In Your Dreams (Blue Heron #4)(59)

He could see the pulse beating in her throat. “Your eyes are—”

“Normal.”

“Stop interrupting. Your eyes are very pretty.”

She shut them. “What color are they, Jack?”

“Dark blue.”

She scowled and opened them.

“Your nose is perfect and adorable.”

“Yeah. Perfect noses. So hot.”

“Shush.” Her ass was pressed right against his pelvis, and if he leaned in a little closer, he could—“Beautiful mouth. Made for kissing.”

“Does that line work?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it.” He smiled at her in the mirror, and her cheeks flushed. “You have perfect skin.”

“Talk to me in two weeks when I have my—”

“You know, you suck at taking a compliment. Say thank you.”

“Thank you, Jack, for slinging the bullshit. Is there any more cake?”

She was beautiful, and the longer he looked, the more beautiful she became. Her neck was long and smooth, her shoulders were strong and firm, her br**sts were, well, br**sts, and a very nice set at that, and there was a very appealing fullness to her hips.

He folded his arms over her chest and pulled her a little closer. Her eyes widened, and her pink lips parted.

He turned his head to breathe in her smell and felt her shiver. She didn’t pull away.

That skin smelled so sweet. He dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder. Smooth as water.

Emmaline inhaled, her breath shaky.

Another kiss, this one closer to her neck.

What are you doing? a small voice asked, but it was faint, drowned out by the hard, deep pulse that was thudding through his body. She tasted as good as she smelled.

“You should... I should... We probably shouldn’t...” she breathed, but then his hand was wandering over her ribs to the fullness of her breast, which was soft and perfect, no push-up bra or raw chicken required.

A small sound came from Emmaline’s throat, and Jack took that as invitation to turn her to face him. “I think we should,” he said, and he kissed her, that sweet, full mouth, opening beneath his. He pushed his tongue against hers, tasting chocolate, and that thudding pulse surged hard and fast.

He backed her against the wall and leaned in hard against her, all that softness and good smells, that mouth. He didn’t want to stop kissing her, because she was a drug and he was addicted, and he was throbbing now. He pulled her hands over her head and held them there, still kissing her mouth, her neck, the softness of her br**sts against his chest making him drunk. She wasn’t protesting. In fact, little sweet sounds were coming from her throat, and he could swear he felt her skin get hotter under his mouth, because he was kissing his way down her neck, scraping her skin with his teeth, because Emmaline Neal was edibly delicious.

Then suddenly, she pulled her hands free and grabbed his shirt in her fists and yanked, sliding her hands up his ribs, then unbuttoning his shirt in hard, jerky movements as he worshipped her neck, one hand covering the firm weight of her breast. Then he pulled her shirt off and, God, he was so greedy for her, urgent and hungry. And damn, he wanted to erase everything else from her mind except him, and them. The two of them.

She was fumbling at his belt, and, without breaking the kiss, he turned her and pushed her onto the bed, falling with her, on top of her. A few more tugs, and their clothes were off.

She was soft and strong and Jack wasn’t even thinking anymore. There was only Emmaline and the taste of chocolate, and her beautiful, solid, silken body underneath his.

* * *

EMMALINE WOKE UP at 2:16 a.m.; Jack sprawled on top of her. From the slow, steady sound of his breathing, he was asleep. Slowly, she extricated herself and tiptoed into the bathroom, closed the door and turned on the light.

And there she was, wanton woman.

Holy shit.

Her hair was tangled, her lips puffy. Her legs felt weak and shaky, and certain parts were quite pleased at having had some attention, the first in a very, very long time.

Oh, and she was stark naked—had she mentioned that? Also, nearly dead. Cause of death: orgasm.

Not a bad way to go. No, sir, not bad at all.

And looky here. Her reflection showed a shit-eating grin, she believed it was called, and it lightened her face, which she knew was usually serious.

Kinda sorta forgot how great shagging could feel.

There was a mass of thoughts waiting to be unleashed—protests and winces and admonitions and some serious lecturing, but at the moment, she seemed to be quite taken with her reflection.

She felt beautiful. Jack had said it, a few times. It wasn’t as if she didn’t like how she looked. She had a good enough face. She liked being strong. She never really thought about beautiful.

Until now.

“Emmaline?”

She jumped. “Coming.” She pulled on the Rancho de la Luna bathrobe and tied it closed, then got a glass of water and went back into the room.

He was gorgeous. The moonlight, which had been specially ordered for the wedding, flooded the room with white light, casting Jack’s face in shadows and angles. His mouth was proof of a higher power, it was so perfectly shaped, and when he smiled, God was just showing off. The blue, blue eyes. His hands. Had she mentioned his big, strong hands, slightly rough from the farming work he did? Had she mentioned just what kinds of squeaky sounds those hands could get from her?