this at all, started to pull away. Jonas growled a harsh no against her mouth and moved his hand from her breast to the back of her head to keep her in place. She wasn’t going anywhere, Kat realized, and when his mouth started to move, she also realized she didn’t want to.
Jonas Halstead was kissing her. It was candy floss and crack, sunshine and sin, pleasure and pain. He took command of her mouth, his tongue tangling with hers in a sexy dance. Kat, senseless, pulled his shirt from the back of his pants and put her hands on his hot, masculine skin. Jonas groaned his pleasure and she ran her palms over his gorgeous ass, annoyed at the barrier of clothes between her fingers and his flesh.
Jonas kissed the corner of her mouth and trailed his lips over her jaw, down her neck. It had been a long time since a man had kissed her liked this, touched her like she was something infinitely precious and incandescently gorgeous. She’d missed this. His teeth scraped across her collarbone. The tiny sting and the wave of pleasure made Kat’s eyes fly open. Her gaze landed on the dress.
The one he’d just offered to pay for.
Kat stiffened in his arms as dismay swamped desire. Oh, God, did he think she was taking the money and this was her way of showing her gratitude? Did he think she was so easily manipulated? Did he think she was desperate, so eager to be with a man who was supposed to be brilliant at business? And in bed?
What the hell was wrong with her?
Kat jerked away from him and wrapped her hands around her waist.
“What did I do?”
Cynicism returned and Kat snorted, convinced he’d practiced that expression of puzzled surprise. “I’m not taking your check and, to be very clear, I’m not sleeping with you.”
Jonas’s eyes turned frosty. “I didn’t make that assumption,” he said, his soft voice holding an edge of danger. “And sex is not what I came for.”
“Really?” Kat whipped out the words. “You didn’t take very long to kiss me.”
Jonas jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, those clever lips now thin with anger. “I’d like to point out that you didn’t fight me off.” He pulled on the tail of his shirt before tucking it back into his pants. “This shirt didn’t pull itself loose.”
Kat blushed, dropped her eyes and released an irritated sigh.
“Why are you mad, Katrina? Because I kissed you or because you liked it and wanted me to do more?”
Neither. Both. Crap.
Kat, feeling thoroughly off balance, brushed past him, deliberately connecting her shoulder with the top of his bicep before storming toward the hallway. Her attempt at intimidation had as much impact as a fly trying to move a cow.
When she reached her front door, she pulled it open and, when Jonas reached her, she gestured for him to keep on walking. “Just go.”
“No. You’re obviously upset and I want to know why.”
She could never explain. For the first time in four years, for a few minutes in his arms, she’d felt protected, not so alone. She’d felt like the world wasn’t conspiring against her, that life would get better, that things would eventually be okay. It had nothing to do with the check but everything to do with his strength, the power that radiated from him. He made her feel stronger...
God, he made her want to lean, to ask for help, to think that maybe, someday, she could trust someone again. Love someone again. He made her remember what attraction and pleasure and, dammit, what affection felt like. She’d deliberately pushed all of that away, locked all those emotions and memories in a box, refusing to look at them. Memories hurt, dammit.
But one kiss from Halstead had snapped that lock like it was made of spun sugar. She couldn’t allow herself to look back; she couldn’t afford to remember. It hurt too damn much. And, worse, it might tempt her to make the same mistakes she had before.
“Please go.”
“Katrina...”
Kat was quite convinced that her head was one minute away from exploding. Anger rolled in—so much easier to deal with than fear. “My name,” she yelled, “is Kat! I’m twenty-eight years old. I haven’t had sex in four years. I’m flat broke and I’ve done no work to prepare for my LCA final! I’m exhausted and I don’t need this! I have exactly one nerve left and you’re friggin’ standing on it. Go away!”
Kat felt her lungs pumping, heard the buzzing in her head and knew that if he attempted to speak again, she would kill him. Slowly. With her bare hands. It didn’t matter that he was twice her size, she had so much adrenaline and unused sexual energy pumping around her system that she could take on a herd of angry hippos and win. Jonas Halstead didn’t have a chance in hell.
Jonas sent her a you’re-bat-crap-crazy look and walked into the hallway.
Kat slammed the door closed behind him and stomped through her living room into her bedroom. Climbing into bed, she pulled the covers over her head and wished she could just stay there for the rest of her life.
Because, dammit, Jonas Halstead’s check was still on her coffee table. And because she was now, more than ever, tempted to cash it.
Jonas looked up when Sian walked into his office and slammed the door behind her. He lifted his eyebrows, leaned back in his chair and waited for her to offload. He knew, from experience, that it wouldn’t take long.
She went into all they had to do in their temporary office in Santa Barbara. The builders at Cliff House had found mold in the basement, the masons rebuilding the stone walkways were behind schedule and the anchor tenant destined for their new mall in Austin, Texas, now had cold feet. The investors for a ski resort in Whistler were uneasy—global downturn, less disposable income, global warming—and their head of human resources was moving to the East Coast.
Yet all Jonas could think about was the hot kiss he’d shared with Katrina—Kat—and the fact that she had yet to cash his check. Damned stubborn woman.
Walking away from her instead of taking her where they’d stood had required every bit of self-control he’d possessed. He’d never become so lost in a kiss, so carried away in a woman’s arms. He’d loved kissing her, touching her, and would have loved to have done more.
So much more.
That was all well and good but he didn’t like the fact that Kat Morrison, hostess at the best restaurant in Santa Barbara—flat broke and currently celibate—had the ability to make him forget his own name.
He didn’t like that at all.
But he couldn’t stop thinking about her, remembering how soft her skin had felt under his hands, the spice of her mouth, those breathy sounds she’d made in the back of her throat. And her smell, something clean and natural, seemed lodged in his nose. He was also—and this was worrying—curious and, worse, concerned about her. She had a good job, why was she broke? Why didn’t she have a boyfriend? She’d mentioned an LCA final and, as he remembered from his college days, that stood for Leadership and Corporate Accountability—part of the MBA program. He could handle her
