Jack Who? (Book 1 Draft Version)

PART TWO~CHAPTER : 3

♪♫••═════ PART TWO~CHAPTER : 3  ═════••♬ ♭

Jack slowed and the iron gate rolled open. Unless some someone was watching and opened it at the precise moment, or the remote was on his steering wheel where his hands remained, there was something on his car that triggered it.

The outside lighting and the glow from a few windows allowed only shadowy glimpses of what appeared to be a multilevel stone and glass structure.

“Home sweet home,” Jack drawled and the sweet smile he sent my way did little to calm my nerves.

He was quickly learning the emotions behind whatever he saw in my face, or perhaps he knew that a kiss was, at least, a temporary cure for most everything.

Gently his lips moved, in reassurance, in. apology, as a mark of this new phase, just because, I wasn't sure what. His tongue tickled my lips before pushing past to tease mine. When my fingers curved in an instinctive hold to the back of his neck, I thought I felt him smile.

His hand was braced on my seat as he leaned, but as I met him more than halfway, it moved, sliding through my hair.

Jack could kiss like no one I had ever known. And regretfully, I had known many. I moaned quietly into the current ministration, clutching him tighter, and when reflexively I sucked, he groaned, shifting in his seat.

His slight movement brought my thoughts to what caused it, and I had a flash image of tearing open the fly of those very expensive jeans and in this very expensive car giving him everything promised in that part of the kiss.

Reading my x-rated thoughts and purposeful kiss, his throat rumbled with that special sound that a bigger mouthful always brought.

"Are we at Jacks house?"

What I always imagined happening in this instance included jumping apart in embarrassment. Tristan had never seen even a small kiss.

What actually happened was my body protested even my son's interruption, and stole a few more seconds of nearness. Jack was the first to ease apart, but in that way that was becoming common, he did so slowly, giving me a chance to resist.

"Yeah TJ, we are here," Jack answered as we took in Tristan's drowsy and disgruntled face.

The tiny frown quickly cleared when Jack exited the car, and leaned the seat up to extract and carry him. Following them up a steep curve of stone steps, my eyes searched my son's, but all animosity had vanished from their innocent depths.

The plate above the decorative door handle flipped up with a press of Jack's thumb revealing a keypad. To Tristan's wide-eyed astonishment, Jack punched at the numbers then swung open the door.

A gentleman, even at this late hours with a forty pound child on his arm, he rested a hand on my waist urging my forward first.

Directly in the center of the airy foyer was a table with mail piled high, similar to the set up in my less elaborate hall. To the left, a staircase curved up the wall. To the right was a unique sofa that had Tristan gaping again.

The upholstery was furry and black. A long tail came off the curved arm of one end, and a growling panther head complete with whiskers and teeth, from the other. The legs, of course were panther paws.

Directly forward was the staccato echo of shrill barks.

“Rusty! It's Rusty, Mom! Rusty!”

Jack scrambled to keep Tristan stable, lowering him to the floor as he squirmed, and routinely passed me his crutch. Normally, in the piggy back situation, Tristan would balance on Jack's back while I handed the crutch over, but on this night, the tot hastily snatched it from my hand.