He was burning up.
So hot for her he should have flames spurting out of the top of his head. His head was ringing so hard he thought he heard bells.
The bell. Shit.
“You’ve got a customer,” he said.
She arched against him again. “I don’t care,” she breathed against him.
Jack chuckled, gratified. “But you will when they leave.” He reluctantly pulled away from her.
“Well, I see you have moved on,” a male voice drawled from the doorway. Mariette instantly stiffened and Jack’s gaze shifted to the direction of the speaker. He was medium height, medium build, nicely dressed and smug.
Jack instantly hated him.
“Let me guess,” Jack said. “This must be Nathaniel.”
Mariette glared at the intruder. “I told you not to come back.”
His thin nostrils flared. “And I told you that you were being ridiculous.”
Jack laughed, though the sound was not humorous. “Now I see what Charlie meant.” He pressed a kiss against her forehead. “Excuse me a moment,” he said and straightened. The look he sent Nathanial would have made a less-arrogant man quail. But this one was more than arrogant—he was stupid, as well.
Jack strolled forward, smiling all the while. If the idiot had one grain of sense he’d be afraid, since Jack desperately wanted to hit him. He refrained, but it wasn’t easy. “She is not ridiculous,” Jack said, his voice a low lethal growl. “She’s perfect and she is finished with you.” Jack wrapped his hand around the back of Nathaniel’s neck, causing the moron to yelp like the little dog he was, then turned him around and hauled him back out the front door, then shoved him onto the sidewalk. “Do not come back,” he said. “Ever. You are banned.”
Strictly speaking, he didn’t have the authority to ban anyone from her shop, but under the circumstances he hoped she wouldn’t mind. He turned then and she was standing behind the counter, her eyes wide, her smile wider. She shook her head.
“I’m perfect, am I?”
He’d said it in the heat of the moment, but realized just then that he knew it was true. As far as he was concerned, yes, she was perfect.
And he was doomed.
“Lock that door, would you?” She turned to leave, then shot a look at him over her shoulder. “Then come upstairs. We have some unfinished business to complete.”
And with another little smile, she left.
Slay a dragon, get the girl, Jack thought. And this girl was more than worth it.
11
MARIETTE HAD NEVER pegged herself for a woman who needed a grand gesture or one who liked for men to fight over her, or even be willing to fight over her, for that matter.
But watching the thundercloud of supreme displeasure descend over Jack’s previously sleepy-looking, sexy countenance had been positively…thrilling.
She should be ashamed of herself, really, but couldn’t muster the required humility.
She’d felt his anger rise up—could scarcely believe that Nathanial hadn’t noticed it—and when her ex had made the “ridiculous” comment, whatever control Jack had attempted to maintain snapped.
Even his laugh—that little dark chuckle—had been rife with pure, white-hot fury. The atmosphere in the room had changed so much she’d felt the little hairs on the back of her arms rise up.
And Nathaniel—she inwardly shook her head—dumb-ass Nathaniel, didn’t have sense enough to retreat. To run. He just stood there. She snickered. Until Jack snatched him up and hauled him forcibly out of her shop and onto the sidewalk.
And Jack had done that for her—because she’d been insulted. Because he thought she was perfect.
It was a caveman tactic to be sure, but she’d loved it.
Mariette had no more than unlocked the door when she heard him pounding up the stairs behind her. She turned in time to watch him bend down and toss her over his shoulder.
She squealed and gasped as her feet left the ground. “What are you doing? Put me down!”
He went unerringly to her bedroom and tumbled her onto the bed. “If that’s what you want,” he said, coming down next to her. His mouth instantly found hers, taking her lips in a deep, breath-stealingly electrifying kiss. She felt it all the way down to her toes, where they curled in the shoes she hadn’t had time to take off. She did now, kicking them onto the floor, where they landed with a decided thump.
She wrapped her arms more tightly around him, pushing her hands into hair. She loved his hair, the silky way it slipped through her fingers. She caressed the soft skin behind his ear, relished the feel of his hard, long body pressed to hers.
He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and groaned low. “You taste so good,” he said, kissing her again, making love to her mouth.
Mariette tugged at his sweater until he drew back enough to let her pull it over his head. She cast it aside and then looked greedily at him. Smooth, supple skin, the muscular curve of his shoulder, the flare of muscles at his sides, tapering into a lean, hard waist. Blond hairs whorled over his pecs and a treasure trail arrowed low and beneath the waistband of his jeans.
He was absolutely breathtaking. The best specimen of a man she’d ever seen. She trailed her fingers over his chest, his flesh hot and soft, then bent forward and touched her tongue to a male nipple.
He shuddered. Quaked.
And the power instantly went to her head. She did it again, slipping her fingers along his back, down his spine, then nipped at the ruched tip and he sucked in a hiss between his teeth.
Rather than take that lying down, as it were, Jack immediately relieved her of her shirt. His eyes feasted on her bare flesh, making her feel beautiful and wanted, treasured. She reached up and popped the catch on her bra, opening it for him. He bent forward and nudged one cup aside, then circled the globe with his nose, breathing her in. She could feel his hot breath against her skin, raising gooseflesh as it grazed her aching nipple. A chord of longing tightened in her core, and she arched up against him, desperate and needy.
Her breath came in sharp little puffs that were almost embarrassing they were so loud, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. When it came to this level of desire, she was way out of her depth. It was beyond anything she’d ever experienced, ever imagined possible. Every cell in her body was clamoring for him—his taste, his scent, his skin on hers, his skin in hers.
His mouth closed over her nipple, snatching the breath from her lungs as he suckled deep, his tongue rasping over the hardened peak.
She turned, trying to get closer to him and slid her hand down his belly until she found the button at his waist. He drew a sharp breath when her fingers brushed against the top of his penis, which had escaped its enclosure, as it were.
Sweet heaven, Mariette thought, as she lowered his zipper and he sprung free into her waiting hand. He moved to the other breast, his own clever fingers expertly undoing her jeans, as well. She lifted up so that he could work the jeans down over her hips, then kicked them aside with more haste than grace.
His hands were suddenly all over her, sliding along her side, over her middle and then into her weeping folds. The first brush of his fingers against her sensitive flesh made her inhale deeply and he took that opportunity to find her mouth once more, eating the sigh that came with the exhalation of gratified air.
He dallied expertly between her legs and she worked the long hard length of him against her palm and all the while her skin burned up and shivered and desire alternately weighted her limbs and made her restless. She felt as though she was going to die if he didn’t take her, that she’d die when he did and she just wanted, she just needed…him.
“Please,” she whispered brokenly, not ashamed to beg.
He drew back, snagged a condom from his wallet and swiftly
rolled it into place, then positioned himself between her thighs. He was huge, much bigger than she’d realized. He nudged high, sliding his thickness along her folds, coating himself in her juices before slipping back and prodding her entrance. He gave a gentle push and she inhaled, desperately wanting him more deeply inside her.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his face a mask of tight control.
“I’m not going to break,” she said, dragging her legs back and opening more widely for him. She arched up, taking a little more of him in and she watched him set his jaw, the muscles jump in his cheek.
He pushed again, just a little, and stars danced behind her lids. He waited, allowing her to stretch and accommodate his size, then she arched up again, taking a little bit more of him.
Sweat beaded his brow and his forearms were lined with taut, distended veins. Any other man would have plowed right ahead, without a care for whether or not she was hurt, but this one… This one would hurt himself before hurting her. An aching swelled in her chest, a tenderness she’d never experienced before.
Mariette bent forward and kissed his chest, his throat. “Come here,” she said, pulling him down closer. She found his mouth, kissed him deeply and felt him relax more fully. She arched again, felt him slide in a little deeper, and then with a deep, resigned sigh he breathed right into her mouth—into her very soul—and he pushed in and filled her up.
Literally.
It was indescribably perfect, the way he felt inside of her.
She tightened around him, sighed once more, and then arched up, savoring every ridge, every vein, the engorged head of his penis. She could feel it all in individual parts when he pushed into her and the sensation was nothing short of exquisite.
Once he was certain that he wasn’t going to hurt her, Jack became less hesitant and more determined. Now that he’d invaded her body, he was going to make it submit to his will.
And she would, she knew, all too readily.
He plunged in and out of her, a slow, steady rhythm that stoked a fire that was already blazing out of control. Mariette could feel the first flash of release building in her sex, deep in her womb, and she welcomed that reward, needed it more desperately than she’d ever needed anything before. She arched up against him, meeting him thrust for thrust and tightened her feminine muscles around him.
Jack’s breath came in hard little puffs and he angled deeper and higher. Her aching breasts absorbed the force of his thrusts, bouncing on her chest, and her belly felt as if it was going to hit her backbone if she breathed any harder. She wrapped her arms around him, licked a path along his neck and to his shoulder.
He quaked against her, pounded harder. Higher, harder, faster, he plunged in and out of her, his tautened balls hitting her sensitive flesh with every brutal thrust.
The orgasm ultimately hit her without warning.
One minute she’d been savoring him—the way he fit inside of her, the way he looked on top of her, the determined glint in his heavy-lidded eyes.
The next she was flying apart, a long, keening cry tearing from her throat. She spasmed hard around him and every muscle in her body seized up and then released, leaving her feeling melted and sated and unbelievably happy.
MARIETTE’S TIGHT LITTLE BODY fisted around him over and over, her mouth opening in a cry of gratifying pleasure, her neck arched as she let the delight swell through her.
Dark hair against the down comforter, her sinfully carnal mouth carved into a blissed-out smile that he’d put on her face, her breasts rosy tipped and pouting…
She was unequivocally the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Or would ever see again, he knew.
Jack buried himself to the hilt again, absorbing the absolute glory of her perfect body. She was hot and soft and tight—so damned tight—and he’d been terrified of hurting her, of making a move that would result in her pain, but she’d taken him in, inch by inch, degree by degree until he could feel nothing but her…and that was all that mattered.
Her soft hands glided over him now, greedy and slow, as though she couldn’t get enough of him, either, as though she needed him—this—as much as he did. She tightened around him, bent forward and slid her wicked tongue against his throat again, along his jaw. He loved her mouth, the feel of it, the taste of it, the things she did with it. To him.
She drew her legs back, anchoring around his waist once more and her feet curved around the twin globes of his ass, urging him on. He heard her gasp, make another little mewl of satisfaction and felt her contract around him once more.
“Oh, no,” she said, thrashing beneath him. “I can’t— It’s too much— I—” She screamed again, her voice low and hoarse and wilted, into the mattress beneath him. Her tight channel closed around him, once, twice, a third time.
He came hard.
His vision blackened around the edges, his head spun and he shook so hard he was afraid his suddenly weakened limbs wouldn’t support him.
Release racked through him, twisting through his body like a sensual tornado of feeling. Pleasure, relief, ecstasy and something else, something altogether more tender, more significant and more terrifying than anything he’d ever felt before. He seated himself as far into her as he could go, letting the last of the tremors run through him, then looked down into her upturned face.
Her eyes were closed, the lashes longer and curlier than he’d realized, her cheeks flushed, lips swollen from his kisses. A soft smile, one of absolute contentment, shaped her sinful mouth. She opened her eyes then and he watched the pupils dilate, adjusting to the light. They weren’t merely gray, Jack decided. They were silver. And they had the power to look right through him, to lay him bare and leave him open. Much as the thought sent a dagger of dread into his chest, the thing that scared him the most—made him nearly ill when he thought about it—was the idea of not being able to do this again.
He bent forward and pressed a kiss to her lips, slid a finger reverently down the side of her face.
This girl was going to be the end of him, Jack thought. But if so, he’d come to a better end than most.
12
“THAT’S THE LAST OF IT,” Mariette said, coming out of the walk-in fridge.
Wearing only pajama bottoms and a puzzled look, Jack arched a brow. “You’re sure?”
She nodded and heaved a sigh. “Yes. You’ve melted all of my butter. I have no idea how I’m going to bake tomorrow,” she said, looking forlornly at all that wasted buttery goodness.
Jack winced, his face a mask of utter perplexity. “I was certain that we’d find it,” he said. “I know that he’s hidden it here. He didn’t even try to deny it, Mariette. He didn’t even bother.”
Mariette plopped up onto a bar stool and snagged one of Livvie’s Specials to munch on. Though they’d ordered takeout and she’d eaten plenty, she was still starving. Her lips curled as her gaze drifted down the masculine slope of Jack’s shoulders, the sheer magnificence of his muscled frame.
Of course, she’d no doubt burned a lot of calories this evening. Sex would do that for a girl. And lots of blistering-hot, sweaty, splendid sex would do even more.
Mariette couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever—ever—had a multiple orgasm. Of course she’d heard about the legendary double O, but it had always escaped her. Quite frankly, she’d never achieved orgasm through sex alone. She’d always required a little more…stimulation. The fact that Jack Martin had made her sing the Hallelujah twice without using any digits or battery-operated devices was nothing short of a sexual miracle for her.
He. Was. Awesome.
And huge. And straight. As a friggin’ arrow.
Even now, just looking at him, made something warm and hot slither into her belly. Her breasts pebbled behind her nightshirt—she’d forgone the bra—a
nd she felt a twinge of remembered pleasure echo in her womb. She could take him again, Mariette realized. Right here, right now. In fact, she grimly suspected that she would always want him, crave him, even, and the idea was as pleasant as it was disturbing.
She didn’t want to need him. She didn’t want to need anybody, Mariette thought, because needing led to heartache. Unfortunately, when it came to Jack Martin she didn’t think she was going to have a choice. He…just made her feel good. He made her body hum and her heart—an organ that had no business being involved in this, considering that she barely knew him—sing. He was smart and funny and honorable and she didn’t give a damn whether the people of Pennyroyal thought their golden boy was tarnished.
If you asked her, he was perfect…too.
When he’d told her tonight that he’d given Bobby Ray the money for a motel room and had offered to help the boy—despite believing that he was guilty of something here—something inside of her had just…snapped. He’d reviewed all of the facts, taken the time to find out what was going on with the kid, and then extended an offer that Mariette was sure the boy had never been given before—mercy.
And when he’d kicked Nathanial out… Well, that had just been icing on the cake.
Jack Martin was unlike any man she’d ever met before and she instinctively knew she’d never meet one better. Irrational, considering her track record? Possibly, but she knew it all the same. He was different. He made her feel different. He made her want to believe that she could have what Jay and Charlie had, the kind of love that didn’t ask for anything in return. That just…was.
A possessiveness she’d never imagined herself capable of burst through her, momentarily taking her aback. The idea of anyone else touching him—of him touching anyone else the way he’d just touched her—made her mind turn black with rage and recoil.
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