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Jenny looked at him and just like that he was once again nothing more than a poor wee lad from the worst neighborhood in Dublin, out of his element at Oxford, and terrified that at any moment he’d cock the whole thing up. Absolutely certain every moment of every day that he was about to be found out and summarily sent down, because the smartest kid in a neighborhood like the one he’d grown up in didn’t mean smart enough for the pampered toffs who swanned about the dreaming spires.
And in the middle of those years of anxiety and ambition, there had been Jenny, who’d been his friend.
It wasn’t lost on him that lusting after her for all these years was a bit of a betrayal of that friendship. Nor was it lost on him that in kissing her the way he had, carnal and raw, he’d made absolutely certain there would be no going back. No matter what she’d said.
But then, she was marrying a man she didn’t love. The way he’d always known she would. The way she’d always said she would. It shouldn’t eat at him the way it did that everything was going along according to plan.
And she might think that a man like Conrad Vanderburg wouldn’t care if she stayedfriendswith her old pal from her university days, but Dylan knew better. No husband in his right mind would be all right with Dylan hanging about—because a husband would see Dylan for who he really was. He was friendly, understanding, patient, endlessly supportive and undemanding only for one person on this earth. Her marriage was the end of things.
Dylan couldn’t regret kissing her the way he had, no matter what she was about to say next.
But the thing about Jenny was that he could know her inside and out, and she still surprised him.
She did now. Because she smiled. That wide, faintly wicked, fully joyous smile of hers that made him feel as if it was the middle of summer, not winter. As if it was bright daylight, instead of night.
“Wekissed,” she said again. “Can you believe it?”
She leaned forward and braced herself on his chest again, tipping back her head with the ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times before. When she hadn’t. Because there had always been barriers. There had always been distance.
Because Dylan had needed to maintain some level of sanity.
But he knew how she tasted now, and the hunger in him felt new. Wilder and sharper than before.
Jenny’s eyes looked more gold than brown. “Would you say that kiss was a proper kiss?”
Dylan felt nearly grim with want, drunk with desire, but he laughed anyway. “It would be hard to find a kiss more proper, in my opinion.”
Her smile widened. “And do you think that was representative of your work?”
There was a teasing note in her voice, and he found himself grinning in return. But not that happy, friendly, toothless grin he’d always given her in the past. Because the door was open, and he had already shouldered his way through it. That was who he was and always had been, in every scenario but this one. And now it was too late. There was no going back to pretending he was her lovable old buddy, Dylan.
Not when she was plastered against him and her lips were still damp from his. Not now.
“A proper kiss is an excellent advertisement for proper fuck, yes,” he assured her, doing nothing to rein himself in. “At least when I do it. What do you reckon, Jenny? Have I scared you off?”
And her smile faded a bit as she gazed up at him, making his heart kick at him again.
Because he honestly didn’t know what he would do if she said that yes, he had succeeded at last in scaring her away from this course of action.
Cry like a bitch, mate,a voice in him said. Caustically.You’ll cry like a little bitch, and who could blame you?
“You haven’t scared me off,” Jenny said, her hands still pressed against his chest and her eyes solemn. “And I appreciate your attempts, but you’re not going to. The only thing that’s going to stop this from happening is if you don’t want to. If you’ve changed your mind. Or scared yourself off.”
Dylan laughed again, but not because anything was funny. “Impossible.”
He jerked her to him and took her mouth again, indulging himself all over again. He sank his hands into her hair, finding it silky and thick, and warm there at her scalp. He tugged her head back, giving himself the angle he wanted, and then it was on. A little rough, a little intense.
All magic.
Because this was Jenny, his Jenny, and he was never going to recover from this. And if she was going to go ahead and marry herself off, he was going to make sure she had something to remember him by.
He was going to imprint himself on her, the way she’d imprinted herself on him at first sight.
Dylan didn’t think that he could ruin her the way she’d done to him, but he could ruin this. Because they fit together like a dream, and this kiss was already better than whole nights he’d spent with other women, none of whom he could ever remember too clearly. Not when there was Jenny. And he’d done his best all these years to get by without her, but he didn’t have to now. Not now. Not tonight. Not for as long as she stayed here in Australia, hiding from her real life.
He could ruin her this way. He could teach her whatproperwas, and the truth was, he felt as if he’d been practicing his whole life for this opportunity. To worship this woman in every last way he knew, turn her inside out as many times as possible, and let her spend the rest of her life fantasizing about this. The same way he would be doing.
He pulled away again and liked it when she moaned out a protest.
