Chapter 4
In the end, meeting up for their … what was it, exactly? A tryst? A one-night stand? Well, whatever one called a night of illicit sex with a movie star, arranging it turned out to be a surprisingly simple affair.
It was happening in a cabin. On the ranch.
Far from curious eyes and possible cameras. Total privacy.
And that was thanks to a fairy godmother disguised as her new best friend, Maebh O’Connor.
The wily octogenarian, armed with her Irish sight and more than a hint of mischief, had somehow — foresaw?
Surmised? — their situation and quietly whispered the code to unlock the rustic haven on the edge of the small lake.
“You came.”
Suzette turned from watching the taillights of Maebh’s Jeep fade into the night. He stood on the edge of the veranda, leaning against a post, backlit by the warm glow spilling from the open door.
All darkly mysterious and powerful. Impossibly handsome.
And hers. For tonight.
She tilted her head, moving closer. “Did you think I’d get cold feet?”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
Climbing the wooden steps, she stopped one below him. “Wanna know what thought crossed my mind?”
He grinned. “How much I’m gonna blow your mind?”
Her cheeks heated. “Besides that one.”
“Enlighten me.”
“You haven’t even kissed me, and here I am, prepared to get down and dirty with you. Does that make me a wanton woman?”
“My wanton woman.” His voice dropped, rich and low. He extended his hand, palm up. “But I can remedy my blunder.”
“I’d be obliged, kind sir.” She placed her hand in his.
He chuckled, the sound low and warm, urging her up beside him. “I love that I can’t predict what’ll come from your mouth next.”
Lifting his free hand to her neck, his fingers tunneled into her hair, giving a gentle tug to tilt her head back. “Once my lips touch yours, there’s no going back. You okay with that, Suzette Bosch?”
Was she?
A flutter of panic tightened her chest.
Maybe she was risking more than she could handle.
Oh, dear. Where had her earlier courage gone?
He lifted their joined hands and pressed the back of hers against his chest. “Suzette?”
His heartbeat thudded beneath her skin — steady, strong, impossibly real — and it gave her the courage to go on. She drew a light breath and whispered, “I’m okay with that.”
He exhaled softly, the sound catching somewhere between relief and desire. The sound emboldened her.
Then his hand slid to the curve of her jaw, his thumb tracing the faint tremor of her pulse. And when his lips finally touched hers, it wasn’t the claiming kiss she’d half expected. It was slow, tentative — like a promise tested in fragile light as the warmth of his breath mingled with hers.
Like he couldn’t quite believe he was kissing her.
Her fingers curled in his shirt, drawn by the heat beneath the fabric, and he deepened the kiss. Just enough to draw a quiet sound from her throat. The world seemed to fall away, leaving only the soft rasp of breath and the shiver of contact.
And yes, her belly fluttered with all sorts of wonderful things, her blood thrummed with anticipation. But underneath all of that, there was a knowing — a deep certainty that what happened tonight was going to alter her world.
And she was okay with that.
Almost. Maybe.
When he lifted his head, his gaze held hers. Dark, intent, and surprisingly, full of the same astonishment echoing through her chest. “Definitely no going back,” he stated, voice roughened.
Those gruff words flowed through her like molten lava.
And she became acutely aware of her own body — the weight of her breasts, the tightening of her nipples, the warmth unfurling low in her belly.
She wanted him.
She was certain she had never wanted anyone more.
And he wanted her. Really, really wanted her.
The knowledge that she held sway over his emotions — that she, ordinary Suzette Antoinette Bosch, could affect him in such a visceral way — snapped the last fragile strand of doubt inside her.
“I wasn’t planning to,” she whispered.
*
Her words fanned the embers he kept banked, and he walked her backward through the doorway, unable to wait another second. The door thudded shut behind them, and he eased her coat off her shoulders. It slid to the floor in a whisper of fabric.
His hands found her back, gliding up over the satin folds until they reached warm flesh. So, so soft. Softer than the blue satin she wore. It had taken a gargantuan effort not to explore her like this during their dance. Now he could. He applied gentle pressure, drawing her flush against him.
Her answering gasp was all the encouragement he needed.
His mouth came down on hers, hard and hungry, stealing her breath in a single, searing kiss. But was it theft if her every breath belonged to him? She looped her arms around his neck as his hands swept lower, gripping her hips, then the curve beneath them.
In one smooth movement he lifted her.
Crossing her ankles behind his back, she pulled herself even closer. Her warmth against him, the soft whimper in her throat … it was everything.
He deepened the kiss as her fingers threaded through his hair, anchoring him to her. His tongue slid against hers, stroking, teasing. Committing her taste, her feel, to memory. Every soft sound she made went straight to his control, fraying the edges of it.
Turning, he pressed her firmly against the wall. She moaned, instinctively tilting her hips into him. The friction nearly unraveled him on the spot — white-hot, precise, devastating. He clenched his jaw, fighting for sanity.
There would only ever be one first time between them.
And he wanted to savor it. Every breath, every sound, every trembling second of it.
“Justin…” she breathed.
Not JK.
Justin.
His given name — the one almost no one used, the one buried beneath the brand and the spotlight — on her tongue hit him low and deep, knocking the wind out of him more effectively than any stunt or fight scene ever had.
For a moment he couldn’t move.
Couldn’t think beyond the heat radiating off her body, the simple trust in her voice, the impossible sweetness of hearing who he really was whispered back to him … like she saw the man, not the icon.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his forehead resting against hers. His breaths came uneven, mingling with hers in the quiet, electric space between them.
“Say it again,” he murmured.
Her fingers curled into his hair. “Justin.”
A soft, reverent curse left him. He shifted his grip on her legs and lowered his mouth to her neck. Her head tipped instinctively, offering herself in a way that made his hold tighten and drew a breath from him that shook.
He kissed down the delicate line of her throat, along her collarbone, slow and deliberate, memorizing every second of it.
She shivered beneath his mouth, the soft tremor shooting straight through him. Then his lips reached the edge of her gown. Satin. Fabric. A barrier he hadn’t realized he would resent.
He groaned in frustration.
She laughed. Light, breathless, impossibly tempting. Her hands came up to frame his face, guiding him back to her. Their lips met again, softer this time but no less consuming, no less dangerous to whatever control he had left.
He tightened his hold and carried her deeper into the cabin.
Toward the bed, toward the night, toward whatever waited for them on the other side of this moment.