“Jack, your mother is watching us.” Jack was already on the outs with his mother, and Jamie didn’t want to further contribute to that antagonism.
“So?” His thumb traced circles on her back with his hand.
What did he mean, so? It was obvious. “We don’t want her to think there’s anything going on between us.”
“Why not? There is something going on between us.”
He was not being reasonable about this at all. Jamie felt a little desperate, especially since his thigh was rocking into her, raising her temperature yet another five degrees. “No, there’s not.”
“Yes, there is.” He bent over her, holding her snug against him, his mouth hovering inches above hers.
Lord, he was going to kiss her right on the dance floor, like a groping teenager at a nightclub, while everyone else danced elegantly to this classical kind of music that she couldn’t identify. She closed her eyes briefly in anticipation, or mortification, she wasn’t sure which.
But he didn’t kiss her.
Instead he said hoarsely, “I want you, Jamie. I need you.”
Yikes.
But she could have stayed strong. She could have resisted that raw heat in his voice, until he spoke again.
“All I want is a kiss. Just one, please. And a date. Promise me we can try that, see what happens. That’s all I’m asking. For now.”
It was that erotic pleading that undid her. It left her limp against him, eyes still half closed as she confessed, “My head says this is a mistake. That there are too many negative variables making anything between us a poor risk. But my emotions are disagreeing.”
“Listen to your emotions and tell your head to go kiss off,” he said coaxingly. “I can’t wait another minute. I’ve been wanting you since I woke up and found you gone.”
The evidence was pressing against her. As was the knowledge that she, too, had spent two weeks suffering from Jack withdrawal. Right at the moment she felt like someone had been setting off pyrotechnics in her pricey bridesmaid’s dress.
So despite the feeling that she had lost all common sense and decency, she heard herself saying, “There’s a room in the hall, called the retiring room or something like that your mom said. It’s meant for the bride and bridesmaids to use for their stuff—purses and for make-up checks and everything.”
She took a deep breath and studied the tie on his tux. “Maybe we should go talk, get away from everyone.” Have hot sex.
God, had she really just suggested they head somewhere private? That had a couch? What the hell was she thinking?
Jack’s fingers tightened on her back, and he nodded once, as if he didn’t trust himself to speak.
When the dance ended, he led her off the floor, dodging his mother, who looked ready to stop them, her mouth open to say something.
“Jamie’s not feeling good, Mom, the room’s too hot. I’m taking her outside for some fresh air.”
All Jamie had time to hear was, “Oh, dear,” from Mrs. Davidson before Jack whisked her away.
She was sure even the roots of her hair were blushing. “I can’t believe you lied to your mother!”
But Jack only shrugged, clearly unrepentant. “What am I supposed to say? That I’m taking Jamie out into the hall to have hot sex with her?”
Now everything on her body was blushing, with the focus on parts south. “I said we could go talk! You said all you wanted was a kiss.”
“You cannot convince me you suggested a retiring room so we could talk about pie and past love affairs.”
“Well…” She hadn’t thought she was suggesting anything more, but it did seem pretty lame now.
“So where’s the room?” He stopped in the hall and looked right and left.
“First door on the right.” She let him half drag, half carry her down to the little lounge.
She dug her heels into the carpet, plagued with second thoughts. This was tacky. They could get caught. She wasn’t the kind of woman who did things like this, and she wouldn’t embarrass Caro for the world.
“I’m not having sex with you in this room.”
Jack turned back and stared at her. “Okay. You can have sex with me in my apartment after the reception. Right now I’m just going to take a little taste, that’s all.”
Well, if he insisted.
Then he pulled her into the room, the door swung shut, and all hope of walking away disappeared.
His mouth was on hers before she could catch a breath, let alone object again. In fact, she was just as aggressive as he was. They were both tasting and teasing and tugging, her arms in the back of his hair ransacking it.
He was right. She had been waiting two weeks for this. For the pleasure of being with Jack again.
For that perfect sense that they were right for each other. They belonged in each other’s arms.
Their kisses deepened, wet and anxious, and their bodies crushed against each other, seeking, needing.
Little taste. That’s all.
Then they’d stop.
Jamie slid her tongue over his, the red wine they’d both drunk mixing between them, swarming her senses.
His hands gripped her head. Despite the majority of her rational brain cells going to sleep, Jamie was still cognizant enough to pull back and stop Jack from shoving his hands into her hair. “No! I’ll never be able to fix it like the hairstylist did.”
He dropped his hands to her shoulders and pulled her against him, hard. “Feel what you do to me.”
Everything about Jack was hard. And she wanted him. “I feel it. I want you inside me.”
Gad, had she just said that out loud?
The groan from him seemed to indicate she had.
His hands were moving around her back, rushing up and down. “How do I get this dress off?”
Aware that they were only two feet in front of the door to the hallway, Jamie said, “No, you can’t take it off.” Her sense of adventure didn’t extend to getting caught naked by some wayward guest.
Besides, tossing satin into a heap on the floor probably wasn’t the best idea. “It will wrinkle, and I’ll never be able to get it back on right.” Wait a minute. She wasn’t going to take the dress off anyway, because they were Not Going To Have Sex.
“We’re not having sex here.”
“I never said we were.” He held up his hands, a mock look of innocence playing across his face.
Then he reached out and popped her breasts right out of her bodice with one little flip of his wrists.