A Memory Between Us by Sarah Sundin Page B

dried. A sniff, a shaky breath, and peace. Still Jack hummed to the violin music and stroked her back. Ruth turned her face to the side and saw his jaw covered with the faint, dark stubble of evening. She had an urge to press her lips to that masculine roughness, to thank him for what he’d given her, but she couldn’t.
    “Thank you,” she whispered.
    “Any time, baboon.”
    She lifted her head and blinked, her eyelashes sticky from tears. “Baboon?”
    “Moon, June, baboon.” Mischief glinted in his eyes.
    Ruth’s laugh came out rough and wet.
    “See. It was time to make you laugh again.”
    “I’ll say.” She touched the large damp spot on his shirt. “Oh dear.”
    “I don’t mind.” He planted a kiss on her forehead. “Now, do you want to dance?”
    Ruth’s mind tumbled and spun. “Dance?”
    Jack’s lips curved in a casual smile as if they hadn’t just kissed her. “The violin, the celebration, remember?”
    Unwilling to break the embrace, Ruth nodded. Dancing, however, didn’t come easily. The beat eluded her and her feet betrayed her, but with Jack’s patient good humor, the awkwardness slipped away, she relaxed in his arms, and her laughter mingled with his. Her chest felt lighter than it had in years, as if the salty tears had corroded the iron shell around her heart. She tried to summon her reservations, but every time he swung her around, another chunk fell off, until her heart lay exposed before him.
    “Had enough?” he asked.
    “Already?”
    “I’ve got to get you home and return to base before eight in case we fly tomorrow.” He released her, returned to the wall, and slipped on his flight jacket.
    The sudden emptiness made Ruth catch her breath. “What about London Bridge?”
    “Huh?” Jack adjusted his jacket collar.
    A surge of warmth made her want to surprise him, to please him, to give to him. She held out both hands. “A movie, dancing, London Bridge. You promised.”
    His eyes rounded, his smile rose, and he came and took her hands.
    Ruth swung their clasped hands overhead. She knew her smile was coy, but she didn’t care. “‘London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down. London Bridge is falling down.’”
    “‘My fair lady.’” With a great laugh, Jack scooped her into his arms.
    Ruth joined his laughter, overcome by his nearness, his breath on her face, him . And more than anything she wanted his kiss, his love, him .
    “I don’t date,” she blurted out.
    Jack looked as shocked by her words as she was. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “That’s why I never asked you out, my little macaroon.” He waggled an eyebrow like Groucho Marx.
    “Macaroon?” Her arms relaxed around his neck.
    His face grew serious. “Ever had a macaroon?”
    “Uh-uh.”
    “Funny things. They melt in your mouth, but if you’re not careful, they crumble in your hand.”
    Ruth tried to analyze his analogy, but all she could concentrate on was how his lips moved. Eight years had passed since her last kiss, but she knew Jack would be a good kisser, like Eddie Reynolds. He wouldn’t pucker or slobber or peck.
    “I don’t want to push too hard, Ruth. I don’t. I care about you. And I know, if I make the wrong move, you’ll crumble. But if I’m careful …”
    She’d melt in his mouth. That’s what she wanted. No more pretending she didn’t care for him. No more denying her blessings. She let her face rise toward him.
    “Ruth.” He gathered her close until their foreheads touched. “My darling Ruth.”
    “Oh, Jack.” Her mind flooded with a liquid haze, as dark and warm and delicious as cocoa, until everything in her yearned for his kiss.
    Then his lips molded against hers.
    Trapped in the alley, three burly men, the crunch of her wristwatch on the brick wall, the sickening trickle of blood down her arm. “You’re nothing but a whore.”
    Ruth gasped and flinched.
    “Huh?” Jack stared at her. “What’s the matter?”
    “No. No. No.” She squirmed out of