the flash of leggings-clad backside poking out of the open door, then took his time to admire the slender thighs and shapely calves rising from a pair of silver stilettos. A spark of interest danced along his veins. ‘Careful,’ he murmured with a grin. ‘You’re practically a married man.’
‘Doesn’t mean I’m dead.’
But Jake’s attention had focused on what looked like a neon sticker in the shape of a hand on the girl’s backside. ‘What is that?’ He squinted. The words Pat Me glittered in gold. ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ he murmured, still grinning. His grin faded. ‘Isn’t that Emma’s car?’
‘Reckon you’re right.’ Both men looked at each other. ‘Emma?’
They turned back to see her unfurling from the car’s depths. Dropping a loose soda can into the carton on her hip, she righted herself only to freeze in the headlights like a stunned, lanky-legged gazelle.
Incredulous, Jake felt his whole body tense as he took in the view. Hot. Over the leggings she wore a slinky white sleeveless top with a scooped neckline, blanched in the glare and highlighting enough curves to start her own Grand Prix.
‘Eyes off, buddy.’ He cleared his suddenly dry throat. ‘She’s about to become your sister-in-law.’
But Jake wasn’t honour-bound by any such restriction. Eyes still feasting on the mouthwatering sight, he unfolded himself and climbed out, leaning an elbow on the open door. Cool air hit him. He could smell burgers.
‘Emma. Wow.’
He gave himself a mental kick up the backside. Well said. Spoken like a freaking teenager. Where the hell were his sophisticated, urbane conversational skills? But his brain didn’t seem to be functioning because all his blood had drained below his belt.
She seemed to come out of her daze, eyes widening as they met his. ‘You’re not supposed to be here,’ she said, tight-lipped, as she turned and headed for the door at a rate of knots.
‘Careful …’ he called. Too late—he was already moving forward as he saw her stiletto bend and her ankle crumple. He heard her swear before she landed on that watch-worthy rear end in front of him, the carton she’d been carrying landing beside her.
Ryan rescued the carton with a muffled, ‘I’ll get Stella,’ and made his escape as Jake squatted beside her. ‘Emma?’ He reached for her elbows. ‘Are you okay?’
Emma groaned, but not nearly as much from the pain shooting up her calf as from her spectacular fall from grace in front of this man. She felt Jake’s hands on her, his warm breath washing over her face, and closed her eyes. ‘Just let me die now.’
She heard that rich caramel chuckle of his. He had both her shoes off before she could stop him. Gentle fingers probed her ankle, and a voice laced with calm concern and a hint of amusement said, ‘So this is what you girls get up to on hen nights. Ry and I were wondering.’
She started to shuffle away from him but felt her leggings snag on the rough cement. She heard a strange sound, like Velcro parting, and stopped abruptly. ‘I’m okay,’ she said, gritting her teeth. Or she would be if she didn’t die of embarrassment first. ‘Now go away.’
He moved around behind her, slid his hands beneath her arms and hauled her upright so that his body was in intimate contact with her back. His big, hot masculine body. Her practically naked back. And nothing but thin torn jersey between her bare bottom and his … pelvis. Liquid heat spurted into her cheeks, along her limbs and everywhere their bodies touched.
‘I told you I’m fine.’ She tried to shrug away from the intimate contact but he didn’t budge.
‘Test your weight on it,’ he ordered.
Her ankle tweaked when she set it on the ground but she stifled a wince and said, ‘See? Fine.’
‘Yeah, I can see.’
Ryan and the girls spilled out of the studio just as Jake swept her up into his arms. In an automatic reaction she clutched at his shoulders, and for an instant of lunacy she wallowed in the strength and heat surrounding her.
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