Page 6 of 40 and Flirting (with Disaster) (Silver Foxes of Black Wolf’s Bluff #5)

Six

S he knew she should resist. She’d known from the moment she walked into the restaurant and saw him standing there next to their booth.

She’d had too many thoughts about Jamie Worthington since the night she’d left Kirk, and more than one fantasy.

His presence endangered the sanity she’d barely managed to stabilize since the divorce.

And still, despite the way her heart stuck in her throat, threatening to strangle the words she wanted to say, she whispered, “Would you kiss me?”

Jamie’s eyes went wide, and he hesitated. Embarrassment flooded her. See? You’re not made for dating. Talk about out of practice—you’ve never been in practice at propositioning a man.

He doesn’t want to kiss you.

That’s what you get for being so forward.

“I’m sor—”

Before she could finish her apology, he swooped down and his lips met hers.

Iris’s breath stopped.

His lips felt unfamiliar. She was so used to… No, she didn’t want to think about him right now. She had asked for this, and she wanted to savor it.

Savor? With sudden alarm she realized she was just standing there as if frozen, unmoving, stiff. What must Jamie think?

You’re a ninny. Stop being a ninny. Take the chance while you have it.

She relaxed against him. Without thought her lips parted, just the slightest bit. An invitation. Come in. Let me taste you.

Taste me.

Jamie’s scent filled her senses—something spicy that she couldn’t put a name to but adored nonetheless.

How long had it been since she’d reveled in the scent of a man, in the feel of his body against hers?

Too long. Jamie’s chest was wide, his body heavyset but not fat.

He felt hard, tough, like he could protect her from anything that came their way.

She slid her hands against his sides, leaning in until her breasts flattened against his ribs.

And then his tongue breeched her lips.

Sensation zinged from her mouth to her breasts to her core, at once powerful and oh so startling.

He tasted of the wine he’d had with dinner, and she opened wider, letting him in, encouraging him to explore.

Her tongue tangled with his. Her nipples tightened, and she couldn’t suppress the urge to squeeze her legs together, adding pressure where it felt the best.

It had been so long.

Jamie drew back, dived in for another kiss, then drew back again. His breath was heavy as he leaned his forehead against hers. Only then did she realize his hands were gripping her hips much like hers were grasping him, and she basked in his sure hold.

“Jamie.” Was that really her voice, all breathless and husky?

“Iris.” Jamie’s voice was guttural. He tipped his head up, his lips settling against her forehead. “I’ve been thinking about that for a long time.”

Alarm zinged through her. “You have?”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and into her. “Damn right I have.”

She leaned back, daring to look him in the eyes, to stroke her palms over his ribs and up his muscular chest. She shouldn’t admit what she was thinking, shouldn’t give him any more ammunition to use against her, and still the words, “I’ve thought about it too,” slipped out.

She had, mostly in moments that caught her unaware.

Her dreams especially. Jamie had featured in more than one dream that had left her feeling uncertain and achy.

Though she had seen him before then, he had been intrinsically linked to the end of her marriage by his presence at their anniversary dinner.

It had somehow seemed wrong to also want him sexually, but she did want him.

That sense of vulnerability surged again.

Touching him, wanting him bared her in a way she didn’t like.

The feeling that she was teetering on the edge of a cliff, about to fall, about to expose herself to the pain that could come with emotion, with opening herself up to another human being, had her drawing back.

She wasn’t ready. She didn’t think she’d ever be ready.

Pulling her arms away seemed to take tremendous effort—her hands wanted to keep hold of the stability and warmth they’d found in Jamie’s body, but for her sanity, she had to deny them. She had to deny him.

“Iris?”

She clutched her arms around herself instead and looked up at this handsome man who made her feel things she no longer felt safe feeling. “Hmm?”

He reached for her, and she flinched. She couldn’t help it.

He dropped his hand quickly. “Are you all right?”

“O-of course.” She glanced up the street, grateful to see Scarlett and Claire were not too far ahead. “We’d better catch up.”

Jamie overtook her quickly. “What’s going through that lovely head of yours?”

His voice sounded concerned. Jamie was an intelligent man, that much she knew. And he seemed to know his way around a woman’s brain; he could probably read all the sudden doubts and worries, conjectures and condemnations flooding her mind.

“Everything.” An uncomfortable laugh escaped. “Always. I’m a chronic overthinker.”

“That fits.”

She skidded to a stop. “How does that fit?” As if she didn’t know.

Jamie reached for her again, only this time she was too intent on his words. He pulled her back against him. “Most intelligent women are overthinkers. Comes with the territory. Taking everything on yourself. Carrying all the baggage; shouldering all the emotional labor.”

Jamie using the phrase emotional labor impressed her; most men in their generation didn’t believe such a thing existed, much less bother to understand how it affected the female half of the species.

The modern world understood so much more about women and the roles they had been burdened with throughout history, but men her age…

well, there was more than one reason she and Kirk had grown apart.

To say her thinking had become more liberal as the years passed might be an understatement.

His warmth was seducing her as much as his words, and she couldn’t allow that. “You’re right; that does fit,” she agreed, continuing up the sidewalk.

Jamie didn’t protest, just fell in step beside her. They walked in silence another block. Finally he brought her to a stop with a gentle hand on her elbow. “Iris, you know there’s nothing to worry about here.”

“There’s not?” There definitely was. There was too much to worry about—which was why she was desperate to escape.

“No.”

He cupped her cheek, and she couldn’t stop herself from nuzzling into the touch.

She’d forgotten how good touch could feel.

Her daughter and son hugged her, and the younger children at the library gave her the occasional kiss on the cheek or hug or held her hand with their sticky little fingers.

But it wasn’t the same as male-female contact.

She’d missed it more than she’d realized.

Danger, danger, Will Robinson!

She stepped back from his touch. “Jamie, I—” She stopped, swallowed hard, then forced herself to make eye contact.

“I’m not ready for this. I thought maybe I was”— no, you just couldn’t resist temptation —“but I’m not.

I’m so not.” A deep breath steadied her, gave her the courage to tell him, “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for this. I’m sorry.”

Without waiting for a response, she hurried up the sidewalk, catching up to Scarlett and Claire at the next cross street.

She didn’t look at Jamie when he arrived at her side, or for the rest of the walk to the hotel.

She avoided standing next to him in the elevator, and when they exited on their floor, she didn’t look back to see if he followed, but follow he did.

He said good night to Scarlett with a brief brush of his lips across her cheek—Iris fought a surge of jealousy at the innocent touch—then did the same with Claire before turning to her.

Her friends withdrew hastily through the door.

Jamie held out his hand. “Iris.”

She laid her hand in his, tried to ignore the warmth of his fingers surrounding hers. When his knuckles nudged under her chin to lift her face, she resisted.

“Just look at me, Iris. Please.”

She couldn’t ignore that husky request. Raising her eyes, she met the dark green of his. “Jamie—”

He placed a finger over her lips. “It’s okay.”

Was it? “So you understand?”

His smile was gentle. “Oh, I understand.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

He shook his head. “I’ll never be okay with you walking away from me.”

Her heart dropped into her stomach.

“But I’m a patient man.” His smile took on a wolfish edge. “And I don’t mind a pursuit.”

Her brain froze, his words ringing in her ears. “What—”

But Jamie wasn’t answering. Instead he dipped his head, brushed his lips across hers—not her cheek, as he had with the others, but her quivering mouth—and then he was stepping back, his fingers holding hers until the very last second. “Good night, Iris.” He winked. “See you soon.”

She watched him until he stopped in front of the elevator, then made a hasty exit into her room. Scarlett and Claire pinned her with their wide eyes as soon as she stepped inside.

“Wow!” Claire said.

“Wow indeed,” Scarlett agreed. “What the hell was that kiss?”

“It was hot, that’s what it was.” Claire’s grin was impish. “Made me wish my Lincoln was here instead of sleeping with you two.”

“Hey!” Scarlett picked up a pillow off the bed and slung it at Claire, who ducked out of the way, giggling. Iris hoped they’d get caught up in their fun and forget the real topic of this conversation.

No such luck.

Claire pushed her dark curls away from her eyes. “So? What happened, Iris?”

“It was just a kiss, nothing more.”

Scarlett didn’t seem to be buying it. “Did he ask you out?”

She shouldn’t be disappointed at the answer.

You don’t want a relationship, remember?

“No.” She didn’t tell them she hadn’t given him a chance.

She couldn’t. Maybe they would understand—Claire had been divorced, she knew, though Scarlett had not.

Still, they would likely understand—and try to talk her out of how she was feeling.

She didn’t need that right now. What she needed was a good night’s sleep and to put this behind her.

And pray she could forget the feel of Jamie’s mouth on hers, his body against hers, sooner rather than later. She was very afraid, though, that she would be revisiting those moments as soon as she closed her eyes.