As she touched him, the kiss, mildly controlled, went out-of-control.
She had invited it and when it came she welcomed it and gave back as much as she got, loving every second.
Only when Jack’s hand yanked up her nightgown and slid into her panties at her behind did sanity return in an ice-cold, what on earth are you doing rush.
She pulled from his arms, scrambled from the bed and stood at its side, staring at Jack who’d come up on a forearm but his body had gone still.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “So, so sorry. I’m sorry.” He just stared at her, she could see his chest rising and falling, his defined stomach muscles contracting with his deep breathing and she kept talking, “Hormones. It’s hormones. I’m so sorry.”
She stood there feeling like an idiot and her gaze went from his passion-filled eyes to his chest which was something she liked. So it skittered to his nose which was something else she liked. So it went to his shoulder which was safe when he was wearing clothes, when he wasn’t it was all sinewy and luscious so she settled on his ear.
“Belle –” he started but she blathered on.
“Okay, so, this is obviously going to be weird, considering our brief history. So, for this to work, um… me being here, living with you, maybe we should have rules.”
“Belle –” he repeated and she still didn’t look at him when she kept talking.
“Like, you know, maybe you shouldn’t be allowed to sleep with me, or, um, wake up with me, or, um… both. That’s a good rule.”
“Belle –” he said yet again but she kept right on talking.
“And, maybe you’re not allowed to kiss me anymore.”
“Are you allowed to kiss me?” he asked and she heard it, plain as day, there was amusement in his voice.
Her eyes flew to his face and she saw it plain as day there too.
“No,” she answered. “No kissing. None at all. Either you or me.”
“I don’t agree to that rule,” he retorted, throwing back the covers.
Her body went solid in fear and she realised, again too late, that she should have run from the room or locked herself in the bathroom or thrown herself out of a window or something.
She still had time but her feet refused to move.
She watched him get out of bed. She noted he was wearing a pair of dark grey, drawstring pyjama bottoms that looked way too good on his behind and then he started walking around it, toward her.
“Either me not kissing you or you not kissing me. Especially you not kissing me,” he stressed and stopped in front of her, his hand coming to her jaw, his voice dipping low and rumbly. “You’ve never kissed me like that before. That was nice, poppet.”
“Another rule!” Belle announced way too loudly, taking a step back and away from his hand which dropped to his side. “You can’t call me ‘poppet’ anymore.”
He grinned. “I don’t agree to that, either.”
She blinked at him. “Well, do you agree to the first one, the no sleeping together?”
“Certainly,” he replied without hesitation and her body relaxed only to go ramrod straight again when he continued. “Unless I’m in the mood.”
“The mood?” she whispered and he took the step toward her that she’d taken back and both his hands came to her jaw, holding her captive.
“The mood,” he repeated then went on terrifyingly. “And you should know, I’m guessing I’ll be in the mood quite a bit, poppet.”
“This isn’t funny,” she whispered, her heart in her voice but even though she knew he could hear it (he had to be able to hear it), he smiled.
“You’re right, it isn’t funny. I’m also not laughing.”
“You’re smiling,” she accused.
“That I am,” he agreed.