It Was Only a Kiss - By Joss Wood Page 0,28

green eyes.

He really wanted her. To have such a man feeling so frustrated over her made her feel powerful, giddy, intensely and completely feminine...

But, as with any other drug, the high was not worth the low that followed.

* * *

Jess sat at Luke’s kitchen table while he made spaghetti Bolognese for supper. The aroma of fresh herbs and garlic and the satiny-smooth slide of the red wine Luke had pressed on her made her think she was in Tuscany again. She’d adored Tuscany—the food, the wine, the old buildings and the sleepy villages.

Of course in Tuscany she wouldn’t have had her laptop open in front of her or her iPad next to her. She wouldn’t be prefacing dinner with talk of work. But, knowing Luke’s intensive schedule, she realised that if she didn’t grab his attention now she might not have it later.

And, admittedly, she’d grabbed her computer to remind them both of why she was at St Sylve. She was here to work, not play. To work, not to race down banisters like children. Work, not exchange hot, melt-your-panties kisses against a two-hundred-year-old wall...

Work, Jessica. Tangling with that mouth, playing with that delicious body was not an option.

Jess looked at her screen. The letters were out of focus and jumbled. Not only did he make her hormones jump but she also wanted to delve beneath that inscrutable façade. She kept getting glimpses of his soul, tiny flashes of resentment, sadness and more emotion than she would have credited him with. Luke Savage had unplumbed depths...

And she shouldn’t be thinking of plumbing those depths, Jess told herself. Nor should she be tempted by sleeping with him either. She knew the science behind attraction, Jess reminded herself. A girl thought she was just having a simple affair but the act of intercourse released the cuddle hormone—what was it called again? Oxytocin?—and while you intended to walk away you suddenly felt this man might be the one, your mate, your destiny, the father of your children.

Then months, years, decades later you’d find him in bed testing out someone else’s cuddle hormone.

All because she’d scratched an itch.

Not going to happen...mostly because she suspected that if she ever started thinking of Luke in terms of together for ever and one and only she might as well yank out her heart and ask him to stomp on it. Hard. With Grant her head and her pride had been dinged. She knew that if she allowed herself to feel anything more than friendship for Luke it would be the emotional equivalent of being disembowelled with a teaspoon. And the fastest way to get to that point? Sleep with him.

So that wasn’t going to happen. She hoped.

‘I can smell the smoke from all those brain cells you’re burning,’ Luke said mildly, swiftly dicing onions with a wicked-looking knife. ‘What are thinking about?’

Jess sent him a blank look. ‘What?’

‘You’re miles away.’ Luke tossed the onions into a pan with the sizzling garlic. He nodded at her laptop. ‘And you brought work...not cool since I’m trying to seduce you with my culinary talents.’

Jess leaned back in her chair and lifted her wine glass. ‘You should know that my ex cooked the most amazing meals and it still took him three months to talk me into bed.’

Luke raised his eyebrows. ‘Cautious, aren’t you?’

‘Very.’ Jess held his eyes for a long moment.

It would be so easy for you to talk me into bed, but while you can easily walk away, Jess silently told him, I’m not so practised. Sex is intimate, it’s binding, and I’d be handing my body to you, and some of my soul, and that scares me. I don’t want to get hurt. I really don’t want to feel anything more for you than lust-coloured friendship.

Luke saw something in her expression—possibly craziness—and turned away without saying anything.

Jess took that as a sign to change the subject and looked down at her screen. ‘And the reason I brought work over is that I need to talk to you about the campaign.’

‘Talk,’ Luke said, sounding resigned.

Jess ran through the schedule for the next couple of weeks and told him which society events she suggested he attend during the next month. Some were in Cape Town, some in Franschoek, and a couple were in the surrounding wine towns of Stellenbosch and Paarl. All were high society, and it had been easy securing an invitation for him. Actually, most he’d already been invited to, but he’d binned the invitations without opening them.

‘Guess