It Was Only a Kiss - By Joss Wood Page 0,42

their crazy lust-filled night everywhere she looked. One of her leather boots was on top of the credenza. She couldn’t see the other one. Her pink bra dangled off the lampshade. Her T-shirt was...Jess frowned and peered off the end of the bed...nowhere to be seen. Where had it gone? Jess rewound and remembered that Luke had pulled it off in the hallway, shortly after he’d started stripping her as soon as he’d pulled her through the front door. Her jeans were on the stairs—along with his shirt, shoes and jersey.

Panties? There was no point in worrying about them. They were history since Luke hadn’t tried to take them off—he’d just ripped the thong apart and pulled it away.

Could anyone say ‘awesome sex’?

Could anyone say ‘big, huge, monstrous regret’?

Jess scrubbed her face with her hands. He’d been a fantastic lover: tender, demanding, controlled, sensual and generous in turn. He’d turned her to liquid fire, inside out and... And she couldn’t do it again.

It was simply too much of an amazingly good thing. And she wasn’t remotely in control of any of it. She couldn’t control her reaction to Luke’s touch. He just had to look at her with those eyes filled with passion and she was his for the taking—battling to control the situation, the way he made her feel...

And, damn it again, her cuddle hormone was beetling around her body, gleefully singing, ‘It could be a stylish marriage; he can afford a carriage’.

And all because she’d been idiot enough to sleep with him. Okay, not much sleeping had happened, but she was splitting hairs. She’d allowed those feelings of attachment a little piece of fertile soil to take root. She’d have to dig up the bed before they took a firm hold and—what was with the gardening metaphors? She didn’t even garden!

Jess dropped her head. Maybe this was more than sex, more than the scratching of a mutual itch... Because she now felt exposed, vulnerable, scared. So very out of control.

She couldn’t allow it to happen again. Sleeping with Luke was not an option. If she felt this unhinged mentally and emotionally after one night, she’d be a train wreck after a week or so. And probably fathoms deep in love with him. And, not insignificantly, she had no intention of being that girl who was hopelessly devoted to a guy who did not feel the same way.

‘You’re awake and your mental wheels are spinning.’

Look at her—all mussed and grumpy, hair a mess and those fabulous eyebrows drawn together in an ominous scowl. Luke thought that he’d never seen her looking lovelier...and less accessible.

‘Luke, I—’

Luke tucked in the end of the towel that rode low on his hips, walked over to the window and pulled apart the curtains. He didn’t need to hear her words to know what it was that she wanted to say. It was written in neon ink all over her face. Last night was a mistake...

‘We can’t do this again.’

It didn’t matter that he agreed with her. Her words still held all the sting of a powerful slap. Luke winced and placed his hands on the broad windowsill, looking out over his lands.

‘Okay.’

‘Is that all you’re going to say?’ Jess demanded, annoyance in every syllable.

Oh, now she wanted to discuss it? Why didn’t she just put his pecker in a wringer and be done with it? ‘You said we can’t do it again. I agreed. Did you expect me to argue with you? Force you? Beg you?’

‘No. I—I just thought that you might have an opinion...’

That it had been the best sex of his life? That he’d been mentally, emotionally blown away? That he could picture her in his bed when they were old and grey? That he knew that was impossible...?

Luke heard the rustle of bedclothes and looked over his shoulder to see Jess stalk—his mouth dried up—stark naked over to his cupboard and yank the doors open. She pulled a rugby jersey over her head and rolled the long sleeves up and over her hands. The hem of the garment skimmed her pretty knees and draped over her perfect breasts.

‘Well, then, I suppose there’s not much else to say,’ Jess stated as she plucked her bra from the lampshade.

She bent down, briefly flashing the top of her thighs, and when she stood up a scrap of black lace fabric dangled from her finger. Her thong—which he’d destroyed with a quick twist.

‘Except that you owe me a thong.’

* * *

Jess looked at Sbu and