to put forth on her behalf.
An effort he was eager to extend for Jane.
He just wasn’t sure if she’d be happy about that or call him names in return, and he was seldom so uncertain with any woman. But this was Jane, and Jane was different. He tried patience, more soothing, more gentlemanly behavior, and then, when he wasn’t sure he could stand it any longer, she finally stopped crying.
And then, finally, he kissed her.
Chapter Eight
One minute, Jane was devastated, thinking she was a prude and just unable to get the image of all that sharing out of her mind, and the next, she was lying flat on her back on the couch with Wyatt stretched on top of her, kissing her.
Not grabbing her, mauling her, rushing her. Just kissing her. Lazily, luxuriously, longingly. Jane wasn’t sure she’d ever been kissed like that before.
He tasted like cinnamon and coffee. Sweet. A wicked little zing that rattled around her whole body from head to toe. His lips were the softest things she’d ever felt and he smelled glorious, and the weight of his big, hard body on top of hers, the heat, the power.
Jane did not feel like a prude at all.
She did exactly what she wanted to in that moment—something she had seldom wanted to do in her life with a man. She opened herself to him completely, throwing herself into the moment, kissing him back, feeling her heart pound and her body go limp. He had a hand in her hair, tearing it down from what was left of her hairdo after her tangle with the bush. He freed her hair and then stroked through it, holding the side of her face in one hand, nuzzling his nose against her ear. Then his mouth found the sensitive hollow of her throat, her neck.
She arched against him, heard him groan, thought about how she could just happily dissolve into a puddle in his arms, and let him do whatever he wanted to with her. Just like that.
His mouth came back to hers, and she felt his thrusting tongue. Jane thought about taking him into her body in another way. Heat pooled between her legs. A pulse throbbed. He wanted her, too. His body told her so as he rocked gently against her.
It was as if every sexual thought Jane had ever had came roaring to life, right here in this room, on Wyatt’s couch.
“I am not a prude,” she said proudly.
He lifted his head a fraction of an inch, grinned down at her. “No, you most certainly are not.”
He started kissing her again.
It felt glorious, sweet and wicked at the same time, overwhelming.
And then Jane remembered—they were in Wyatt’s office, in the middle of the afternoon. His secretary was coming back to give Jane first aid for her skirmish with the bush at Remington Park.
The bush, Leo, Gladdy, Gram, sharing.
Jane pushed Wyatt away. “I can’t do this.”
“Why not?” he asked, holding himself up on his elbows, but still stretched out on top of her.
“Your secretary’s coming back with first aid supplies, remember?”
“No. Not until you reminded me.”
“And besides, I don’t have sex with men on the sofas in their offices,” she said, then feared she was sounding prudish again.
Did women often have sex with men in their offices? Was that a requirement of non-prudishness, too?
“Am I supposed to?” she asked.
“Supposed to what?” Wyatt questioned, carefully climbing off her and sitting on the edge of the sofa.
“Have sex with men on their sofas?”
“Not unless you want to,” he told her, running his hands through his hair, hair she thought she might have mussed up herself a moment ago.
Jane sighed. It was all so bewildering. What was normal and what was not? What was expected? In her admittedly not abundant experience, men wanted a lot these days. They expected a lot. Quickly. Very quickly.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He frowned. “Why? You’re right. Lucy is coming back. I told her to. And I know you’re not the kind of woman who’d be comfortable having sex in my office on a sofa during business hours.”
She got worried. “But does that—”
“That doesn’t make you anything except who you are, Jane, and there’s nothing wrong with who you are. Any man who tries to tell you there is is an ass and probably just out to get whatever he can get as fast as he can.”
“But you. I know you. I suspect you…wouldn’t really have a problem with…something like this.”
He shrugged. “Maybe every now and then, for some-thing quick and different. But the thing I like best…is someplace totally quiet and private, no time constraints at all, no interruptions. And nothing to do with sharing.”
“Really?” she asked in wonder.
He nodded.
“Oh.” She was thinking about pulling him back down on top of her on the couch. He knew it, too. She could tell by that flare of heat in his eyes as he watched her watching him.
She sighed, took his tie in her hand and gave it a tug. Grinning like the no-doubt wicked man he was, he happily lowered his mouth to hers once again. If she was going to be wicked herself, she might as well start right now with the time they had until his secretary did get back.
“You’re just trying to mess with me now,” he said stopping with his lips a breath away from hers.
“Yes,” she admitted.
“You know Lucy’s coming back, and you know I know, so you think you’re perfectly safe here with me. That I’m not going to really do anything.”
“Yes,” she agreed.
“That is so bad of you, Jane,” he said, still not kissing her. “And you’re supposed to be such a good girl.”
She’d been watching his eyes, his mouth, waiting for it to descend that last inch and kiss her again, and she hadn’t been paying attention to anything else. It wasn’t until she felt cool air on her chest that she realized he’d unbuttoned her blouse.
He took the tip of his nose and skimmed it along the line of her bra as it rose and fell over her breasts, nudging it aside here and there. Then he started playing with her skin with his tongue, his warm breath heating her nipples as he got closer and closer to them.
She gasped, ran a hand into his hair and grabbed on, trying to pull him away, but in the end, not having the will.
He nibbled on her collarbone, on the side of her neck. She just melted when he did that to her neck and was starting to rethink the whole sex-in-the-office thing.
Who
