Under the bedclothes Derelie’s hand moved, over her hip, dipping down as she bent her elbow. “Hurry.”
“Christ, woman.” Was she doing what he thought she was doing?
She dropped on the pillow to her back and groaned. “I was having a sexy dream before you woke me up.”
“You were having a sexy dream in my bed, without me.” He pushed off the doorjamb, dumped his suit coat, walked on something soft that squeaked and looked down. “You bought her a toy.” It was purple with green feathers, vaguely dragon-like.
“Not me. I’m a dog person.”
“You’re catnip.” He put his knee to the bed, looming over Martha and Derelie. “Are you wet?”
Derelie closed her eyes. “Hmm.”
He poked Martha in the hip. “Get your own.” Martha scarpered under his arm and off the bed, and the toy squeaked. He put a hand to Derelie’s face, slipped it into her hair. She smiled up at him. “This one is mine.”
And she was his, without discussion, without question.
The rest of the week became a race to uncover and interview more victims and the agonizing wait for Henri Costa to report in. Jack’s own clean bill of health report was an anticlimax. Every night, he staggered home to find Derelie curled up in his bed with Martha, her clothes for the morning hanging on the back of the bedroom door. She was the reason he bothered to come home, didn’t go begging to Barney for a fight. Every night they’d turn to each other, seeking comfort. Mornings were for waking early and finding pleasure in each other’s lips and hands and bodies.
Derelie had her head down too. Working extra hours, adapting Potter’s editorial calendar, adding her own content and learning to manage her lifestyle team and the politics of the editorial meetings. Madden didn’t go easy on her. He was smarting after Potter’s defection to one of the new media content companies, and Derelie was a soft target. But Jack held it together in the morning editorial meeting without coming to her defense because she was right about having to do that for herself.
By the weekend, it was no clearer if he had a viable exposé on Keepsafe. All he wanted to do was clear his head of the frustration of weeks of work that might turn out to go nowhere. Spending the weekend uninterrupted with Derelie was the perfect antidote.
He kicked it off by surprising her with a ticket to take a yoga class under the sky dome at the planetarium. It was yoga and stars, even if they weren’t real ones. He’d wanted it to feel like a reward for the week she’d had and the amount of waiting around for him she’d done. It didn’t work out like that. The reward was all his. She virtually jumped him in the café where he’d waited with the day’s papers and his email and social feeds.
She hugged him from behind his chair. “That was awesome.”
Hands up to run over her forearms. “I’m glad you liked it.” It’d been worth the favor he owed to get her a ticket.
“It was this incredible sensory experience. Total dark room but lit from above with constellations, so unexpected and beautiful.”
Like the woman whose hand he brought to his lips, whose company he craved.
She ducked around him to meet his eyes. “And sold out months in advance.”
Sometimes there were benefits to being the Defender of the City. And there was delight in playing tourist, showing Derelie his Chicago, including fried plantain sandwiches, and helping her move more of her stuff to his place. If she never had to see the dealer on the corner, it would be too soon for him.
There were benefits to being part of the congregation of the Church of the Cocked Fist, not only for access to its members in their professional capacities, but in knowing about a key under a certain flowerpot. On Sunday, he snuck Derelie into the old garage where they committed sacrilege in the pit, trading practice punches for kisses and body blocks for near-naked wrestling.
Without Barney lurking with a camera, they didn’t need to be restrained. Jack let Derelie pin him on the floor, hold him down with her knees aligned along his hips and her hand in his hair. “I win,” she crowed, snatching at his shoulders when he dug his heels into the floor and bucked. He was the planet’s happiest loser.
“What do you want for your prize?” The hand at his zipper gave him his answer. “Here?”
She took his glasses off and placed them on the floor behind his head. “Don’t pretend that’s not why we came.” She got the zipper down and her hand on him. There was no pretending when a woman did that to you.
“Padded walls.” It was exactly why he’d brought her here.
She made her eyes roll back and forth. “Like an insane asylum in a scary movie.”
Insane about her. “Are you still scared about us?” Whether she knew it or not, she was the one in control here. He was holding on to her with everything he had, but if she bucked him off it would be what he deserved.
She ran her knuckles lightly over him, added her lips and teeth at his throat. “You don’t scare me, Jackson Haley.”
“I want to worship you against the wall.” Did that shock her?
“I’ve wanted that since dinner at Elaine’s.”
He groaned, because that was his motivation too. Knowing a woman wanted you to fuck her against a wall lent him superhuman strength. He got them off the floor in a clinch, backed her up against the padding and kissed her till her knees went soft. Clothing was a goddamn nuisance, not needing a rubber was inspiration. Wrapping her legs around his hips, easing her down on him was divinity.