The Cowboy and the Cougar (The Cougar Chronicles #1)(12)

"That’s sad. I hope this exhibit is successful. In fact, I think I’d like to buy this painting."

"I don’t think that particular one’s for sale, sugar." Jack handed her the program. "It’s not listed."

Holly leafed through the pamphlet. He was right. "Shoot. Well, I’d like to support my professor. I’ll have to find another, I guess."

Holly chose a painting of an older woman gardening. It didn’t move her quite as much as the little boy on the horse, but it was beautiful nonetheless and the color scheme would look great in her loft. She and Jack said goodnight to Mark and took the downtown shuttle back to Holly’s loft.

Jack smiled as he entered the passcode. They took the elevator up and she fished her keys out of her purse and handed them to Jack.

Why had she handed the keys to Jack?

It had been an unconscious move on her part. Weird.

He unlocked the door and followed her in. He set the painting on the floor and smiled at her.

That gorgeous, sexy, heart-stopping smile.

Oh, she was a goner now. She knew exactly what he was after and she wanted it, too.

Was one more night with him too much to ask? Another night of mind-numbing sex that she could remember when it was all over?

"Jack—"

He pulled her to his body, gripped her cheeks with his warm hands, and lowered his mouth to hers.

His full lips were smooth and firm, laced with the lusty spiciness of the Petite Sirah they had drunk at the gallery. Slowly they slid over hers, kissing, caressing, urging, until Holly had no choice but to open to him. The kiss was slow at first, thoughtful, unlike their previous encounters, but its depth evoked powerful emotion from her head to her toes. His lips were numbing, drugging, and they carried her to a place where she felt, for a moment, a happy ending might exist for them. She allowed the illusion to saturate her mind and gave herself freely to his leisurely passion, meeting his gentle tongue with her own, exploring his sweet mouth with a soft fervor.

It was a beautiful kiss, unlike anything she’d experienced. One hand remained firmly on her cheek and his thumb caressed her as though she were made of fine porcelain. His other hand trailed down her neck and made her shiver as he gently massaged her nape. Such wonderful, talented hands.

The kiss continued. He didn’t touch her breasts, didn’t pull her closer into his arousal. She fought her own desire to grind into him, to unbutton his shirt and trail her fingers over his sculpted chest, his copper nipples. Instead she reached upward and tangled her fingers in his silky hair.

Holly lost track of time. Had it been only minutes? Or maybe half an hour? Still his lips held her in thrall and the kiss chorused like a symphony through her veins. Perfect.

The perfect kiss.

Her nipples puckered against her bra and moisture trickled between her legs. Still he kissed her lips and nothing more.

When he finally pulled his mouth from hers, he looked down at her, his eyes burning, and smiled.

"Holly," was all he said.

She wanted to tell him what that kiss had meant to her, that she would cherish it always. She parted her lips, but no words emerged.

"Sugar, that was the best kiss of my life."

"Oh, Jack, me too."

His fingers still caressing her cheek, he said, "I’m glad to hear that. Glad this isn’t just one-sided."

Holly widened her eyes. "How could you think that?"

"You don’t seem to want me like I want you."

Holly touched his lips, swollen and wet from the kiss. This man was so beautiful "Wanting you isn’t the issue, Jack. It never was. How could any woman not want you?"

He kissed the tips of her fingers and then gripped her shoulders and pulled her against his body. His arousal poked into her belly.

"Feel that? That’s me wanting you, Holly. That’s me dyin’ to make love to you."

"I—"

"Please. Please let me take you to bed tonight."

Holly closed her eyes and buried her head in his hard shoulder. He didn’t know, but she had already made her decision. She would take him to bed.

Tomorrow she’d tell him good-bye.





Chapter Seven


She had the world’s sexiest nipples. Jack couldn’t get enough of Holly’s breasts—their full, round shape, their soft flesh and especially those amazing rosy nipples that fit so well between his lips. They were smooth as satin beneath his fingers and tongue, and they tasted like sweet cream. He’d never known a woman’s nipples to have a flavor, but Holly’s did.

He couldn’t wait to get inside her hot body that gripped his cock like no other. He hadn’t had sex since the night they were together. Sure, he’d had the chance, but he hadn’t wanted to. Strange, but Holly had gotten under his skin that night and when he’d stood before her art class, naked as the day he was born, both joy and anger had seized him—joy that he’d found her and anger that she hadn’t wanted him past that one night.

She was hiding something. That much was clear. At this particular moment, though, he didn’t much care what it was. He burned for her and he was going to have her.

She writhed under him as he licked her nipples, sucked them, bit them. She liked her nipples bitten hard, his Holly, and he was happy to oblige. He trailed his fingers over her soft belly and entwined them through her dark thatch of curls. Nearly black, they were a few shades darker than her long mahogany hair. Why that turned him on, he couldn’t say, but he itched to inhale their muskiness, to sink his tongue into the moist folds they hid. He sifted through the curls to find her swollen clit and he rubbed it as he continued to tug on her nipple.