doing.
She’d dreamed about being this close to Jake since she’d met him a little over a year ago. He’d never given her the slightest encouragement to believe he felt any sort of attraction between them, however, and she’d all but given up hoping he ever would. It was tempting to violate Rule Number One, but Hope firmly resisted the urge.
When he danced right through a third song, she rested the side of her head against his shoulder and inhaled deeply, savoring the faint, spicy scent of his aftershave. She felt, more than heard him release a sigh. His arm tightened one last time, pulling her flush against him.
His body definitely was attracted to hers. She raised her head. Oh, dear. His gaze met hers and for the first time ever, she glimpsed something hot and excitingly dangerous lurking in the depths of his eyes.
With her breasts firmly pressed against his chest, she felt his heart thumping in tandem with hers. Her lips formed his name, but no sound emerged. He stopped moving and stood there, studying her as if he’d never seen her before.
His gaze latched on to her mouth. Time slowed, slowed, slowed, and she feared it would stop altogether and he never would kiss her the way he so clearly wanted to do. The way she so desperately wanted him to do.
But then, inch by agonizing inch, he lowered his head. One second she was dying of anticipation. The next, she was in heaven, reveling in the firm pressure of his lips against hers, tasting the bite of whiskey when his tongue entered her mouth, hearing a half-stifled groan fighting its way out of his throat.
Giving herself up to the experience, she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck. Slid her fingers through his thick black hair. Stroked the edges of his teeth with the tip of her tongue.
He nearly inhaled her whole, body and soul.
Kissing him was better than any kiss she’d ever seen on the silver screen. Better than any kiss she’d ever read about in anyone else’s book. Better than any kiss she’d ever imagined and written about in her own books. If the reviewers were to be believed, she’d imagined and written some of the best, steamiest kisses in the history of print.
Nothing—real or imagined—compared to Jake McBride’s kiss.
Heat. Hunger. Passion. They were all there in the movement and pressure of his lips, his tongue and his teeth. In the strength of his arms holding her as if he never intended to let her go. In the unmistakable ridge of his arousal pressing against her through two layers of clothing.
Her pulse raced. Her knees turned mushy. A hot, achy sensation invaded her lower belly.
She felt as if the Universe had read her every fantasy of what a perfect kiss should be and delivered it all in one perfect, dizzying rush of pleasure.
Then he stiffened. As suddenly as he’d started kissing her, Jake yanked his mouth away. Hope opened her eyes and found him staring at her, looking shocked and disoriented, his broad chest heaving as if he were having trouble catching his breath. The sound of laughter and catcalls nearly drowned out the music.
A horrified expression crossed his face. He released her and stepped back so quickly she stumbled and would’ve fallen if he hadn’t grabbed her elbow to steady her. The instant she found her balance, he let go again, muttering something that sounded like, “Sorry, Hope.”
Without another word, he turned and strode off. Hope glanced around at the other dancers and the guests seated at the tables, many of them Jake’s grinning relatives. Uh-oh. She gave them all a quelling scowl, then picked up her long skirt and hurried after Jake.
A devastating sense of disappointment washed over her to have such a wonderful moment spoiled. If she didn’t get to Jake in a hurry, he’d draw so far back into his shell, she’d never be able to coax or pry him out again. She found him leaning against the fence between the corral and the horse pasture, his elbows propped on the top rail, his back and shoulders as stiff as the fence posts.
From the far end of the pasture, a big, buckskin gelding raised his head and nickered, then ambled toward Jake. Hope smoothed down her dress and climbed onto the bottom fence rail, raising herself to his eye level. Three other horses followed the buckskin. Propping her arms beside Jake’s, Hope silently watched the animals approach, searching for something to say.
“Jake?” It wasn’t much, but it was the best she could come up with at the moment.
“You shouldn’t have come out here.”
His voice sounded gruff and not the least bit friendly, which wasn’t at all like the Jake she knew. He’d always been pleasant, even when she knew she was annoying the devil out of him. “You seemed…upset when you left.”
“I’m fine.”
She studied him closely. His eyes had become narrow slits. His nostrils flared. A muscle along the side of his jaw ticked madly. She’d heard he had a healthy temper but had never seen it. She suspected, however, she was about to make its acquaintance. How interesting.
“You’re not fine,” she said, using the same, patient tone she’d use with a pesky reporter. “I just had the most spectacular kiss of my entire life, but you’re definitely upset.”
His neck and ears turned a dark reddish color. “Leave it alone, Hope. Forget about that kiss, and—”
“Forget about it?” She laughed in astonishment at the very idea. “Oh, I don’t believe that’s likely to happen. I don’t believe you’re going to forget it, either.”
The horses arrived at the fence. Jake scratched the buckskin’s forehead. “That kiss never should’ve happened.”
“You’ve wanted to kiss me for weeks.” She patted a black mare’s glossy neck. “If you weren’t such a big coward—”
“Coward! You think I’ve been afraid to kiss you?”
“I’ve given you every encouragement but an engraved invitation. What other explanation could there be?”
“It never occurred to you that I might not’ve been interested in kissing you?”
She chuckled. Now she’d nicked his ego, and of course he had to retaliate. “Jake, Jake, Jake, there’s been a lovely little sizzle between us since we met last summer. Please, don’t even try to pretend you haven’t been aware of it.”
He gave her a frown hot enough to start a forest fire, but kept his voice low in deference, she assumed, to the horses. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about. I’m polite to most everybody and I try to be a gentleman where women are concerned, but—”
“It’s more than politeness—”
“Only in your dreams.”
Her own temper began to simmer, but she’d never let him see it. Rule Number Two for a Happy Universe—never let them see when words stung. She shot a meaningful glance at the fly of his slacks and grinned. “Funny, it didn’t feel like…politeness when you were kissing me.”
“Well, don’t turn any cartwheels over it. That’s never gonna happen again.”
“I beg your pardon?” she asked in her sweetest tone. “I believe you enjoyed that kiss as much as I did.”
