spurt at thirteen-years-old, Jack had been conscious of the need to hold back his potential. It was like tiptoeing through an ant farm and trying not to squish any of the ants.
So while Jack had every right to rouse Snow White and demand some answers, it was late. After his day from hell and the drive from whatever-was-worse-than-hell, he was beat. All he wanted was to find a bed. He’d put off his interrogation until the morning.
He spotted an afghan draped over an armchair. His lengthy legs got him there and back in two seconds flat. Standing behind the sofa, he leaned down and unfurled the blanket over her body. She moaned softly, and her hips shifted appreciatively under the weight of the soft chenille fabric. Andre would be so proud that Jack even knew what that was.
Jack drew the blanket up over her chest and covered her shoulders. He should stop looming, leave her a note in the kitchen, then lock himself in a bedroom until the morning, but he couldn’t pull himself away.
She was so goddamn pretty. Delicate features, long luscious lashes, bow-shaped lips. Together with that peachy pink skin, she looked like a porcelain doll.
The mystery woman beneath him drew a deep breath, and then those gorgeous lashes fluttered open, revealing alluring, deep brown eyes. They were pools of melted fudge, and he was a spoon longing to dig in.
Jack froze, anticipating her scream.
Instead, a smile bent her lips. “It’s you.”
He nodded, stunned. “I’m . . . me.” How could she know him when he’d never laid eyes on her before? If he had, he’d have remembered. This woman’s image would’ve been indelibly branded into his brain.
She propped herself up on her elbows. “You have no idea how much I need this.” Her words were as grateful as they were urgent.
She reached for the lapel of his suit jacket and pulled his upper body down toward her. Her mouth closed on his. The kiss was instant heat and passion, need, and want. Under her power, all reason and thought left him, and he gave in, yielding to her spell. Her tongue swept across his lips then into his mouth. She tasted like frosting and an edge of something bitter and flowery at the same time—the tequila.
Snow White arched her back to edge even closer to him and fisted her hand through his hair.
Alarms blared in Jack’s head. He didn’t know this woman. He shouldn’t be kissing this woman. But he didn’t care. He wanted to kiss this woman. After the shitty day he’d had, he needed to kiss this woman.
Just this one kiss.
His arms reached for her. One hand cradled her head while the other held the small of her back. She felt so good in his touch. As soft as a peach, and she smelled even better. He broke the kiss and ran his tongue along her neck, placing a trail of kisses behind her ear. From the sound of her breath catching and the way her nails dug into his shoulder, she was enjoying this as much as he was.
Her fingers slid down his arm and squeezed the muscles through his suit sleeve, inching their way around to his triceps first, then clawing at his biceps. She slid her hand inside the jacket and nudged it off his shoulder. She seemed to want him. Badly.
This was wrong. He had to put on the brakes. Snow White was clearly drunk and had mistaken him for someone else. A kiss was one thing, but he couldn’t let this go any further.
Jack peeled himself away from her luscious neck.
Snow White purred. “This is the best sex dream I’ve ever had.”
What. The. Fuck. She wasn’t just drunk. She was half-asleep.
Jack lurched away from the sectional. “Whoa.”
Snow White reached for him. “What are you doing? Don’t stop. Come back.”
Jack’s hands shot up defensively. “This isn’t a sex dream.”
“Of course it is, you’re Mr. Perfect, and I’m horny as hell.”
“Lady, you are definitely horny, but I am not Mr. Perfect. Trust me on that.”
Snow White’s expression shifted from dark lust to dazed confusion to abject horror as the situation appeared to crystalize in her muddled brain. Her brown eyes shifted into focus. “What the hell is going on?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Jack said, his hands still up to convey he wasn’t a threat.
Snow White sprang off the sofa. The afghan slid to the floor as she staggered backward, then knocked into the coffee table and the laptop on it.