Again, she felt that odd sensation that she was not the same person she’d been this morning—as though the snowstorm had transformed her into someone else.
Someone who was not a mousy spinster but a beautiful woman—someone who existed in a world where heroes were real and not some figment of her imagination.
“I’m thinking about kissing.” She answered honestly.
“What a coincidence.” Jack rose from the table and prowled around to stand beside her. “So am I.” He wound the rope of hair around his fist and gently tugged, giving her no choice but to rise from her chair.
He stood so close that she absorbed the heat rolling off his body. And since he was at least a foot taller than her, without tilting her head back to meet his gaze, she had nowhere to look but his chest and the chiseled line of his jaw—where she could almost count the whiskers there. They were jet black against his pale olive skin. Helpless not to, she settled her gaze on his lips.
“You are?” Her words were little more than a whisper. “You are also thinking about Kissing?”
He moved his mouth closer to hers.
Six inches away, then three, then one.
Gasping, Delia panicked and turned her head. His mouth landed on her cheek.
“Mmm…” His voice vibrated near her ear as he dragged the kiss along her jaw—his mouth open so she felt his breath and his teeth...
And it felt hot, wet… “Umm…” Delia hummed.This. Felt. Amazing.
More amazing even than anything Rachel had described.
The rough texture of his chin and jaw scratched her more sensitive skin. Delia tilted her head to the side, wanting his kiss everywhere.
“You can touch me, Delia.” He chuckled as he took hold of her wrists, placing her hands on his shoulders.
Her reluctance crumbled. She didn’t care if she was awkward or overly eager. She grazed her fingertips over the skin on the back of his neck. And, although she ought to be, she wasn’t at all embarrassed when his arms wrapped tightly around her, flattening her breasts against his very solid chest.
When his mouth sought hers again, this time, she did not turn away.
The wine tasted even better on his lips.Amazing.
“Jack.” Her bones turned to pudding. She was liquid. She was heat. Something stiff pressed against her belly. Everything about him was solid and hard.
Except the tendrils of hair threading through her fingers.
And his lips.
“Gorgeous,” Jack whispered, stroking the roof of her mouth with his tongue. Gliding along her teeth, and then gently biting her bottom lip.
Was this a dream?
Had she, in actuality, died on the side of the road? Was she in heaven?
This man had told her she was gorgeous. He’d said her hair was glorious.Stunning.And now he was kissing her.
He liked her—even after she’d asked about his dead parents. Did this mean he was falling in love with her?
The tension on her scalp released as he unraveled her braid.
All her life she’d felt plain, but after spending no more than a few hours in this man’s company, he’d managed to make her feel beautiful.
And wanted. No one had ever simply wanted to be with Delia for herself.
They’d wanted her for what she could do for them or for what she could give them, but never just because she was herself…
Delia Somerset.