I walked toward the door, eager to put an end to this conversation because it hurt. Since his return two months ago, he’d barely spoken more than a politely professional word to me. Now he was askingmeif I intended to continue treatinghimas a stranger? I had no experience with this sort of situation, but I had a strong suspicion this wasn’t the best way to handle it.
When I was within arm’s reach, Jordan closed in on me. He maneuvered me against the wall by the door without laying a single finger on me. Though our bodies were close enough for me to feel the heat emanating from his, we didn’t touch. As I drew in a shaky breath, I feared what my reaction would be if we did.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have a chance to say anything before his fingers lightly caressed my cheek. At the unexpected contact, my breath trembled out on a quick exhalation.
“That doesn’t sound casual,” Jordan stated idly. His eyes followed the gentle movement of his fingers across my cheek to my bottom lip.
Our faces were only inches apart. In my heels, I nearly matched him in height. I watched, unable to speak, as he closed the small distance between us. Our lips barely touched, but the shiver that wracked my body was nearly violent in its intensity.
Jordan didn’t move, though he didn’t continue the kiss. Our eyes were open and locked on each other. “That certainly didn’t feel casual,” he declared quietly, his mouth brushing mine as his lips moved.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice barely audible.
“I’ve no idea,” he murmured, his eyes moving over my face.
I lifted my hand and placed it on his shoulder, pushing against his weight. “Then you should stop.”
“I can’t.” His low voice was harsh, his accent thickening.
I knew that he had been born in England and spent many years there as a child, but his accent was usually faint. Unless we were in bed. Knowing what that meant, I pushed harder, trying to establish distance between us. I felt giddy and uncontrolled, not only from the alcohol I’d consumed but his proximity.
Suddenly, both of my hands were gripped in his and pinned beside my head, our fingers laced tightly. Our bodies were welded together from chest to thigh and for the first time in two years, I no longer felt cold. Or empty.
No, I was hot, burning up. Filled with the familiar heat he evoked.
Jordan stared into my eyes, his expression unreadable. Then his mouth was on mine again. Light, so light. Almost tender.
At the touch of his lips, my body grew tight and my heart stopped beating for a long moment before it began a furious, fast rhythm. The tip of his tongue skimmed my upper lip. I gasped at the contact and he slid inside.
There had been no one since him. Not in two long years. I’d kept myself so busy with work, so closed off, that I barely dated. The first time another man kissed me, all I could think was that he didn’t feel right or taste right. Because he wasn’t Jordan.
Now, tasting him again, feeling him again, I was beyond resisting. Beyond thinking. Beyond fear. For far too long, I’d thought I would never see or touch him again.
I leaned into his kiss, our tongues tangling. He groaned into my mouth, giving me more of his weight until I was plastered against him, my back flat against the wall. Tugging at my hands until he released them, I wrapped one arm around his neck, holding him closer, and slid my other palm inside his open suit jacket, running my fingers around him until they fisted in the back of his shirt at his waist.
With his hands free, Jordan wrapped one around the back of my head, his fingertips scraping gently over my scalp. His other hand traced the skin bared by the scoop neck of my sweater before he cupped my breast, his thumb brushing my nipple with unerring accuracy.
I arched into his touch, moaning softly at the contact.
After that, there was no hesitation, no lightness. Only need and desperation.
He released my breast, moving his hand to the hem of my skirt. I reached down to help him tug the material up over my hips, eager for his touch where I needed it most.
Jordan cupped my leg, his fingers branding the skin bared by the thigh highs I wore beneath my skirt. Then he hooked his thumbs into the waist of my panties, tugging them down my hips until they reached my knees and dropped to the ground. He grabbed my hand, pressing it against the front of his pants, and I wrapped my fingers around him through the material. As I touched him, his index finger danced over my clit, moving straight to my pussy and deep inside.
Whimpering, I unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, sliding my hands down his hips and taking his briefs down with the slacks. He groaned again when my fingers curled around the rigid length of his cock, stroking his heated skin.
His finger left me and I heard the soft sound of a packet tearing, then his hands knocked mine away as he rolled the condom over his cock. I watched with fevered impatience, entranced by the sight as though I could watch him for hours, but I was too eager to feel him inside me.
He grabbed my thigh, lifted my leg high, and guided his cock to my entrance. Then he slid inside me, one smooth thrust that made my head fall back against the wall with a thump.
“Jordan,” I whispered, my eyes closing as he began to move, slow and deep.
He fisted a hand in my hair tightly, tugging hard enough to elicit a delicious pain racing across my scalp. It was yet another trait of his I’d missed. He looked lean and sophisticated, but when he reached the edge of his control, he lost the polished sheen and became raw and demanding.
“Look at me,” he directed in a low voice.
I opened my eyes and once again his light blue-green eyes snared me. Just like they always did. Those eyes could be cold and distant, warm and amused, or as hot as blue flame.
