The Truest Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 4)

I took another fortifying sip of tea. Then I studied him, trying to decipher his feelings as I told him, “I sold my shares and donated most of the money to charity. I have no ties to the Paxton Group. I’m even selling the estate in New York. I’m … I’m not a billionaire anymore, Jack.”

I watched as he digested this news and then seemed to deflate with relief as he exhaled slowly. “Thank Christ for that.”

Now it was my turn to be shocked. “Oh?”

“Do you know what kind of target all that money made you? It’s a goddamn miracle no one found you hiding out in Hartwell. Emery Saunders isn’t exactly a genius alias.”

I huffed in indignation. “It worked for nine years.”

“Like I said, a goddamn miracle.”

“You’re being annoying.”

Jack chuckled. “The truth is annoying.”

I harrumphed, pouting into my tea.

“You are so fucking adorable,” Jack said softly. Our eyes met and his turned smoky and hot. “And beautiful. And kind. And naive. And wise. You’re every contradiction under the sun … and I can’t stop thinking about you.”

It was the most wonderful thing anyone had ever said to me.

Then he was rounding the island, striding with purpose. Jack pulled me against his hard heat, my breasts crushed to his chest. My breathing grew shallow.

“Don’t make me leave tonight, Em. I need to be near you.”

“I—”

“Don’t.” He squeezed his eyes closed and rested his forehead on mine. “I know you can’t make me any promises. But let me stay tonight. I won’t hold you to anything in the morning.”

My heart raced as I realized what he was asking.

Heat flushed through me, my lower belly trembled, and an intense ache grew between my legs. The truth was, I didn’t want to be alone either, and I was tired of fighting how I felt about Jack.

Maybe I’d been too harsh before.

Clearly he cared about me.

Clearly the money wasn’t an issue.

Jack.

I missed being touched. Being held. Being needed.

I kissed him on the lips. A soft brush of mouth against mouth.

He groaned, sinking into the kiss, his arms wrapping around me, crushing me against him. His kiss was hungry. Almost desperate. And the heat coating my skin abruptly felt like flames flickering across my body.

I broke the kiss, panting for breath, and Jack’s fingers dug into my back like he was afraid I was pulling away for good. I swear my heart was about ready to burst out of my chest. My cheeks bloomed with warmth as I whispered, “Would you like to come upstairs?”

“Yeah, sunrise, I would like that very much,” Jack replied hoarsely.

I took his hand and led him there, marveling at my bravery. Never in a million years did I ever think I’d have the courage to invite a man into my bedroom. But I guessed after being held at gunpoint and shooting a man, all I cared about was feeling close to Jack. It overruled every other thought and emotion.

We stopped by my bed and Jack didn’t give me time to think. He was holding me tight, kissing me voraciously.

My emotions fed into the kiss as I wound my arms around his neck and curled my fingers into his soft, thick hair. I loved his hair. Our tongues stroked in desperation.

I pushed at his jacket, and he dropped his arms so he could shrug out of it. We didn’t break the kiss, our mouths pulling at each other’s.