Lucky Stars (Ghosts and Reincarnation #5)(15)

Nothing existed but James, his mouth, his hands, his body and all the unbelievable things he was making her feel.

Things she’d never felt in her whole life, not with Calvin, not with Miles, not ever.

She was not Belle “Meek and Mild” Abbot.

She was another being entirely.

A being who would neck in the hayloft with a rich, famous, entirely too handsome man, even when she was dating his brother.

She was Wicked Belle. Risk Taker Belle. A Heretofore Unknown Belle who jumped into shark-infested waters with both feet, her eyes open because she knew something rich and rewarding would come of it.

She tugged at his shirt at the back, pulling it out of his trousers and her hands went up, gliding across his hot skin, feeling the hard muscle of his back and she loved it.

No.

She adored it.

She pressed in, wanting him closer, wanting him to absorb her.

Suddenly, his mouth tore from hers and his body was gone. Belle felt a rush of cold and a sense of confusion but before she could gather her thoughts and return to her shy, timid reality, his hand grabbed hers in a vicelike grip

Then he dragged her to the ladder.

“Down,” he growled, his voice strangely rough.

“What?” she whispered, her eyes flitting to his, her mind in a turmoil, her body on fire.

“Go down,” he repeated.

She looked stupidly at the ladder. Then she was forced to look back at him.

She was forced because his hand wrapped around her neck and he yanked her to him, their bodies crashing together and his mouth crushed down on hers in another wet, wild, open-mouthed kiss that sent her senses reeling.

He lifted his head and demanded in a voice now so beyond rough it was hoarse and just the sound of it sent a luscious quiver shooting between her legs, “Poppet, climb down.”

Without hesitation, Belle climbed down.

James came after her.

Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the stables not even bothering to turn out the light.

She had no time to think mainly because her mind was occupied with keeping up with him and not tripping. He was walking quickly, his long legs eating the distance, dragging her by the hand in a half run behind him.

“James,” she called, feeling the need to take a moment, take a breath and get her head together.

“Jack,” he clipped.

She saw they were quickly approaching the castle.

“Where are we going?” she asked, rushing behind him.

“My room.”

“Your what?” she cried, reality crashing in, her mind asking her what in the holy heck was she doing and her hand pulled at his.

The instant she did this, he stopped, turned and Belle ran right into him.

His arms went around her and he hauled her to his body.

“My room, Belle,” he told her. “I’m taking you to my room.”

She stared up at him in stupefaction. “I can’t go to your room.”

“Not only can you, you’re going to,” he declared.

Belle blinked, beyond stupefied, straight to staggered.

“I –” she started but he cut her off.

“You can go with me or I can carry you. Choose. Now.”

“James –” she started to protest but stopped when his fingers wrapped around the back of her head at the same time his arm grew tight, moulding her to his body.

“I’m not going to say it again, Belle. I want you to call me Jack,” he demanded and then his mouth came down on hers. He gave her another kiss. Meek and Mild Belle disappeared and when he lifted his head, she walked or, more accurately ran to keep up with his long strides, with him to his room.

Chapter Three

Jack’s Promise

Jack

Jack woke to a dark room.

In the moonlight he saw beside him a vast expanse of white sheeted bed with Belle’s na**d body not occupying it.

Instantly alert, he came up on an elbow thinking she’d gone to her room or even left the house.

Instead he saw her sitting in the window seat, knees to her chest, her glorious hair falling down her back. She was wearing his dress shirt and gazing out to sea.

Baron was sitting at her side and Belle’s hand was absentmindedly stroking the dog’s head.

Jack settled, his eyes never leaving her and he gave himself a moment to consider his behaviour of earlier that night.

After he’d dragged her to his room like a Neanderthal, he’d not taken her to his bed. He’d not disrobed her or himself. He’d not even let her kick off her shoes.

Instead, he’d pinned her against the wall, captured her mouth with his, yanked up the skirt of her dress and pulled down her panties. Hands to her ass, their lips still locked, tongues sparring, he’d lifted her and without hesitation she’d wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him.

Then he’d taken her against the wall, rough, fierce and completely uncontrolled.

She came within minutes, hard and intense, the soft, sexy noises she made quickening his own need. For a moment, with a deep satisfaction that felt almost primal, he’d watched her face in cl**ax before his own staggering orgasm wiped everything from his mind.

It had been utterly magnificent.

He’d never experienced anything like it.

Nothing even came close.

After they’d finished, she kept her tight hold on him, her face pressed to his neck, the fingers of one of her hands in his hair.