Part 6 (1/2)

”The wedding. When?”

She only stared at him, her gaze sliding from his mouth, to his eyes, then back to his mouth.

Imagine that. Emma Lynn Hewitt had nothing to say.

He answered the question for her. ”I'll tell you when. Tomorrow. First thing. We'll fly to Vegas. We can be back in L.A. by tomorrow night.”

”Tomorrow?” She looked more bewildered by the second. She also looked aroused. Jonas decided he liked her that way. Aroused and bewildered. And at a loss for words.

”Tomorrow,” he repeated. ”I have some important meetings on Wednesday. I'll need to be back in town for those.”

”Oh. Important meetings. Of course.”

Jonas found himself debating the pros and cons of a kiss. He did want to taste her but no. Waiting would be better. Tomorrow night, he'd be kissing his wife.

The idea sent a bolt of heat through him. All at once, he was rock-hard.

Yes. It could be amusing, to be married for a year.

Marriage wasn't for him. He never would have willingly agreed to such a thing. But since his dotty mother had fixed it so he had to marry, well, at least he'd be marrying a woman who, he might as well admit it now, had begun to intrigue him.

She was so deliciously contradictory. The high moral standards, the do-it-to-me shoes...

And it was only temporary. Might as well make the best of it.”I'll pick you up at your house,” he said. ”Be packed and ready. Say, ten o'clock ?””Ten. Tomorrow morning? I don't ... it's all so fast...” She was hedging suddenly, backing toward the door.

Perhaps, he decided, a kiss was in order, after all.

”Emma Lynn.”

”What?”

”Stand still.”She froze but her mouth kept going. ”I ... I have to go. Really. I can't-””Soon.” He closed the s.p.a.ce she'd put between them.She looked up at him, her eyes jewel-green now, soft lips slightly parted. ”Uh. No. I think I should go now.”

He bent his head, brought his mouth to a distance of one inch from hers. ”Now?”

”Now...”

He hardly had to move at all, just that inch and he had her mouth. She gasped, and then she stiffened.

He remained absolutely still, mouth to mouth with her, waiting.

Until she sighed. Her breath was sweet, as if she'd been eating apples. And the dewy-rose scent of her was all around him.

Slowly, so as not to startle her, he took her shoulders and very gently pushed the raincoat away. It collapsed to the floor.

She made a small, urgent sound in her throat, a word that didn't quite take form. A protest, a plea? He couldn't have said.

And he didn't care. Her mouth parted a tiny bit more. He slipped his tongue inside and pulled her body in to his.

Chapter 7.

T he kiss went on for a long, long time.

Somewhere in the back of Emma's mind, a voice that sounded very much like her aunt Ca.s.s scolded her roundly, telling her to stop this foolishness, to stop it right now.

But Emma was not listening to the wise voice of her dead aunt. She was too busy kissing Jonas back, moaning and sighing, rubbing her shameless self against him, running her hands over his huge hard shoulders, along his big neck and up into his thick brown hair.

My goodness, the man knew how to use that tongue of his. And she didn't mean for talking, no she did not. And his hands were every bit as busy as her hands, sliding all along her rib cage, and around to her back, then cupping her bottom and yanking her in even closer to him.

He was on her like paint. And she was loving it loving the feel of those big hands on her skin when he pushed up the puckered lace of her s.h.i.+rt and caressed what he uncovered.

Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were just aching for him to hurry up and get there. And she was, well, she was getting very damp, real humid down south, everything opening and softening, hungry and ready.

He was ready, too. She could feel him, down at the base of her belly hard, wanting her. Just like she wanted him.

This couldn't be happening. With Jonas Bravo, of all people. They didn't even like each other.

Did they?

She moaned. He moaned. His tongue did naughty things to her tongue and his hands, like her hands, would not be still.

Until he grasped her shoulders.

And, very gently, pushed her away.

Her eyes popped open. He was holding her at arm's length, those incredible hands of his firm on her shoulders. She stared at him. His lips looked bruised. She didn't even want to think about what her lips must look like. They had kissed so hard and long, they'd probably injured themselves.

”Time to go home, Emma Lynn,” he said tenderly.

”Home,” she repeated, in the voice of a woman hypnotized.

He smoothed her hair and tugged on the hem of her s.h.i.+rt, which had gotten all bunched up beneath her bra. Then he knelt and scooped up her coat. ”Turn around.”

She obeyed, still feeling as if she'd been sucked in to some kind of trance. Her body felt all quivery, and her brain felt way too slow, as if someone had filled her head with big, soft handfuls of fluffy cotton b.a.l.l.s.

”Give me your arm,” he said, that rough-velvet voice of his driving her crazy, making her wish she could just turn around and throw herself on him, just climb him like a tree.

But some shred of dignity must have remained to her. She did not act on her wish. She did what he told her to do. She gave him her arm. He put it into the sleeve of her coat.

”Now the other arm.”

She gave him that one, too. He guided the coat up and settled it onto her shoulders.

”There,” he said, and touched her, at the nape of her neck. She s.h.i.+vered. He made a low, knowing sound in his throat, and he rubbed his finger up and down along the back of her neck, causing heated little goose b.u.mps to rise, making her s.h.i.+ver all over again.

She let her head drop forward, giving him easier access, and she couldn't stop the tiny moan that pushed its way out of her throat.