Kiss and Tell

by Cherry Adair

  She nodded. "Marnie Christine Wright. Twenty-seven-year-old computer geek." She felt like a butterfly emerging from her chrysalis. Perhaps too fast. Perhaps too close to a flame for safety. But she felt her wings begin to unfurl as he watched her with hot eyes.

  "You like the outdoors," he continued, sounding strained as he assiduously watched her mouth. Thank God he couldn't read her mind.

  "Music." His voice got hoarser.

  She wondered what his skin felt like. "I sleep naked," she blurted out, for reasons she didn't bother contemplating.

  His eyes glazed. "Naked?"

  She nodded, her mouth too dry to speak. She wondered what he would do if she went up to him, stood on tiptoe, and planted a long wet one on him. Her heart beat faster. For several moments they stared at each other. Blindly she placed the frozen coffee can down on the counter beside her.

  Her eyes moved from his dark hair, drying now against his neck, to his razor-sharp blue eyes and down to his mouth. And locked there. She couldn't help it. Jake Dolan had the most succulent, inviting mouth she'd ever laid eyes on.

  Duchess rose from her spot near the pantry and came to lean against her hip. She braced herself for the animal's weight but remained immobile, watching Jake watch her.

  Mouth dry, palms damp, heart pounding, she licked her lower lip, then sucked it between her teeth. And knew exactly what it did to him by the way a muscle tightened in his lean jaw and his pupils dilated.

  Duchess ambled back to her place of observation on the floor.

  Marnie's pulse skittered as Jake's eyes heated. He felt it, too. "I think," she whispered, "we're in big trouble here."

  It took him a lifetime to say roughly, "You aren't my type."

  "Yes, I am."

  "No." It was barely a croak. "You are not."

  Marnie stepped forward. He crossed his arms over his massive chest. She could feel his eyes moving over her mouth. Her lips tingled. She held his gaze as she moved closer.

  "Can't stand blondes."

  "I'll dye my hair."

  "You're too short."

  Not when we're both lying down. "I'll wear heels."

  He squeezed his eyes shut as if in pain. "Dirty pool."

  Marnie reached out and touched his forearm, her desire for this man vast and unfathomable. She didn't try to understand. It just was.

  Electricity shot up through her fingertips into her chest. Her heart thumped into a heavier, harder rhythm. Hot blood coursed through her veins with the urgency of a pounding, rushing river. Current arced to every extremity, then pooled hot and thick, low in her belly.

  He opened smoky, unreadable eyes, his expression closed. Arms folded, Jake Dolan stood absolutely rigid under her tactile exploration. Color darkened his high cheekbones. A small muscle jerked in his jaw.

  Stubborn man.

  Feeling bold and reckless, Marnie ran her hands over the taut muscle of his forearms. Crisp dark hair tantalized her fingertips. His skin felt sizzling hot to her touch; his life force pulsed beneath the surface.

  She stood on her tiptoes and slid her arms around his neck. With his arms folded, his elbows jabbed into her chest. For a moment she thought he was going to push her away.

  She stiffened, tightening her fingers instinctively in his long hair. "One kiss," she begged, her voice husky, heated, hungry. "If it's lousy, we'll call it quits."

  There was a long pause. "This is a cosmic joke," he managed grimly. "It won't be lousy."

  With agonizing slowness Jake unfolded his arms. His massive hands moved with reluctance to palm her shoulders, then gingerly slid down her back to cup her behind. Marnie closed her eyes in relief as he pressed her body against his. His groan vibrated through her bones.

  Oh, God. Liquid heat shimmered through her veins. She wrapped one leg around his to pull him even closer. His thigh muscle flexed and bunched against her, and she almost climbed his body to get their mouths and body parts aligned correctly. She wanted his sexy mouth on her.

  All over her.

  She wanted his big hands on her.

  All over her.

  She wanted his large body pinning her to the thin mattress across the room, moving with intensity and heat until neither of them could move.

  Dizziness rocked her as strong hands lifted her in one easy movement. She clung to his neck, then found herself perched on the edge of the breakfast bar, her knees straddling his hips. The Formica felt cold under her behind. His erection pressed hot and eager against the juncture of her thighs through the soft fleece sweatpants. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer.

  Without giving her time to think, Jake captured her mouth in a kiss so deep, so carnal, she forgot to breathe. She made a sound, a soft murmur of surrender, and slid her tongue against his, pushing him for more, terrified he'd refuse, scared out of her wits that he'd accept.

  The pounding of the rain on the roof became the thick, syrupy throb of her heartbeat. The scent of the fire became the rich scent of Jake's skin. She tasted his need on her tongue, his desire in the fierce grip of his fingers on her bottom.

  Her skin was on fire. Her lips tingled. She couldn't seem to get close enough. She had to feel his bare skin, and yanked up the hem of his sweatshirt with determined hands.

  She ran her palms over his chest. Hot satin, overlaid with crisp dark hair. Pebble-hard nipples. Rigid stomach muscles jerked in response as her exploration slid lower.

  One large hand shifted from her behind to her breast. Her nipples ached. She pressed her chest against his, trapping his hand, making the pressure harder. Unbearable.

  He nudged her back a little, just enough. His fingers found her nipple through the fleece. He squeezed to just this side of pain, then captured her cry against his damp neck. Marnie panted. She managed to get the top button of his fly undone and blindly sought the tiny zipper tab.

  He shifted. For a few seconds they were separated—just enough time for Marnie to suddenly think: What on earth am I doing?

  Their eyes met.

  For a split second she caught a glimpse of heat in his eyes. Then Jake banked the flame and broke out of her embrace.

  Marnie felt a hot blush rise from her toes to her nose.

  It took a moment for her eyes to focus and her brain to function. Bewildered, she looked up to find him watching her. His heavy-lidded eyes held a strange desperation as he reached back and unhooked the vice of her ankles from around his waist.

  Her legs dropped. Her heels thumped against the cabinet.

  Beneath his hawklike gaze she felt stripped bare and vulnerable. He studied her face, seeming to see more than her features. He seemed to delve into her mind, to touch things deep and frightening—parts of herself Marnie was still exploring.

  The muscles in his jaw knotted and unknotted. After a moment he stepped back and casually, but with difficulty, adjusted his jeans.

  Heat flooded her cheeks. Legs splayed, nipples peaked to his clinical gaze, she'd never experienced such acute embarrassment in her life. Her breath hitched as she jumped off the counter, tugging her top down and her pants up.

  At a loss for words, she half laughed. "I have absolutely no idea what to say." Which was a reasonable start, she guessed. It was rare for her to be speechless. But then, this was a day of firsts.

  "I told you you weren't my type." The brass button on his jeans closed like the clasp of a miser's purse. Other than a faint flush on the ridge of his cheekbones and what looked like a painful erection, he seemed totally unaffected by what had just happened.

  She stared at him. "Not your t—What do you call what just happened?" Marnie was confused. It was out of character for her to be sexually aggressive. But now that she'd done it, she wasn't sorry.

  "What part of 'I don't want you' didn't you understand?"

  He'd wanted her. He might lie about it, but his body had been honest. He was as hard as petrified wood.

  "Then what"—she pointed—"is that!"

  He ignored the bulge in his jeans.
"Just because I have it doesn't mean I intend to use it."

  Marnie stepped forward and touched his arm. He jerked away from her as if she'd used a cattle prod.

  "Was it something I said?" she asked quietly, dropping her hand to her side. "Look, I have a tendency to sort of speak without running the words through my brain first. But I know I didn't give out mixed signals just now. I wanted to make love with you. It was very good. No, darn it, it was excellent. So if you have some sort of medical condition, let's talk about I—"

  He moved backward, almost tripping over Duchess sprawled on the floor. The dog rose to hover anxiously between them. Jake's eyes turned as he said, "I do not have a medical condition."

  Marnie backed up—mentally as well as physically. Her hip bumped the counter. "Good."

  He scowled and swore under his breath.

  "That is good, isn't it?" she asked tentatively.

  He had a cowlick in his hair. Right in front. It was noticeable only when he repeatedly raked his fingers through the long strands, as he was doing now. It made him look like a disgruntled little boy. And so sexy, she wanted to lick him all over.

  "I don't see anything good about it. Do you always make a habit of screwing guys you've just met?" he asked coldly.

  "Actually, no," Marnie said just as coolly. "I don't. But in this instance I thought the attraction was mutual. And we didn't screw, so your virtue is safe." For the moment.

  "Since you arrived," he said grimly, stabbing his fingertips into the front pocket of his jeans, "my weekend has gone from bad to worse. I don't see it improving anytime soon."

  "I wasn't expecting a lifetime commitment, you know." She refused to squirm under his scowling scrutiny. How could she so desperately want a man she didn't even know? A man who refused to acknowledge he wanted her right back?

  There was this weird chemical thing going on that she had never experienced in her life. Her chemicals wanted his chemicals, and there was no denying it. Pheromones still floated thick in the air between them. She touched her swollen mouth, still tasting him on her tongue.

  "I'm very attracted to you. I thought—Well, never mind. Why is it men can have sex whenever they like, but a woman has to wait to be asked?"

  She'd wanted to make some life-changing decisions, Marnie though wryly. Never in her wildest imagination would she have imagined she'd be taking a skydive without a parachute.

  Jake opened his mouth. Closed it. Combed back his hair with ten stiff fingers and glared at her. "You're probably a screamer."

  "Hmmm." She planned on doing plenty more than a little yelling—as soon as she figured out just what his problem was. She knew she had a tendency to take bigger bites than she could chew. It came from having missed out on so much as a kid.

  She was greedy. She wanted to experience everything. Now. But this time she'd shocked herself.

  Casually she rolled up her sleeves and tested the temperature of the water in the sink with one finger.

  Duchess moved out of Jake's way as he backed up.

  Hmmm, backing away some more. She'd once tamed a horse the same way. A little advance. A little retreat.

  From the corner of her eye she observed his boots shift again slightly. "Man, you have big feet," she said without thinking.

  She met his glare and blushed, then closed her eyes briefly before plunging her hands into the water in the sink and swishing a cloth inside the carafe.

  "The rain's let up some. I'll take you farther upriver. You might still be able to cross there."

  Marnie glanced out the window. If anything, it was raining harder than it had earlier. The air looked wet enough to swim through. She emptied the water from the coffeepot and set it carefully on the counter beside the sink, then dried her hands on her pants for lack of a towel and faced him.

  "Look, I'm a great believer in discussing things to clear the air. As kids, we weren't allowed to go to bed on an argument. Not that you and I argued, but—never mind. Okay, I'll go first. I wanted you to—"

  "I've got some rain gear somewhere. I'd better—"

  "—make love to me."

  "—find it. It'll take a couple of hours to climb up there and I want to get start—"

  "You wanted me, too," Marnie interrupted again, militant now. "So what happened?"

  He turned to face her fully. Eyes cold, mouth grim. "Nothing happened. Haven't you ever met a man who wasn't turned on by you?"

  Marnie fisted her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed. "Yes, of course. There have been a zillion men not turned on by me. You, however, were not one of them."

  "For all your experience, you have a thing or two to learn about men."

  "Teach me, then."

  He paled. "Not in this lifetime." His flinty gaze locked on her mouth.

  "Chicken," she taunted softly.

  His lips thinned. "The last time someone like you tried to seduce me I was in a hospital bed. She wore something soft and seductive and smelled like sin. The difference was, she was sophisticated and experienced and knew the score." He gave her a hard look. "She learned, to her regret, that I'm not a man to play games with."

  "So what are you saying?" Marnie asked, resisting telling him she wasn't playing games at all. "You won't seduce me unless I wear something slinky and pour on the French perfume and you're in a hospital bed? It can be arranged."

  "Men don't get turned on by aggressive women."

  "Hmmm." Marnie bit the inside of her lip. "Is that so?"

  "Yes."

  "Okay. I'll try to remember not to be so aggressive next time. Is that it?"

  He came up to the other side of the counter, a large, threatening, intimidating male. He rested enormous hands on the Formica and leaned forward to glare at her.

  "No. That's not it. I hardly see the point in enlightening you, but here it is. First, there won't be a next time. Second, we don't know each other. Third, you'll be gone soon. Get it? Good."

  "Ah."

  "What does that mean?"

  She looked at him innocently, eyes wide, and shrugged.

  He closed his eyes as if in pain. Her dad and brothers frequently wore the same expression. She kept her features guileless.

  "Do you think I could have some coffee before you throw me out into the cold, rainy night?"

  "It's morning."

  Grouch. She started to fill the basket with stale grounds and glanced at him over her shoulder. "And you don't need to go with me. I've been roaming this side of the mountain for years. I know the way to the other bridge perfectly well. There's no point in both of us getting cold and wet again, is there?"

  His eyes were slits of annoyance. "I said I'd take you."

  She poured water into the well, then set the carafe in its slot and turned the coffeemaker on. "No, thanks. I seem to do better when you're not around."

  He scowled. The skin over his cheekbones stretched taut. "What does that mean?"

  "I'm still hungry. Want some chili?"

  "No." Frustration ate at him like a canker.

  Her dog rose and ambled over to her side. The dog got its ears fondled. Jake bit back a nasty crack. He was jealous of her pet. Unfortunately he was now intimately acquainted with the feel of those slender fingers. On him. All over him. He wanted more. He wanted it all.

  He was a fool.

  It wasn't her fault she was desirable. It wasn't her concern he couldn't have her. Would never have her. He'd made the rules years ago. No more blondes.

  For a few glorious, earth-shattering minutes, he'd forgotten and allowed his hunger for her to eclipse reason. She'd been perfect in his arms, everything he dreamed a woman could be.

  His dream and his nightmare.

  Almost too late he'd remembered Dolan's First Law of Survival.

  He'd remembered about a second before he would have plunged himself into the hot wet center of her. He'd had to use considerable willpower and tooth-grinding control to refuse her offer.

  Which was why he stayed the hell away from her type. Far away. He ha
d a negative history with fluffy blondes. Six years ago one had put paid to that craving. The ingredients had been a South American jungle, an out-of-place blond "journalist," and a sharp knife. He'd found out too late that the fragile blonde belonged to the leader of the particular little band of terrorists Jake was attempting to round up.

  She'd been sent to distract him.

  She'd been good. Damn good.

  He'd fallen for the bait like a rank amateur. The terrorists had covered their tracks and split while he nursed his bruised balls and sliced trachea. His best friend had died saving his life.

  Jake had never stopped looking for the son of a bitch responsible. Every insertion, every operation, Jake kept his eyes and ears open for news of Dancer or information of a sighting.

  He hadn't believed much in love before Soledad.

  His belief in it after her was nonexistent.

  The memory had put him off soft, delicate little blondes for life. It had done a number on his general trust indicator, too. To hell with logic—in his mind, blondes had become synonymous with pain, mayhem, and death.

  And while Jake liked sex as much as the next man, he could control his urges until the appropriate time and place with the appropriate woman. Someone a hell of a lot less dangerous to his equilibrium than this deliciously scented time bomb.

  "You sure?" Marnie asked, blue eyes heavy-lidded and sexy as sin. Her sweet little nipples peaked seductively under red fleece.

  "Damn straight I'm sure," he bit out a second before he realized she was referring to the chili she'd offered, not listening in on his mental trip down memory lane. Her skin looked as soft as it felt. Petal soft and silky, scented with the aphrodisiac fragrance of her arousal. He could still smell it.

  Sexual frustration clawed at his gut. He had several choices: use the booze to interrupt the circuit from his brain to his groin, take care of the problem himself, or get the hell away from her as fast as possible.

  "I'm going out."

  "Ookay."

  Duchess danced around the counter, tail wagging. She sat before him, head cocked, eyes alert. She whined, seeming to be saying, Poor sap. Which was a fitting end to the last few miserable hours. Jake leaned down to snag his jacket from the floor. They'd pushed it off the counter when they'd been grappling.