hang onto the hottest bachelor in the tri-state area. Then she would avoid all conversations with anyone about their ruined relationship for a few weeks. She didn’t even want to talk to Val or Cathy, her usual go-to’s when it came to love-life frustrations.

  Her scalp tingled as she clicked through a series of photos posted to Jack’s profile, in various stages of mouth fucking a couple of girls who, if they were twenty-one, Sara would be the goddamned Queen of England.

  She sighed and noted the date.

  The same as the night she’d given him his ring back. Perfect.

  Now do you see? This was the right thing to do, Sara. You don’t want to live our mother’s life, remember? She could practically hear her brother’s voice. The ever-present, hugely annoying tears spilled over again.

  “Hey, Sara!” Craig dropped into the chair by her desk. She tore her eyes away from the searing images on the computer screen to acknowledge him. They hadn’t spoken much in the last few months, not since their near close encounter just before Jack’s big proposal.

  “Hey yourself. What’s up?” He put his hands behind his head. Sara allowed herself a very brief moment of admiration then snapped back to the present. She would not be distracted, especially not by this guy. That was the last thing he or she needed. The distinct memory of his full lips on hers, all those months ago, floated through her brain. She forced herself to focus on his words.

  “My band is playing tonight. Here in town. We could use a few warm bodies.” He raised an eyebrow at her.

  She grinned in spite of herself. A night out—that was a pleasant thought. She swallowed against the image of Jack’s face. It would never fade, it seemed.

  He’d obviously moved on, if the ramped-up company gossip machine was to be believed. Heather, the long, tall exotic drink of water who’d had her claws in him before he’d given Sara the ring, was back in the picture with a vengeance.

  “Um, hey…” Craig leaned in and gripped her hands. Sara realized she had a death grip on her knees and he her eyes closed. “Sara. Let it go.” She sucked in a long breath.

  “Yeah. Sorry.”

  He released her hands.

  “So, about that show?” His voice had deepened.

  She smiled at him. His handsome face lit up as he brushed his always too long hair from his face. She needed this. A friend. She nodded. “Sure. I’ll be there.”

  “Good.” He stood then, to her utter shock, he leaned in, brushed her lips with his, and whispered. “I’ve missed you.” By the time he walked away, whistling, hands in his wrinkled khakis, she acknowledged that maybe, just maybe she’d survive this.

  No. You can play around all you want with that blond boy-toy but you will never get over Jack. Never. Ever. So you’d better own that now, Sara Jane.

  Tears burned. She blinked them back and got to work.

  Chapter Five

  Greg and Jennifer Stewart were the second generation to run the most successful independently owned real estate brokerage in the area. They had grown the company far beyond what his parents had started, and treated their employees and agents well. Formal Christmas parties, always at a different venue, and the “Party at The Farm” held every
September, marking the end of the craziest and busiest season, were annual events. Sara pulled up to the massive compound, found a parking spot and sat, trying to catch her breath at the thought of being around Jack again.

  They’d been promised “entertainment” and instructed to come dressed to “play games.” The invitations had said each employee was going to be randomly paired with someone else. Either another agent or a spouse/significant-other, and the Stewart Olympics would commence at six p.m. sharp.

  Sara had invited Blake to come with her. But he’d backed out at the last minute to tend bar when one of his employees failed to show up for work. He had kissed her forehead, given her a hard squeeze and pep talk when she stopped by the pub and had gotten the bad news. Noting that he seemed calmer, and that things between him and Rob had settled, she’d shrugged and left.

  She parked her car among all the other high-priced automobiles, and took note that neither Jack’s Stingray nor his large SUV was anywhere to be seen. She pulled her contribution of homemade chocolate chip cookies out of the passenger’s seat and walked toward her colleagues and friends who all greeted her warmly. Val ran up to her with an ice-cold beer.

  “Here, babe, drink this now,” she insisted, before guiding her toward the food tables.

  Sara laughed over her shoulder at various friends “warming up” up for the amateur Olympics by chugging beers. Recalling the last time she’d been at The Farm, she was grateful for the Stewarts’ strict “no drinking and driving” policy and for the large house they equipped to handle the many folks who’d be sleeping over tonight.

  She turned to Greg Stewart to hug him and thank him for hosting another fun event for them and immediately spotted Jack over his shoulder. He sat on a blanket under one of the hundred-year-old trees with Heather, feeding her a strawberry. She sucked in a breath too loudly, she knew. Greg pulled her closer, whispering in her ear as he led her away.

  “Of all my agents, you were the last one I thought would go down this road.”

  She allowed Greg to pass her off to Jennifer, who put her arm around Sara’s shoulders and announced that as the month’s top producer, Sara would be the one to match up the teams. Val and her office manager, Pam, stepped up to record the couples, which kept Jack out of Sara’s line of vision.

  She reached in repeatedly, calling out names of oddball pairings, before finally pulling out her own name. She grabbed one more slip of paper, not really thinking much as the quickly consumed beer and residual shock of seeing Jack with Heather had made her head spin.

  She unfolded the piece of paper and read the name “Jack Gordon,” without really thinking about it. Until she heard a collective gasp. She shrugged and rolled her eyes, bringing nervous laughter from the crowd.

  Everybody knew their story by now. No use pretending.

  Glancing up she caught Craig’s deep brown gaze, completely focused on her. She allowed herself a moment to look back at him before breaking eye contact.

  “Sara.” Jack nodded at her as they stood together to listen to the rules and regs.

  “Jack,” she responded, as coolly as she could manage. Her entire body hummed with familiar energy, but she held it at bay, let anger focus her.

  They performed the necessary egg-and-spoon trial, three-legged race, and wheelbarrow relays. The fireman-carry provided a little diversion and Sara knew he used it as an excuse to hold onto her a little longer than was completely necessary.

  When they reached the final events, Sara and Jack were well ahead of every other team. She had another beer at one point, which loosened her up and allowed her to enjoy his closeness and the heat of his skin. She caught him staring at her, his eyes squinting as if trying to figure her out, as she won the hula-hoop contest on behalf of their team.

  The final two events involved food and only included the top five remaining teams. Sara and the other four women, each given apples, were told to hold it in their mouth while their partners ate as fast as they could for twenty seconds. The team with the most-eaten apple would be the winner.

  Sara sighed, put the apple between her teeth and turned to Jack, who immediately placed both hands around her waist and pulled her closer to him, his legs slightly bent, his head tilted. She closed her eyes until she heard the hoots and whistles of the crowd. She snapped them open and caught Val’s wide-open eyes and shaking head over Jack’s lowered shoulder.

  In spite of herself, she let her body respond, taking no small satisfaction in the fact that he turned her around so that his back faced the crowd. The crowd continued to catcall, egging him on, as the timer dinged. They broke away from each other, the electricity snapping between them, a completely cored apple in her hand and juice dripping down their chins. Jack wiped his off, not taking his eyes from her, before reaching out to raise her hand over their heads in triumph. The crowd erupted with cheers.

  He laughed but dizziness made Sara’s gut wrench from such intimate public contact with him. Hands pushed her into a chair for the final event. A quarter of a watermelon was placed between her knees. Jack knelt in front of her. Someone gave her another beer, patted her on the shoulder then walked away.

  Jack grinned up at her, seeming to enjoy her discomfort. She glared back at him, and happened to look up, straight into Craig’s dark eyes. He was standing at the front of the crowd, not clapping, watching her with an intensity that brought a chill to her spine.

  She looked back down at Jack. Anger flared in her chest, and she smiled at him in such a way that made him pause, only perceptible to her, as she knew his small facial nuances very well. He hesitated slightly before leaning over her lap in anticipation of the contest. She drained her bottle, held it out for someone to take and placed her hands on either side of her knees, keeping the watermelon in place, flexing the muscles in her legs.

  “Bring it, stud, if you can,” she told him loud enough to be heard by the first two rows of spectators. The crowd gave a collective “ooohhhh” and a few of Jack’s cronies yelled out encouragement. “You can tap that, Jackie,” and “Eat it fast, Jack” were some of the louder ones.

  She raised her eyebrows at him as if to ask “What?” and sat forward, allowing him a view of the tops of her breasts through her tank top.

  “If you can,” she whispered to him, again before she leaned back, her hands behind her head.

  The crowd erupted again, hooting and calling, and Sara no longer cared that she was playing out some fantasy scene in a lot of heads as Jack leaned in to start eating the melon. The timer dinged, and he began to lick, slowly, scooping up big bites, his eyes never leaving hers. She was mesmerized and royally pissed at his little performance. He closed his eyes and licked his lips once, which brought a fresh round of hooting from the crowd.

  He buried his face in the melon then, and the crowd went nuts. She glanced up, slightly off kilter from the beer and the heat. Her legs trembled harder as the sticky watermelon juice oozed down either side of the fruit. She knew the entire company was laughing at her, allowing Jack to do this to her in public, humiliate her while his new gal pal watched from the shade tree.

  The asshole was making a mockery of her. A mockery of what they once had. Her eyes narrowed and she brought both knees together, hard, against either side of his face, which broke the melon in half without much effort and caused him to wince in pain and jump to his feet.

  “Fucking-A, Sara,” he yelled at her as the watermelon juice ran down her legs. She stood up, realized she confirmed the suspicions of anyone who was too dumb to realize what was going on, and ran into the house.

  Gasping by the time she got to the upstairs guest suite, she leaned over the sink to steady herself, and looked up into the mirror. Her hair had broken loose of its tie-back, as usual, and haloed her flushed face. She leaned down again to splash some cold water on her cheeks, letting it drip down her tank top onto her chest.

  Damn him, anyway.

  She winced, reliving the scene she had just made in front of people whose respect she craved.
They already worshiped him as some sort of god of the boudoir and she had managed to confirm that, acting like a jealous teenager, or one of his deranged, jilted lovers—not the calm, cynical ex-fiancée persona she tried like hell to adopt. She took another scoop of the cool water, splashed it on her chest and neck, and closed her eyes. Forcing herself to calm her breathing, she wondered how in the hell she could sneak away from this debacle.

  She looked up in the mirror and there was Jack, right over her shoulder. She yelped, and turned around, backing up into the edge of the vanity.

  He stared at her, eyes narrowed, and didn’t speak for a minute. Then he looked down and shook his head, hands on his hips. She waited for a split second, and then attempted to move past him.

  “Excuse me,” she mumbled.

  He grabbed her, and spun her around to face him, his lips just above hers. He took a deep breath. The agony of having him so near, again, made her want to weep with regret. When he leaned in close, she sucked in a breath.

  “We were about to win,” he ground out between his clenched teeth. She stared into the dark sapphire depths of his eyes. They reflected something Sara knew she’d find in her own. Without another word, he covered her mouth with his, rough and urgent, seeming to need more of her than she had ever given him.

  She pushed back on his chest. The slight damp of his t-shirt under her hands made Sara want to rip it from him. But she let her brain lead and ripped her lips from his.

  “No, Jack, not this time.” She made her way toward the closed bathroom door. He allowed her to reach it and take a single step into the hall before he pulled her back, and carried her unceremoniously into the adjoining bedroom. She started to protest, but his lips covered hers, cutting off noise and logic. The proximity and familiarity of his body was so perfect she was ready to beg him to come back, to ruin her life all over again.