she extended. “Good night.”
Long moments passed and he just stood there.
Finally she was forced to look up and meet his gaze.
Damn him, he was smiling.
Her lungs deflated on a slow, weary sigh. “What’s so funny now?”
“You, sweet cheeks. You are a laugh a minute.” The warmth and affection in his voice and his expression stirred a herd of butterflies into flight in her tummy. “But then, I’m easily entertained. Come here. Let me show you how easy I am.”
And then he kissed her. Just like that. No long, lingering meeting of eyes in the moonlight as a prelude. No dodging and weaving or wondering when it was going to happen.
One minute he was a safe three feet away announcing his intentions. The next he gathered her gently into his arms and lowered his head.
Did she fight it? No.
Did she want to fight it? Um. Guess not.
That was the surprise of the century.
She stood there, her head tipped back, watching as that beautiful mouth descended. Actually she more than watched. She actually rose up on her tiptoes to meet him. Then she lifted her hands to his biceps to steady herself, to mold herself closer. And she let him show her exactly how easy he was.
He showed her just fine. He was easy like a down comforter on a cool winter night. Easy like a daydream on a lazy summer afternoon. The caress of his mouth as he opened it over hers was slow and sweet, soft and undemanding.
It was wonderful. It was amazing. She didn’t think about raising her arms to his neck and burying her fingers in the hair at his nape. She simply did it, only tactilely aware of the silky softness of his hair, the warmth and strength of the muscle beneath his skin, the heady heat and hardness of him against her as he wrapped her closer, deeper into his big body.
And he was big. So strong yet so gentle as he cradled her against him, changed the angle of his mouth over hers and with a groan that reverberated against her breasts, took the kiss to a whole other level.
His mouth urged hers open. His tongue entered when she gladly acquiesced. Through the ringing in her ears and the trembling of her entire body, she recognized his hunger, melted into the pleasure, rode the wave of mutual need.
She felt dizzy with the knowledge that a man like him truly could be aroused by a woman like her. He definitely was aroused, no hiding that with her belly pressed against his this way. She felt the power of that knowledge surge through her like a current. Imagined the full measure of his passion with a shiver, then felt wrenched from the heat of sensual pleasure to the cool rush of reality when his big hands rose to hers and untangled them from around his neck and he set her physically away.
“Whoa,” he said in a voice that was gruff with passion. With one small step he put a mile of distance between them.
She blinked, her lips pulsing and swollen, her entire body buzzing on sensual overload.
“Whoa,” he said again. Then he shook his head and after a look that was searching and stunned and wary, he turned on his heel and hightailed it down the walk to his car.
That was it. Not another word.
A little stunned, Christine watched him go. Got the distinct impression that he was running away, when only moments ago he hadn’t been able to get close enough fast enough.
She was still standing in the same spot when he peeled away from the curb. Her lips were still tingling from his kiss when she went to bed half an hour later. And her mind—Lord above, her mind was still spinning.
Her experience with sex was limited and for the most part unsatisfying. Her fault, is what she’d always figured. She didn’t do well with touching. Didn’t do well with trust. Sexual encounter made for more tension than passion. But Jacob Thorne had just proven there were exceptions to some rules she’d taken for granted as unbreakable.
To her utter surprise, she’d liked being touched by him. She’d loved being kissed by him. Trust hadn’t even been an issue. Or maybe it had been the entire issue and she’d instinctively trusted him when he’d drawn her in, wrapped her tight and made love to her mouth with the enthusiasm and the expertise of a lover. One who sensed exactly what she wanted, exactly what she needed, and made it clear with the touch of his hand, the heat of his mouth, that he knew precisely how to deliver.
And he had delivered—until he’d abruptly dragged himself away, looked at her as though he didn’t know how she’d ended up in his arms and hadn’t been able to leave fast enough.
He had acted as though it had been a colossal mistake to kiss her.
But it hadn’t felt like a mistake. It had felt…wow. It had felt incredible.
Now, however, she felt incredibly confused.
And alone. Most of all, alone.
Of all the things in the world she’d ever wanted, ever dreamed or fantasized about, being alone for the rest of her life hadn’t been one of them. Never had she been more aware that the choices she’d made and the barriers she’d erected might have guaranteed that she always would be alone.
She was so lost in those dismal conclusions that it didn’t even dawn on her until much later that they had never gotten around to discussing the hoops she had to jump through to get him to give her Jess Golden’s things.
Chapter Six
Later that night, Jake sat at the bar in the Texas Cattleman’s Club nursing a beer. Normally he found a certain amount of contentment in the sprawling, exclusive gentlemen’s club Henry “Tex” Langley had established nearly one hundred years ago. Everything about the place was male, from the rich, dark paneling, heavy leather furniture and massive fireplace to the huge oil paintings, animal heads and antique guns displayed on the walls.
He needed the no-frills, no-female atmosphere. But tonight instead of enjoying it, he was brooding. He’d left Chrissie Travers over two hours ago. Kissable, crushable, vulnerable, incredible Chrissie Travers.
Lord above, could he get lost in that woman’s kisses. And he had been lost—without-a-map-or-a-compass lost—until his brains had finally come in and, with a mad scramble, he’d gotten his bearings. Then he’d run, not walked, away from the glut of emotions that had scuffled with his better judgment.
He kept seeing her and her sweet, soft, swollen lips. Her and her gray-green eyes, wide open and wondering.
Whoa.
Seemed to be the word of the night.
“You look like you’re in a mood.”
He glanced over his shoulder, surprised to see his twin brother, Connor, ease onto a bar stool beside him. It was like looking into a mirror. Folks still remarked that if it weren’t for the hair, they wouldn’t be able to tell the twins apart. Connor wore his dark brown hair in a clipped military cut—a holdover from his Army Ranger days. Jake preferred to let his hair grow, sometimes to the point of being shaggy—a holdover from his rebellious youth.
“I’m
