Page 88 of Tangled Like Us

I inhale without exhaling that often. It feels like hot air is blowing from my vents. I sweat underneath my checkered blouse and lilac, tulle skirt.

“How do we know when paparazzi have arrived?” I whisper.

He speaks just as quietly. “They pulled in a minute after us.”

He’d know. Always alert. It’s dreadfully attractive.

I try to subdue an overpowering smile, and I lift my chin. Rotating to face my bodyguard more, my elbow brushes the steering wheel.

Silence breeds more heat, and from a breath apart, we look one another over. We’re allowed, you see.

I trace the chiseled edges of his scruffy jaw, the carve of his biceps that stretches against his black button-down, the way his muscles flex the more he sweeps me.

Thatcher studies my shallow breathing. “Ready?”

I eye his lips. “Yes please…”Oh God, Jane.“Justyes.Yes, I’m ready for you…” I have torched myself with flaming balls of desire and mortification.

There is no escape.

His large hand falls to the nape of my neck, and I place my palm on his firm chest.

Carefully, slowly…Thatcher leans forward until our lips meet.Chastely. It’s what the security team decreed. He kisses me tenderly, a soft kiss that electrifies my senses.

Pulsates my veins, and I ache to touch my bundle of nerves.

I run my fingers up to his unshaven jaw and then thread my fingers through his tousled brown hair.

No tongue.

His muscles tighten.

The kiss lasts a few seconds—not nearly long enough—before we slowly draw our lips away, only putting a sliver of space between our mouths.

Our breath still melds as we look into one another.

I ache for even more. In places that shouldn’t be aching. I think Thatcher can read my need too well.

“One more,” Thatcher says huskily. Our hands are still on each other, and his other palm has found a home on my hip. Mine are woven in his hair.

“One more,” I agree.

“Just in case they didn’t catch the photo.” His gaze already engulfs me.

“Yes.”

Yes.

He closes the distance. Our lips crash together, our hands grasping—we pull into each other with piping hot desire. His tongue glides sensually along mine with such explosive skill. Both of our asses have risen off the seat for closer contact. Bodies meeting in the middle. His towering build nearly sheathing me.

His smell, his touch, drives me to carnal places that I haven’t reached in forever with another man. But this is different than all those other times. It feels different.

Maybe because it’s all pretend.

Maybe because I know I’m safe.

And I can’t be certain when my hand went from his head to his peach-perfect ass or when he cupped my butt—but it happens. He sucks my bottom lip, and I pulse like a second heartbeat has dropped between my legs.

I moan against his mouth, and the soft noise catches both of our attention. He separates from me. I separate from him.