at the stories of fishing trips with his father and brother, of his sister being outwitted by her five-year-old daughter, of how devastated their family had been when they’d lost Jack’s mother.
Now, though, it was as if his family wasn’t even in the same room with him. She’d seen his father, brother and sister try to connect with him and eventually give up. She’d watched Jack keep to the sidelines as if punishing himself, somehow. Rita didn’t have the first clue how to go about reaching him, but she knew she had to try. Because if there was even a tiny chance she could find her Jack, it would be worth the effort.
Smiling and nodding to her family as she passed, Rita walked to Jack. He was staring out at the ocean and Rita came up right beside him.
He didn’t look at her, but he must have sensed her presence. “Everything all right?”
“It’s fine,” she said, staring up at his profile, waiting for some flicker of—she didn’t even know what. “Are you okay?” she asked.
He turned his head then and looked down at her. She felt that stare sizzle in her blood. One look from him and she burned.
“Yeah,” he said finally, quietly. “I’m just not good in a crowd of people.”
His words, so simply stated, tugged at her heart as she realized just how important this marriage must have been to him. He’d dropped himself into a situation that would make him uncomfortable because this meant something to him. He’d stood up against what plagued him to make sure she had what she needed at the wedding. He’d brought her family in, and seen to it that everything was beautiful for her in spite of his own misgivings. Just another sign to Rita that her Jack was in there somewhere. That only strengthened her resolve to discover what had happened to change the man she’d once thought was her one and only.
But today, she only wanted to be here. With him. To let him know he wasn’t alone, even if that’s what he believed he wanted. Going on instinct, she slid her hand into his and was rewarded when his fingers curled around hers and held tight.
* * *
Jack lay wide awake in bed, alone on his wedding night.
Rita was down the hall in the penthouse guestroom and he couldn’t tear his mind away from the image of her. His whole body ached for her, just as it had from the first moment he’d met her.
No other woman had ever affected him as she had. While he was overseas, he’d worked on convincing himself that what he’d felt with her was nothing special. He’d had to, just to survive. Clinging to the real world and the memories of a woman with a warm heart, soft body and wild, raw laugh had only made his reality that much harder to endure.
Then, when everything went to hell one afternoon, Jack had sliced every emotion out of his life because it was imperative to survival. He hadn’t written to her because he couldn’t lie to her about what was going on and he couldn’t have told her the truth. He didn’t look for her when he came back because he was in no shape to be around anyone. And because by then, he knew he could never again be the man she had once known.
“But Fate’s a nasty bitch,” he muttered into the darkness. His own voice seemed to echo, low and harsh in the empty room.
The gods of irony had conspired against him. He’d put so much effort into avoiding her that the gods laughed and threw her in his path, making it impossible to ignore her. And now they were married.
Shaking his head, he draped one arm across his eyes to dim the moonlight spearing into his bedroom. He had the terrace doors open, because he couldn’t stand to be closed in. He needed that swirl of air, even when it was cold. Needed to smell the sea, remind himself that he was here. Home. And not in that hot, desperate situation that had nearly driven him over the edge.
His room was big, with a black-and-white-tiled gas hearth on one wall, bookcases and a television on the other walls. There were chairs, tables and a bed that was so big it felt even emptier than it actually was.
“My choice,” he reminded himself and gritted his teeth against the roiling heat and tension coiled inside him.
It would be so easy to go down the hall, walk into her room and relive a few memories. Make some new ones. No guarantee she’d let him in, but then he remembered how she’d held his hand at the reception. As if she’d known, somehow sensed, that he’d needed that touch to ground himself in the moment.
She was good like that, he thought. Always had been. They’d connected so deeply in one week that it had been almost like they could read each other’s minds. He hoped to hell she couldn’t pick up on his thoughts now, but back then, it was different.
He was there the next morning to pick her up at seven, as agreed. She was in the lobby, waiting for him, clearly as eager as he was for them to be together again. Just seeing her in her jeans and dark green sweater had made his mouth water.
When she smiled at him, he went hard as stone and damn near killed himself just trying to walk across the floor toward her. Then she reached out for him, took his hand and he was lost in need, heat, a fire that built with every breath.
They had breakfast on the beach, coffee and bagels shared over laughter and a breathless sense of expectation. Looking into her whiskey-brown eyes was mesmerizing. Intoxicating. On that deserted winter beach, they were alone in the world but for one or two hardy surfers out challenging the waves.
Hands linked, they walked along the beach for what felt like miles, then they hiked back to the car and drove down the coast. Music pumping, wind roaring through the open windows and the two of them, still holding hands, as if unable to bear not touching.
Two hours later they were in San Diego and stopping for lunch at a tiny inn outside La Jolla. The once-dignified old Victorian mansion clung to the cliffside and waves pounded against the rocks in a steady, rhythmic heartbeat.
“It’s beautiful here,” Rita said, letting her gaze slide across the water, the cliffs and the meticulously tended gardens.
“Yeah, it is,” he replied, his gaze locked on her. With the wind in her hair and the winter sun shining in her eyes, Jack thought he’d never seen anything more lovely. And he knew if he didn’t kiss her soon, it would kill him.
“You’re not even looking at the view,” she chided with a half smile.
“Depends on what you consider a great view.” He snaked one hand across the small round table and covered hers. He felt her pulse pounding in time with the relentless sea and knew that beat matched his own, too.
She licked her lips and he fought to breathe. She curled her hand beneath his and the heat that blossomed between them should have set the grounds on fire.
Her gaze locked with his. “What’s happening here?” she asked, her voice nearly lost in the wind and the roar of the waves.
“Whatever it is, I’m all for it,” he admitted and stroked his thumb across her palm. Her eyes glazed over and her breath quickened.
“Oh, I am, too.”
“You’re making me crazy, Rita. Couldn’t sleep last night. I kept thinking about you. About today. About...”
She pulled in a shaky breath. “I’ve been thinking about...too.”
Oh, yeah. If
