of how he might taste. She put her hands out to keep a distance but her fingers curled into his shirt as if manipulated by some weird instinct that she just could not fight. ‘I can do still.’
‘Show me.’ Then his tongue licked along her bottom lip—and heck if she wasn’t frozen in place under his touch. Just the merest caress of his skin against hers had her anchored to the spot. All logic fled her brain and her body took over. Her eyes fluttered closed as that need swelled inside her. Hands held her shoulders as he dipped his head, his tongue moving over her mouth, gently teasing it open. Slowly. Achingly slowly. Every cell in her body jumped and danced but she didn’t move, not one inch, save for a stuttering breath and a heart that threatened to pound out of her chest.
Then, unable to resist any longer, she opened her mouth to him. He tasted of danger. Intense, unfettered heart-pounding danger. And, as if that was all the encouragement she needed, she pressed against him, deepening the kiss, arms curling around his neck, breasts brushing against that hard wall of muscle. His hands cupped her face, his kiss urgent but soft, taking and giving. But it was far from sweet. It was rash, it was hot, it was everything she expected from him—and yet so much more. His tongue stroked against hers and deep in her gut she burnt bright white heat, her belly tightened.
This was purely physical. Nothing more. But for once it was so good to feel the warmth of strong arms holding her, making her believe that for a small selfish moment she didn’t have to face everything on her own. Making her forget everything. Apart from this. Him.
His mouth traced a trail of kisses to her neck and she heard herself moan. Then he pulled her closer, groaning against her neck. The heat intensified to molten lava coursing through her body.
‘Let’s go upstairs,’ he murmured.
Upstairs. The old Cassie would have jumped at the chance. She was on the verge of agreeing when cold reality slammed through her. She had to go upstairs to the flat she could barely afford and make her peace with her spreadsheet. She could not invite a man into her space to distract her from her goal. However good a kisser he was. However much her hormones rallied against her in some kind of sexual guerrilla warfare.
And then she was pulling away, her brain a muddled blur of wants and shoulds and reasons not to. That had been one hell of a mind-melding kiss. All rational thought had abandoned her. ‘No. Look, I can’t. I need to go. Alone.’
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ And to be honest he looked a little unsettled too. Which gave her the tiniest amount of pleasure. Who’d have thought a kiss could rumple a man like Jack?
She sighed, rather too seductively for her liking because that was so not her intention. ‘I promised myself I wouldn’t do this. It’s not the right time.’ And if she was ever going to get involved with anyone in some parallel universe where she could actually trust a guy, it wouldn’t be him. It would be someone who didn’t do brackets, someone less bossy. Someone...her heart squeezed...no one.
‘I’m not looking for forever.’ The heat in his eyes began to dim. Fading. Fading...
She shrugged, wishing the light would dim inside her too, but it blazed too brightly. ‘Me neither. But I’m also not looking for this.’
And the light was gone...over and out. Stepping back, he shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘You sure about that? A kiss? Some fun?’
‘I’m sure. Totally sure. Definitely. Absolutely one hundred per cent sure.’ Once again she was saying words and hoping that she’d damn well soon believe them. Feel them.
He stood, mouth half smiling, with a bewildered look in his eyes which made him even more attractive. How easy it would be to take a chance. To say: to hell with everything. To kiss that confused look into something hotter and sexier and satiated.
So tempting to drag him up to her flat by the lapels and forget about the promises she’d made.
But she turned and forced her feet up the pale stone steps, let herself into her apartment and steadfastly refused to look out of the window to see if he was still standing there. Part of her secretly hoping he was still there—and wishing him gone at the same time. Pouring herself three large fingers of cooking brandy, she took a long drink to try to erase the delicious taste of him. Swallowed a handful of chocolate-coated cherries. The last delicious red velvet cupcake. Feta cheese squashed onto a cracker. God, if she carried on like this she wouldn’t fit into any of her clothes. Then she’d truly be the naked chef. Not a pretty prospect.
But it was no use. Jack was still there, with her, on her. There was no way she’d be able to make sense of those numbers on her spreadsheet now.
See? The infuriating man had messed up her timetable along with her resolve.
Looking around at her shabby but well-loved kitchen, she decided to do the only thing she knew that could relax her. So she set to work weighing and mixing, whisking egg whites and sugar and vanilla essence by hand until her arms hurt and she’d finally steadied her breathing. It took a while for her head to feel clearer and almost back to normal again as the scent of soft meringue cooking slowly in the oven filled the kitchen. But she knew it would take even longer to douse the heat zipping through her. She shouldn’t have let him walk her home. Shouldn’t have kissed him.
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