No Rules(39)

“Yeah.” He took another nervous swipe through his hair. “I didn’t expect that sort of reaction.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Look, your dad wanted to protect you from the life he led. The life I lead. I had no business kissing you and I’m sorry. So let’s just forget it.”

“You’re sorry?”

That flat stare from a woman was never good. God, he’d made a mess of this.

Jess tossed her hair back and tugged her sweater in place before drilling him with that accusing stare again. “You know, I wasn’t hoping for a marriage proposal, Donovan.” She stepped closer, close enough that he smelled the clean scent that wafted off her heated skin. Close enough that her breath whispered intimately against his cheek. “I just wanted to fuck your brains out.”

She walked to the door and didn’t give him another glance. Just left.

Donovan stood alone in the room. He wasn’t sure if he’d underestimated her experience, or inadvertently triggered a dormant libido waiting to break free. Either way, he’d handled it badly and he was suffering for it. His pulse still raced, his mouth still tasted her sweetness, and his cock still stood fully aroused, wondering what the hell had happened to all the fun. He wished he knew the answer.

…

Jess felt the jitters start in her hands, and by the time she hit the main floor she had to lean against the banister to support her shaking legs. God, what had possessed her? Did she really just tell a man she’d intended to fuck his brains out? And not any man, but the most scary-desirable man she’d ever met.

The horror got worse: not only had she said it, she’d meant it. If she hadn’t already had every inoculation under the sun, she’d wonder if she’d come down with something.

Jess didn’t talk like that. She didn’t do that, that thing she’d almost done, falling to the floor with some man she barely knew and getting seriously, wildly intimate. Maybe Donovan did; he seemed like the kind of guy who would. And yet, he’d been the one to call a halt, not her. Why?

His stumbling explanation had been that he’d kissed her despite knowing Wally wouldn’t care for it. But he’d expected her to react differently. Meaning, he’d expected something other than the eager response he’d gotten.

She considered the puzzling situation of a man laying such a devouring kiss on a woman in hope of a negative reaction. She didn’t understand it. But they were in agreement on one thing—she would have expected a different reaction from her, too. Anger maybe, or intimidation. An indignant slap on the face wouldn’t be out of the question. Anything but the hot surrender that had melted through her, leaving her ready to, oh my God, fuck his brains out.

She wasn’t even sure how that particular act was done, but in that moment she’d felt sure she could do it. Incredible. Dr. Epstein would be astounded.

She would have been embarrassed by her actions, except for one thing—Donovan quite obviously wanted the same thing. A man couldn’t hide that kind of desire, and his had nudged hard and insistent against her stomach. Despite what he’d said, he hadn’t wanted to stop. And neither had she.

Jess’s legs stopped trembling. Tyler Donovan might be out of her league, but years of therapy had convinced her that her safety-obsessed, sheltered life had to end. She needed to take a few risks. She couldn’t think of a more desirable risk than Donovan.





Chapter Eight

Wanting Donovan and feeling kindly disposed toward him were two different things. He’d annoyed her. Jess knew the tension between them must be obvious, but didn’t care.

At least he couldn’t complain about her luggage this time. Kyle and Avery assured her that three pieces was barely sufficient for a woman of her standing and added a garment bag for good measure. Donovan scowled but didn’t argue. Mitch suggested carrying a small dog might be a nice touch, then laughed and ducked as Donovan cuffed his head.

Evan wished her luck and handed her a passport. “Familiarize yourself with it in case an official questions you.”

It looked slightly used. Jess opened the dark blue cover to find she’d become Suzanne Hassan from Dallas, Texas. Several pages were already stamped with the names of various European cities. “I get around,” she said.

“That’s just the last eighteen months, using major cities I thought you could fake some knowledge of if anyone asked.” At her look of alarm, he added, “They probably won’t ask; we bribe officials whenever possible to let us through with a minimum of hassle, but it’s my job to plan for every eventuality. Just make sure you know where you’ve been.”