Leanne Banks - Footloose

He felt a jolt of surprise. “Is this on your list?”

“Hmm. I guess it is.”

“Okay,” he said and leaned toward her.

She pressed her hand against his chest. “No. I have to kiss you. I have to start it.”

Accustomed to taking the lead, Jack felt a startling punch of exhilaration. Damn, who would have thought…

Her eyes open, she leaned toward him and lifted her lips to his and rubbed from side to side. The soft texture of her mouth and the sensual movement provided the biggest tease he’d had in a long time. He was used to taking what he wanted. Sure, he knew the ways of seduction, but they were a means to an end.

She opened her mouth and he felt a lick of anticipation shimmy down to his groin. He could feel her indecision. To taste or not to taste.

He struggled with an instinct to take control, to plunge his tongue into her mouth, but her tentative explorations were too delicious.

He opened his mouth and barely brushed her lips to give her encouragement without guiding her.

She echoed his movement and rewarded him by sliding her tongue just inside his mouth.

White-hot lust raced through him. He wanted to devour her mouth, bury his face in her breasts and slide between her thighs until neither of them could walk normally. He couldn’t remember feeling this hot since he was sixteen years old.

She lingered, rubbing just the tip of her tongue over the inside of his lip, then against the tip of his own tongue. Then she pulled back and he again fought the urge to close his arms around her and kiss the breath out of her.

Something made him stop. He would figure out later just what that something was.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes smoky with a hint of arousal, and she smiled. “Thanks.”

Over the pounding of his heart, he smiled back. “Thank you.”

Driving to the gate, he pulled to a stop again, putting the car in park. He got out and opened her door. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’m sure,” she said, her voice determined as she rose to her feet and stood for a couple of seconds as if to get her bearings.

He found an old paper receipt in the console and scratched his cell number on it. “Call me,” he said, handing it to her.

She glanced at the paper, but just smiled enigmatically. “Thanks again.”

He watched her walk down the driveway and wondered why he felt like he was the one who’d been hit by a hurricane.

OKAY, SO MAYBE the three-hurricane thing hadn’t been such a good idea after all, Amelia thought the next morning as the sound of her alarm clock scraped like a thousand razors in her skull. She felt renewed sympathy for the state of Florida for the pounding of hurricanes it had taken throughout the years.

Images of the night before skittered through her brain. She’d started a list. It had begun sensibly, but then that hot guy had made suggestions. Had she really kissed the man she’d met last night? She pulled her sheet over her head in embarrassment. What was his name? Something that started with a J. John, Jim. Jack. He had been so hot, so good-looking and sexy, and she’d just bet he possessed little to zero ambition. She was lucky he hadn’t taken advantage of her.

Or maybe not so lucky, she thought, as a kick of defiance raced through her. The advantage to being taken advantage of was that she wouldn’t have to take responsibility for being a bad girl. Remembering how his biceps had felt beneath her fingertips and the contrast of his light eyes against his tanned skin, she closed her own eyes and relived the secret pleasure of feeling desirable. She wondered what it would take for her to find the nerve to have a fling with a guy like that.

A siege of protests stormed through her mind. She was starting to think that this sexual attraction thing was like a muscle and she needed to build up to it.

She might be ready in a couple of months, she told herself and pulled the sheet back down.

A hangover wouldn’t keep her from beating Lillian Bellagio into the office. The one thing that had kept Amelia from dissolving into a puddle during her breakup was the knowledge that she was good at her job. She could make order out of mayhem on any day that ended with y. The love of her life may have kicked her to the side of the road, but the people at Bellagio thought she was all that and a bag of chips. Her boss, Trina Roberts, had even confided that several supervisors had engaged in little battles to keep her in their departments. Gingerly lifting her head from her pillow, Amelia eased out of bed and walked to the bathroom, wishing she could mainline ibuprofen.

She glanced in the mirror and saw the same old pale face staring back at her. Her blond hair rebelled at her meticulous efforts with the flat iron yesterday, sticking out in every direction represented on the compass. Will had preferred her hair super straight. That had been easy when she was young, but once puberty hit, her hair had turned wavy and more unruly.

She scowled at her reflection. She should cut her hair and dye it black. Add black lipstick and several piercings and she would look like a rebellious teenager.

Disgusted with her indecisiveness, she stripped off her nightshirt and got into the shower. After she lathered her hair and body and rinsed, she glanced down at her bright pink toenails in approval. One small step for independence.

Will had preferred neutral colored nails. But Amelia had learned that her brightly painted toenails gave her a little lift. One question about her preferences answered. Now she only had a million more questions about herself to ask.

Thirty minutes and three cups of coffee later, with her hair pulled into a low ponytail, she dressed in a cotton skirt and blouse and walked toward Lillian Bellagio’s offices in the south wing of the house.

Knowing Lillian had ditched her last three assistants in record time, Amelia hadn’t let the balmy climate and the sumptuous Bellagio estate fool her. Although Lillian’s calendar was filled with garden club meetings and luncheons, Bellagio’s grande dame had zero tolerance for sloppy staff, business or otherwise.

After confirming Lillian’s usual breakfast of tea with cream, a peach scone and a small bowl of fresh fruit, Amelia turned on her computer and checked Lillian’s e-mail for reminders and notices. Then she scanned her own messages and responded to her mother’s daily e-mail, along with a note from one of her sisters. She printed off the tentative itinerary for the next board meeting and made a list of the most recent requests for Lillian’s presence and/or the presence of her money.

Fifteen minutes before the planned time for their morning meeting, Lillian walked through the doorway, her perfectly groomed white hair smoothed into a stiff bob that Amelia was certain would defy gale-force winds. Lillian had arrived increasingly early each morning. Amelia wondered if the woman was trying to catch her off-guard. After taking care of several Bellagio disasters, Amelia wasn’t about to let Bellagio’s most demanding, fickle and finicky board member one-up her. It was a matter of pride.

“Good morning, Amelia.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Bellagio. How are you?”

“Very good, thank you. Have you ordered my tea?”

“Yes, ma’am. I asked them to hold it until you arrived so it wouldn’t get cold. Excuse me,” she said and pressed the intercom button. “Beatrice, could you please bring Mrs. Bellagio’s breakfast?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the kitchen assistant said. “I’ll be right up.”

“Thank you,” Amelia said and moved to a chair in the sitting area where Lillian preferred to plan her day.

“You’re the most prompt assistant I’ve ever had,” Lillian said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bellagio.”