No More Mr. Nice - By Renee Roszel Page 0,35
the boy’s hand. “Even dwebes have their Mr. Prick days.”
Moses bent to pick up Lucas’s snipe stick. “Here. I guess I’ll go scope out the bushes for them furry little farts. Thanks for not beating my butt, man.”
“Pleasure’s all mine.”
Moses ambled off, dragging his sack through the fallen leaves as he went. Jess flattened herself against the tree, holding her breath. She didn’t want Moses or Lucas to know she’d been eavesdropping.
“How’d I do?” came a soft question from very nearby.
Jess jumped and spun to find Lucas lounging against the tree beside her, his expression amused.
She swallowed, ashamed that he’d caught her. “How did you know I was here?”
He shrugged his sinfully wide shoulders.
“I figured, with you being a mother-hen sort of woman, you’d be hovering nearby,” he explained. “Also, since you don’t like me, I knew you’d be ready to pounce the minute I made a wrong move.”
Her face grew warm with embarrassment. “Am I that transparent?
“You’re cellophane.” He paused, then added, “So, since you didn’t leap out of the bushes at me, I gather I did okay.”
She shoved her hands into her pockets. “I could have done without the ‘Mr. Prick’ comment, but other than that, you did okay.”
“I’m gratified. And the free condom offer?”
He was teasing her now. She decided two could play at this game. Defiantly she asked, “What do you want, a hand?” Drawing tense fists from her coat pockets, she unclenched them, and pressed her palms together slowly and deliberately, three times. “Happy now?”
“Why didn’t you want to come with me, tonight?”
Startled by his abrupt change of subject, she sputtered, “Why—I—never…”
“I heard you begging Reba to let you go with Howie. And I have a feeling it’s not because you have a raging crush on the man. My gut tells me it was because you’re afraid of me.”
“Well—your gut’s crazy!” she retorted in a voice too high-pitched to be believed.
“Why are you so afraid of me?” he coaxed, leaning closer.
She took a step away from him. “I—I’m not afraid, Mr. Brand,” she hedged, with rising panic. Angry that he could make her so defensive, she fell back, as she invariably did, on the unvarnished truth. No matter how hurtful it might be, she plunged on blindly. “If you must know, I’m not at ease around type As, like you. My father was one, my mother was one, my husband was one. I’m tired of being the loser in every situation. I don’t like to be manipulated, belittled, having to always be on guard. You aggressive I-have-to-be-the-winner-no-matter-who-I-step-on people make me feel—feel—mediocre—”
Her voice broke with the shame of having to admit her failing to a man who didn’t know the meaning of the word. She swallowed, hurrying on, “And—and anxious. That’s why I work with needy kids. That’s why I’m in a field that calls for gentleness, allows victories to be small—human ones. That’s why—”
She found herself swept into a bold embrace and felt Lucas’s strength surround her as his lips came down to taste her mouth. Neither the kiss, nor his touch were harsh or demanding as she might have expected them to be. He was tender and compelling, and she was suddenly, mindlessly, leaning against him, relishing the pressure of his hands, the sexy maleness of his hard frame, the unexpected sweetness of his lips.
Somehow she had the impression he wasn’t so much interested in conquering her as comforting her—an odd feeling to have, considering the type of man he was. She hadn’t imagined he had a comforting bone in his body, but her flustered tirade seemed to have struck some obscure, gentle chord deep inside the man. She sensed that even Lucas was startled by his desire to console, for his lips caressed hers, featherlike, charmingly hesitant.
Well aware that she would be foolish to allow this to go on, she tried to put an end to their unanticipated intimacy, but her senses betrayed her. The power and scent of him was disarming. As his mouth shifted seductively over hers, a small sound of wonder escaped her throat. His lips, though potent and clever, were surprisingly sensitive as they moved, and she responded by relaxing, reciprocating in kind.
There was breathless fascination in the experience that drew her into a pleasantly unguarded state, an odd euphoria. She’d heard the term “rapture of the deep” and wondered if she might be experiencing “rapture of the kiss.” Not a bad way to go, she decided, relishing this new, unforeseen facet of what a kiss could do. Without