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Kelsi plopped into the chair and put her elbow on the table, closing her eyes as she rested her head in her hand. ‘A black coffee would be fantastic.’ Coffee would kick her back together—because this brainless behaviour could no longer be her.
Jack paused and looked at the paler-than-pale petite woman in front of him. You’d think she’d been the one hit by the car, not him. Truth be told he’d hardly been touched, had thumped his fist on the bonnet and dodged to avoid it. But doing that had wrenched his weak knee—hence the worsening of the limp. The surgery had been a couple of weeks ago, but right now it felt as if it had been yesterday.
He walked to the counter, trying to stretch out the soreness the sudden movement had caused, hoping it wasn’t going to set his progress back. He was desperate to get training again.
He ordered from Viv, the barista, but she had his half made already and it took nothing for her to make another. So in seconds he was heading back to the dangerous driver, two steaming cups in hand. Beneath his breath he chuckled as he looked at her slim back and the wild mess that was her hair—she had no idea, did she?
He put the drinks on the table, ripped open three sachets of sugar and tipped them into the first cup. He stirred the liquid round a bit with a spoon and then pushed the cup towards her.
‘I don’t take sugar.’ A weak smile as she slumped against the back of the seat.
‘You do today.’ Strong, hot and sweet. It was exactly what she needed.
He watched while she took a sip—one, then a much bigger gulp. Then she exhaled.
‘Better?’ He couldn’t help laughing.
‘Much.’
Yeah, her crazy-coloured eyes were focused now, and she sat up straight. That was also good because when she’d been flopped back like that, the thin strap of her dress had slipped. He’d seen the lacy edging of a pretty black bra and he shouldn’t be thinking about sex this second. But he was—and had been the last six hundred seconds, or so. Ever since he’d first laid eyes on her.
Not appropriate. That wasn’t why he’d insisted on getting her a coffee. No, he’d done that because he wanted to let her know she hadn’t done any damage. He’d seen the guilt on her face as he’d walked towards her—she thought she’d done that to his knee. He needed to relieve her of that burden because she was the type to have nightmares about it for weeks. A little bit of sweetness wrapped up in ‘wannabe different’ city slicker sophistication with her all-black, all-attitude couture.
But first, there was something else he had to tend to. He stood, barely resisting the urge to laugh again, and walked round the table. She stiffened as he touched her.
‘Easy,’ he murmured. ‘You’ll make it worse.’
The comb was well and truly caught—knotted in the mass of curls at the back of her head. She hadn’t realised, of course, and he heard her gasp as she did now. Amusement washed over him and he wanted to make her laugh about it, too. Except she was too busy blushing. Seeing the colour in her cheeks was good, hearing her breathing quicken was even better. So he affected her?
Excellent. Because he was still suffering from a severe lust attack. He tried to concentrate on the tangled bit of plastic but up this close he found out her hair was extremely curly and shockingly blonde and also soft and smelt flower sweet. Like her eyes, the colour was fake, but her natural shade must be reasonably light because there wasn’t any darkness showing at the roots. Or maybe she’d just had it done. Jack was used to blondes and their high-maintenance hair, but he’d never seen blonde as snow white as this. Or as messy.
He swallowed, his mouth dry, as he bent closer to free her hair from the comb without hurting her. Her scent was all he could taste. She turned him on as if he hadn’t been turned on in a long while—and Jack was no stranger to sex.
Well, not usually. The knee op had put paid to any and all kinds of fun for a while—both on the snow and in the bedroom. That must be the reason for this intense reaction to this woman, right? Because petite pieces of fragility like her didn’t usually do it for him. He was into strong, athletic women who could match his needs, not slim things who looked as if they’d blow over in a light wind.
And he definitely wasn’t into overly emotional women. No to neediness, thanks very much—his lifestyle didn’t let him offer much to anyone, certainly not much in the way of emotional support. But when he’d seen the softness of her soul in those moments when she’d thought she’d hurt him, that womanly sweetness had been achingly tempting—the blinking back of the tears and the trembling lips. Yeah, her lips. Their crushed-rose colour—unlike so much else of her—was natural. Neither a glossy nor matte finish adorned them. They were full and deep and inviting all on their own.
He’d badly wanted to kiss her feelings better.
He wanted to do more than kiss her now. He was imagining scooping her up in his arms—it’d be so easy, and so delightful to nibble on the delicacies hidden under that to-the-floor, funeral-march-style dress.
He was in for an even longer spell of abstinence. That was the problem. Knowing he had another four weeks ahead of him with no chance of getting any had put sex at the forefront of his brain. That was why he was struggling to control his body in the middle of a busy cafe. That was why he was attracted to a woman as wrong a playmate for him as a piranha was as wrong a tank buddy for an angelfish.
Carefully he worked the comb free. It took longer than he’d thought it would, but he didn’t mind. He hadn’t known he had a touch of the masochist in him. That he’d like the torture of his fingers brushing accidentally against her and not touching how he really wanted to. He throbbed with the temptation to run his fingers right through and muss up her hair even more. Yeah, the upcoming physical rehab session was making him wild-dog horny. He gritted his teeth and tried to concentrate on the job, not on the urges thudding through his blood.
Impossible. Pale, soft, striking, she sat like a statue before him, her embarrassment radiating out. But there was more to the heat, wasn’t there?
Jack was used to being wanted. He enjoyed being wanted—to be pleased and to please. So he knew the signs. Sometimes he ignored them, sometimes he didn’t.
But now his knee had stopped its death-pain throbbing, he knew he was going to succumb to the most debilitating bout of temptation he’d ever experienced. Even though it was probably inappropriate, he couldn’t resist. He liked the unexpected. He liked a challenge. He liked to live on the edge.
So what if he had less than twenty-four hours? So what if he should be in some boring meeting? That made it all the more delicious. Jack Greene knew how to make the most of every minute.
TWO
Kelsi just couldn’t look Jack in the eye as he waved the comb in front of her before placing it on the table. She barely mumbled her thanks as he sat back down in the chair opposite her.
So she was too late for her appointment at the super spa. So she’d had a lime-green comb caught in the back of her hair. So she’d run over a prime piece of male. So she’d nearly hyperventilated when that prime piece had stood so close and so carefully got that comb out and all she’d been able to think about was how tall he was and how gentle, despite the way he was built...
