“Cheers,” he said, and tipped his glass against hers.
Rachel took a sip, enjoying the crispness of the wine, and then kept going, finishing the entire glass in one fell swoop.
“Okay, then,” Jamie said, amused, and refilled her glass.
She watched the flames in the fire pit as they spread outward and grew larger, and she tried to pretend she wasn’t acutely aware of the man seated next to her. A mere five inches of space separated their bodies, and he was so close she could actually smell him. By now, she was familiar with the scent of his soap and shampoo, and the underlying musk that was his alone. She breathed deeply, furtively.
“How long are you going to be mad at me?” he asked, idly turning the wineglass in one hand. Rachel watched, noting the strong, tapered fingers and neat nails. His hands fascinated her. She knew how they felt on her bottom. How would they would feel on the most sensitive parts of her body?
“I’m not upset with you,” she said after a moment, and she realized it was true. In fact, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d been this comfortable with someone, although that might have been the wine she’d just guzzled. She was beginning to feel the effects. Jamie was easy to be with. He made her laugh, and he had a way of putting her at ease so she felt she could say—and do—just about anything. And that was the problem. She’d allowed her guard to slip. She’d let herself forget he was her client. “I’m upset with myself.”
Jamie swiveled his head to stare at her in surprise. “Why?”
He was so close, even in the dim light from the overhead bulbs, she could see the faint bristle shadowing his jaw, and the strong vein that ran along the side of his neck and throbbed strongly. Rachel would only have to lean over to press her mouth against his skin.
“You know why,” she said. “Because I forgot myself.”
He looked at her with a mixture of exasperation and amusement and, reaching over, took her wineglass from her hand and set it down alongside his own.
“Come here,” he murmured, and before Rachel could protest, he slid a hand along her jaw to cup her face and turn it for a kiss. Rachel didn’t resist; if she was honest with herself, she’d been wanting this since she fled his house yesterday morning.
His mouth was warm and he tasted faintly of the wine, and the small sound of approval he made sent shivers of awareness along Rachel’s spine. Almost without will, she leaned in to him. Her hand curled around his arm, feeling the muscles beneath the soft cotton of his shirt, and reveling in how solid and hard he was.
Jamie pulled back and studied her, before reaching up to smooth a stray tendril of hair back from her face. After a moment, a smile touched his mouth. “I want you to forget yourself, Rachel McCafferty.”
“Rachel Narducci.”
Jamie shook his head. “Nah, you’re not a Narducci. Not anymore.”
Rachel smiled ruefully. “If I ever was. The more I think back on those days, the more I wonder why we got married in the first place.”
Jamie shifted to look at her more fully. “That always did bug me. What was it about that dude that made you decide to go and marry him?”
His voice held so much contempt and disbelief that Rachel laughed. After a moment, she sighed, and shrugged. “I don’t know. I was young and impressionable, and he was such a big personality. He used to call me doll-face, and even though it sounds old-fashioned, and maybe even a little condescending, I actually liked it.” She risked a glance at Jamie. She’d never even told her girlfriends that bit, because she’d known how they would react. “Stupid, right?”
“To marry someone because he calls you doll-face?” Jamie made a scoffing sound. “Yeah.” He picked up her hand in his and turned it over, before pressing a kiss against her palm, and then curling his fingers over it. “I would never call you doll-face. Sugar lips, maybe. Hot pants, definitely. Or maybe sweet cheeks.”
Rachel snatched her hand from his, laughing in mock outrage. “Sweet cheeks?”
“C’mon,” he teased. “You’ve got a great ass.”
His compliment, however crude, made Rachel blush. Nobody—not even Deke—had ever told her she had a great ass.
“Thanks,” she said with a grimace. “I think. But I didn’t marry Deke just because he called me doll-face. For all his faults, he can actually be extremely charming, and when he turns his attention on you…” Her voice trailed off.
“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Jamie said. “I get it. The guy’s a multi-millionaire, he’s good-looking in his own bizarre, attention-grabbing way, and he probably showered you with gifts. How can anyone compete with that?”