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He stuffed one leg, then the other into black drawstring workout pants he’d brought, anticipating the need to stay in the same room with Jillian for their “wedding night.”
He hadn’t anticipated having his hands all over her. He swallowed hard.Inside her.
He sucked in oxygen. He hadn’t anticipated her generously wicked mouth on him, the carnal strokes of her tongue loving him into coming so fucking hard he’d had an out-of-body episode.
Zane jerked on a gray tank top. He was so tangled up inside, he didn’t know whether to scratch his watch or wind his ass.
He stared at his stunned reflection in the mirror. And wasn’t the confrontation that awaited him on the other side of that door going to be fun?
The mouthwatering scent of seafood drifted under the door and he raked still trembling fingers through his damp hair, willing them to steady.
Pull your shit together, Wolfe.
Jillian had already sent him running for cover—twice. He’d never been a coward. Wasn’t about to start now.
Gritting his teeth, he strode to the door and flung it open.
Jillian turned from a food-laden portable table and two chairs set up across from the crackling fireplace. She’d fastened the window drapes back inviting the moon and stars inside, where she stood framed in golden firelight, barefoot and wearing her emerald robe.
What—besides the pearls—did she have on beneath it?
Desire he’d thought sated beyond arousal sank vicious claws into him and his body leapt.
Muttering a vile curse beneath his breath, he prowled to the table and grabbed a wineglass, dumped in a generous amount of amber liquid from the open bottle next to a seafood platter, then downed it in one long gulp.
“Feeling better?” Jillian asked brightly.
Not enough wine on the planet.“What was that—” He waved toward the bathroom door. “In there?”
She tilted her head, shot him a knowing smile. “I guess if you have to ask, then I didn’t do it very well.”
Any better and he’d be dead … and she was fully aware of it. He scowled. “You know what I mean. What kind of game are you playing?”
“Hey, you started it, Champ. You tell me.”
Right. He’d been the dumbass who’d initiated this entire fiasco.You struck up the band, now it’s time to face the music.
He sighed, pulled out her chair. “Let’s sit down.”
She slipped into the offered chair and he sat in the one across from her.
They both dished up servings of crispy deep-fried prawns, oysters, clams and scallops, thick golden-brown steak fries and fresh bright coleslaw.
He poured them both more wine. “Look, Jillian.” He took a more moderate drink this time. “I lost control.” He shuddered. “But I managed to reel it in before I did something that really hurt you.”
“Seriously, Wolfe?” Golden brows knit. “You’re not familiar with my favorite genre, but in my world, ‘princesses’ are like Leia in ‘Star Wars’ and Eowyn in ‘Lord of the Rings.’ They’re not fragile, breakable porcelain dolls that need to be locked away in an ivory tower. They’re not afraid to take names and kick ass.” Her gaze bored into him. “And neither am I. Nor am I afraid of you. You’dneverharm me, unintentionally or otherwise.”
Her faith in him rattled him to the core. “Okay. Physically. What about emotionally? There’s no future for you with me. No cozy home-sweet-home, no kids. All I can give you is sex.”
Jillian smiled. “Stupendous sex. Delicious, sweaty, body-shaking, mind-blowing sex.” She licked a drop of wine off her lower lip in a languid, sensual gesture that ricocheted back the feeling of her eager tongue swirling over the part of him that had been doing all the thinking lately. His belly tightened, his respiration sped up. Her smile widened. “So if that’s the dance you’re offering … I’ll take it.”
He strangled on his wine. “But … You’re not that kind of woman.”
“The kind who enjoys sex?” she asked silkily.
Oh, shit.Floundering in quicksand and sinking deeper by the second, he shook his head. “I can’t give you what you need.”
“Zane.” Her voice went soft. “What happened to you when you were growing up?”
