He refused to let our relationship be limited. Often times he would force my hand on days I wanted to relax and take me out on spontaneous trips he would plan. We’d been tubing down the Guadalupe River, attended the Blue Bonnet Festival—taking Grant and Annabel—and had even gone to Billy Bob’s so he could properly train me as his dance partner.
That night…that night had been both the best and the worst.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered in the cabin of my car as he kept his hand on my thigh. I looked over at him, pleased that he noticed the extra effort that I’d put in. My normally corrupt hair was tamed straight, and I’d bought new black jeans and boots that fit like second skin. My dark blue tube top was tight and showed what little cleavage I had, and came just short of showing an inch of my midriff.
“So do you,” I said, moving my hand over his. I compared the size of the two and saw his was impossibly large next to mine.
“But they fit perfectly,” he said as he noticed my comparison and laced them together.
“They do,” I said as I looked over his dark eyes, his lashes, nose, and lips.
“Think you can handle a night of country music?” he said as he parked the car in the busy station at the Fort Worth Stockyards. The Yards were a mix of industrial and southern in feel. A stomping ground for cowboys and girls alike. It was a strip of bars, shops, and eateries. My parents had taken us here a few times to see them release the longhorns out on the street, a daily tradition. It was as Texas as Texas could get.
The excitement in me had built throughout the day. Jack, without knowing it, had given me the chance to break free, get out of the norm, and blow off the steam that had been building inside of me for some time.
“I’m so ready for this,” I beamed at him.
“C’mere, beb,” he said in thick Cajun as he parked the car and turned to look at me. I leaned over the console, and he cupped my face then pulled me in the rest of the way. Our mouths met with tenderness as Jack kissed me with passion and need. Ache brewed inside me the way it always did when he kissed me like he meant it.
And Jack always kissed me like he meant it.
“I think I’ve fallen in love,” Jack said slowly as my breath hitched and fear shook me, “with your mouth.”
He saw the relief cover my features, and his jaw tightened. Without pause, I got out of the car and felt lighter in the night air.
Jack met me at the hood of the car with a scold. “I get your doors for you.”
“Sorry,” I smiled ruefully. “I keep forgetting.”
“So I’ll keep reminding you.” His words were a little harsh, but I knew it had everything to do with my panic back in the car. I ignored his silence as we made our way inside the honky-tonk, fingers clasped. Music reverberated through my every pore as the bass pounded throughout the crowded bar. Jack never let go of my hand as he summoned the all-legs bartender in short black shorts, who noticed Jack immediately and made it her mission to get over to him.
“Two bourbons on ice please. Maker’s if you have it.” He squeezed my hand as I stiffened behind him, watching the woman in front of us shamelessly eye fuck him. Even with his reassurance, I quickly surveyed the rest of the crowd around us and saw the eyes of several women glued to him. I looked back to Jack, who was dressed in a button-down, collared, dark blue shirt, dark blue jeans, and new black boots. His hair was a lightly gelled chaos of blond. His profile alone lit by the amber light of the bar had my mouth watering. Possessiveness took hold as I held his hand tighter and he looked over at me with a wink.
Jack wasn’t immune to the attention he was getting by simply standing at the bar. He was well aware of it and shifted slightly on his feet. Though his demeanor screamed confidence, I could tell by the tick in his jaw that it bothered him. It made me even more curious. I leaned into him just as his hand twisted in my hair and he pulled my lips to his for a brief but message-filled kiss. When he pulled away, I saw it. I was the only woman he wanted at that moment, and that was enough for me.
When our drinks arrived, we stood at a table nearby, admiring the people on the dance floor. I turned to Jack, who silently watched the couples.
“Who taught you to dance?”
A pained, faint smile crossed his lips briefly. “A friend. You?”
I smiled. “My parents.”
“Well,” he said thickly as he watched me drain my glass. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”
He grabbed my hand, exuding confidence as he led me to the floor. Clinging to him through the dense crowd, my hand on his bicep, I followed behind, unsure if I would be able to keep up as he made space for us then turned to face me. Jack gripped my body tightly and began to move. I looked up to him as he started to two-step me effortlessly around the floor. I fumbled slightly with my steps as he commanded my attention.
“Look at me, beb, not your feet.”
I’d been out dancing once or twice in my life, but to music completely different, yet as I looked into his eyes, I let my body relax in trust, and soon we were in sync. Jack never stopped his feet, song after song we danced, fast or slow, our eyes locked, our smiles matching. For all we knew, we were alone on that dance floor. It felt amazing. Inch by inch, the separation between us disappeared. In Jack’s arms, I felt beautiful, needed, wanted, and cherished. I was high on him, and he seemed to feel the same.
Jack had moved his hand from around my waist and kept it behind my neck, keeping our faces as close as possible. His fingers massaged my neck while his thumb moved to stroke beneath my ear.
Under his spell, I was completely lost in his eyes and what he was saying without moving his lips.
I felt it then, the unmistakable shot to the chest, and in his eyes, I saw my future. I closed them as tightly as possible as emotion overflowed and heard the tiny sob escape my lips.
Jack stopped his feet. I stumbled forward into his chest and kept my head buried there.