Jane Millionaire

They kissed, touched, for how long he didn’t know. Time no longer mattered. Just Jane. When her fingers moved to his jeans snap, he grasped them. “Slow down or I’m going to take you standing right here.”

Her eyes widened, and damn if he didn’t see excitement glittering back at him. She wanted him hard and fast and wild, and he was about to lose it.

“I want to make this good for you,” he somehow managed to grind out, battling his urge to throw every good intention to the wind and possess her with all the intensity coursing through him.

She nodded and didn’t pull her hands free when he loosened his hold. He took a deep breath, counted to ten. Forewards. Backwards. In Spanish. Counting didn’t seem to be helping.

Slow, easy. That’s what she deserved and that’s what he’d give, even if it killed him.

“Tell me what you want.” He bent and kissed beneath her ear lobe, lower, lower still until he caressed her delectable neck.

“I want you.” Her breathing was ragged, but then, so was his.

“How do you like a man to touch you, Jane? Slow and sensuous or hard and demanding?” He ran his fingertips down her neck, lightly grazing her soft skin. She shivered.

“You’re doing just fine on your own.”

He pressed a kiss into the indention at the base of her neck. Her hair brushed his face as she nodded her agreement. The scent of flowers from her shampoo intoxicated him. Was that why she always smelled like roses? From her shampoo? He breathed deeper, needing a stronger fix.

Barely managing to keep his fingers from trembling, he unbuttoned her gown. One golden button at a time. He started at the top and slowly slid each one free, his knuckles grazing over the feminine flesh he revealed. The silk of her gown had nothing over the smoothness of her skin. Soft. Sensuous. Sexy. When he reached the button over her navel, he pushed the material aside and watched as it slid from her shoulders to a silky green puddle around her feet.

Sweet heavens above.

He stepped back to admire the work of art he’d uncovered. A masterpiece. Tan skin turned into milky white globes that he yearned to sample. Starved. What a great description of the ache inside him. His gaze skimmed lower over flat abs to her black silk covered hips. Long, graceful legs stretched on forever to feet covered only by the deep red polish on her toenails.

“You are so damn beautiful.”

“I feel beautiful when you

look at me like that.” Her voice was husky, apparently moved by his admission.

Male pride surged. He planned to show her just how beautiful a woman could feel. How good a woman could feel. With his hands, his mouth, his body. His gaze locked with hers. He cupped her breasts, caressed, stroked, teased each nipple until they strained toward him, until she leaned into him. With a groan, he lowered his head and suckled until she whimpered.

She reached for his snap again, and this time he let her. Let her? He might die if she didn’t touch him soon. He needed her hands on him, around him, stroking him. She shoved his jeans, along with his boxers down, and he kicked the clothes from around his feet.

This time she looked.

Feeling like a schoolboy hoping the homecoming queen would find him worthy of her attention, he stood still as she inspected him. The look in her eyes when they met his told him he measured up to her expectations in every way, surpassed them. He sucked air into his oxygen-deprived body just as his vision started to blur. When had he forgotten to breath?

He reached for her, needing to experience her body next to his. Mouth to mouth. Chest to chest. He rubbed his palms over her until he cupped her tight bottom and ground himself against her. Hips to hips.

Hot madness spread through him. Need strong and swift to pummel her, to pound her until she exploded around him, slammed into him, weakening his knees, weakening him.

“Touch me.” His request bordered on a beggar’s plea.

“Yes.” And she did. Starting at his shoulders, she massaged and kissed her way over his body. Exploring every sinew, every part of him until he thought he might burst from pent-up longings.

But he only had one night. He didn’t want it all to be over with in a frenzied rush. Patience. Slow and easy. He had to keep his cool. Maybe he should try counting again. She touched her hot mouth to his nipple and gently nipped. One…for the life of him he couldn’t remember what came next. No wait he did know. Jane. Jane came next. Over and over. Then he’d come.

He pulled back to stare into her passion-filled eyes. “I’m going to have you, Jane. Tonight. If you aren’t sure, stop me now.”

“Call me Jill,” she breathlessly demanded. “I want to hear my name when you’re inside of me. Not some fictional character from a television show.”

“Jill?”

She paused, looking uncertain for the first time since she’d entered his suite. “It’s a nickname my friends call me. Jane is off limits to you. Right now, tonight, I’m not Jane. Make love to me, to Jill.”

“Okay.” She was right. He wasn’t making love to Jane. He wanted Jess--er Jill Davidson.