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She scrambled to her feet and walked to the end of the deck. Turned her back to him. Staring out at the murmuring sea, she wrapped her arms around herself. “I miss Deb every minute of every day.” The little catch in her voice revealed her battle against sorrow. “But …” She straightened her spine, raised her chin. “I don’t have time for self-pity. I need to funnel all my energy into the custody battle and ensuring Casey’s life is stable and secure.”
Her familiar, bravely determined gesture decimated his resolve. He rose and strode to her. Ignoring the warning sirens blaring inside his head, he stroked her satiny waterfall of golden hair.
But one touch was no longer enough.
“Aw,hell.” His fingers tangled in the soft mass. His other hand gripped her shoulder, turned her around. He captured her mouth, dove in to the sweet, hot haven. She tasted like warm peaches.
Drugged by her scent, crazed by her taste, he took … and took … and yet she gave him more.
When he finally eased back slightly, dizzy and gasping for oxygen, Jillian’s palm that had been pressed to his chest slid down to drop limply at her side. She uttered a low, throaty purr that eclipsed the warning bells.
Flaring warning intowanting.
Fingers still entangled at her nape, he wrapped a possessive arm around her waist, tugged her close until her body plastered against his. When he again delved into her mouth, his remaining brain cells incinerated.
His thudding heart leapt into his throat, every sense burning alive in her essence. God help him, he was in way too deep … and didn’t care. Caught in her silky feel, her erotic feminine fragrance, her generous kisses that promised exquisite sin.
Her lush curves trembled against him, revving his body for action. The longer he held her, the more he savored her … and the more he craved her.
He cupped her ass, glorying in riding her softness against his hard need, both of them careening on the sharp, razor edge of passion. Her shaking ramping up, her mouth fused to his, she moaned—and he tasted the desperate heat, thrilled at the power of her complete surrender to him.
He could have her. Here. Now.
Kissing Jillian felt eerily like he’d finally found a home.
Zane tensed.
He, of all people, knew home was a treacherous place.
He was speeding headlong into a crash-and-burn at a thousand screaming miles per second. If he didn’t stop, stopnow,the primal instinct to make her his would overtake all reason. And they’d end up between the sheets, naked and sweaty.
Followed by the disturbing consequences—and complications.
All he could offer Jillian was sex. Greedy, all-consuming, short-term sex. He could not afford the cost of getting tangled up with her.
Zane dragged in a scorching breath. No.Shecouldn’t afford to get tangled up with him. Physically or otherwise.
Dragging in another breath, he brutally subjugated his desires. Forced himself to pull back, release her.
Her creamy skin was damp and flushed, her eyes huge and dark … and dazed. “Zane,” she whispered huskily. “I want—”
“Not the same thing I do.” He battled the savage caveman urge to scoop her up into his arms and carry her upstairs to his bed. Aching with loss he didn’t quite understand, he took another step back. “This was a mistake.” He hoped he didn’t sound as splintered as he felt. With the blood roaring fast and hot in his ears, he couldn’t hear his own voice.
She gulped. “B-but …”
Over the years, he’d become an expert at detaching and shutting down. Because he couldn’t trust himself not to reach for her—and knew he wouldn’t have the strength to let go of her again—he pivoted and strode toward the patio door. “I’ll collect Deb’s things from you tomorrow and contact my security guy. If Deb was murdered, we’ll nail the bastard. Dinner was terrific, especially the pie. Good night.”
The taut silence beat louder than his pulse as he stepped into the house.
He’d slid the door nearly shut when she said, “Sweet dreams, Mr. Big Bad.”
The ragged tenderness mingled with abject confusion in her soft farewell would’ve stabbed him in his now frighteningly unprotected heart—if he hadn’t quickly dodged the blade.
If you only knew.
Grinding his teeth, he loped upstairs toward yet another cold shower followed by a long, lonely night.
Self-discipline was a wicked bitch of a mistress.
