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waving
over a friend as more and more people packed into the Three
Jugs.
    The music was
turned up to drown out the chatter and everyone chatted louder. And
Megan ended up with her thigh squashed against Jack’s as their
booth filled up with those who’d stopped to say hello and stayed.
Lean muscle flush along the length of her thigh. She sensed rather
than saw his arm stretch around behind her and her entire body
tensed.
    Jack was
engaged in a volley of remarks shouted across the table with the
two other guys, both of who’d been in her year at school. His arm
came down on the back of the banquet seat, but his fingers didn’t
close over the curve of her shoulder and he seemed unaware of how
he’d cushioned her into the crook of his arm. His scent was all
pinewood with a whiff of spice and far too male.
    A spark of
longing ignited and made ashes of her tension. Melted her bones,
her pride, and any shred of self-preservation. She should have
leant forward with her elbows on the table. That would have been
far more sensible than drifting in the bunk until the back of her
head rested on his arm. She smiled, laughed, engaged in bits and
pieces of the conversation that came her way, and all the while her
skin prickled for his touch and her blood thickened for far, far
more.
    How much had
she had to drink? Two? No, three glasses. Not enough to blame the
wine. Enough to forget, just a little. To forgive, just a little.
Just for one night.
    She rolled her
head to look up at the underside of his jaw. If he noticed, if he
felt her warm cheek on the bare skin of his arm, he gave no
indication. He took a sip of the whiskey he’d moved onto, grinned
at something Pete was saying, and added to it.
    Her hand slid
from view and dropped to rest lightly on his knee beneath the
table. He cut off in the middle of what he was saying, but only for
a second, and then he continued speaking without sparing her a
single glance. Her fingers itched to trail higher.
    Haven’t you
ever got itchy feet to get out of here? He’d asked her that a
long time ago and no, she’d never had itchy feet.
    She rolled her
head again to look forward, scanning the familiar faces seated at
the booth. Three quarters of the kids she’d grown up with had left
Corkscrew Bay as soon as they could, including Lucy, and she knew
Jack fell into that category of restless souls. He’d become a
household name after doing that book with Jeremy Grainger, and then
there was that trust fund, so he could certainly afford to buy a
dozen or so houses.
    And perhaps he
did own a house somewhere, just as he’d inherited 21a when Frank
passed away, but he’d never had a home.
    She understood
that about Jack. Had from the beginning. She’d known he’d always
leave. And maybe she should have guarded her heart better, but the
way he’d left so abruptly and on such a low note? She’d never
expected that.
    Megan pushed
those gloomy thoughts from her head. Tonight, she didn’t want to be
mad at him and she didn’t want to nurse the fledgling ache in her
heart.
    There was
another ache, a burning need pulsing through her, begging to be
fed. Because Jack hadn’t only taken from her. He’d strummed her
body to a passionate symphony, stamped that memory on erogenous
spots she’d never known existed, and that was another thing she
hadn’t been able to forget. Her toes curled and heat coiled low in
her belly at the mere prospect of one more night in his bed.
    The buzz of
alcohol dulled her safety triggers. She wasn’t too drunk to
acknowledge that, but she welcomed the wanton descent into danger.
She wanted to be reckless and foolish, she wanted to have regrets
come morning.
    Okay, this
is the alcohol talking. But damn it all, she wanted to feel
alive again, if only for one night. No over-thinking. No messy
emotions. This time they’d do it Jack’s way.
    Beneath the
cover of the table, no one could see what she was doing and the
only person who’d notice where her attention had