AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She hopped on one leg to unzip one of the boots, only to jerk upright when he placed his hand on her waist.
‘Hold on to my shoulder,’ he said casually enough, but as his eyes connected with hers the awareness that prickled up her spine reminded her of that dark school hallway a lifetime ago. Except this time those long, strong fingers held her, and not Jenny Kelty.
‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, her heartbeat battering her ribcage like a sledgehammer.
She touched his shoulder blade for balance, only to have her insides tilt alarmingly as the muscled sinews tensed beneath her fingers.
He kept his hand on her waist as she struggled with the boots. But once she’d yanked them off and pulled away from his touch, she realised she had another problem.
‘You might want to lose those too,’ he mentioned, apparently reading her mind as he examined the wet leggings. ‘They’re soaked.’
‘Right.’ She hesitated. The problem was, without her leggings, she’d only have the butt-skimming tunic on. She did a quick mental check. Had she put on her much-prized silk high-leg panties with the lace trim this morning, or had she opted for the usual cheap cotton passion-killers?
The instant the dilemma registered, she yanked herself back to reality.
For pity’s sake, Cass. It doesn’t matter what knickers you’re wearing.
The state of her undies had no bearing whatsoever on this situation. She was here to get her coat cleaned. Nothing more. Bending down, she wiggled out of the leggings and then shoved them under her arm.
‘You warm enough?’ he asked.
Gripping the hem of the tunic, she yanked it down, goose pimples rising on her bare thighs as her toes curled into the downy-soft carpeting.
‘Fine, thanks,’ she murmured, noticing the tiny dimple winking in one hard, chiselled cheek. That he found her predicament amusing only confirmed how ludicrous that moment of vanity had been. He wasn’t remotely interested in her. Or her knickers.
‘Make yourself comfortable in the lounge.’ He indicated the large living area as the dimple deepened. ‘While I get these sent down.’ He picked up her boots, then reached for the leggings under her arm.
She forced herself to relax so he could take them. ‘Oh—Okay.’ She cleared her throat when the words came out on a squeak. ‘Thanks, I will.’
‘Help yourself to a drink.’ To her dismay he didn’t turn, but seemed to be waiting for her to move first. ‘They’re in the cabinet under the flat-screen.’
She opened her mouth to say thanks for the millionth time, then thought better of it. He’d probably got the message loud and clear by now. Bobbing her head, she forced herself to move. But as she headed towards the lounge, her footsteps silenced by the carpet, she strained to hear him walk away. When silence reined, she couldn’t help hoping that if anything was peeping out from under her tunic, it involved crimson lace and not utilitarian white cotton.
Jace spotted the flash of white cotton and the pulse of heat tugged low in his abdomen.
Something about the plain, simple underwear only made the sight more erotic. For a small woman, she certainly had a lot of leg. Slim and well toned, the soft skin of her thighs and calves flushed a delightful shade of pink, making the bright white of her panties all the more striking.
What made his lust a little weird, though, was that he’d remembered her. When those big blue eyes had lifted to his face a moment ago, the flashback had been so strong, he’d known instantly it wasn’t a mistake. Or a trick of his libido.
She was the kid who had once disturbed him and one of his girlfriends on the back stairwell at school. He couldn’t remember the girlfriend’s name, couldn’t even picture her face. All he really remembered about her was that she’d been more than willing and she hadn’t had much of a sense of humour, which was why he’d dropped her like a stone after she’d shouted at the child watching them and scared her off.
But he could see Cassie Fitzgerald clearly enough. He’d been kicked out of school two days later, and the memory had quickly become buried amid all the crap he’d had to deal with when he’d been expelled.
But the image of her heart-shaped face came back to him now with surprising clarity.
She’d been young, way too young for him and not conventionally pretty. Those bewitching eyes had been too large for her face and her wide lips at the time had seemed too full. He hadn’t fancied her, not in the least. She had been a baby. But something about the way she’d been watching him had struck a chord. Those big eyes of hers had grown huge in her face, and he’d felt as if she could see right into his soul, but, unlike everyone else, she hadn’t been judging him. He’d smiled, because she’d looked so shocked, and it had been funny, but also because, for a second, he’d forgotten to feel jaded and angry and resentful, forgotten even his burning quest to get Miss No-Name’s bra off and instead had felt like a kid again himself.
Unfortunately, as Cassie Fitzgerald disappeared into the lounge and the flash of white cotton disappeared with her, she wasn’t making him feel like a kid any more. Not now that little girl had grown up—and into her unusual beauty.
Squeezing the damp fabric of her leggings in his fist, he lifted them to his nose, breathed in the sultry, Christmassy scent of cinnamon and oranges, only slightly masked by the earthy smell of rain-water, that had got to him in the car—and realised he was in serious trouble.
The impromptu decision to invite her to his suite had seemed like a good idea at the time. He had an hour to kill before he had to turn up at Helen’s soirée and convince her once and for all to leave him alone, and he didn’t want to think about what a pain in the backside that was going to be. Cassie would provide a welcome distraction. Plus getting her coat cleaned had solved the mystery of what it was she did or did not have on under it.
But he hadn’t expected her to be quite this distracting. Her skittishness as soon as they’d arrived at the hotel had intrigued him. And the way she’d defended him in the lift had surprised the hell out of him—and reminded him of that kid on the stairwell. But what was distracting him a whole lot more was the sight of her lush, curvaceous figure in that dress, which was roughly the size of a place mat, and the resulting shot of arousal currently pounding like a sore tooth in his groin.
Not only was he going to find it next to impossible to keep his hands off her for the forty minutes the receptionist had said it would take to clean her clothing.
He was fast losing the will to even try.
