Chapter 8 #2
It was a minute before she realized she was supposed to be brushing out the wrinkles.
She glanced up to his face and saw he was looking at her. “Your shirt was wrinkled,” she told him by way of explanation.
“Oh. It’s not much better now.”
“It’s a little better.” She rubbed at the fabric to prove her point. It was still wrinkled.
“No it’s not.” His voice was warm, very appealing. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“You like wrinkled shirts?”
“Not really.”
“But you said you weren’t complaining about having a wrinkled shirt.”
He moved his hand until he was covering her hand on his belly. “I wasn’t complaining about you trying to fix it.”
“I’m good at fixing things.”
“I know you are.”
“I’m not good at being a fiancée.” She heard the words and, to her own ears, they sounded kind of silly, like she might be a little too inebriated to be articulate and coherent.
James seemed to understand them though. He leaned forward, a deliciously rough texture in his voice. “I beg to differ.”
She was feeling far too soft and melty, so she decided she needed to lighten the mood. “Who says that?”
“Says what?”
“Beg to differ.”
He blinked at her. “I said that.”
“I know you said it, and I said who says that?”
He took deep breath and thought through this enigma. “Oh. Clearly I say that even if no one else does.”
“Well, that’s good. Got to keep the snotty colloquialisms alive.” She was particularly pleased with landing on a word as impressive as “colloquialism” in her condition.
“I’m full of snotty colloquialisms,” he said, leaning back against the seat and smiling at her.
She leaned forward, drawn irresistibly toward his rare warmth. “Good to know.”
She wanted to touch him, but that seemed far too dangerous, so she contented herself with brushing at the wrinkles of his shirt again.
This seemed to progress to rubbing his chest until her hand moved higher and she was stroking his jaw.
She heard his breath hitch as her fingers ran lightly over his lips. She suddenly realized what she was doing, so she quickly pulled her hand back.
Before she had time to think through the significance or be embarrassed, he pulled her hand back toward his face. “Why did you stop?”
Part of her knew that he was affected by the alcohol just like she was. Not enough for them to be out of control, but enough for their inhibitions to be seriously down. But that part of her got drowned by all the rest of this. “I was touching your lips,” she whispered.
His hazel eyes had gone hot—so hot they made her gasp. “So keep touching them.”
She stroked the tips of her fingers over the thin line of his mouth, the light touch strangely provocative. Her skin flushed and a pleasant pressure was developing between her legs. She’d never felt anything like it before—not from just caressing someone.
He seemed to be affected by the touch too.
He let out a hoarse sigh that was almost a groan and then reached up to take her hand and guide it to stroke the rest of his face.
His skin was rough with slight bristles and warm, and she felt like sighing at the feel of the texture against her hand and fingertips.
Finally he lifted her hand and pressed a little kiss against the palm. It was vaguely gallant, but far more intimate than a kiss on the knuckles.
“Do I get to touch you now too?” he murmured, his mouth still pressed against her palm.
“God, yes,” she gasped, arching her spine slightly as so many erotic sensations ran through her.
He straightened up and moved his hand so he was brushing his fingers over her lips.
It felt similarly light, intimate, deliciously tantalizing.
Then he was stroking her face, and she was dropping her head backward to expose her neck.
He caressed her neck, which felt so good she unconsciously pushed her chest out.
Her nipples were tight and tingling with the need to be touched.
Very slowly, his hand moved down until he was stroking her breasts over her thin top. She gasped in pleasure and gasped again as he very lightly flicked at one nipple and then the other.
“More,” she pleaded, losing herself in the sensations and the intensity of her need for him. She’d been aroused before, of course, but it had never felt like this—like the lightest of touches would send her falling over an endless precipice.
He raised his other hand and gave both of her breasts attention simultaneously, twirling the nipples and cupping handfuls until she was moaning helplessly.
“Feels so good,” she murmured, tossing her head against the seat. “I need more.”
Then he was suddenly kissing her, and it was just as deep and hard and intense as the first time next to the pool. He was leaning over her rather awkwardly because of the position of the backseat, but he’d cupped her face in his and was holding it steady as his mouth ravaged her.
She responded eagerly, letting go of any of her normal reservations. This was too good, too real, too right. She couldn’t talk herself out of doing it.
Not tonight.
Soon James’s hands were all over her, feeling her in places she desperately wanted to feel him. She was so aroused she was whimpering from it, and she was completely unaware of time, place, or logic as she surrendered to her need for him.
The only thing that broke through her haze was the feel of the car pulling to a stop. James pulled back slightly and she glanced outside, realizing that they’d already gotten home.
And she hadn’t had nearly enough of him.
“Oh, God,” she breathed, clutching at his shoulders.
“Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “Yeah.”
“We should go in. Kelly is waiting. We can’t…” She trailed off, assuming he’d know she meant they couldn’t stumble inside, halfway in an embrace, and end up making love on the living room sofa, when Kelly was in there waiting for him.
“Okay.” James pulled back farther and straightened up, obviously trying to get himself under control. “We’ll go in. Check on the girls and thank Kelly. Then if you still want this…”
“What?” Rose prompted, desperate to hear what he’d say.
“Then come to my bedroom. If you get inside and think things through and still want this, then come to my bedroom.”
“Okay.” She felt rattled and aroused and rumpled and half-embarrassed by how shameless she’d been a minute before.
“You go in first. I need a minute.”
It didn’t take a genius to know why he needed a minute, so she climbed out still throbbing with arousal but in better shape than he was to walk.
She went inside and tried to make conversation with her sister, who teased her about drinking too much.
Better to be thought drunk than horny, she concluded.
James came in shortly after her, and they managed to get rid of Kelly pretty quickly. The girls were already asleep, so all that was left was to go to their respective bedrooms.
Rose closed her door and thought for a minute, but everything inside her wanted to do one thing.
So she did it. She hurried down the hall and knocked on his bedroom door.
He must have been waiting right in front of it because it opened immediately. With a rough sound, he pulled her into his arms, shutting the door behind him.
James no longer cared if it was wrong or not. It couldn’t be wrong. He didn’t care if he was Rose’s boss or if they’d been thrown together through an unnatural situation that might have heightened their responses to each other. He didn’t care that they’d both drunk too much wine.
Rose seemed to want this, and he’d never wanted anything as much.
The only thing that concerned him was that Rose might be feeling pressured into this—even though she’d told him she wasn’t—so he made sure to give her an easy way out if she wanted it.
He desperately hoped she wouldn’t want it, and he waited just inside his bedroom door after they’d gone to their rooms for the night, waiting to see if she would come to him.
He really hadn’t been sure—even if she wasn’t feeling pressured, she might have let sense catch up to her and start to question whether this was the wisest course for them to take—so he was intensely relieved when he heard the light tap on the door.
He swung it open and pulled her toward him unable to hold himself back anymore.
He was kissing her immediately, and she was clutching at him, just as hungry as he was. He slid his tongue into her mouth and waged a duel with hers, sliding his hands down to her hips and pulling her tightly against him.
He’d had good sex before—plenty of times—but he couldn’t remember ever feeling so out of control.
They stumbled over to the bed, still in the embrace, and when Rose’s legs hit the edge of the bed, they both tumbled down onto the mattress. He moved over her, claiming her mouth again, drinking her in, wanting to feel her in every way.
She was fisting her hands in his shirt and rocking her body up into his. He loved how eager she felt, how she was so caught up in feeling that she couldn’t help but respond to him this way. He wanted her to let go even more.
He wanted her to give all of herself to him, holding nothing back.
She broke the kiss off by turning her head and taking a few raspy breaths. “Oh, God, James!”
He grunted out an answer and couldn’t stop kissing her, moving his mouth in a line down her throat, licking and nibbling and putting pressure lightly on her pulse point.
“James,” she gasped.
He loved hearing her say his name like that. He wanted to hear it again, so he nipped her throat again.
“James!” she cried softly, arching up into him.
“Rosie,” he mumbled. He wanted to let her know how he was feeling, how into her he was, so he said against her skin, “You’re so beautiful. You feel so good.”
She made a breathless sound, one that sounded like she appreciated the words, so he added, “No one has ever felt so good.”
“Me too.” The response wasn’t exactly appropriate, but he knew exactly what she meant. She was tugging at his shirt, trying to pull it off.