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He came toward her slowly, his eyes locked to hers. She wanted to back up, but showing weakness would, she knew, be a mistake.
“I kissed you this morning.”
Her heart thudded. “Did you?” She shrugged. “I suppose you did, but I can hardly re—”
He caught her by the shoulders, bent to her and kissed her again. Another lesson, Cat told herself, before she stopped thinking.
His mouth was warm. Soft against hers. She felt the tip of his tongue at the seam of her lips and she made an inadvertent little sound, the barest whisper, but it was all he needed to take the kiss deeper. She made the sound again, something that was part moan, part sigh, and Jake groaned, cupped her face with his hands, tilted her head back and angled his mouth over hers until she knew she’d fall if she didn’t reach up, grasp his shirt, bunch it in her fists…
“Do you remember now?”
His mouth was a breath away.
“Yes,” she said, and hated how shaky her voice sounded. Jake might not know it yet, but he was her teacher. That was all. She had to approach this clinically. “Yes,” she said, more briskly. “I suppose I—”
Jake’s mouth took hers again. He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her against him, let her feel his heat and his swift arousal. It was all to serve a purpose, he told himself. The woman had to understand she couldn’t play with him unless she wanted to get burned.
But the flame was dangerous for him, too.
God, the taste of her. The feel of her. She was pressed hard against him, her breasts soft against his chest, her hips tucked against his, but it wasn’t enough.
He wanted more.
He wanted to open her dress, bare her breasts. Cup them. Caress them. Skim his fingers over her nipples and watch her face when he did. Hear her cry out his name as he tore the dress from her shoulders, slid his hand into her panties, found that hot, sweet heart of her femininity that wept softly for him, only for him.
Take her innocence. Her perfect innocence.
Innocence she would bring to another man.
Jake tore his mouth from Cat’s. She swayed in his arms. “Jake?” she whispered, and he let go of her, knotted his hands into fists before he could reach for her again, and dug them into his pockets.
“How about now?” he said, so calmly that he wanted to applaud his performance. “Your memory any better?”
Cat’s eyes opened. She blinked and he wondered if he’d ever seen lashes as long as hers before. Then she touched the tip of her pale pink tongue to her bottom lip, and his libido threatened to wipe out his brain.
“I asked you a question,” he said gruffly. “Has your memory improved?”
Her head dipped in jerky assent. “Yes.”
“Good.?
?
She did it again, that little thing with her tongue. Jake took a quick step back.
“I wouldn’t have kissed you if I had a wife. Or a mistress.”
“Why not? In Brazil—”
“Yeah. In my country, too, sometimes. Maybe it’s an old-fashioned concept, but I’m into commitment. I mean,” he said hastily, “I’m not actually into it. Not yet. But when and if I find the right woman I won’t fool around with anybody else.”
“Is that what you’re doing with me? Fooling around?”
Hell. How did he manage to dig himself deeper with every word?
“I’m talking about kissing you. I wouldn’t have done it if there was anyone else.”
Really? What about Samantha Vickers? And how come he hadn’t thought of Sam once since he’d gone to that convent?
