Girl's Guide to Hunting & Kissing

Stretching up on her toes, she brushed her lips over his the way she’d wanted to for the last hour. Sitting beside sexy Jackson Taggart in the lush sensuality of the bordello room had made her more than a little edgy. And since the kiss was simply an exercise in proving a point, she didn’t bother to hold anything back.

She flicked her tongue across his lips to steal a taste. He possessed a full, soft mouth for a man of such chiseled features and hard angles. Her eyelids fell shut, heightening the sensations of his kiss. The warm whiskey taste of him intoxicated her, made her even bolder.

Splaying a hand across his broad chest beneath his jacket, she absorbed the feel of starched cotton and warm muscle through his white dress shirt. Her fingertips itched to cover more ground, to explore the terrain of the rock-hard abs currently plastered against her. To follow the silky path of his tie to the leather of his belt and then dip lower still…

Yet she contented herself with reaching to touch his face, to cradle his rough-hewn jaw and stroke the crisp hair at the back of his neck. His aftershave smelled clean and expensive, elusive enough to make her want to linger so she might catch the scent more strongly.

But then Jackson expelled a throaty growl of pure male hunger and tightened his grip. Arms banded around her, he locked her body against his, his formerly still hands now coming to life.

He deepened their kiss, delving into her mouth to mate and join them. Summer closed her eyes more tightly against the onslaught of heat, the tingly wave of needy sensation that tripped through her whole body. As his tongue probed hers, an answering shock wave pulsed between her legs.

In the recesses of her brain, she heard the bluesy piano of Duke Ellington somewhere in the background, but even the vivid reds of the bordello were fading to black when forced to compete with the magnetic draw of this man.

Jackson.

In her mind’s eye, she could see no one and nothing else. The heel of his hand smoothed over her cheek while his long fingers combed through her hair. Her scalp prickled with warmth while her breasts tightened against his chest.

The silk moiré bustier that she’d retied now strained at the seams with her erratic breathing. She could already anticipate what it would feel like to peel off the stiff fabric and press herself intimately to Jackson’s hard chest.

Bliss.

She wanted this man with an intensity that surpassed any longing she’d ever felt for a tattooed surfer. How had she ever thought Jackson was low-key or laid-back when he kissed with the exquisite finesse of the devil himself?

He backed her closer to the bed recessed in a private alcove of the larger room. Or perhaps she drew him toward the bed. It seemed their chemistry had exploded all of a sudden, leaving them both in the grip of a power that was hotter and more volatile than either of them.

Her thigh skimmed the red satin coverlet as the black lace grazed her ankle. The dull thud at the back of her leg barely fazed her, but it seemed to bring Jackson back to life.

He broke off their kiss, his eyes refocusing on their surroundings.

On her.

“That’s not so bad in my book, Summer.” His voice hit a smoky note, blending in with the gravelly blues singer emanating from the bedside radio.

She struggled to recall what they’d been discussing, or what his words had to do with climbing into bed right now and not getting out for the next forty-eight hours. “Hmm?”

His hands wandered over her bare shoulders. Apparently she’d lost her shawl again on the way to the bed. Now, the warm pad of his finger gently cruised the slope of her collarbone then dipped into the hollow at the base of her throat.

Wasn’t Brianne supposed to be making a few security checks on her tonight? If Summer didn’t get some help soon, she would surely burst into flame from Jackson’s touch.

“I said that wasn’t so bad.” His voice rumbled in his chest even as his whispered the words.

Summer felt the words as much as she heard them.

“Damn straight it wasn’t so bad,” she whispered back, debating how difficult it would be to topple him down onto the bed with her. “In fact, that was downright fantastic.”

The distinct sound of a smothered laugh drew her attention from the logistics of maneuvering a six-foot-plus man into bed. Her gaze landed on a mouth suppressing a smile.

“I meant that you aren’t so bad, Summer. As in, maybe you’re not quite the bad girl you think you are.” He twined his fingers through hers.

Ah. She’d rather forgotten that conversation and her last-ditch effort to scare him off before his kiss had rocked her world. In the past, she’d chosen quick liaisons with no-commitment men who were willing to follow her lead. While those relationships hadn’t been overly fulfilling, they’d at least taken the edge off her sensual longings and allowed her to pretend she was in control.

But Jackson had a way of taking charge that unsettled her even though her body was already responding.

“Maybe kissing wasn’t such a great way of showing off my wild side.” Or maybe underneath Jackson Taggart’s oh-so-refined suit beat the heart of a tattooed thrill seeker.

Then again, maybe he was nothing like any guy she’d ever been with and she was totally out of her depth.

“Or maybe you’re just not giving me enough credit for being able to take whatever you dish out.”

A little thrill of a different kind skipped through her. Not that she would let it sway her decision. “I’m sure you could handle it. I’m more concerned that your public won’t be able to.”

“Then again, maybe you’re just scared to take a chance on me.” He leaned closer to look her in the eye, the challenge simmering in his words. The man looked mighty at home framed in the background of shirred burgundy velvet that covered the walls of the sensuous bordello.

Damn. How could she be so transparent to this guy? She hadn’t been accused of being scared of anything since—well, since she’d been old enough to armor herself with wild clothes and crystal talismans. Her mystical image combined with a few random outrageous acts had always made people keep their distance.

Until now. She sniffed, hoping she could regain lost ground. “Hardly.”

“Prove it. Go boating with me tomorrow.” He called her on the bluff.

She shouldn’t be surprised. Jackson had skillfully outmaneuvered her from the moment he’d strolled into the bordello in his deceptively buttoned-up suit.

“Boating?” Could she help it if her ears perked up a bit? She’d decided to quit her gypsy lifestyle and hang out in southern Florida on a permanent basis just because of the beach.

“No better place to improve your outlook than skimming over gulf waters. You Aquarian types ought to appreciate that.” He tugged the leather thong around her neck, dislodging the silver pendant with the water markings of her astrological sign from the narrow valley of her cleavage.

Did he realize how the action teased her breasts?

She gazed up at him and found heat smoldering in his eyes. Of course he knew what it did to her.

Still, she had no clue how to conduct a real relationship, and Jackson didn’t seem to be interested in a one-night conflagration. What man wasn’t interested in easy sex? Not that she had a vast amount of experience in that particular arena, but growing up in communes had given her a lot of knowledge.

She had to admit, a man who could deny immediate sex for the sake of something more possessed an admirable amount of control. She couldn’t help but wonder what kind of sexual prowess a man with so much control might possess.

Still…

No matter how intriguing that particular thought might be, Summer knew she couldn’t give him what he wanted.

Even if she wanted to venture into real-relationship terrain, a public figure on the verge of a big career move was definitely not the right kind of guy to play trial and error with.

Her errors would be dissected on the six o’clock news.

“Come on, Summer.” He whispered the words in her ear like a devil perched on her shoulder. “You can’t let a straight-laced attorney one-up you in the thrill-seeking department. You’re risking your reputation as a wild woman.”

She had to smile. “Who’d have thought South Beach’s golden boy would turn out to be such an instigator?”

“Can I take that as a yes?”

No. No. No. Definitely not.