She was nowhere near ready when Jack dropped down onto the porch step behind her. His legs slid around hers, and a hard, muscled arm wrapped around her waist, tugging her up and backward. His other arm rescued her coffee as she yelped.
He chuckled and stole a swallow. “God, Lily.” He stared down suspiciously into her cup. “Did you even bother putting coffee in here?”
So she liked her coffee milky sweet, and she used way more sugar than any adult should. Her house. Her rules. “Make your own damned coffee, then,” she snapped.
“Are you always this grumpy in the morning?” he teased. “Because, if you are, I’m going to need a few pointers.”
He’d obviously been up for a while. She’d heard the front door slam hours earlier as she lay there sleepless. Watched Jack take off down the road, running. Now, his hair was still damp from his post-run shower, but he was wearing his usual uniform of jeans and a T-shirt. Work boots. So close to him, she felt impossibly bare in her cut-offs and tank top, too aware of the contrast between her bare legs and his muscled ones.
His mouth brushed the skin of her neck, his tongue drawing a wicked little pattern on the sensitive skin. His teeth nipped at her, and the erotic sting had her stilling.
When his hand found the back of her neck and rubbed, she wanted to melt in sheer bliss. She should have moved away. Should have told him to keep his hands to himself. But Jack Donovan in the morning was even sweeter than her coffee, and she wanted something to keep her memories of that night, that fire, at bay.
When he pulled her onto his lap, wrapping her in those arms of his, she finally protested.
“I can’t do this, Jack.” She pushed at him, and he let her put a few inches of space between them. “You don’t want to stick around.”
“Take a chance, baby,” he growled. He nipped at her lower lip, his hands threading through her hair. “You take that chance on us. I would never hurt you.”