Page 51 of Don’t Go Stealing My Heart

“You’re such a dork. In the best way.” One of his sweetest attributes. “But seriously, what they did was inexcusable.”

Bullies in general deserved corporal punishment. Her last foster home had been bully central. The man of the house had been the ringleader, but he’d had accomplices. They’d taken in four foster kids. Two had been spawns of Satan. She’d never laugh off their reign of terror as harmless pranks.

“Totally inexcusable,” she repeated.

Jack’s legs were stretched out, his ankles lazily crossed. A contradiction to his upsetting story. “I’m not denying that. But Charlotte left a few weeks after, disappeared from town. She sent me a letter, like four or five months later, explaining the girls made her life hell because she fooled around with one of their exes. Claimed she said yes to the dance because she wanted to, but when they found out, it spiraled out of control.”

“That doesn’t make it right, and I’m guessing the guys didn’t apologize.”

“Not formally. A few nicknames followed me. Jack-off. Rat Jack. One-Second Jack was popular for a while, and other creative slurs. Everyone in town knew what happened, but it all eventually faded. I just kept to myself, pleaded with Marco to forgive me for ditching him, which he thankfully did. Then came college and growing my father’s business. Dale and Darrin even work for me now.”

“Seriously? You hired them?” She’d have sent them packing. With bloody noses.

Jack reached behind him and grabbed the top of the headboard. If Charlotte and her posse could see the sharp cut of his triceps stretching his T-shirt, the sliver of happy trail teasing from below the hiked-up cotton, they’d curse themselves. Clementine bit off a breathless sigh.

“One thing that mess taught me,” he said, “was we’re all willing to do mean things to fit in.” His mood darkened for the first time since reliving his humiliation. Like there was more to the story. He adjusted his grip. The muscles in his arms flexed. “I understand it enough to not hold a grudge. But they’ve never apologized, and I don’t want them to. It’s a subject I don’t discuss and would rather forget.”

Clementine pressed her hand to his thigh, spreading her fingers on his firm quad. It was nowhere near as strong as his empathy. “Then why discuss it with me?”

He released the headboard and anchored his hand on top of hers. “Because I’ve never told anyone.”

“But you said everyone in town knows.”

“They do. And I mean everyone. I had to listen to my mother explain that premature ejaculation is normal.” Clementine half-snorted a muffled laugh. He shot her a playful scowl. “Which is no longer a problem. But I’ve never spoken about that incident. Not once. Not with anyone. Not until you.”

After he’d felt her scar, and she’d refused to explain how it had happened.

It was him in the end, holding out a juicy piece of persimmon, hoping to coax out the real Clementine. She wanted to accept his offer. Roll the dice and watch Jack’s face transform as he learned who she really was. Sink or swim. All or nothing. Empathy or disgust.

But his languid body moved and rose until he’d settled on his knees beside her. He stroked her cheek. “You don’t have to tell me who hurt you today or tomorrow, but I hope you’ll tell me eventually. For now, I’d like to erase the geeky image of me you’re imagining by kissing the hell out of you.”

“But I like you geeky. And shy. And—”

With the know-how of a man who didn’t prematurely ejaculate, he overpowered her, swallowed her words, and rocked into her as he laid her out on his bed. His soft-wet lips skimmed her jaw. He nipped her ear, moved and sipped and tasted, taking, taking, taking, but giving as voraciously. She arched toward him, tipped her head back, eyes closed, lost in the glory of Jack. He pressed a hungry kiss to her breastbone, above her sports bra. She’d never hated clothing so much. “I want you, Jack. I’m burning up.”

He chuckled, deep and predatory. “I’m not having sex with you here. When that happens, we’ll be in my home and I’ll be taking my time. But I know just the thing to soothe you.”

He pulled her V-neck lower, tried to yank her sports bra down. The thick material barely budged, and Jack growled. He pushed up her T-shirt instead, maneuvered his hand under the tight band cinching her ribs. “These contraptions are evil.”

“I usually dislocate my shoulder taking it off, but it keeps my girls from bouncing.”

“It’s keeping your girls from my mouth.” He wiggled his hand a fraction higher. The tips of his fingers grazed her breast. “I also might be stuck like this for the rest of my life.”

She’d laugh if her body wasn’t a firecracker about to be lit. “I could think of worse things. Why don’t I—wow.” Whatever he was doing with his hips, rolling his hard-on between her thighs, he needed to do more of that. She could come just from that. “You better not—”

“Clementine, dear.” A knock on the door turned them both to (horny) stone. “Your clothes are dry.”

Now she’d never hated clothing so much. She’d rather burn her clean clothes than leave this spot and lose Jack’s weight from her body. She kept thinking about Tami’s salacious gossip, how proficient Jack was between the sheets. Damn his polite mother. “Thanks, Mrs. David,” she called. “I’ll be down shortly.”

“It’s Sylvia, and I’ll leave the pile by the door.”

Jack collapsed on top of her, laughing into her neck.

Clementine grabbed handfuls of his thick hair. “What’s so funny?”

His fading laughter tickled her collarbone. “I’m thirty-one and this is the first time my mother’s interrupted me fooling around with a girl.”

She snorted, both of them cackling now. Jack was supremely adorable, but her amusement faded. Clementine was twenty-eight and this was the first time she’d fooled around with a boy who knew her real name.