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r face whiten in the night.
“Then there’s your daughter.”
She gasped. “Christina’s fine.”
“Is she? Why the nightmares every night?”
Tiffany bristled and set her drink on the ground. What was J.D.’s game? What did he want? “What do you expect, Jay? She was barely three when she watched her father die, for God’s sake. Of course that’s going to cause some trauma. But it’s normal. She’s been to a child psychologist.” Tiffany crossed her arms under her breasts and glared at him. What did he know about raising kids? About becoming a single parent? About dealing with a truckload of guilt because your husband died in an automobile accident while you survived? About facing yourself every morning knowing that you were at the wheel of the car when it slid out of control? Her stomach twisted into painful knots, and she cleared her throat.
“I’m just concerned,” he said so quietly that for a split second, she believed him.
“Why all of a sudden? Most of Stephen’s life you haven’t been around.”
“I had my reasons,” he said.
“Which were?”
He leveled her with a gaze that caused her heart to knock. “You don’t want to know.”
“Of course I do.”
He lowered his glass to the ground and grabbed her bare shoulders in his big, callused hands. She started to shrink from him, but held her ground and inched her chin up a notch. “If you want to know the truth—”
“I do.” Or did she?
“Most of my reasons for staying away had to do with you, Tiffany.”
“With me?” she whispered, then stared into his eyes. Dark with the night they made promises of slow seduction, of a forbidden desire that no amount of time could erase. Memories cascaded through her mind, erotic images that tumbled, one after another, of the one night, just after Philip’s death, when she’d given in to him, of the few desperate hours when she’d clung to him in her tormented and anguished grief. “You’re right,” she said, swallowing hard and trying with all her heart to forget those painful-yet-bittersweet memories. “I don’t want to know.”
“Too late.” His fingers tightened, he lowered his head, and his mouth slanted over hers as familiarly as if they’d been lovers just last night.
A small sound filled her throat—not the note of protest she’d intended, but a soft plea. His arms surrounded her, and she knew she should pull back from him, slap him across his cocky jaw, but she couldn’t find the strength. Instead she closed her eyes, and for one glorious, taboo moment she kissed him back, opening her mouth, feeling the slick penetration of his tongue.
Her skin tingled. Her pulse clamored. Her blood heated.
He wound his fingers through her hair, and the rubber band holding it in place broke, allowing the thick tresses to tumble free.
Stop this madness, Tiffany, stop it now. While you still can. But her protests were forgotten as his lips moved to her cheeks and eyes. His body pressed against hers, and her nipples tightened expectantly.
Deep inside she began to palpitate, with a quivering need that chased away all her doubts.
“Tiffany,” he said on a sigh, and his breath was hot against her skin. He kissed the length of her neck and rimmed the circle of her throat with his tongue.
Her head lolled backward, and silently she offered him more. A dozen reasons to push him away entered her mind, only to be thrust aside by the greater urge to love and be loved, to feel a man’s hands, his lips, his tongue.
His fingers scaled her ribs, and his thumbs reached forward, each warm pad pressing against breasts, seeking and finding that taut button beneath her dress, then moving in gentle circles, stirring her blood, stoking the already heated fires of desire that made her skin so hot that perspiration dotted her skin.
He found the front buttons of her dress, easing each pearl fastener through its hole, parting the fabric so that the warm night air caressed her suddenly bare skin. An ache formed deep between her legs, and she knew in an instant that she wouldn’t stop him; that no matter how far he wanted their lovemaking to progress, she would gladly receive him.
His tongue licked her collarbone, and she whispered his name.
“Jay, oh, please—oooh!”
He kissed her through the lace of her bra, and she cradled his head against her as his lips found her nipple. Through the fabric he suckled, and she could barely keep her balance on the bench. One of his hands reached around her, rubbing her buttock as he teased and kissed her breast.
“Aaaahhh!” A terrified scream pierced the night.
“Christina!” Tiffany sat bolt upright. J.D. released her.
