overwhelmed by desire the next. A smart man knew when to hold his questions for later.
Instead, he wrapped his hand around the back of her head and deepened the kiss. Her lips moved over his in sensual abandon, her tongue stroking against his in the kind of soul-deep kiss that made a man forget everything except the burning need to possess.
Desire pounded through him, heating his blood and tightening his groin. He fought against the desperate need to strip her naked and plow into her. A need that had been building within him for what seemed like years. Hell, probably had been years. As desperately as he wanted her, he didn’t want this. This frantic, rapid rush of sex without fulfillment.
He wanted more. He wanted all of her.
Rolling her over onto her back, he took control of the kiss. Her hand had started pulling his shirt out from his waistband. If her hot little hand so much as touched his bare chest, he’d lose the last shreds of his control. So he grabbed both her hands in his and pulled them over her head, pinning them there. She let out a low groan, arching her back off the bed.
Yes. This was what he wanted: her, on the brink. As desperate and needy as he felt.
He slowed the kiss down, exploring every sweet corner of her mouth. Loving her sleepy flavor, the faint hint of coffee. The smooth heat of her tongue against his. Her hips bucked against his as she ground the vee between her legs against the length of his erection. Even through the multiple layers of her clothes, he could feel the heat of her.
But it wasn’t enough. Merely kissing her would never be enough. Not when there was so much of her body left to explore. That silken shoulder that had been tempting him for so long. That tender swath of skin along her collarbone. The hollow at the base of her throat. The glimpse of her belly he sometimes saw when she rose up on her toes to get a fresh ream of printer paper.
His hand sought the hem of her shirt. He slipped his hand up to her rib cage, relishing how incredibly soft her skin was. He felt the edge of her bra and hesitated. He’d waited years to touch her naked skin. His hand damn near trembled at the prospect.
But was this really what he wanted? A quick grope in the guest bedroom when her family was just down the hall?
No, he wanted her naked. Laid out before him like a feast. He wanted hours. Days.
He wanted—
Jonathon’s head jerked up as he pulled back from Wendy and sent her a piercing look.
Her family was just down the hall. What the hell had she been—
A sound came from the doorway. A man clearing his voice.
Jonathon whipped his head around and saw Wendy’s parents standing in the doorway. Her mom, a perfect, older version of Wendy, stood with her hands propped on her hips, but the teasing smile on her lips softened any reproach in her gaze. Wendy’s father, on the other hand, looked ready to throttle him.
With good reason.
The man had just caught him groping his daughter like a desperate teenager.
Wendy’s dad growled—actually growled—with displeasure and took a step toward him. Wendy’s mother grabbed her husband by the arm. Though the petite woman couldn’t possibly have had the strength to stop the man in his tracks, her touch still gave him pause.
“Wendy, your father and I will be waiting for you in the hall. Why don’t you come out in a minute when you’ve had a chance to get yourselves… under control.”
A moment later the guest bedroom door closed.
Jonathon rolled off Wendy, planted his feet firmly on the ground and dropped his head into his waiting hands.
What a mess.
Wendy’s parents—waiting in the hall with her dad looking as if he wanted to chew his ass out—were the least of his worries. Whatever criticism they’d deliver he’d take.
None of it would come even close to the talking to he was going to give himself. He’d completely lost control. For several moments there, he’d forgotten where they were. Forgotten that she wasn’t really his to take whenever he wanted. Forgotten that this was merely a sham.
Worse still, she hadn’t. Clearly, she’d manipulated the situation—manipulated him—all so that her family wouldn’t notice the fact that she’d obviously slept in the guest room. And it hadn’t even occurred to him that that’s what she had been doing.
He drew in several deep breaths, but barely felt calmer. The scent of her was heavy in the air, and with every breath she only seemed to fill more of the room, rather than less. That faint pepperminty smell that was uniquely her. His very hands seemed steeped in her.
He sat fully up, looking over his shoulder. She’d scrambled back into the corner of the bed, pressed against the headboard. She looked almost afraid of him. He didn’t blame her. His control felt too shaky just now to offer her any reassurances.
She bit down on her lip as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. It was a ridiculous effort, fixing that one strand of hair when the rest were still so mussed.
“I—” she started to say, then cleared her throat. “Boy, that was close.”
Not trusting himself to say anything just yet, he merely raised one eyebrow. Apparently she had no idea just how close that had been. Just how lucky she was that her parents had walked in, since he’d been about three minutes away from taking her right there.
“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I couldn’t think of any other way to distract them from the bed.”
He pushed himself to his feet. “I doubt your parents noticed the bed.”
She scrambled up onto her knees. “No. I mean, that was the idea, right?”
He gave a tight little nod, hating her a little bit in that moment. Or at least hating that she was still thinking coherently when he’d lost the ability. “Yeah,” he said as blandly as he could manage. “Apparently it was.”
“I—” She climbed off the bed, coming to stand right beside him. “I’m sorry.”
He was struck suddenly by how petite she was. Standing flat-footed beside him, the top of her head barely reached his chin. And yet, she never seemed small. She had more than enough personality to fill a woman half a foot taller. And more than enough strength of will to stand up to him.
He hadn’t been able to face her father without embarrassing himself a few minutes ago, but her endless stream of excuses certainly killed the mood. She hadn’t been as affected by the kiss as he had. Fine. But she could damn well stop harping on it.
“Stop apologizing,” he ordered. “We all make mistakes. I’m just not used to making such stupid ones.”
She opened her mouth as if to say something, but snapped it shut again when he brusquely smoothed down her hair. Then, since he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off her, he pressed one quick kiss to her forehead. “Let’s go face your parents.”
Some
