The Forbidden Brother. Joanne Rock
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going to be heartbroken if you’re backing out of this adventure already.” The deep tone of his voice vibrated in her chest, making her tremble.
Another couple joined them; the woman who’d been sitting at the bar earlier tugged a rough-looking cowboy onto the floor with her. Their weaving, unsteady dance made Jillian’s partner tighten his grip protectively, his hand splayed low on her spine.
Her heart rate quickened, her breasts brushing against his chest, sending an ache through her.
“Not a chance. Besides, I already know some things about you,” she reasoned, recognizing that she couldn’t get much nearer to this man without appearing positively indecent. Their thighs grazed together now and again, the contact reminding her how long it had been since her legs had tangled with a man’s.
Too. Damn. Long.
“Is that so?”
“You like dive bars.” She wondered why he’d come here alone. All his photos online showed him surrounded by friends—men, women, employees, coworkers.
“And redheads.” Gently, he tugged one of her newly grown spiral curls, a hint of a grin playing at the corner of his lips. “Actually, I never knew how much I liked this fiery color of hair until tonight.”
His gaze seemed to follow his fingers as he toyed with the ringlet for another moment, and her heart faltered at the sweetness of the gesture. Or maybe it was simply the affirmation that he enjoyed the crazy curls she didn’t dare tame with hair product, fearful she would somehow lose the fragile regrowth.
Her throat dried up again. This night and this man were was making her feel things. Arousal. Romance. A giant dose of normal. She blinked fast to banish the sudden rush of emotion, unwilling to ruin things with an attack of weepiness. She would enjoy every second, damn it. Except the wellspring of feelings was already bubbling.
Gratitude for her new lease on life.
Joy in the simple warmth of a man’s caress.
And yes, the return of physical longing, a keen hunger for more.
Unsure what to do with all that, and worried she would do something mortifying—like burst into tears on the side of the dance floor—Jillian rose on her toes and channeled all the sentimental burn into a kiss.
She could tell she’d surprised him. For a split second, he went absolutely still. Was he thinking she was crazy? Sex-starved? She closed her eyes to shut out those fears and simply let herself concentrate on the feel of his mouth on hers. The bristle of his jaw against her skin. The contrasting softness of his lips, which were full and sensual. He smelled like cedar and pine, woodsy and earthy, as if he’d been outdoors all day.
Just when she would have pulled back, however, the kiss changed. He became fully engaged, taking over her tentative efforts, which had been more about hiding her emotions. He pulled her into him, anchoring her body with his while he let his hands and tongue roam.
An onslaught of sudden, acute physical awareness put a stop to all her distracting emotions. His new command of the kiss allowed her to follow his lead, just like when they’d danced. Her head tipped back, her knees gave way. She wound her arms around his neck to hold herself steady, and to feel the full impact of his hard, muscular body.
Lost in the moment, she arched into him. Hip to hip, breast to chest. She needed full contact and she needed it now. Maybe he could tell as much, because he broke away from her suddenly, staring down at her while expelling his breath in a rush. With his hands on her shoulders, he steadied them both, since he seemed as surprised by the moment as she was.
The music had changed. A more modern country rock tune blared from the speakers and they were alone on the dance floor again. A waitress sidled past with a trayful of food; the scents of tabasco and beer were heavy in the air.
All that was secondary to the desire coursing through Jillian’s body like wildfire, the red-hot sensation that was totally foreign, since her libido had been on ice for over a year.
“You see that door over there?” he asked, tipping his forehead so close to hers they almost touched.
She followed his gaze to the exit marked Private.
“Mmm.” She nodded, since her voice wasn’t working. Her lips were more inclined to kiss than speak.
“My offices are just through there and up a staircase.”
“You work in the bar?” She didn’t think that could be true. Wasn’t he a successful rancher with considerable acreage?
“I bought the building and rent the space to Wrangler’s. I’m remodeling the upper floors for...my business.” He hedged about his line of work.
But of course, she already knew what he did for a living.
“How convenient to work close to a bar you like,” she observed, not sure what else to say. Her thoughts were muddled from the kiss.
She wanted another one.
“It is,” he agreed. “But right now, I’m thinking about how much privacy we could have for another kiss, on the other side of that door.”
“Oh.” That was logic she could follow. “Yes. Just let me grab my purse.”
He scanned the bar, his gaze halting on the table where she’d left her bag, while she reached into her pocket for her phone. She texted a quick message to a friend to let her know where she was, taking basic safety precautions.
But if there was another kiss on the table, Jillian was taking it. And if that meant entering the backroom of a dive bar in a building Carson McNeill owned, that didn’t deter her in the slightest. Her whole body hummed from his touch. She felt vitally alive, and that was a gift that neither her recovery nor the group counseling sessions she’d attended afterward had given her.
“Are you sure?” He paused and frowned down at her before they reached her table.
Perhaps he’d seen her text.
“I’m positive.” She craved the adrenaline high his touch inspired. Thirsted for the physical contact that ignited sensations all over her body. Even before her chemo days, she hadn’t experienced the kind of tantalizing thrill that contact with him provided.
Darting toward the booth, she retrieved her satchel. “Okay.” She tried to restrain herself from leaping into his arms. Plastering herself to him. “I’m ready.”
She didn’t want to worry about work or filming on Cody McNeill’s ranch anymore tonight. She just wanted to follow this adventurous path Carson had proposed, and hope it led her back toward joy and health. Well-being and wholeness.
Taking her by the hand, he drew her with him across the bar, past the dance floor and through the exit marked Private. He flipped a switch and an overhead lamp threw the space into view. As he closed the door behind them, Jillian’s gaze immediately went to the vast office, which was still under construction.
The exposed brick walls and bamboo floors had been cleaned and restored. A staircase with dark slats and a thick, Craftsman-style handrail led upward, the mirror on the landing reflecting the dull light of silver pendant lamps. The beautifully detailed hammered-tin ceiling tiles looked original.
But she didn’t have a chance to compliment him on the remodeling project in progress. He stalked toward her, his intent gaze rising from her mouth to her eyes. Her pulse quickened as she remembered why they were here.
The music from the jukebox drifted in through the open door. The rest of the world was close, but not close enough to see what was happening in here. He paused near her, took off his Stetson and settled it on a wrought-iron hook beside the door. She could see his eyes better now that the brim wasn’t casting a shadow. Jillian let her satchel fall to the floor with a soft thud. Her eyes remained on Carson. The stranger she knew.
Then his hand was cupping her face, tilting her chin. Her eyelids fell, the sensations coming so