It Was Only a Kiss - By Joss Wood Page 0,41

she’d moved quite a lot of stuff out. The rest he tossed.’ Luke stifled a yawn. Suddenly he felt physically and mentally exhausted. ‘I remember someone saying that she took all her paintings for an upcoming exhibition. They’ve never been found. Somewhere, if they haven’t been burnt or tossed, there are about thirty Katelyn Kirby paintings floating around.’

‘Where did you find those two paintings?’

He didn’t speak but Jess read the answer on his face.

‘You bought them? Oh, Luke.’

At an enormous price, from a canny dealer who’d known exactly what he had.

Jess seemed immediately to understand that he’d needed a connection to her—something of hers that held something of her soul. Luke drained his glass. ‘Yep.’

Jess pursed her lips. ‘Dead or not, I really don’t like your father, Luke.’

He saw pity flash in her eyes and his spine stiffened. Of all the things he wanted from Jess, pity wasn’t one of them. He glared at her. ‘Don’t pity me, Sherwood.’

Jess jumped to her feet and shook her head. ‘I don’t pity you. I think you are one of the strongest, most together people I’ve ever encountered. I think you’re smart and resourceful and mentally tough.’ She cocked her head and listened to the music. ‘I love this song—dance with me?’

Luke blinked at the change of subject and looked at the empty dance floor. ‘Now?’

Jess nodded and held out her hand. ‘Yeah, now. What? Are you chicken?’

Luke grinned as he took her hand and led her to the dance floor. He placed his hands on her hips and rested his chin against her temple. Moody, romantic music brushed over them and Luke’s voice was threaded with laughter when he spoke. ‘You remember what happened the last time you called me chicken?’

‘I ended up against a wall, halfway to naked,’ Jess whispered back.

Luke’s heart picked up an extra beat at her soft, promise-soaked voice. ‘Willing to risk that happening again?’ he asked, holding his breath.

‘Cluck, cluck, cluck.’

Even he didn’t need more of a clue.

* * *

Luke pulled her across the dance floor towards the door, stopping briefly to throw some money on the table to cover their bill and to pick up Jess’s bag. As soon as they stepped out of the bar and into the frigid air he started to kiss her, and within a minute he had her up against the building, kissing her in the shadows of the doorway. His wonderful hands burrowed beneath her coat and slipped between her jeans and the skin of her back—touching, demanding, insisting that she match her passion to his.

She wanted this, Jess told herself. She needed this. If she was going to do this then she had to surrender to the moment, to stop thinking and enjoy this hard-bodied, hard-eyed man who had the ability to make her skin hum. For the first time in her adult life Jess switched off her brain and surrendered herself to the physical.

His hand, warm against her, made her feel intensely female. Sensation bombarded her. The rough spikes of his beard as he dropped kisses on her jawline. His tongue wet and warm in the dent of her collarbone. The amazing contradiction between that heat of his mouth and the icy air on her skin.

Jess couldn’t stop her hands from roaming up and under his jersey and shirt. She explored the wedge of fine hair on his chest. She traced the ridges of his stomach muscles, groaned at that particular patch of skin just beneath his hipbone that was so soft, so smooth, so male. Her thumb, sneaking beneath the waistband of his jeans, swiped over the long muscles in his hip, exploring the wonderfulness of him.

Luke groaned and lifted his head. He rested his arm against the wall above her head and his forehead against hers. ‘I love the way you touch me.’ He cursed. ‘But we can’t do this here. I want you where I can see you, taste you, enjoy every inch of you.’

‘Well, then, maybe you should take me home.’

‘That sounds like an excellent plan.’

EIGHT

The next morning Jess pretended to be asleep when Luke silently slipped out of bed. Risking a peek, she saw the glorious back view of him as he headed for the en-suite bathroom.

So...no morning cuddle for her, obviously. Thank God.

Jess pushed herself up in the bed, pulled the sheets over her chest and leaned her head against the headboard. Damn, damn and—just for a change—damn again.

What the hell had she done?

Jess looked around the room and saw evidence of