The Magnate's Manifesto(45)

“Then do it,” she murmured. “Forget about your rules.”

“Bailey—”

She silenced him with a finger to his lips. “I don’t want anything from you, Jared. I don’t want promises. I don’t want the homestead. But I do want to know what it’s like between us. It’s burning me up…”

He went so still she wondered if he was still breathing. She stepped into him before he regained the control he always found and cupped his jaw with her palm. “Not one more word. I swear if you say one more word about your rules I’ll scream.”

Those long lashes settled down over his eyes. Then he opened them and rested his gaze on her. “You sure you can handle this?”

She stood up on tiptoe, balancing her palm against his chest. “You sure you can?”

“No,” he muttered. “I am not.”

He backed her up against the wardrobe, his suit-clad thigh sliding between hers, his hard gaze full of intent. Thought ceased as he rocked his mouth over hers and took it in a kiss that made her knees go weak. Over and over again, he tasted her, commanded her response until he was the only thing in her head. Until she moved against him and surrendered more of herself. As if he knew exactly what she needed in the way her body softened against his. In the way she accepted his tongue into her mouth and met the erotic slide of it against hers with a low, soft moan that told him she was fully his.

When she was there, fully in step with him, he tangled his hand in her hair, arched her head back and took the kiss deeper, his insistent, bold strokes as he explored her mouth sending a hot, honeyed warmth through her. If he’d lifted his head and told her in that raspy voice of his how he would take her, he couldn’t have demonstrated more clearly. She moved against him again, needing more, and this time he dropped his hands down her back, cupped her bottom through the filmy material of her dress and brought her firmly against the hard length of him outlined against the fine material of his pants.

Her half gasp, half sigh reverberated against his lips. His mouth left hers to trail a line of fire across her cheek to her ear. “Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart…you just might get it.”

His fingers splayed across her bottom and moved her against him in a delicious slide against the hard, thick length of him, and intimidation faded on a wave of pure, unadulterated lust. She’d heard the other girls in the club going on about their sexual escapades as they’d dressed before a shift, but the way Jared made her feel was…insane.

He trailed kisses down the length of her neck to the spot at the base that made her crazy. Made her squirm. Jared lifted his head with a curse, sank his hands into her waist and turned her around so her palms were flat against the wardrobe.

“Enough of that if we’re making it anywhere near where we’re supposed to.”

The rough tone of his voice sent a tremor through her. Being pressed up against the wardrobe made it tunnel deep inside. He lifted her hair away from her neck and resumed his kisses with a slide of his lips against her nape. The soft rasp of her zipper as he multitasked filled the air.

The warm breeze from the French doors slid across her skin as he pushed the dress off her shoulders and let it fall in a swish of fabric to the floor. But it was Jared’s hands and lips as they worked their way down her back that had her full attention, making her arch into them and plead for more.

She drew in a breath as he sank to his knees and pressed kisses against the rounded curve of her bottom. His hands were reverent, sure on her skin, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of her. Fire lit her belly, licked at her nerve endings. She was sure she wanted him to. And then he turned her around…

His gaze swept up the length of her, from her legs still clad in high heels, over the curves of her hips and breasts encased in the barest hint of lace, and finally to her face. By the time he got there, she was flushed with self-consciousness and excitement so intense, her breath came in short pulls. Which deteriorated into no breath at all when he slid his fingers underneath the thin strips of silk that held her barely there panties in place and stripped them off.

Her legs went another step toward jelly. If she’d hoped he’d lavish the same attention on her that he had on his knees in Nice, it wasn’t to be found as he stood, anchored her against the door and brought his mouth back to hers.

“You are so gorgeous,” he murmured against her lips. “My words aren’t working.”

She melted. Figuratively, of course, because she was still standing when he slid his palm up the inside of her thighs and pushed them apart. Still standing when he cupped the heat of her in his palm in an overt claim of ownership that had her pressing her hands against the wood to keep upright. Her mouth stilled against his, her gasp filling the air as he stroked her. She was hot and wet for him, so turned on she thought she might come apart with the lightest touch. But he claimed her with the slide of his finger instead.