Kathleen O'Reilly - Just Give In...

“I wouldn’t have kept it,” she told him with a forgiving smile, as if it didn’t matter, but Jason knew she would have kept that sweater until she died. The right thing to do would be to buy her a new sweater. Something pretty. Something nice. Something extravagant.

“I’m sorry about what Rita was thinking,” he continued. Apparently, today was the day that apologies were flowing like wine. Sonya had always hated that he never apologized.

“She thought we were having sex. It’s not a big deal.” Brooke’s head was down, dark hair hiding her face from view.

“It wouldn’t be if it were true, but it’s not, so it is a big deal.” He sounded like the world’s biggest prude, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t know why he didn’t mind, but when Brooke smiled up at him, he knew he’d said the right thing.

“I can cook dinner for you if you like.”

Such nice words, such dangerous words. In the back of his head, Jason knew this wasn’t smart, but on the other hand, he didn’t want her to starve, either.

“I have a frozen pizza, not much else.” It wasn’t meant to be an invitation. But it was.

“A frozen pizza and a can of peas,” she reminded him with a smile that shot straight to places he’d rather not be thinking about right this second, but like a dog, he kept on thinking, anyway. He kept on panting, too, kept on remembering the sight of her perfect breasts.

A tiny voice urged him to take, but there was something in her eyes that held him back. He saw desire there, sure, but also he saw gratitude, and he felt as if he should lay out the ground rules before she did something they would both regret.

“Brooke?”

“Yes?”

Suddenly, a rabbit jumped across the road, and Jason swerved to avoid it. Brooke fell against him, her hand clutching his thigh, his engorged crotch.

Damn.

Quickly, her hand was gone, and Brooke shot to the opposite side of the bench seat. It was safer with her there.

Jason cleared his throat. “This is a very small town, and there are a lot of behaviors that are frowned upon.”

She glanced at him, a provocative smile on her provocative mouth. He wanted to taste that provocative mouth.

“Are we having the sex talk?” she asked.

“It’s not a sex talk,” he protested, then rubbed his face where his scar was starting to throb. “It’s more of an anti-sex talk. This is a dangerous situation and I know you think you’re attracted to me but, hell, Brooke. I don’t want a woman in my bed because I bought her a shirt.”

It was the wrong thing to say because off came her shirt. Jason tried desperately not to stare at the twin mounds of taut flesh. Failed. “Can we please wear our clothes?”

She turned, offering her breasts before him like some buffet plate. “It’s your shirt and you think I want to sleep with you because you gave me a shirt. Ergo, no shirt. No problem.”

His mouth grew dry, his cock started to ache and his foot was pushing as hard as it could on the gas. “Put on the shirt.”

She grinned and ran a hand through her hair, dark against her perfect ivory skin. “No.”

“Please,” he asked nicely, hearing the crack in his voice.

“No. I’m an adult, capable of following the call of my loins, and if your shirt is going to get in the way…”

Jason kept his eyes on the road, but it didn’t help distract him from his desire for her. Up ahead he could see his long, gravel drive. His bed, her laying across his bed, wearing nothing but him.

“Brooke,” he tried again, not looking. Damn. He was looking. The woman had the most perfect set of breasts on the planet, and apparently she wasn’t shy about showing them off.

This was probably how Hart got in trouble with her. They were probably somewhere in Vegas, she pulled off her shirt and kapow. Circuits were fried, good intentions were lost and sex was had. Halfway up the drive, he slammed on the brakes because he needed clothes on her before they made it to the house. In the truck, there were rules, gear-shifts. In the house, all bets were off.

“Is there a problem?” she asked, laying her arm across the back of the seat, so hot, so warm, so…

“Brooke,” he repeated, pleading, since all he wanted to do was touch her, kiss her, take her. Her fingers tiptoed across the edge of his seat, flicking against his neck. It was the first time she’d ever touched him.

Jason turned, met her eyes firmly. “No.”

She cocked her head. “You don’t want me?” She knew he did, but he couldn’t tell her. It was the last armament keeping him in check.

“I don’t want you.”

Her hand slid from his face to his hard-on. Softly, tortuously, she squeezed. “Liar.”

“This isn’t right.”

Brooke slid closer, her breasts brushing against his arm, and he could smell his soap on her, his shampoo. “Kiss me. Make it right.”

As she said the words, she licked her lips and that was all he could take.

Jason grabbed her, pulled her astride him, and devoured her mouth like the starving man he was. Her fingers stroked his hair, his face. So long, too long. He explored her mouth with his tongue, feeling her warm welcome. It was like drowning.

His hands grabbed her breasts, knowing exactly where to touch, and she arched into him, riding his cock like they were already there.

He wanted her already there. He wanted inside her. He wanted to feel her. All of her. With clumsy fingers he attacked her fly, feeling the metal give, sliding beneath the rough denim, finding…her.

His finger thrust inside her, and she nipped at his lip, and Jason knew he wouldn’t make it to the house.

It had been so long. She felt so good. His finger pushed harder, higher, feeling the wet heat. Each time he thrust, she rode him. Hard, sure…sweet.

A woman at a vulnerable place, a woman who needed respect and patience.

Sweetness.

Some of his calm returned and he kissed her again, trying to take things gentle and slow. Her mouth tasted like peppermint and fire and her hips kept arching toward him, riding him…loving him.

Patience?

He was going to die.

“Take me here, Captain. Please.”

Her hands poised over his fly, waiting.

And who was he to stay no? Resigned to his fate, Jason opened his one good eye, stared at his house, blinked twice, and then prayed that his vision was wrong.

Survival instincts kicked in, he pushed Brooke aside and fumbled for the damned shirt.

“What’s wrong?” asked the topless woman who didn’t think that modesty was a good thing.

Wrong? She had no idea of the trouble her breasts were about to get them into. Everything was wrong because approaching the truck in her ridiculous heels was Sonya.

Seeing the other woman, Brooke finally had the sense to cover herself. “Who’s that?” she asked, and he could hear the hurt in her voice. He hated the hurt.

“I’m Sonya Kincaid. Mrs. Sonya Kincaid.”

Brooke gasped, but before she could kill him Jason clarified the situation. “Ex. She’s my ex.”

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