Smooth Irish Seduction

Lightning briefly illuminated the strong curve of his stubble-rough jaw, devilish smile, and raven’s wing hair whipping in the wind. Damn, the man had no right to look so sexy in the middle of hell. He stripped off his black leather jacket, pushed her umbrella aside, and leaned in close.

“You bait a nice hook, sugar.”

“You. You Peeping Tom!” Her search for something sophisticated and deadly to say fizzled as ridiculous.

“Careful. You’re giving me ideas for a new profession.”

She didn’t have a chance to reply before his leather jacket descended over her head and his strong arm encircled her.

“Tell me how sorry I am later, sugar.” He plucked the inverted umbrella from her, popped it back right, and held it before them as he propelled them toward the back door of the yacht club, not the least daunted by the storm’s fury. But then, Nan didn’t think much got past Jackson’s thick wall. She gritted her teeth, irritated. Both the timing of Jackson’s appearance and the man were too welcome for her peace of mind.

She tingled from the heat of his arm about her, the feel of his lean, hard body next to her, and the tangy scent of musk and leather enveloping her.

“Here we go.” He hustled her into a lit hallway.

Anxious to rid herself of his scent, she slid his coat off. Cool air assaulted, making her too aware of the heat from his body behind her, touching her, like he’d said on the phone.

Can’t you feel me? I’m right up against you. Feel the heat? My hands on you…my mouth.

She shivered. The creamy watered silk walls, crown molding, and plush carpet contrasted sharply with her soggy,bedraggled state and she turned to face him, feeling like a swamp rat. He’d moved closer and her chest landed smack up against his hot, very male body.

“Where are we?” Drawing back, she teetered, dropping his coat.

“Backstage of the ballroom and just where we need to be.” He grinned and settled his hands on her hips. When he spoke, his deep voice rumbled right to her core and set off a series of delicious quakes. “It’s been a while, sugar. A long while. You hung up too soon last week. We didn’t get to the good part.”

Nan tried to stop the quakes of desire from spreading by clenching her stomach muscles. It didn’t help. Jackson let his shoulders rest on the door behind him and drew her between his jeans-clad, booted legs. She didn’t have to look to know how his jeans fit or how his leather boots gleamed. Not a thing about his dark Irish looks and southern bad boy manners had changed.

“Yes, a long while,” she whispered past the lump in her throat. A droplet of water ran down her cheek, dripped onto her breastbone, and slithered between her breasts. Jackson’s gaze followed its path, heated, then lingered. Nan looked down. Her halter-top gown lay plastered to her body like skin, the wet silk clearly defining the rise of her breasts and nipples. Something about her dress, besides the wet, was off, but the hot missiles firing at her erogenous zones scrambled her brain cells and she couldn’t figure it out.

She slammed her eyes shut. Surely, this had to be another one of her fantasies. Any minute she would wake up and find herself alone, writing in her secret black book.

“Way too long,” he growled, sliding his hands from her hips to cup the fullness of her bottom. Nan opened her eyes to the pure sexual intensity in his. Nope, not a fantasy. He was as potent, and as real as it got. He wanted her and she wanted him.

Not a problem.

The problem was what came after the bedroom. She wasn’t about to get involved with a man going nowhere. He lived his life by whim; she lived hers by a plan. She had goals; she was going somewhere in life and he wasn’t budging from the comfortable hole he’d dug.

Any second he would kiss her. Desire sizzled up her spine and overrode rational thought. One more kiss wouldn’t hurt, would it?