He leaned forward, his lips brushing against her temple. “Until they weren’t anymore,” she finished shakily, her head tilting back.
Suddenly, he was kissing her.
A shock of pleasure went through her at the contact. His mouth was as firm as it looked, but surprisingly warm and gentle. He plucked at her lower lip seductively, sandwiching her flesh to his, until a shaky moan vibrated her throat. The kiss was a little cautious at first, as though he was testing the waters . . .
No, more like he was coaxing her to be with him, asking her to connect with him.
But as the spark ignited in her—in both of them, apparently—his kiss turned dark and demanding. He gripped her upper arms tighter, bringing her closer to him, and penetrated her mouth with his tongue.
It was as if he drugged her. A haze of lust overcame her brain. His scent and taste pervaded her. He felt big and hard, so solid next to her. So fantastically male. His tongue pierced and stroked her mouth, discovering her with patient yet total possession. She could feel the contours of his body, the sensation of his hardening cock deepening her trance of harsh, unexpected need.
His hands swept over the bare skin of her back. Her nerves leapt at his touch. She pressed her breasts tighter against his torso, instinctively using his hardness to ease the ache at the crests. She felt his cock swell higher against her. His fingers raked into her hair. He gently fisted a bunch of it and tugged. Her neck stretched back, and suddenly his mouth was on her pulse, hot and greedy. He inhaled and gave a low growl, the feral sound thrilling her. She whimpered as he kissed her neck and shivers of pleasure rippled through her. He found her mouth again unerringly.
She felt herself go wet . . . ready for him so quickly. So completely.
He lifted his mouth from hers. Her eyes drifted closed at the heady sensation of his warm, firm lips caressing the corner of her mouth. The realization that he avidly kissed the small scar there jolted through her. She flinched. Her eyes sprang open. She’d caught herself, just as she was about to spin out of control. It was akin to not realizing how strong an alcoholic drink was until you tried to stand, and couldn’t.
She stepped back, breaking his hold. She clamped her teeth hard at the abrupt deprivation, but forced herself to put three feet between them. He didn’t move. He appeared strained, as if he’d been chained into place. His eyes seemed to burn in an otherwise frozen face. Was that anger that tightened his features? Was he pissed off that she’d stopped him?
“I’m going,” she said simply.
She thought he remained in place. She couldn’t know for certain, though, because she didn’t look back as she rushed out the door.
*
The valet was just returning with a couple’s car when she reached the front entrance. Harper waited impatiently as he alighted, glancing back toward the path through the woods. But Latimer hadn’t followed her. Perhaps he’d taken another path back toward the main house. He probably wouldn’t think twice about her, once she’d refused him.
Don’t be such a bitch, she scolded herself. For the most part, he was nothing but kind toward you all night.
Although, why he was so attentive remains a mystery.
I acted like a sixteen-year-old, running away just because he kissed me.
At the same time, something told her that her hasty decision to avoid Latimer came from the wisdom of a full-grown woman, one with enough experience to know when she was swimming in choppy waters way over her head.
She’d dated quite a bit in San Francisco. She’d put plenty of hard stops on sexual overtures before, and she’d let a few of them unfold naturally when she was interested. It wasn’t because Jacob Latimer had dared to kiss her that she felt the need to run. It was how that kiss had affected her, how it had left her spinning.
That, and the fact that his kiss was so hot and drugging it felt like she’d just participated in something excitingly illicit. When it came to Latimer, she had a feeling that was just the tip of the iceberg.
She mumbled a cursory thanks to the valet when he arrived with her car. It wasn’t until after she’d left the locked-down Lattice compound and was driving down Lakeview Boulevard toward her townhome that she realized she hadn’t tipped the valet.
A jolt of unease went through her and she glanced over at the passenger seat. She couldn’t have tipped him, even if she’d wanted to. She’d left her purse on Latimer’s terrace.
Chapter Four
A few hours later, he stood alone on the pier, watching the moonlight shimmer in the black water.
Harper McFadden was in Tahoe Shores. She’d just been in his home. Her lips had just been beneath his own, her body molded against him.
Harper.
Here.
Or she had been, anyway. Until he’d given in to an urge that had first germinated and swelled in him as a scrawny, malnourished thirteen-year-old boy. Who knew that an eighty-three-pound kid could have felt so much lust? So much longing? So much need?