Their eyes met and a long, hot moment passed. Libby didn’t want to move. She wanted to stay locked against him in this moment of anticipation.
“Have you had dinner?” He pressed his hips against hers.
Sweet mercy, “dinner” felt like it might be a seven-course feast. She shook her head, heart pounding. Hell, she’d never been so turned on in her life.
“Nor have I,” he said.
“Is that an invitation or an observation?” she asked huskily.
He thrust ever so slightly against her. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”
“I’m not sure there’ll be anything open.” Time had flown past midnight.
Amusement lit his eyes. “It’s London. There’s always something open. We can go to the Greek place down the road,” he murmured. “But you look tired and hungry and possibly not up for crowds.”
That was true. She smiled suddenly. “We can always have some muesli.”
He mock shuddered. “I can’t get past the school porridge experience.”
“You need to widen your experience.” Testing herself as much as anything, she firmly pushed him away. To her disappointment he didn’t resist. She pulled out a couple of bowls from a cupboard and tried to calm her body. But it was too late—far too late.
“Muesli is not an adequate meal replacement,” he said watching her ladle some into the bowls.
“Why don’t you stop fighting it and just give it a go?” She poured some milk on top.
His head whipped up, an amused gleam brightening his eyes. His smile widened. “You should take your own advice.” He lifted his spoon and took a giant mouthful.
Libby gripped her bowl, trying to cool her searing lust. She could contain this, right?
He munched and swallowed. Stopped. He looked up and gave her an accusing glare. “It’s good.”
“You’re surprised? Don’t you trust your brother’s taste?” Smiling, she had a mouthful of muesli herself.
“It’s been questionable in the past,” he said dryly.
“You’ve not tried it when you have bags of it up there?”
“Tom guards it like a goblin does his gold.” He loaded another massive mouthful.
She laughed. “It must be interesting having an athlete like that in the family.”
He nodded and swallowed. “It makes life interesting.”
“Your parents would have been very proud.”
“They would have.” He shot her a look over his bowl. “I thought you said you didn’t Google me.”
“I didn’t.” She rolled her eyes as she chewed.
“But you know.”
His intensity liquefied her defenses. “Everybody knows the story of Tom Barnes,” she said honestly. “He had cancer as a child. His parents were killed in a car crash and his half-brother—you—raised him and his sister. Tom went on to train and has soared through the rowing ranks to claim champion status.”
While Jack himself was a success story in his own right, with savvy property deals and investments that had seen his personal wealth soar.
Jack grimaced. “They’ve used him as a PR front, but all it’s done is add more pressure at his end.”
She could only imagine. “There was always going to be huge pressure anyway,” she pointed out. But his concern touched her. “You’re still the protective brother.”
“It’s a hard habit to break.” He acknowledged. “I don’t want him to burn out or go off the deep end again.” He eyed her. “You know about that too?”
She carefully washed out her bowl. “That he had his heart broken by his first serious girlfriend and went a bit wild on the party scene?”
“Mmmm.” Jack munched as he nodded.
Libby rinsed the other utensils and mixing bowl she’d used. “Do you think he’s vulnerable to doing that again?” Tom had seemed pretty single-minded to her.
He thought about it. “Maybe not. He nearly lost it all, and that gave him a wake-up call.”
“And now he has you to keep all the vixen temptresses away from him…” Her voice trailed off as he stepped behind her, slowly reaching past to put his bowl beneath the running tap. She could feel him pressing against her back—all of him.
“Not a vixen. Just gorgeous. And that really was good,” he admitted in a soft whisper that tickled her ear—and tormented her nerves.
“Worth giving it a shot,” she agreed, her throat so dry it was a wonder the words were audible.
She turned off the tap and took the bowl from his hand and stacked it with the others. She’d been right about the muesli. But maybe Jack was right too. She’d only be here for a few more days until she found a commercial kitchen she could rent. She’d never have to see him again. She could walk away.
She’d done it before—from a far more involved relationship. So why miss out? She liked sex and sex with Jack would be dynamite. The kiss alone told her that. And once done, it was done—there’d be no more wondering. No more day-dreaming. No more distraction. A safe, uncomplicated option.
He stood still. She knew he was waiting for a word or sign. Not pushing it—understanding her dilemma and leaving it up to her. But what decision was it?
There was no decision. He was irresistible.
She turned and took his tee-shirt in her fist to keep him close. “Remember what I said about no kisses?”
“Yes.” His gaze shot straight to her mouth.
“Forget it.” She rose onto tiptoe and pressed her lips to his.
Seven
Kisses. So many kisses—hot and wet. With every lush stroke of his tongue inside her mouth she melted. His hands cupped her face, caressed her neck. His fingers worked into her hair, freeing it from its ponytail. Libby rose higher on her toes, straining to have him closer. His lips traveled down her neck. She inclined her head, offering skin, wanting his touch so much.
He grew bolder—sliding hands beneath her T-shirt, cupping her breasts, teasing her taut nipples, making them harden more. It wasn’t enough for her. She wanted rid of her bra—couldn’t her clothes just evaporate?
“We can’t do this here,” he said, casting a rigid look around the steel kitchen.
Hell, that’s right, they were in a kitchen—a bakery where people arrived at three in the morning to start on the bread.
“I don’t normally do this,” she panted—suddenly jerked back into reality. She didn’t want complicated. She didn’t want heartbreak. But she did want him.
“Tonight you do,” he replied. “But not here. My place. Comfort, space, privacy.” He suddenly turned away from her, flinging the rinsed dishes into the dishwasher with supersonic speed.
Libby couldn’t help smiling. “What about Tom? I thought you didn’t want me to see him?”
“He’s not there, he’s back at training camp for the last part of his preparations.” Jack was wiping down the counter already.
“So how’s he getting my muesli?”
Jack rinsed the cleaning cloth, stowed it and glanced around the sparkling kitchen with a satisfied grunt. “I’m couriering it to him.”
Oh. They’d have his place to themselves. No interruptions, no distractions. Only privacy—perfect for sex—full on, hard, frantic, glorious sex. She could do that for one night, right? Just because she didn’t want forever, didn’t mean she couldn’t have this now.
“Come with me.” His words dropped into her ear sending a shiver of anticipation south—excitement arrowed to her belly, her whole body squeezed in glee as she leaned into his heat. He took her hand and led her from the kitchen. Every five paces along the footpath—each moment she was about to speak—he stopped and kissed her, his tongue skillfully sweeping away any rising caution.
Finally in his apartment, they kissed their way to his room. He fingered the hem of her T-shirt, teasing it up—she lifted her arms to help. His fingers worked at her back, and in a second her bra was undone. He slid the straps down her arms until the satin and lace fell to the floor. Standing there bare-breasted—war
m summer air whispering over her skin, she looked at him.
“Libby.” He appeared to have frozen.
“I have to warn you, it’s been a while,” she blurted.