You Don't Know Jack. Erin McCarthy

embarrass myself, but you said you miss riding…”

      Well, that was sweet. Jamie’s hand curled into his shirt tighter as she fought the urge to sigh. “That would be fun.”

      “Great. I guess we should grab a few hours of sleep first, and we can meet back up later. Let’s see if we can find you a cab.”

      Neither one of them moved. Jack was still leaning toward her in his chair and he was staring at her lips. Jamie was aware that she was pressed against his thighs, and that she didn’t want to go anywhere.

      Ever.

      Sleeping in her twin bed with purple cotton sheets held no appeal, not even when she’d been up all night.

      Her nipples hardened. Her inner thighs went moist. Her breathing slowed, and her mouth drifted open. That one taste of Jack in Times Square had been so long ago. Hours and hours and hours ago.

      Just not enough, not when he was so, so close. She wanted another taste. And then some. She wanted to make love to this amazing man, sooner than later.

      “I could just crash at your place for a few hours,” she said quickly, before she lost her boldness and went shy on him. “Save on cab fare.”

      His eyes went dark, a stormy blue stained with desire. “That’s a good idea. I do have a spare bedroom.”

      Her mouth dropped in laughter at his teasing. But she knew he was joking. She gave him a flirtatious smile. “How thoughtful.”

      “Or there’s a king-size bed we could share…so we don’t have to make two beds later. Save us time.”

      He was moving closer, face so near hers she went cross-eyed trying to look at him. “Well, that’s very practical of you.”

      Before the words were even completely out, his mouth was over hers, kissing her with all the fervor and passion that she felt. Oh, yeah. Bring it home, honey.

      This was a kiss. This was Fourth of July fireworks, this was a tall iced tea on a hot summer day, this was hitting the lottery.

      Everything she’d ever wanted, wrapped up into one sultry tongue tango.

      Good Lord in heaven, he knew what he was doing.

      But he pulled back suddenly, and she whimpered. His eyes burned, his breath hot and hard.

      “I have to tell you something.”

      “What?” That didn’t sound good. That sounded like a preface to an I’m Married speech.

      “My last name…I never told you my last name.”

      “Is that all?” Jamie gave a shaky laugh. “You scared me there for a second.” Just briefly, Beckwith’s prediction about dishonesty had risen in her head, like a big pin ready to pop her balloon.

      “Sorry, it’s just that you should—”

      Jamie cut him off with another quick kiss. She wanted to hear what his last name was. But later. After they’d gotten naked and she wasn’t as likely to be adversely affected by the news that his name was something like Jack Daniels or Jack Grosse or Jack Yacks. Or something completely unpronounceable with twenty-seven letters, most of which were consonants.

      She wasn’t vain, and while a regrettable name like Jonathon Huffheimer wasn’t cause for celebration, it would never stop her from dating someone. But later. “It doesn’t matter. Not yet. Tell me later. I don’t want to talk right now. I want to go upstairs.”

      Before she lost the sassiness she seemed to have borrowed from Allison. Flattening her hands on his chest, she said, “I’m so sleepy I can barely keep my eyes open.”

      But it was his eyes that closed, not hers, and his hand pressed hard into her shoulder. His lips moved as though he was counting to ten.

      Then he opened his eyes and said in a husky, urgent voice, “Then we should definitely get you right to my bed.”

      What a gentleman. Always thinking of her needs.

      “How sweet of you.”