Hot And Bothered. Liz Maverick
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noticed that in spite of the calming breath, I was advancing on Jack, backing him slowly toward a tower of canapés. I planted my feet and continued my explanation.
“You know how mean girls can be, Jack. That’s just a shitty, shitty thing to do to a young girl who is still developing her self-confidence. It took me a long time to build myself back up, and luckily I did a good job, so I don’t have to stand here and suck up and pretend that what you did is okay because you’re handsome and rich. Because it’s not. It’s not okay to treat people like that.”
Jack was looking down at me, a muscle working in his tight jaw. “I was young and stupid and worried about the wrong things. I wish you could have known what was in my mind and in my heart. I regretted it, but didn’t know how to fix it.”
I’m not sure why his honesty surprised me. I felt bare, somehow. I hadn’t expected a meaningful conversation. There was that whole thing where I was supposed to greet him properly and then move on to the next guest. Certainly, in my daydreams, I’d march up to him at some point and spill something expensive and sticky on his suit, call him a douchebag and flounce off. But meaningful conversation hadn’t really been in my plans. I made a show of watching the rest of the partygoers to hide my confusion, but I didn’t really register more than the swirl of colorful skirts and the flash of diamonds. I shrugged, as if I didn’t much care, and said, “So what happened? Walk me through it,” like I was just sort of curious.
The grim set of his mouth relaxed into a smile. “Yes, let’s walk through it. We’ll begin where it started going wrong. We were at the party.”
That was kind of where it started going really right before the wrong part, in my opinion, but I didn’t want him to take it as a compliment. “Geneva Sims’s party,” I said. “If we’re going to do this, I think we ought to be precise.”
“You want this walk-through to be precise? I have no quarrel with that,” he said. The delicious twist of his mouth probably should have served as some kind of warning, but I nodded for him to continue, once again flying toward flame.
“So. Geneva Sims’s parents’ condo on Park Avenue. You, in a blue dress. Très jolie.”
“Me, in a blue dress,” I repeated robotically, suddenly realizing I couldn’t remember exactly what I’d worn that night, but I was willing to go with blue dress in exchange for the naughty look in his eye.
“A blue dress with a short skirt and some sort of...” He reached out and lightly touched my chin, tracing down my neck with a fluid motion until his finger rested just below my collarbone. His fingertips pressed against my flushed skin. “Some sort of necklace. A fussy thing. I remember it got in the way.”
Oh, I remembered that. It was probably still behind Mrs. Sims’s toilet or wherever Jack had flung it.
“Someone had proposed Seven Minutes in Heaven, and I stole your card from the bowl while everyone was gathering.”
I couldn’t help but smile. Jack leaned over, and with his lips pressed to my ear softly asked, “Où sont les toilettes, s’il vous plait?” I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. I pointed out the bathroom door, across the room and at the end of a hall. And before I knew what was what, Jack was walking me toward it, ignoring the guests who were parting in our wake.
“Jack,” I said, in my best warning tone. “We don’t have to be that precise. I’m the hostess. I have duties.”
“Anna is happy,” he said, pointing to my sister, who was, indeed, happily doing hostess things, flitting from one group of guests to another. He held out his hand, and God help me, I put my palm in his. “I led you to the bathroom,” he continued. “I loved having an excuse to hold your hand.”
I actually blushed. Damn you, Jack.
He pushed open the door and dragged me inside the gleaming marble bathroom. Jack switched the light off, and we stood there in the pitch black.
“I reached out for you in the dark,” he whispered. “And I grabbed nothing. I felt like a fool. My heart was pounding. I felt so rushed.”
Now we have all the time in the world.
His hand grazed my shoulder. I sucked in a quick breath as he wrapped both hands around my shoulders and pulled me closer. “Do you remember what happened next?”
I couldn’t think.
“Let me remind you.” His hands slid up my arms, grazed my neck and cradled my face. His thumb stroked my mouth until I opened for him, and his tongue found mine. Pure fire. Divine. I hate you, Jack.
“I’d kissed other girls before,” Jack whispered against me. “But none that meant anything to me. You were different.”
The only answer I could manage was a quick breath as my body relaxed in his arms, and the strap of my dress slipped down my shoulder. Liquid lust. That’s what he sent traveling through my veins. Just like he’d done ten years ago. But there was one big difference. I wasn’t the same tentative teenager experiencing her first kiss, unsure of herself, unsure of what she liked.
I was damn sure now. I let my brain shut down cell by cell as his sinful mouth took control, and I answered the play of his tongue with mine. “Mais oui,” he whispered, his mouth slanting over mine again and again, hot, wet, so demanding. I’d thought of Jack as sophisticated and experienced once; now I realized we’d both been unsure of ourselves then. No longer.
“I backed you up against the wall...”
Velvet-soft towels caressed my shoulder blades; I shivered with delight. In the dark, every sensation seemed amplified. The scent of fresh peonies by the sink, the buttery soap, the warm hum of the party seeping under the door. Oh, wow. Maybe I should stop him, I thought vaguely. But I tipped my head back, and he followed the path. My skin flamed as he dragged his mouth over my throat, biting softly, an electric jolt sweeping through me each time. His hands held me by the hips, and I could feel the pressure of his thumbs close to the apex of my thighs through the thin material of my dress.
“I lost track of time,” Jack murmured, his mouth pressing into my skin. “Seven minutes could have been seven seconds. Some idiot pounded on the door.”
“Anna,” I said.
“She has a very annoying sense of time.” He gripped me harder, trailing his mouth toward my cleavage. He nudged my dress down along with the lacy cups of my strapless bra.
His teeth gently raked my breast, and his tongue swirled to claim my nipple. I gasped, arching my back as desire raced through me. Jack groaned, the passion of his kisses intensifying. I wanted to touch him, run my hand down between his legs, but I just clung to his taut frame like I was drowning, my fingers pressing hard enough to feel the muscles working beneath his shirt.
His hands slid to my lower back, ruching up my hem, even as he lowered his mouth to my bikinis.
“I don’t remember this part,” I said breathlessly. I was so wet, so wanting.
“I don’t think you remember wearing a blue dress, either,” he said softly, his mouth kissing the lace.
His fingers nudged down the edge of the lace, and I felt Jack’s breath hot against my clit. I let go of him, bracing myself against the wall. “I definitely don’t remember this part.”
“I may be embellishing somewhat,” Jack said, his voice husky, his accent more French than ever. “Artistic license.” His tongue flicked at my damp heat.
I cried out with pleasure, unprepared for the delicious intensity, unable to stop myself. “Whaddeyouknowaboutart?”
The only answer he needed to give me didn’t involve words. I may have been the art-history major, but Jack had apparently been hard at work studying the field.
In the dark, with the scent of flowers twining