Jeanie London - Over the Edge

“I kissed you, remember?” She sounded defensive but hadn’t meant to, which argued strongly that she was revealing a good bit more than she’d intended. This man was blowing all her intentions straight to hell. Not good.

“I’ve been remembering your kiss for ten years.”

His admission was a whole lot more than a taunting declaration. There was substance to those words, an emotional context that seemed to come easily to him, but made her question exactly what he meant.

When had he remembered? In the light of day, when he could feel smug for catching a thief? Or at night in the dark, where they’d first encountered each other and kissed? Or did he think about her at any odd hour, as she often thought about him?

Stepping back, Mallory removed herself from his line of fire, her breast sliding from his grasp. Uncomfortable with the direction her thoughts were taking, she needed to figure out why she was getting contemplative. She needed to regroup.

Leaning into the spray, she shut off the water and considered how to refocus and regain control of this seduction. She didn’t want to be distracted by her conflicting feelings for him right now. She wanted to savor the sensations he coaxed from her body, wanted to carry out her sexy revenge and work this man out of her system once and for all.

But the thought had no sooner crossed her mind than he grabbed her, his big powerful arms lashing around her as he dragged her out of the shower before she had a chance to react.

Suddenly he swung her up into his arms, anchoring her against his chest, heedless of the water sluicing all over him.

“I’ll take you up on your offer.”

Mallory didn’t have a chance to respond before they were in motion. She slipped her arms around his neck to steady herself as he maneuvered her out of the bathroom.

The man knew exactly where he was heading. Without another word he strode across her suite, deposited her in a wet bundle in the middle of her bed. But he didn’t join her. He stood there, staring down at her with those serious eyes.

“Got condoms?” he asked.

Mallory rolled to the opposite side of the bed, not caring that her hair dripped all over the silk comforter. She pulled open the night table drawer to reveal the variety of condoms she’d stored there with the specific intention of inviting him to visit. Not that she’d admit that aloud. Let him think she needed to keep a bulk supply handy, which seemed particularly significant since he apparently didn’t have one on him.

“A buffet of protection.” She’d heard the line in a movie once and it seemed to satisfy him. He nodded and shrugged off his jacket with a casual roll of those broad shoulders.

Grabbing a few of the foil packets, she tossed them onto her pillows before scooting back down on the bed. His gaze never left her, and Mallory found herself feeling very naked, a physical sensation that made every inch of her bare skin tingle in the air, made each drip from her wet hair glide down her back in slow motion.

“Let me help.” She preferred participation to playing the spectator.

Some flicker in his gaze made her guess that her request pleased him. He took a step toward the bed, occupying himself with the buttons on his cuffs, while she tackled his tie.

She rose to her knees, and they were suddenly so close she could feel the heat radiating from his skin, even through his shirt. A hint of some sexy aftershave mingled with the scent that was all him—masculine, scrumptious male—an ambrosia that penetrated her senses and added to the experience of this man.

Even kneeling on the bed, the top of her head only reached his chin and she had to tip her head back to look into his face. He had a striking face, all strong planes and angles, a face saved from true ruggedness by the sculpted lines of his mouth and those soulful brown eyes.

His body, however, wasn’t spared the same fate. After his shirt and tie had been relegated to a heap on the floor, Mallory was treated to the sight of that chest in all its glory as he dragged the undershirt over his head, a breathtaking display of shifting muscle and masculine brawn.

There was nothing small about this man. Not his broad, broad shoulders. Not his powerful arms. Not even his hands, which were long and square-fingered and strong.

He was rugged in a way that was all grace, as if all his coarse edges had been buffed away. Or maybe it was simply that his golden skin and hair made him seem that way.

But something about the sight of his naked chest made her feel her own nakedness more keenly than ever. Perhaps it was anticipation that heightened her senses. She wanted to feel that hot tanned skin close, the crisp blond hairs brushing her nipples, that lean waist beneath her curious fingers.

Her hands trembled as she reached for his belt.

He assisted by unfastening his button and zipper and then he was shoving his slacks down. His hands tangled with hers as they maneuvered his erection from its soft cotton prison, both of them stunned into a speechlessness so silent it was reverent.

Ten years of waiting had been long enough to build the expectation to the breaking point. And she certainly felt close to the edge as he dragged his underwear and socks away, treating her to an up close and personal view of the whole package.

Wow. Her heart did this crazy sort of flip-flopping thing, missing a beat entirely. Jake Trinity was almost too gorgeous to be real and suddenly the impressive roster of women he’d dated made sense. Women would be attracted to this man. Just as she’d been. He was nearly too gorgeous, too masculine, too larger-than-life, but his calm, almost serious demeanor made him seem unaware of his looks and the effect they had on the opposite sex in a way that was just too appealing.

When he shed his glasses, his clothes and his professional persona, the real man emerged, a man who’d been blessed with a body that had been designed for sex. She paused with her hands hovering over his chest, his body heat spanning the distance to sink into her skin like a laser.

“May I?” she asked, although she didn’t expect him to deny her. But there was something polite, necessary even, about the formality of gaining his permission before she went on a research expedition of his body.

He inclined his head, a studied motion that suggested he’d been waiting ten years for her to ask.

She’d been waiting, too. For ten years she’d wondered who this man really was, who he was growing up to be, had been alternately fascinated and repelled by him, and by herself because she’d so badly wanted to know.

Now finally, finally…

Threading her fingertips through the dark-gold hairs on his chest, she explored the terrain of muscle beneath warm skin. She splayed her hands upward over hard pecs, along the expanse of broad shoulders, down sculpted, powerful arms. The simple act of touching was an unusually potent experience given the years behind the need, given the sheer beauty of the man she touched.

Silky hairs trickled to a V beneath his belly button, a golden arrow pointing downward to the breathtaking region below his waist…lean hips, muscular thighs, incredible erection.

He was so… solid. Not just his equipment, but the whole deal. He was a man who could protect a woman from the world with his powerful body.

If a woman wanted to be protected.

Mallory wasn’t the need-to-be-protected kind, but rather the live-for-the-moment, savor-his-gorgeous-body variety. She was a woman with a healthy sexual appetite and she hadn’t made time for a lover in quite a while.

Jake Trinity was a feast.

Her own breathing grew shallow, echoing in the quiet as she smoothed her hands down his waist, then ventured around to explore the feel of his muscular, perfectly shaped butt.