Fortune's Heirs: Reunion. Marie Ferrarella
Instead of picking up the paint can that Gloria had pushed up against the counter, Jack took the paint roller out of her hand and placed it on top of the closed container.
“You’re not moving.” The words, uttered in slow motion, tasted like cotton.
His eyes were intent on hers as he made up his mind. The second he did, excitement telegraphed itself through him. “I think that we need to get something out of our system first.”
Her mind whirled as she desperately searched for something to say. Something flippant to put him off because, God help her, she had a feeling she knew what was coming. And that it would be her undoing.
She took a deep breath. “I was never one for purging.”
“Sometimes—” his voice caressed her “—it has to be done in order to move forward.”
Think, Glory, think. “I heard leeches are coming back into vogue.”
Damn it. It felt as if his eyes were nailing her in place. This wasn’t even sporting. Why couldn’t Patrick Fortune have had ugly children? Or, barring that, why did he have to have a son who set her pulse racing the moment said son was anywhere within fifteen feet of her?
It just wasn’t fair, she’d done her time, Gloria thought in mounting desperation, still not moving from where she stood. She didn’t want to sink back into the velvet confines of desire. She wanted to be a nun—no, better than that, she wanted to be like one of those poor souls in Arabian fairy tales whose duty it was to guard the sultan’s wives. Eunuchs had their desire made null and void.
There was nothing null and void about her reaction to him.
Damn, she was supposed to be through with desire.
Jack pretended to dig through his pockets, searching for imaginary leeches. “Fresh out.”
“That’s a shame.” Gloria could feel the air getting caught in her throat. It had to be forced out. “I’ll take a rain check.”
“Gloria?”
Jack’s breath whispered along her skin. She would have swallowed if only there was something to swallow. “Yes?”
“Shut up.”
He saw a flash of temper in her eyes before it faded away. It only served to excite him further. Jack feathered his fingers through her hair, framing her face as he tilted it up to his.
If her heart hammered any harder, it was going to break into a million pieces. In self-defense, she began to talk again. “I heard a moving target is more of a challenge.”
“All right then, consider me challenged.”
He ran his thumb along her lower lip. He felt a pulsing in his loins as desire took a larger bite out of him. Unable to breathe, Jack brought his mouth down on hers.
Her mind went blank.
Her body went on automatic pilot.
Gloria threaded her arms around his neck, leaning her body into his as something that sounded vaguely like Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus” suddenly exploded inside her body and head.
Sunshine shot beams right and left, all but setting her on fire.
No, scratch that, she thought, he was setting her on fire.
Desperation scrambled through her, screaming, “Mayday.” Damn it, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
But oh dear Lord, it was glorious.
She clung harder, kissed harder. Determined that if she was going to be plowed under, she was going to leave her mark on him before she disintegrated.
It wasn’t working.
He’d made himself beard the lion in his den. Her den as the case was, he amended. More than anything, he wanted to get this, whatever it was that was bedeviling him, out of his system, put it behind him so that he would stop being ravaged by the claws of temptation and get on with his life.
In his experience, nothing ever lived up to hype, never came close to meeting expectations. Immeasurable disappointment always followed swiftly in the wake of anticipation, even minor anticipation. Forget about anything major. Major expectations always brought major disappointment crashing down about his ears.
And yet, he wasn’t disappointed.
At least, not in his expectations. What he was disappointed in was himself. Because instead of backing away, instead of feeling nothing more stirring than a smattering of indifference when he kissed her, he wanted more.
Hell, he wanted her.
Here, now, with paint being transferred from his coveralls to hers, he wanted to make love with her on the floor, on the counter, against the ladder. Everywhere and anywhere.
A rush was traveling through him the likes of which he couldn’t begin to fathom.
He wanted no part of it, it would only serve to confuse and complicate everything.
And yet he wanted more.
Wanted to embrace this sweet, agonizing sensation and fall into it until it completely cocooned him.
His very lungs ached.
It was not unlike the way they had felt when he had run his one and only New York marathon at the age of thirty. Any second now his lungs were going to explode. They’d already put him on notice.
With effort, he pulled himself back, abruptly ending what he’d abruptly started.
Gloria looked up at him, her expression as dazed as he felt.
It was a full minute before there was enough air in her lungs for her to form even a single word. “So,” she finally whispered.
“So,” he echoed, his mind nothing more than a vast wasteland.
Gloria pressed her lips together, wanting to kiss him again. Wanting to make love with him. Grateful that he hadn’t pressed the advantage that was so obviously his. Eventually she gathered together enough breath to say, “It’s behind us.”
Not by a long shot, Jack thought, unless he exerted superhuman control. Still, for the sake of sanity he went along with the pretense.
“Guess so.”
Any second now she was going to do something very stupid and throw herself back into his arms. Desperation began to vibrate through her. Her eyes never leaving his face, she took a step backward. “Maybe we should get back to work.”
“Maybe.”
All he could do was utter a solitary word, perhaps two. The way his thoughts were all scrambling into each other, he didn’t think that he was capable of constructing a coherent compound sentence. Right now, every word in his vocabulary was on a fantastic ride inside the blender that was his brain, whirling around and making no sense whatsoever.
Her legs felt shaky, just the way they had when he’d pulled her out of the car earlier this week right after the air bag had threatened to separate her from her claim to being a rational being. Maybe she should lump him right up there with claustrophobia. Heaven knew he had the same kind of impact on her that she felt when she was confined to small spaces. Panic had been at the center of her reaction just now. The kind of panic that occurred when she found circumstances utterly out of control and beyond her reach.
He had done that to her.
So why did she want to kiss him again?
And why in heaven’s name did she want to take what was going on here to the next level?
The second she’d thought of making love with him, something snapped to attention inside of her, an iron resolve set in place to keep her sane.
No, damn it, she wasn’t going to go that route again, she wasn’t going to follow her hormones down that same hazardous, slippery slope. She was