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She dropped her foot, stopping the chair. “Oh. I see.”
“I just keep thinking about what it was like to be with you. I keep thinking about touching you, kissing you. I want to be able to do that again.”
“You do?” Her mind went there—a gloriously wild confusion of every sexy moment they shared together...the way his butt looked when he walked away from her, the way his mouth went slack when she did something that pleased him. And then there was the dark, intense stare he gave her when he had her pinned beneath his bodyweight, taking his time, making sure she relished every subtle move he made.
“Yes, I do. I also would appreciate it if you would stop asking questions and give me some indication as to how you feel about this. Right now I feel like I’m having one-sided phone sex.”
If she blurted out everything going through her head right now, he wouldn’t get a word in edgewise for a week. “I can’t stop thinking about you, either.” Something about making the admission was so freeing, however vulnerable it made her.
“Go on.” His voice rumbled over the line.
“And I’m having the same problem. I can’t sleep. I just lie there in the dark and replay everything that happened last weekend.”
“Good.” His declaration had a confounding finality to it.
Anna furrowed her brow. “Good?”
“No more questions. I’m sending a car to pick you up at five.”
“I have a meeting at four-thirty.”
“Is it important?”
What was it about the velvety quality of his voice that made her want to not merely throw caution to the wind, but send it through a paper shredder? Taking directives from a man was not on the list of things she enjoyed doing. In fact, she usually went out of her way to avoid it, but this was different. She not only knew what he was implying, but precisely what he was capable of. “I’ll reschedule.”
“That’s my girl.”
My girl. The words sent electricity zinging through her body. “Where are we going?”
“We aren’t going anywhere. You’re coming here.”
Oh crap. I’m going to have to run home and change.
“And, Anna. Bring a toothbrush.”
Nine
Jacob had never done anything quite so weak, but all bets were apparently off when it came to Anna. He’d managed four whole days without calling her. Why give in now? He knew from experience that the first forty-eight hours were the worst, when you know it’s in your own best interest to stay away from someone.
In the case of Anna, it had only gotten harder after those first two days. It was like he was being starved for air, which was disconcerting. He couldn’t focus on his work. He needed more of her and he needed her now. Damn the consequences, however complicated. Damn the fallout, too. He needed her insistent hands grabbing his body, her strong and graceful legs wrapped around him. He needed to smell her and kiss her, hear her laugh. He needed his fix.
He had to temper the romance. This was a rabbit hole for him emotionally. He didn’t let many people into his life and when he did, he didn’t want them to waltz right out. That wasn’t the point of trust. If you believed in someone, if you wanted them in your life, they would stay. There was no telling how long Anna would be able to stay, or even if she would want to.
Tempering romance aside, he knew he couldn’t start an ongoing no-strings-attached thing with Anna. Even when strings meant the Langfords on some level. This left him with a very narrow tightrope on which to balance, at least for the foreseeable future. The War Chest had closed ranks, forging ahead with the scheme he’d planted in their heads. He refused to regret doing it, but he sure as hell wished he could turn it around. If he could just find someone willing to back down, the rest of them might follow, and that would mean one less thing hanging over his head.
He glanced at his watch. Anna would be here any minute and that made his nerve endings stand up straight and tall, pinging electricity throughout his body. The anticipation brewed an unholy cocktail of adrenaline and testosterone in him. He could only imagine what it would be like when he finally saw her. When he could finally kiss her again, feel her come alive beneath his touch. That was the response he cherished—when she allowed herself to be vulnerable, when she surrendered to him and he could feel and see the tangible results—quivers, shakes and trembles.
He walked out into his kitchen and removed a bottle of champagne from the fridge. Cliché? Maybe. But Anna did deserve at least one or two trappings of romance. He wasn’t about to let that go completely unaddressed.
