The Millionaire's Club: Jacob, Logan and Marc. Brenda JacksonЧитать онлайн книгу.
with her mouth. It wasn’t practiced. It wasn’t expert. But, oh, was it enthusiastic. And that enthusiasm was infectious. He hadn’t planned to kiss her back. But there was the surprise factor. And the heat factor. And the warm, soft woman factor that, combined, sucked him in, egged him on and dragged him under.
He widened his legs, pulled her between them and dived into the kiss like a pearl diver on a treasure hunt. He urged her mouth open, swept inside her sweet, wet heat with his tongue while pressing her into his growing erection with one hand at the small of her back. His other hand pressed between her shoulder blades, encouraging the pressure of her breasts against his chest.
And sweet ambrosia, she tasted good. The soft sounds she made deep in her throat fostered a low growl of his own that had him leaning back on the top of his desk, bringing her with him. He heard something crash to the floor, didn’t care what it was because her full weight covered him now—sexy and hot and pressing in all the right places.
If their sudden horizontal tango gave her pause, she didn’t let on. In fact, she really got into the kiss then. She’d let go of his face and buried her hands in his hair, all the while squirming and sighing and doing a little pressing of her own.
He loved it. Loved the honest lust. The exuberant response. But most of all he loved the way they fit, the heady friction as she moved above him, dragging him deeper into the heat of the moment and further away from the consequences.
He was ready to take it to the next level. Make love to her right there on the top of his desk, in the middle of Monday, when she lifted her head. Looked down into his eyes through those drowsy hazel eyes of hers and in the most slumberous, seductive voice he’d ever heard, she whispered, “Consider that payment for lesson one. Come through with lesson two and there’ll be more where that came from.”
Then, as if she hadn’t just played the most amazing game of tonsil tag he’d ever been a party to, she pushed herself off him, straightened her top and left him flat on his back.
“When you do come up with lesson number two,” she said, turning around with one hand on the door handle, “give me a call.” Then she left him. Hot and bothered. Hard and hungry.
When the blood returned to his head several long minutes later, he eased himself to a sitting position. When he could take a breath that didn’t smell of her—something fresh and citrusy—he carefully stood.
For the longest time he just stared at the closed door. Finally he raked both hands through his hair, swore, then dropped into his desk chair. He let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling.
What the hell had just happened here?
He felt as if he’d been hit by a tank. At the very least, by a whirlwind in the guise of Chrissie Travers.
Prissy? He’d never again think of her that way.
But he would think of her. She’d made sure of that.
He’d be thinking about just how silky her skin might be. How those soft breasts would feel pressed against his palm, how they’d taste on his tongue. About how much heat the two of them could generate on a big bed instead of a hard desk.
None of that was supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to kiss her again, to flirt with her again, to charm her again, let alone think about making love to her.
But she’s the one who had done the kissing. And the flirting. And the charming.
And the challenging, he realized as a tight knot of grudging respect twisted into anger. The minx had turned the tables on him. She’d leveled a dare. He was the one who had always been in control of their relationship—if you could call what they’d had until Saturday night a relationship. Mostly it had been a good-natured—at least on his part—razzfest. He teased. She bristled. He’d liked it that way.
But then he’d been stupid enough to kiss her. He’d used the weekend to put that kiss into perspective, chalked it up to stupidity. End of story. Until the woman had barged in here, added another chapter to the book and confused the hell out of him with her talk about “old me” and “new me” before attacking him with those sizzling, mind-bending kisses.
Now he was in a daze. And that just plain fried his circuits. He did not get bent out of shape over a woman. It wasn’t allowed. It wasn’t supposed to happen.
So why had it?
He stood and walked to the window. Maybe he was bored. Since he’d damaged his lungs in that damn fire five years ago, he’d had to be satisfied with the management end of his own business. Sure, it was rewarding. But it was dull. He’d joined the Texas Cattleman’s Club hoping for a little excitement, but so far all the thrill he’d gotten was to listen to the exploits of other club members. Hearing those stories about saving countries or princesses only served to remind Jake of his limitations.
Chrissie had been a handy distraction. One that he’d let get out of hand.
Well, there was only one thing to do about it, he decided as the haze began to lift. This couldn’t go on. He had to regain the upper hand. And he knew how to do it.
He was going to call her bluff.
Little Chrissie wanted to take a walk on the wild side? Well, then, he would give her the walk of her life. That would put an end to her hit-and-run kisses. Put an end to her messing with his head.
He’d come up with something so wild and so foreign to her straitlaced nature that she’d run like a rabbit and he’d never see her sweet face again. Yeah. He’d fix her little red wagon and reclaim his equilibrium in the process.
He felt marginally better about the situation until he dragged a hand over his face and realized how unsteady he still was.
Why in the hell hadn’t he let her win the bid on Jess Golden’s things? Then none of this would be happening.
She’d done it.
Between sharp bouts of disbelief that left her tummy tumbling and moments of pride at her own audacity, Christine couldn’t stop grinning. She’d marched into Jake Thorne’s domain and told him what she thought, told him what she expected from him. Then she’d kissed him.
Well, okay, there had been a little waffling in there, but she’d gotten it together. Oh, had she gotten it together.
Another one of those waves of disbelief swamped her as she signaled for a left turn and headed out of the city. She’d shocked him. Heck, she’d shocked herself. Never in her life had she initiated a kiss. Never in her life had she experienced such a strong sexual reaction. Okay, so her experience was severely limited, but could it get any hotter than that kiss in Jake’s office? On his desk?
She wasn’t sure where her actions had come from—instinct maybe. Maybe from years of watching movies and reading books and living vicariously through them. Whatever, she’d been a tiger.
She felt good. She felt great! The sun was high and hot, her brand-new convertible’s top was down and the wind whipped her hairstyle around her face—something she’d never allowed with her longer hair. It was freeing. And exciting.
“It’s the new me!” she shouted into the wind, inched her speed up to a shocking two miles per hour above the speed limit and switched her radio station from the classics to classic rock. She felt like a little kid writing on the walls with crayons or a teenager skipping class.
Actually she was skipping work. Technically she was taking a personal day—something she never did just for the heck of it. It felt naughty. And, wonder of wonders, she liked it.
She couldn’t wait to call Alison to tell her what was going on.
And she couldn’t wait to hear from Jake to find out what the second lesson would be.
There would be another lesson. She may have discovered some new sides to Jake Thorne during the past few days, but there was one thing about the man she’d always known.
He never backed down from a dare. He wouldn’t