"Is this a joke to you?" she asked.
He cursed under his breath and then hugged her tightly. "I can't explain it, but there's something about you I've never been able to forget."
Her heart melted a little at his words. He let go of her hands and cupped her face, bringing her face toward his. He brushed his lips over hers, softly, gently … seductively. Making her yearn for deeper contact between them. But she knew what he was doing, what he was trying to say with this kiss. And she returned it. Took control of the embrace, kissing him deeply.
Jake stayed at her feet and it was a heady feeling to dominate him. He was totally at her mercy. His head tipped up to hers; his body was under hers. Her emotions swirled out of control. She wanted more from him than this. She wanted—no, needed—something that he wasn't offering.
Something more than duty. She broke the kiss, taking deep breaths to try to remember that despite the garden and the moonlight, this wasn't a love story.
She wasn't the heroine in some happily-ever-after tale. Reality was that Jake hadn't wanted to marry her. It was only the pressure of the media and his family that had sent him out after her.
And despite his sweet words, she knew it was too soon for Jake to feel anything but anger toward her.
"What's going through that head of yours, Rissa?"
"Nothing you'd want to hear."
"I know I've screwed up one thing after another, but marry me and let me make this right."
"If we got married it'd be more business than romance, wouldn't it?"
"It would be what we made it. There's no one else in our relationship but us and Peter."
"I'm scared, Jake."
"Of what?"
"Of making the wrong decision and ruining Peter's life."
"I told you earlier that those shoulders of yours are too small to carry everything. Share that burden with me, Rissa, I'm not going to let you down again."
Promise? She wanted to ask but didn't. Normally she wasn't this needy. Normally she wasn't this timid. Normally she made her decisions and lived with the consequences. But it was time to stop clinging to girlhood fantasies and start living in the real world. A world that included more than her and Peter.
"Okay, Jake. I'll marry you."
* * *
Jake figured it probably wasn't the best acceptance in history, but he knew it was good enough for him. He stood, pulled Larissa to her feet and took her in his arms.
But her fingers over his lips stopped him. "No, Jake."
"Why not?"
"I want this marriage to work for Peter's sake."
"I've never heard that sex screwed up a marriage."
"I think it would screw up ours. I can't think straight when you kiss me."
"Good," he said, lowering his head again. But she turned away from him and his lips barely brushed her hair.
"Dammit, woman."
"You're not listening to me."
"You're not saying anything I want to hear."
"I'm sorry, but I think keeping things platonic between us is for the best."
"Woman, who are you kidding?"
"Maybe myself. But it's important to me."
"Hell," he said, letting her go. She took a step away from him, but it didn't change the way his blood was racing. He was still aroused and could tell from her shallow breathing and flushed skin she was too. If he pushed her, he could convince her she was wrong. He knew it. And he suspected she knew it.
Why then was she saying no?
"I'm not letting this go. Honestly, I don't think we can live together without sleeping together."
"You may be right. But I'd like us to try it."
"I don't understand."
"It's because we have to get married," she said softly.
He waited, sensing there was more she had to say. Here was the Larissa he'd known in college. The quiet and contemplative woman who'd spent hours discussing world politics but had never said a word about her upbringing. Would he ever understand this woman?
Finally she bit her bottom lip and looked up at him. "I don't want to start thinking there's more between us than obligation."
He knew she was being serious. He wanted to respond to that, to take this discussion even deeper, but instead, all he could think about was her lips. The bottom one she kept nibbling on as she thought about what she was going to say next. He wanted to suckle on it, to tease away her solemn mood with a lighter one. A safer one. Because he didn't like where this conversation was going.
"More? Like what?" he asked at last.
She crossed her arms over her chest and tipped her head to the side, watching him with those wide expressive eyes of hers. "Like love."
Oh, no, not love. If the topic didn't change soon, he'd have to say to hell with it and force matters back into the physical realm, where he was more confident. "Just love?"