“Could he be naked beneath his breeches? Theyseemed molded to him, outlining the powerful lines of his thighs and the swell just above—Oh, God. She closed her eyes. She’d been looking at his—Not only was it rude, but it had sent anamazing tingle through her, almost as if she’d touched it.“Fiona, if you ever look at me like that again, I will not be held responsible for what I do.” Jack was soclose that she could feel his breath on her temple. “Do you understand?”

“You were dancing with Yuki and I looked at you. And you turned away and held her closer. Why did you do that? If you didn't want to hurt me, then why?"He looked away, as though he'd been slapped, but he didn't look guilty. He looked pained. "I closed my eyes," he said, his voice so low and strangled she could hardly hear him."What?" she asked, not understanding."Tamani held up a hand and Laurel realized he hadn't finished-he was having trouble speaking at all. "I closed my eyes," he repeated after a few shallow breaths, "and imagined she was you."He looked at her, his face open, his eyes honest, his voice a song of anguish.”

“He grinned like a proud male and moved closer. “It was good.”“Are you asking or telling?”“I know it was good.”She’d just experienced the longest orgasm in modern history. Who was she to be critical? “It was amazing.”He cupped her face and kissed her. “We could do it again.”“I don’t think that’s possible.”Instead of answering, he bent down and drew her nipple into his mouth. Then he reached between her legs and lightly touched her. Instantly jolts shot through her. She found herself wanting to pull him close and beg to be taken.He drew back. “What do you think?”She looked into his amused eyes. “That maybe I might have a little more time to make up for.”“I figured.”“Did you bring more condoms?”“Yes.”“Thank God.”

“He moaned her name against her lips, and then at her temple, and her closed eyes. It seemed to be all he could say, the only word he knew. She remembered how she’d once been incensed by his lazy, mocking use of that butchered form of Bernadette, and decided she had been a pathetic little idiot.”

“The urge at that moment to reach across and touch Willow--to link his fingers through hers as she rested her hand on her thigh, or stroke her bright hair back from her temple--was almost overpowering. He crossed his arms over his chest."Yep, definitely time for a coffee break," he said, closing his eyes. "You see right through me.”

“Prove it!" she hissed. "Prove you are who you are!""We don't have time for this! You really want me to prove who I am?" he asked."Yes!" she challenged.In answer, he took her in his arms, lifting her up and against the wall. He pressed his lips against hers, and with each kiss she could see into his mind, into his soul. She saw a year of hate...saw him alone, alienated, hurt. She had lied to him and had left him. With every kiss he made her see, made her feel...every emotion, every dream he had of her...every ounce of his wanting and his need...and his love...his all-consuming, life-affirming love for her. In the darkness they found each other again...and she kissed him back, so greedily and hungrily, she never wanted to stop kissing him...to feel his heart against hers, the two of them intertwined together, his hands in her hair, then down the small of her back. She wanted to cry from the overwhelming emotion that engulfed the two of them...."Now do you belive me?" Jack asked huskily, pulling away from a moment so they could look into each other's eyes. Schuyler nodded, breathless. Jack. Every fiber of her being tingled with love and desire and remorse and forgiveness. Oh Jack...the love of her life, her sweet, her soul...”