Jake had once told her that men who took advantage of drunken women were as bad as rapists. She’d known he wouldn’t touch her. At least she’d thought she’d known. But then again, she was in bed in Jake’s spare room and had no memory of how she got there. She remembered begging Jake to dance with her, and then everything blurred.
She braced herself and took a quick peek under the duvet. She wore what appeared to be one of Jake’s shirts. Black linen, and from the waft of spicy exotic aftershave, she guessed it must be the shirt he’d worn last night. It was rucked up, and she could see the edge of her black lace thong. If she’d had sex, she wouldn’t still be wearing that, would she?
She waited ten minutes until the painkillers kicked in. Outside her room, all was silent, though light filtered around the edges of the curtains and the clock on the bedside table told her it was morning.
When the throbbing in her head sufficiently subsided, she crawled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. What she saw in the mirror wasn’t pretty. No, she reckoned she’d been safe from Jake last night. He was far too fastidious to have touched anyone looking this bad.
Mascara smudged halfway down her cheeks. Her multicolored hair stuck up in all directions. She splashed water on her face, scrubbed the makeup off with a tissue, then found a new toothbrush and brushed her teeth. That was the best she could do.
She opened the bathroom door to find that her room had been invaded. Jake sat on the edge of the bed, wearing black drawstring trousers and nothing else. Stubble shadowed his cheeks, but otherwise, he appeared vital and alert. And half-naked. Heat pooled in her belly.
She ignored the sensation and stepped into the room. She must have done enough now to prove to him that she wasn’t girlfriend, or God forbid, wife, material.
Besides, the scent of coffee drifted across from the steaming mug on the bedside table. She needed that coffee.
A slight smile curved his lips as he saw her.
She pointed at her head. “Just got out of bed hair,” she mumbled.
“I like it.” He studied her. “You have a headache?”
She nodded, then winced.
“Serves you right.”
She ignored his comment. “It’s fading.” She waved toward the bottle of pills. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.”
“And thank you for looking after me.” She chewed on her lip. “I didn’t throw up on you, did I?”
His lips quirked. “No.”
“Good.” She picked up the coffee, breathed in deeply, and then took a sip. Wonderful. “You know, contrary to recent appearances, I don’t often drink.”
“I know.” He scrutinized her again so her toes curled into the soft carpet. “Sit down.” He patted the bed beside him.
“Why? What are you going to do?”
“Make your headache go away. Relax. Trust me.”
She placed the mug on the table and sank down beside him. She wasn’t sure this was a good idea, but she did trust him, and she didn’t want to stand any longer.
He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her slightly so her back was to him, then he slid his fingers into the tangle of her hair and massaged her scalp. It felt so good the breath oozed out of her lungs on a huge sigh.
“Tell me,” Jake said. “Did you get drunk last night to stop me from seducing you?”
“Yes.” Kim felt rather than heard the rumble of his laughter. “Well, it was you who taught me to use the weapons I had at hand. And it did work.”
He kneaded the back of her skull with his strong fingers. “It nearly didn’t. Have you ever tried to get a semiconscious woman out of a pair of tight leather pants? It was touch and go for a while there. I was hard all night.”
“Oh.” She thought for a moment. “But, Jake, I’m so not your type. I dress wrong. I behave wrong. I get drunk and act silly.” She knew she sounded desperate when he chuckled again.
“Sweetheart, you’ll always be my type, whatever you wear, whatever you do.”
“Oh.”
He leaned closer and his warmth radiated over her. He stopped his massage and stroked her hair, looping it behind her ear, and then the whisper of his breath shivered over her skin. “I watched you talking last night, and all I could think of was your mouth around my dick.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry. I’d reciprocate—I want to taste you, kiss you, everywhere.”
This was so not fair. His words were having a disastrous effect of her; she was suddenly super-conscious of her sex, hot and heavy and wanting. And he was only talking about it.
He shifted slightly, and she felt his mouth caress her ear, his teeth graze her lobe, then the tip of his tongue delve inside, and she almost swooned. He murmured again in that low, husky whisper that sent a tingle through her. “I watched your ass wiggling in those tight pants, and I wanted to bend you over the nearest convenient object, strip them off, and fuck you from behind.”