“Jack,” he muttered as his head bent, his hands sliding around her waist to her back, his fingers putting pressure there so her body touched his.
And then he kissed her.
Kissed her.
Belle couldn’t believe it.
His mouth on hers was firm and warm and his hands at her back were burning into her flesh. She felt the trill up her spine, the tingle along her scalp, her belly flipping then warming.
All this felt good. It felt thrilling. It felt like something she wanted more of (a lot more).
Still, she put her hands to his arms, gave a good shove and pulled her mouth away from his.
“We can’t,” she told him but her voice was oddly breathy.
“We can,” he replied instantly.
“No,” she said.
“Yes,” he returned then his arms tightened around her so her body wasn’t touching his. It was plastered against it. His head slanted and his mouth came down on hers again this time harder, warmer, insistent.
She opened her mouth to protest, her fingers curling at his arms and his tongue slid inside.
The minute his tongue touched hers, her entire body responded. Heat shot through it and her knees went weak then buckled. She felt her belly plummet, a quiver of excitement shot between her legs and her body melted into his.
Without thought to anything, not Miles, Joy, good manners or her own sanity, Belle kissed him back. Her hands slid up and around his neck and she pressed closer to the heat of his hard body.
He felt her response immediately (he couldn’t exactly miss it) and he pushed his advantage, deepening the kiss, tightening his arms, one hand sliding up her side and stopping then his fingers began to stroke the side of her breast.
That, Belle thought hazily, felt good.
Very good.
So good, Belle felt her br**sts swell, her ni**les harden and she moaned right into his mouth.
It was then she realised that he’d been controlling the kiss.
She knew this because it was also then when he lost control of it.
His head came up and before she could think, he stepped back twice, dragging her with him.
When he stopped them, his head came back down, their mouths collided and this kiss was wild. It was coupled with bodies pressing closer, hands gliding. His jacket fell from her shoulders and Belle didn’t even notice.
The world had dissolved.
Nothing existed but James, his mouth, his hands, his body and all the unbelievable things he was making her feel.
Things she’d never felt in her whole life, not with Calvin, not with Miles, not ever.
She was not Belle “Meek and Mild” Abbot.
She was another being entirely.
A being who would neck in the hayloft with a rich, famous, entirely too handsome man, even when she was dating his brother.
She was Wicked Belle. Risk Taker Belle. A Heretofore Unknown Belle who jumped into shark-infested waters with both feet, her eyes open because she knew something rich and rewarding would come of it.
She tugged at his shirt at the back, pulling it out of his trousers and her hands went up, gliding across his hot skin, feeling the hard muscle of his back and she loved it.