It Was Only a Kiss

His hand, warm against her, made her feel intensely female. Sensation bombarded her. The rough spikes of his beard as he dropped kisses on her jawline. His tongue wet and warm in the dent of her collarbone. The amazing contradiction between that heat of his mouth and the icy air on her skin.

Jess couldn’t stop her hands from roaming up and under his jersey and shirt. She explored the wedge of fine hair on his chest. She traced the ridges of his stomach muscles, groaned at that particular patch of skin just beneath his hipbone that was so soft, so smooth, so male. Her thumb, sneaking beneath the waistband of his jeans, swiped over the long muscles in his hip, exploring the wonderfulness of him.

Luke groaned and lifted his head. He rested his arm against the wall above her head and his forehead against hers. ‘I love the way you touch me.’ He cursed. ‘But we can’t do this here. I want you where I can see you, taste you, enjoy every inch of you.’

‘Well, then, maybe you should take me home.’

‘That sounds like an excellent plan.’

EIGHT

The next morning Jess pretended to be asleep when Luke silently slipped out of bed. Risking a peek, she saw the glorious back view of him as he headed for the en-suite bathroom.

So...no morning cuddle for her, obviously. Thank God.

Jess pushed herself up in the bed, pulled the sheets over her chest and leaned her head against the headboard. Damn, damn and—just for a change—damn again.

What the hell had she done?

Jess looked around the room and saw evidence of their crazy lust-filled night everywhere she looked. One of her leather boots was on top of the credenza. She couldn’t see the other one. Her pink bra dangled off the lampshade. Her T-shirt was...Jess frowned and peered off the end of the bed...nowhere to be seen. Where had it gone? Jess rewound and remembered that Luke had pulled it off in the hallway, shortly after he’d started stripping her as soon as he’d pulled her through the front door. Her jeans were on the stairs—along with his shirt, shoes and jersey.

Panties? There was no point in worrying about them. They were history since Luke hadn’t tried to take them off—he’d just ripped the thong apart and pulled it away.

Could anyone say ‘awesome sex’?

Could anyone say ‘big, huge, monstrous regret’?

Jess scrubbed her face with her hands. He’d been a fantastic lover: tender, demanding, controlled, sensual and generous in turn. He’d turned her to liquid fire, inside out and... And she couldn’t do it again.

It was simply too much of an amazingly good thing. And she wasn’t remotely in control of any of it. She couldn’t control her reaction to Luke’s touch. He just had to look at her with those eyes filled with passion and she was his for the taking—battling to control the situation, the way he made her feel...

And, damn it again, her cuddle hormone was beetling around her body, gleefully singing, ‘It could be a stylish marriage; he can afford a carriage’.

And all because she’d been idiot enough to sleep with him. Okay, not much sleeping had happened, but she was splitting hairs. She’d allowed those feelings of attachment a little piece of fertile soil to take root. She’d have to dig up the bed before they took a firm hold and—what was with the gardening metaphors? She didn’t even garden!

Jess dropped her head. Maybe this was more than sex, more than the scratching of a mutual itch... Because she now felt exposed, vulnerable, scared. So very out of control.

She couldn’t allow it to happen again. Sleeping with Luke was not an option. If she felt this unhinged mentally and emotionally after one night, she’d be a train wreck after a week or so. And probably fathoms deep in love with him. And, not insignificantly, she had no intention of being that girl who was hopelessly devoted to a guy who did not feel the same way.

‘You’re awake and your mental wheels are spinning.’

Look at her—all mussed and grumpy, hair a mess and those fabulous eyebrows drawn together in an ominous scowl. Luke thought that he’d never seen her looking lovelier...and less accessible.

‘Luke, I—’

Luke tucked in the end of the towel that rode low on his hips, walked over to the window and pulled apart the curtains. He didn’t need to hear her words to know what it was that she wanted to say. It was written in neon ink all over her face. Last night was a mistake...

‘We can’t do this again.’

It didn’t matter that he agreed with her. Her words still held all the sting of a powerful slap. Luke winced and placed his hands on the broad windowsill, looking out over his lands.

‘Okay.’