Shadow Of Pleasure Part 6 - Jack/Grace Fanfiction
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jack/Grace with implied Jack/Samantha
Summary: Pre-series. While attending the National Forensics Conference, Grace runs into her friend Jack, a successful thriller author who unknown to her derives his ingenious plots from his exploits as serial killer Jack-Of-All-Trades. Upset over her husband's infidelity, Grace decides to even the score and soon she takes the first step into Jack's world...
Author's Notes: Shadow of Pleasure is the first story in a series called, Gods and Shadows which will be Jack/Grace in parts and ultimately Jack/Samantha. This first tale which focuses on Jack/Grace is for my lovely friend, velvetwhip. This is part six of Shadow of Pleasure. Previous parts can be found: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 & Part 5. The story is cross-posted at profiler_fans. Due to length, there are several more parts to come.
There are many interpretations of the language of the flowers, the ones I use here have appeared in several resources so they're hopefully pretty accurate.
Grace bit her lower lip as she read through the fourth volume. There was an added intensity from knowing the killer and his ladylove were patterned on Jack and Samantha. She noticed things she hadn't on previous readings, like that Mack sent Alexandra white roses for the first time he sent her flowers as opposed to his customary red. She wondered if there was any significance to it and decided to ask Jack about it sometime. Mack's brutality as he killed his victims was horrific yet oddly poetic in the way Jack wrote about it. Each victim was killed in a unique manner making Mack almost impossible to track. But as he intended, Alexandra took notice of his work and connected the killings. Shifting slightly, Grace turned back a couple pages to re-read as Alexandra received the white roses.
A dark tailored suit and a set of perfectly constructed FBI credentials made his admittance into Quantico surprisingly easy. Pleasure at his triumph warred with Mack's displeasure at the lack of protection the workplace offered his Alexandra. His breath caught as her mentor paused to squint at him briefly as he moved past. There was only slight danger in his visit. The credentials he'd crafted would have passed even the most intense scrutiny. And while he intended to keep a low profile, he wasn't unknown at the bureau. While Alexandra interned as a psychologist, intent on qualifying for the behavioral science program at Quantico, Mack had used his money and gotten his father to call in a political favor to get into the FBI academy under an assumed name. Although he could have easily been the top in his class, Mack forced himself skew his tests so he was only slightly above average and didn't garner attention.
Moving through the maze of cubicles that were occupied by the newest and lowliest of the behavioral science department, he spotted Alexandra and his breath caught. Each time he was near her, he felt as if her couldn't breathe. Her dark dress was conservative, only hinting at the curves that lay underneath. Her hair gleamed even under the harsh fluorescent light and was held back by a black headband. Mack smiled at the accessory, on Alexandra it looked like a tiara, crowning his goddess. She didn't yet realize her destiny or her own divinity, but he would show her through his games. It would take time for her to understand and accept, but Mack was patient had no desire to rush their mental foreplay. Gods seduced with a skill and patience lesser beings couldn't remotely comprehend.
A male agent who had signed for the floral delivery, brought them the green tissue wrapped tribute to Alexandra. Her initial expression over the white roses was one of banal pleasure, nothing special. However her reaction as she read his card, 'You work too hard' was sublime to behold. Shock and fear crossed her face and she looked around her as if she knew he was there. Feigning attention in a manilla file he held, Mack surreptitiously drank in her reaction. Amid the predictable emotions of fear and concern, there was one moment which made Mack's heart stop. She looked at the roses and brought them too her face. As she sniffed them, Mack could see her smile behind them. He'd known she would revel in his attention but he hadn't predicted the look of triumph on her face as she realized she'd garnered the admiration of such a high profile killer.
It took every ounce of strength he had to leave, but Mack didn't dare risk sticking around as Alexandra talked to her mentor, Davis Roberts. Roberts would undoubtedly question all agents in the vicinity and Mack didn't want to give the middle aged man another glimpse at his face. Gliding past Alexandra, he allowed his hand to accidentally brush her arm before he walked out of the behavioral sciences department and made his way to the parking lot. He got into the dark sedan he'd gotten especially for the occasion, replete with parking tags, and drove away from Quantico.
His body sang with adrenaline as he drove away. The measure of success he'd hope for had exceeded his expectations and been an absolute triumph! At a stoplight, he grinned at himself in the review mirror, then he pulled the visor down on the driver's side. A photo of Alexandra beamed back at him.
"You were so beautiful, Alexandra," he spoke to the photo. Lighting a cigarette, he continued, "Such a good girl, I'm quite pleased with you. We'll head home and have a drink to celebrate. Then, I think I'll have to plan a special treat to reward you for being so good today."
Mack reluctantly put the visor up and watched the road. As he drove he considered how best to reward Alexandra. She had pleased him today and he wanted to please her as well. Only his Alexandra could take pleasure in his flowers, knowing she'd captured his attention. A lesser woman would have only looked at his offering with fear, but his gloriously self-centered goddess had found enjoyment in his offering, if only briefly before she returned to the role she played. Alexandra enjoyed being the center of attention, although he had no doubt she would protest otherwise. When he returned home, he would check the VCRs which recorded her every movement at work. It had been risky slipping in months earlier disguised as a maintenance men; but Mack had no doubt he would be amply rewarded by today's tapes.
Parking in the underground garage of the ancient hotel that served as his home, he then made his way to the elevator. Although he owned all of the ancient building, Mack made his living quarters in the massive ballroom on the top floor. The other rooms and suites served as storage for his many collections and possessions. Exiting the elevator, he unlocked the elaborate security system and entered his lair. Candles flickered and incense coiled around the massive room, Mack loathed electric light. The florescent lighting of Quantico was an abomination, he thought and paused at a photo of Alexandra. She should always be bathed in the romantic glow of candlelight.
He walked to a door which lead to the small kitchen he used. Inside the refrigerator were several champagne bottles, one of which was open. Mack considered using the bottle he'd opened earlier that morning for his customary breakfast mimosa, then shook his head and took out a fresh bottle. Champagne was meant to be drunk after it was uncorked or it lost it's luster. Since he opened a fresh bottle each morning to mix with his orange juice, it was of little consequence to open another. Pulling out a fresh bottle, he opened one of the cupboards in which he kept his glassware. He hesitated between the modern flute and the old fashioned saucer glasses. In a romantic mood, he opted for the older style. Carrying two glasses and the bottle to his desk, Mack sat down in front of his computer amid Alexandra's photos.
Opening the bottle, he poured the bubbling liquid into both glasses. Mack raised his glass to Alexandra's image, toasting their success. He dipped his finger into the glass and traced her lips with it. Later he would clean the glass, but he wanted to share the moment with her if only symbolically. Sitting the frame down, he took a sip of champagne then turned his computer on. He'd spent the past two months entering all the data he had on Alexandra, eliminating the three massive file cabinets that held the files he'd written by hand. The old cabinets had been regulated to another floor, but Mack couldn't bear to part with them. There were too many memories and tears confined in the pages to let them go.
Mack typed on the keyboard and brought up a document which contained a long list of names. Everyone Alexandra had ever known for more than a month. Although he had the list committed to memory, he slowly read through the list looking for inspiration. Each name had symbols beside it, a code that only Mack understood which indicated their place in Alexandra's life and any wrongs they had perpetrated against her. She'd been so perfect today, she deserved a special gift from him. Something complex, he thought. A mystery that would unfurl itself over several years and have many layers for her to only very gradually understand. Nothing too showy or obvious, but something subtle that would haunt her. Reading down the list, Mack's eyes rested on a name and he smiled. Sally Austin.
Sally Austin has taken ballet with Alex when she was a little girl. His beloved was Alex as an innocent child and in the public eye. It was only as a woman and his private goddess that she was Alexandra. The distinction had to be observed. Both women were adults now and hadn't had contact in over two decades, but time hadn't lessened Sally's crimes. A driven mother had forced Sally into pageants at the age of three and given her an overly high opinion of herself. Needing a talent for her competitions, the brat had been enrolled in Sam's ballet class. Almost immediately the wicked child had taken to tormenting his poor little Alex, Mack recalled angrily. The stories had come from another member of the ballet class whom he'd met and gotten to talk to him by pretending to be Alexandra's husband working on a romantic surprise.
Competitive to the point of rudeness, the blonde monster had taken an instant dislike to Alex, feeling there was only room for one attractive blonde in the class. Sally had started by calling the prettier blonde names and quickly escalated to tripping her and exaggerating her dancing to bump her repeatedly. It was offensive to Mack but what sealed her fate was the Nutcracker incident. The city ballet had opened auditions for children and both girls wanted to try out for a part. A better dancer, Alex would have easily bested Sally. However, the competitive little wretch couldn't bear to lose out to Alex.
While they were changing into leotards in the dressing room, Sally stood in the way so Alex had to change near the door. She waited until the innocent little girl had undressed than shoved her out the door into the hallway wearing nothing but her underwear. Several people saw and laughed before interceding but the damage was done. Humiliated, Alex dressed and left the audition. Sally got the part and Alex never danced again. According to the young brunette who recounted the tale to Mack, Alex looked like she was about to cry but didn't let anyone see her cry.
Mack's heart ached for her and tears welled up in his eyes as he envisioned his poor angel humiliated the spiteful little fiend. Trembling slightly, he picked up Alexandra's photo and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He sat the picture down and wiped his eyes. Although she wouldn't probably recognize the name for quite a while, he had to avenge his beloved. Time hadn't lessened the gravity of the crime. Sally Austin deserved to die and with Mack's intervention, she would die screaming...
Grace put the book down and shivered. It was chilling the way Mack could plan a murder with such coldness for the intended victim and such tenderness towards the woman he was killing for. Gruesome but romantic in a perverse way. For the first time, she could see the twisted intimacy that drove Mack and the way Alexandra seemed to silently almost urge him on. How had Jack transformed his unrequited love into such a foreboding sinister tale? Most men would have written themselves as a knight in shining armor, Jack wrote himself as a dark anti-hero. Unrepentant but charming, Mack was an irresistible figure. Much like the man who wrote him, Grace thought with a sigh. Picking up the book once more, she was about to resume reading when the telephone rang.
********************
Caught up in her reverie, Grace had been startled by the phone ringing. She stood up and walked to the phone on the bar. About to answer, her hand hovered over the receiver then she paused. It was Jack's suite and it was probably a call for him. After a moment the phone stopped ringing and she started to turn away when the phone began ringing once more. After a moment's hesitation, she picked up and answered.
"Grace," Jack's voice greeted her on the other end.
"Jack!" she exclaimed with pleasure, then mentally chided herself for sounding like an over excited school girl. Trying to sound calmer she said, "Thank you for the hyacinths."
"I had to apologize for my conduct last night. Originally I'd intended to write you a letter but I thought it better to speak through the language of the flowers."
"Language of the flowers," Grace echoed in confusion.
Jack laughed on the other end, "Women today! Men used to use flowers as a means of expressing themselves to ladies. Each color and variety had a different meaning. Deep purple hyacinths mean I'm sorry."
"Oh? Thank you," she told him, feeling guilty she'd not been more enthusiastic over the floral offering. Although it seemed like an odd choice at the time, it made sense now and clearly Jack had put thought into the gift.
"It never ceases to amaze me, the utter lack of romance and poetry in the world today," Jack sighed.
"And did you call to talk about romance?" she countered unthinkingly in a flirtatious tone. Then realizing her mistake she forced brightly, "Or poetry?"
"I actually called to tell you to feel free to order room service for yourself."
Grace protested, "Jack, I can't let you pay for-"
"You can and you will," he interrupted in an authoritative tone. His voice softened as he explained, "It's the least I can do after last night."
"Okay," she relented reluctantly.
"Excellent."
"Do you always get your way?"
Jack chuckled, "Usually."
Grace smiled to herself. He was impudent and unapologetic like his literary counterpart and she found herself liking both more and more. Curious, she inquired, "Could you answer a question for me?"
"Possibly."
"Well, Mr. Language-of-the-Flowers, what do white roses mean?"
"Reading my book are we?" Jack countered in an amused tone.
"No!"
"Uh-huh. There are two possible meanings for a white rose. One is purity and the other-" Jack trailed off in an amused tone.
Grace prompted, "And the other-"
"Wouldn't be of much interest since you're not reading about Mack and Alexandra," he teased.
Exasperated she confessed, "Fine! I'm reading one of your books. Okay? I Grace Alvarez am reading Roses of the Past right now. Now tell me damn it!"
"You had only to ask," Jack told her, his voice laced with barely contained mirth.
"Jack!"
His voice became serious as he said, "White roses can also mean, I am worthy of you. It was Mack's way of letting Alexandra know his intentions and that he alone is able to understand her and is deserving of her love."
"Oh," Grace commented, unsure how to respond. It was a meaning that was probably lost on most of his readers, yet Jack had included the touch nonetheless. From what she'd read, she was beginning to get a bit more sense of who Jack was. Each choice and every move Mack made were motivated by his love for Alexandra. She knew Jack wasn't a murderer, but she suspected that much of his life was guided by his emotions for Samantha. His books weren't merely thrillers, Grace realized, they were in a sense a series of open love letters to the woman he loved. Did Samantha know the books were about her? Grace longed to ask him about the autographed copies, but remained silent.
"So, just reading volume four, are we?" Jack asked playfully.
Sheepishly she admitted, "I was bored and picked up the set in the gift shop. I may have skipped a couple lectures today and read the first three books."
"Sprawled out in front of the fireplace with your shoes off, huh?"
His description was accurate, but she couldn't resist saying, "Actually, naked in your bed."
Jack made a soft groan and drawled, "Normally if a woman told me she was in bed reading my books in the altogether I would propose phone sex. However, after my bad behavior last night. I'll settle for suggesting you put on a robe when you order room service instead."
"Phone sex sounds like more fun," she said lightly, hardly breathing as she waited for his response.
"Maybe," Jack laughed. "But after the day I've had, I imagine room service will prove far more satisfying than I would tonight."
"That bad?"
"Aside from only being able to get a seat in coach next to a screaming child, my printer dying and having to go all over the city trying to track down a new one that's compatible with my computer, and my mother calling me for the last two hours, I am ready for love. Roll me Baby!"
"There's always tomorrow night," Grace offered hopefully.
Missing her meaning, Jack shot back, "Go on and torture the man without a girlfriend. I'm half tempted to skip the rest of the conference and find the next blonde of the month. It's been almost three weeks since-"
"Almost three weeks!" Grace cut him off in mock horror. "Talk to me when it's been three months."
"Sorry."
"You're not really going to not come back, are you?"
"It's tempting to skip it, but no. I really want to hear Valerie's lecture," Jack answered.
"Valerie?"
"Don't you remember her from the other day? Lovely little blonde, I attended her first lecture yesterday. But she has another coming up later in the week."
"Vaguely," Grace lied. She wished he wasn't interested in the other blonde. Even though he said he would wait until after the conference, she wondered if his resolve wouldn't break. Anxiously she asked, "Thinking of combining business with pleasure?"
"No. I may not even look her up in Virginia later, I might have use for her mind again at a later date. So, I'm afraid you'll be stuck with me as your escort and ardent admirer for the duration," Jack informed her. "However, I promise to behave like a perfect gentleman and not lay a finger on you."
Grace murmured neutrally and was relieved when their conversation ended. While she was glad to know that Valerie wouldn't be a problem, Jack still seemed bent on being a gentleman. Although she'd hoped subtlety would work, Grace realized she needed a more direct approach. It would be difficult, but there was no other way to deal with it, Grace decided. When Jack returned, she would ask him to sleep with her. The only problem was, just how to ask, she sighed.
Pairing: Jack/Grace with implied Jack/Samantha
Summary: Pre-series. While attending the National Forensics Conference, Grace runs into her friend Jack, a successful thriller author who unknown to her derives his ingenious plots from his exploits as serial killer Jack-Of-All-Trades. Upset over her husband's infidelity, Grace decides to even the score and soon she takes the first step into Jack's world...
Author's Notes: Shadow of Pleasure is the first story in a series called, Gods and Shadows which will be Jack/Grace in parts and ultimately Jack/Samantha. This first tale which focuses on Jack/Grace is for my lovely friend, velvetwhip. This is part six of Shadow of Pleasure. Previous parts can be found: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 & Part 5. The story is cross-posted at profiler_fans. Due to length, there are several more parts to come.
There are many interpretations of the language of the flowers, the ones I use here have appeared in several resources so they're hopefully pretty accurate.
Grace bit her lower lip as she read through the fourth volume. There was an added intensity from knowing the killer and his ladylove were patterned on Jack and Samantha. She noticed things she hadn't on previous readings, like that Mack sent Alexandra white roses for the first time he sent her flowers as opposed to his customary red. She wondered if there was any significance to it and decided to ask Jack about it sometime. Mack's brutality as he killed his victims was horrific yet oddly poetic in the way Jack wrote about it. Each victim was killed in a unique manner making Mack almost impossible to track. But as he intended, Alexandra took notice of his work and connected the killings. Shifting slightly, Grace turned back a couple pages to re-read as Alexandra received the white roses.
A dark tailored suit and a set of perfectly constructed FBI credentials made his admittance into Quantico surprisingly easy. Pleasure at his triumph warred with Mack's displeasure at the lack of protection the workplace offered his Alexandra. His breath caught as her mentor paused to squint at him briefly as he moved past. There was only slight danger in his visit. The credentials he'd crafted would have passed even the most intense scrutiny. And while he intended to keep a low profile, he wasn't unknown at the bureau. While Alexandra interned as a psychologist, intent on qualifying for the behavioral science program at Quantico, Mack had used his money and gotten his father to call in a political favor to get into the FBI academy under an assumed name. Although he could have easily been the top in his class, Mack forced himself skew his tests so he was only slightly above average and didn't garner attention.
Moving through the maze of cubicles that were occupied by the newest and lowliest of the behavioral science department, he spotted Alexandra and his breath caught. Each time he was near her, he felt as if her couldn't breathe. Her dark dress was conservative, only hinting at the curves that lay underneath. Her hair gleamed even under the harsh fluorescent light and was held back by a black headband. Mack smiled at the accessory, on Alexandra it looked like a tiara, crowning his goddess. She didn't yet realize her destiny or her own divinity, but he would show her through his games. It would take time for her to understand and accept, but Mack was patient had no desire to rush their mental foreplay. Gods seduced with a skill and patience lesser beings couldn't remotely comprehend.
A male agent who had signed for the floral delivery, brought them the green tissue wrapped tribute to Alexandra. Her initial expression over the white roses was one of banal pleasure, nothing special. However her reaction as she read his card, 'You work too hard' was sublime to behold. Shock and fear crossed her face and she looked around her as if she knew he was there. Feigning attention in a manilla file he held, Mack surreptitiously drank in her reaction. Amid the predictable emotions of fear and concern, there was one moment which made Mack's heart stop. She looked at the roses and brought them too her face. As she sniffed them, Mack could see her smile behind them. He'd known she would revel in his attention but he hadn't predicted the look of triumph on her face as she realized she'd garnered the admiration of such a high profile killer.
It took every ounce of strength he had to leave, but Mack didn't dare risk sticking around as Alexandra talked to her mentor, Davis Roberts. Roberts would undoubtedly question all agents in the vicinity and Mack didn't want to give the middle aged man another glimpse at his face. Gliding past Alexandra, he allowed his hand to accidentally brush her arm before he walked out of the behavioral sciences department and made his way to the parking lot. He got into the dark sedan he'd gotten especially for the occasion, replete with parking tags, and drove away from Quantico.
His body sang with adrenaline as he drove away. The measure of success he'd hope for had exceeded his expectations and been an absolute triumph! At a stoplight, he grinned at himself in the review mirror, then he pulled the visor down on the driver's side. A photo of Alexandra beamed back at him.
"You were so beautiful, Alexandra," he spoke to the photo. Lighting a cigarette, he continued, "Such a good girl, I'm quite pleased with you. We'll head home and have a drink to celebrate. Then, I think I'll have to plan a special treat to reward you for being so good today."
Mack reluctantly put the visor up and watched the road. As he drove he considered how best to reward Alexandra. She had pleased him today and he wanted to please her as well. Only his Alexandra could take pleasure in his flowers, knowing she'd captured his attention. A lesser woman would have only looked at his offering with fear, but his gloriously self-centered goddess had found enjoyment in his offering, if only briefly before she returned to the role she played. Alexandra enjoyed being the center of attention, although he had no doubt she would protest otherwise. When he returned home, he would check the VCRs which recorded her every movement at work. It had been risky slipping in months earlier disguised as a maintenance men; but Mack had no doubt he would be amply rewarded by today's tapes.
Parking in the underground garage of the ancient hotel that served as his home, he then made his way to the elevator. Although he owned all of the ancient building, Mack made his living quarters in the massive ballroom on the top floor. The other rooms and suites served as storage for his many collections and possessions. Exiting the elevator, he unlocked the elaborate security system and entered his lair. Candles flickered and incense coiled around the massive room, Mack loathed electric light. The florescent lighting of Quantico was an abomination, he thought and paused at a photo of Alexandra. She should always be bathed in the romantic glow of candlelight.
He walked to a door which lead to the small kitchen he used. Inside the refrigerator were several champagne bottles, one of which was open. Mack considered using the bottle he'd opened earlier that morning for his customary breakfast mimosa, then shook his head and took out a fresh bottle. Champagne was meant to be drunk after it was uncorked or it lost it's luster. Since he opened a fresh bottle each morning to mix with his orange juice, it was of little consequence to open another. Pulling out a fresh bottle, he opened one of the cupboards in which he kept his glassware. He hesitated between the modern flute and the old fashioned saucer glasses. In a romantic mood, he opted for the older style. Carrying two glasses and the bottle to his desk, Mack sat down in front of his computer amid Alexandra's photos.
Opening the bottle, he poured the bubbling liquid into both glasses. Mack raised his glass to Alexandra's image, toasting their success. He dipped his finger into the glass and traced her lips with it. Later he would clean the glass, but he wanted to share the moment with her if only symbolically. Sitting the frame down, he took a sip of champagne then turned his computer on. He'd spent the past two months entering all the data he had on Alexandra, eliminating the three massive file cabinets that held the files he'd written by hand. The old cabinets had been regulated to another floor, but Mack couldn't bear to part with them. There were too many memories and tears confined in the pages to let them go.
Mack typed on the keyboard and brought up a document which contained a long list of names. Everyone Alexandra had ever known for more than a month. Although he had the list committed to memory, he slowly read through the list looking for inspiration. Each name had symbols beside it, a code that only Mack understood which indicated their place in Alexandra's life and any wrongs they had perpetrated against her. She'd been so perfect today, she deserved a special gift from him. Something complex, he thought. A mystery that would unfurl itself over several years and have many layers for her to only very gradually understand. Nothing too showy or obvious, but something subtle that would haunt her. Reading down the list, Mack's eyes rested on a name and he smiled. Sally Austin.
Sally Austin has taken ballet with Alex when she was a little girl. His beloved was Alex as an innocent child and in the public eye. It was only as a woman and his private goddess that she was Alexandra. The distinction had to be observed. Both women were adults now and hadn't had contact in over two decades, but time hadn't lessened Sally's crimes. A driven mother had forced Sally into pageants at the age of three and given her an overly high opinion of herself. Needing a talent for her competitions, the brat had been enrolled in Sam's ballet class. Almost immediately the wicked child had taken to tormenting his poor little Alex, Mack recalled angrily. The stories had come from another member of the ballet class whom he'd met and gotten to talk to him by pretending to be Alexandra's husband working on a romantic surprise.
Competitive to the point of rudeness, the blonde monster had taken an instant dislike to Alex, feeling there was only room for one attractive blonde in the class. Sally had started by calling the prettier blonde names and quickly escalated to tripping her and exaggerating her dancing to bump her repeatedly. It was offensive to Mack but what sealed her fate was the Nutcracker incident. The city ballet had opened auditions for children and both girls wanted to try out for a part. A better dancer, Alex would have easily bested Sally. However, the competitive little wretch couldn't bear to lose out to Alex.
While they were changing into leotards in the dressing room, Sally stood in the way so Alex had to change near the door. She waited until the innocent little girl had undressed than shoved her out the door into the hallway wearing nothing but her underwear. Several people saw and laughed before interceding but the damage was done. Humiliated, Alex dressed and left the audition. Sally got the part and Alex never danced again. According to the young brunette who recounted the tale to Mack, Alex looked like she was about to cry but didn't let anyone see her cry.
Mack's heart ached for her and tears welled up in his eyes as he envisioned his poor angel humiliated the spiteful little fiend. Trembling slightly, he picked up Alexandra's photo and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He sat the picture down and wiped his eyes. Although she wouldn't probably recognize the name for quite a while, he had to avenge his beloved. Time hadn't lessened the gravity of the crime. Sally Austin deserved to die and with Mack's intervention, she would die screaming...
Grace put the book down and shivered. It was chilling the way Mack could plan a murder with such coldness for the intended victim and such tenderness towards the woman he was killing for. Gruesome but romantic in a perverse way. For the first time, she could see the twisted intimacy that drove Mack and the way Alexandra seemed to silently almost urge him on. How had Jack transformed his unrequited love into such a foreboding sinister tale? Most men would have written themselves as a knight in shining armor, Jack wrote himself as a dark anti-hero. Unrepentant but charming, Mack was an irresistible figure. Much like the man who wrote him, Grace thought with a sigh. Picking up the book once more, she was about to resume reading when the telephone rang.
********************
Caught up in her reverie, Grace had been startled by the phone ringing. She stood up and walked to the phone on the bar. About to answer, her hand hovered over the receiver then she paused. It was Jack's suite and it was probably a call for him. After a moment the phone stopped ringing and she started to turn away when the phone began ringing once more. After a moment's hesitation, she picked up and answered.
"Grace," Jack's voice greeted her on the other end.
"Jack!" she exclaimed with pleasure, then mentally chided herself for sounding like an over excited school girl. Trying to sound calmer she said, "Thank you for the hyacinths."
"I had to apologize for my conduct last night. Originally I'd intended to write you a letter but I thought it better to speak through the language of the flowers."
"Language of the flowers," Grace echoed in confusion.
Jack laughed on the other end, "Women today! Men used to use flowers as a means of expressing themselves to ladies. Each color and variety had a different meaning. Deep purple hyacinths mean I'm sorry."
"Oh? Thank you," she told him, feeling guilty she'd not been more enthusiastic over the floral offering. Although it seemed like an odd choice at the time, it made sense now and clearly Jack had put thought into the gift.
"It never ceases to amaze me, the utter lack of romance and poetry in the world today," Jack sighed.
"And did you call to talk about romance?" she countered unthinkingly in a flirtatious tone. Then realizing her mistake she forced brightly, "Or poetry?"
"I actually called to tell you to feel free to order room service for yourself."
Grace protested, "Jack, I can't let you pay for-"
"You can and you will," he interrupted in an authoritative tone. His voice softened as he explained, "It's the least I can do after last night."
"Okay," she relented reluctantly.
"Excellent."
"Do you always get your way?"
Jack chuckled, "Usually."
Grace smiled to herself. He was impudent and unapologetic like his literary counterpart and she found herself liking both more and more. Curious, she inquired, "Could you answer a question for me?"
"Possibly."
"Well, Mr. Language-of-the-Flowers, what do white roses mean?"
"Reading my book are we?" Jack countered in an amused tone.
"No!"
"Uh-huh. There are two possible meanings for a white rose. One is purity and the other-" Jack trailed off in an amused tone.
Grace prompted, "And the other-"
"Wouldn't be of much interest since you're not reading about Mack and Alexandra," he teased.
Exasperated she confessed, "Fine! I'm reading one of your books. Okay? I Grace Alvarez am reading Roses of the Past right now. Now tell me damn it!"
"You had only to ask," Jack told her, his voice laced with barely contained mirth.
"Jack!"
His voice became serious as he said, "White roses can also mean, I am worthy of you. It was Mack's way of letting Alexandra know his intentions and that he alone is able to understand her and is deserving of her love."
"Oh," Grace commented, unsure how to respond. It was a meaning that was probably lost on most of his readers, yet Jack had included the touch nonetheless. From what she'd read, she was beginning to get a bit more sense of who Jack was. Each choice and every move Mack made were motivated by his love for Alexandra. She knew Jack wasn't a murderer, but she suspected that much of his life was guided by his emotions for Samantha. His books weren't merely thrillers, Grace realized, they were in a sense a series of open love letters to the woman he loved. Did Samantha know the books were about her? Grace longed to ask him about the autographed copies, but remained silent.
"So, just reading volume four, are we?" Jack asked playfully.
Sheepishly she admitted, "I was bored and picked up the set in the gift shop. I may have skipped a couple lectures today and read the first three books."
"Sprawled out in front of the fireplace with your shoes off, huh?"
His description was accurate, but she couldn't resist saying, "Actually, naked in your bed."
Jack made a soft groan and drawled, "Normally if a woman told me she was in bed reading my books in the altogether I would propose phone sex. However, after my bad behavior last night. I'll settle for suggesting you put on a robe when you order room service instead."
"Phone sex sounds like more fun," she said lightly, hardly breathing as she waited for his response.
"Maybe," Jack laughed. "But after the day I've had, I imagine room service will prove far more satisfying than I would tonight."
"That bad?"
"Aside from only being able to get a seat in coach next to a screaming child, my printer dying and having to go all over the city trying to track down a new one that's compatible with my computer, and my mother calling me for the last two hours, I am ready for love. Roll me Baby!"
"There's always tomorrow night," Grace offered hopefully.
Missing her meaning, Jack shot back, "Go on and torture the man without a girlfriend. I'm half tempted to skip the rest of the conference and find the next blonde of the month. It's been almost three weeks since-"
"Almost three weeks!" Grace cut him off in mock horror. "Talk to me when it's been three months."
"Sorry."
"You're not really going to not come back, are you?"
"It's tempting to skip it, but no. I really want to hear Valerie's lecture," Jack answered.
"Valerie?"
"Don't you remember her from the other day? Lovely little blonde, I attended her first lecture yesterday. But she has another coming up later in the week."
"Vaguely," Grace lied. She wished he wasn't interested in the other blonde. Even though he said he would wait until after the conference, she wondered if his resolve wouldn't break. Anxiously she asked, "Thinking of combining business with pleasure?"
"No. I may not even look her up in Virginia later, I might have use for her mind again at a later date. So, I'm afraid you'll be stuck with me as your escort and ardent admirer for the duration," Jack informed her. "However, I promise to behave like a perfect gentleman and not lay a finger on you."
Grace murmured neutrally and was relieved when their conversation ended. While she was glad to know that Valerie wouldn't be a problem, Jack still seemed bent on being a gentleman. Although she'd hoped subtlety would work, Grace realized she needed a more direct approach. It would be difficult, but there was no other way to deal with it, Grace decided. When Jack returned, she would ask him to sleep with her. The only problem was, just how to ask, she sighed.