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“Hipless, top-heavy blondes with sticks for legs. That's your usual diet.”
“Well, mine eyes have seen the glory of one curvy brunette with a body that won't quit and a mouth made for sin.”
She chewed her sinful lower lip and drew back to face him. “So you'll have doubled your options. Just think of all that ethnic skirt you've been missing. Italians, Latinas, Jersey housewives...”
“Not interested. I've got all the ethnic skirt I want right here.” His words sent stiffness to her spine. He must have felt it, too because his brow crimped into lines like a corduroy swatch. “Do you really want me to see someone else? Why are you raining on this?”
Because a little rain now was better than a torrential downpour later. Saddling his hot-as-Hades ass with her was not going to help his brand, just like it wouldn't do a solid for her self-esteem. One kiss had turned her into Celebrity Enemy Number One. A relationship with this guy would put her on every gossip shit list until the end of the decade. Improving the forward momentum of her life precluded detours to her chunky teens; she had come too far to risk a revival of that insecure blob inside her.
She let out a long, shuddering breath and broke out her most reasonable tone. “Jack, you know I can’t date you.”
Pressing her hands to his hard chest, she pushed him away and slipped to a stand. With trembling fingers, she wrenched on her blouse and grappled with the buttons. They ended up in the wrong holes. Typical.
“Can’t or won’t?”
She whirled on him in all her disheveled magnificence. “That concussion must have caused brain damage. There’s the little matter of your rabid fan base.”
“I'd protect you.”
“How? Are you going to punch everyone who says something mean about me?”
“No one messes with what’s mine.”
That, and the accompanying unyielding gaze turned her legs to swaying reeds. Mine. Had one word ever sounded so wrong and so right?
“I’m not yours.”
“Not yet.”
Sweet bursts of pleasure exploded in her chest at the thought of Jack claiming her like a piece of Victorian-era chattel but as much as her inner girly-girl loved it, she couldn’t allow his outer caveman distract her from the real problem. The fallout from dating him would set back her recovery, a risk she was unwilling to take. She dug her nails into her palms to kick-start a return to the twenty-first century. And her very twenty-first century needs.
“I can’t date you but I’d still like you to stay.” She hoped she didn’t sound overly eager to get them back to the business at hand, specifically her need to be tuned up by a guy who knew his way round a woman's body without having to program a GPS. Waking up with those beefy arms wrapped around her was secondary. It was on the list too, but further down, after orgasms and foot rubs.
He struck a pose of challenge, real cock-of-the-walk stuff. They stood facing each other, the tension delicious and strung between them on a wire. Determined to hold her ground, she stared, unblinking, until his bright eyes dimmed, and she knew she'd won.
“No,” he said quietly.
“What?”
“No,” he repeated.
By the time she’d mustered her wits, he was already at the door. “That’s it? You're— you’re leaving?”
“No, I’m fake leaving.” He turned, his face a mix of disbelief and frustration. Right there with ya, bud. “I told you I don’t do one-night stands.”
“I’ve seen you with women in magazines and on TV since Ashley.” He had told her about his sex drought but it was hard to reconcile that with the parade of beautiful women he escorted to premiere parties and glittering galas. Of course, she was nothing like those women. Her gaze fell to her underwear, mocking her on the tile floor. Turned down twice by the same guy in less than twenty-four hours… A horrible thought poked at her.
“Was this some pity-the-big-girl thing?” Uh oh. Colossal mistake.
He marched over, his expression so stormy that the room skewed and she backed up against the edge of the table. Roughly, he grasped her hand and mashed it flat against his hard chest, vibrating with a thunderous beat.
“Don’t ever say anything like that again. How can you even doubt my attraction after what just happened here? When all I can think about is burying my body inside you?” Still covering her hand, he dragged it against his rock-hard abs and finally, his erection. She gasped. He was firm and hot beneath her palm. He was huge. “Feel that? I’m so fucking hard for you that it hurts, but I’ll suffer because I don't want to be with a woman who doesn't want to be with me. And I mean really be with me. Not just in my bed.”
Her mind flailed as his words thunked against her skull, their mix of certainty and entreaty shaking her to the core. Really be with me. He wanted someone to see him for who he was, not Jack Kilroy the icon, just Jack, the regular guy in her kitchen. Tonight, he’d offered a glimpse of his soul and though she was drawn to him like no other man, there was no escaping the fact he was indeed like no other man.
He released her and stepped back out of her greedy reach. She hugged herself and tried to hold onto his heat in her still-tingling hand.
“Yes, there have been women since Ashley but I haven’t slept with anyone. I’m tired of using and being used. The disrespect. This last year has been—” He paused and scrubbed a hand through his hair, leaving it adorably mussed.
