protests at him or because she couldn’t breathe, he didn’t hold back. He kissed her hard, sliding his tongue deep and with his free arm, drew her against him.
Plain and simple, what was left of his rational mind winked out. His body remembered her body and he wanted more of her. Now. It didn’t help him at all that she relaxed against him. He slid his hand over her buttocks and squeezed. A delicious moan flowed out of her throat and drifted over his tongue. He was hard and ready to go, but this was way too soon.
* * * * * * * * *
Where Quint was concerned, Carly had the self-control of a bug facing a bright glow of light. She flew straight in, damn the consequences.
More than anything she wished she hadn’t already slept with him. Even then, if they’d had just a simple, moderate one-night-stand in which he’d made love to her then left, that would have helped. Instead, he had spent the night and worked her body over and over again.
The simple truth? She wanted more. She ached for more.
Of course, it didn’t help at all that he’d been generous with Grace. That action alone fueled her desire to be right back where she was, stuck to his body like honey to bread. What would it take to put her on her back again?
Not much.
A jolt of adrenaline, however, accompanied this thought and her common sense returned. She drew back and took in a deep breath. She planted her hands on his broad, muscular chest. She looked into his oh-so-blue eyes. “I—” She couldn’t find the words. She hunted for them through her brain, but all she saw was the word more flashing on and off in a passionate neon red .
“Yes?” His voice was deep and hoarse. His eyes had a wild, pained look. His hands settled on her arms in a tight grip, the kind of hold that felt desperate. Since her hips were planted against him, she could tell why.
Carly blinked and blinked. She forced her gaze away from the blue of his eyes. She looked at the tip of his nose instead but that still didn’t help much. She recalled kissing his nose. She had kissed him everywhere.
Pull yourself together. He’s Quint Barron. CEO Hunter Enterprises. Wants your winery and anything else he can get. Wake up. Now.
In slow stages, the passionate fog thinned out a little. He helped by just standing there, by not moving his hands anywhere else on her body, by not seeking her mouth again with his driving, probing, sexy tongue.
Stop thinking about that.
Okay. Okay.
She swallowed hard and after a long minute, brought the right words out of her oatmeal-filled brain and rushed them through her vocal chords. “You were going to give me the file on the Napa weekend. The guests? Right? So, I could start putting an itinerary together. Isn’t that what you were going to do?”
He leaned down, his eyes again at half-mast and she knew he meant to kiss her again. She had to look away. If she let him kiss her, she’d be lost. She looked at the floor, at his shoes. He wore very nice shoes. Gucci, maybe. What were her Timberlines doing staring at a pair of Gucci’s? It was all wrong.
She took a step back and again she was grateful his body didn’t follow. She forced herself to remember that he was a man on a mission, that he had said he would get her winery so help him, and that falling into his bed, which was only a few yards away in the other room, would be the height of foolishness. She reminded herself that she had a bad history with men of Quint’s ilk, ambitious men who made a habit of narrow, self-involved thinking.
“The file?” she reiterated. She looked up at him.
He nodded at her and kept on nodding. He scowled and nodded. He must have nodded a dozen times, maybe twenty. When he finally just shook his head, his eyes cleared and he turned away from her. He crossed to the desk, picked up a manila folder, then retraced his steps.
She grabbed the file and whirled on her heel. She moved fast, but he was faster and grabbed the door handle first. She thought he meant
Plain and simple, what was left of his rational mind winked out. His body remembered her body and he wanted more of her. Now. It didn’t help him at all that she relaxed against him. He slid his hand over her buttocks and squeezed. A delicious moan flowed out of her throat and drifted over his tongue. He was hard and ready to go, but this was way too soon.
* * * * * * * * *
Where Quint was concerned, Carly had the self-control of a bug facing a bright glow of light. She flew straight in, damn the consequences.
More than anything she wished she hadn’t already slept with him. Even then, if they’d had just a simple, moderate one-night-stand in which he’d made love to her then left, that would have helped. Instead, he had spent the night and worked her body over and over again.
The simple truth? She wanted more. She ached for more.
Of course, it didn’t help at all that he’d been generous with Grace. That action alone fueled her desire to be right back where she was, stuck to his body like honey to bread. What would it take to put her on her back again?
Not much.
A jolt of adrenaline, however, accompanied this thought and her common sense returned. She drew back and took in a deep breath. She planted her hands on his broad, muscular chest. She looked into his oh-so-blue eyes. “I—” She couldn’t find the words. She hunted for them through her brain, but all she saw was the word more flashing on and off in a passionate neon red .
“Yes?” His voice was deep and hoarse. His eyes had a wild, pained look. His hands settled on her arms in a tight grip, the kind of hold that felt desperate. Since her hips were planted against him, she could tell why.
Carly blinked and blinked. She forced her gaze away from the blue of his eyes. She looked at the tip of his nose instead but that still didn’t help much. She recalled kissing his nose. She had kissed him everywhere.
Pull yourself together. He’s Quint Barron. CEO Hunter Enterprises. Wants your winery and anything else he can get. Wake up. Now.
In slow stages, the passionate fog thinned out a little. He helped by just standing there, by not moving his hands anywhere else on her body, by not seeking her mouth again with his driving, probing, sexy tongue.
Stop thinking about that.
Okay. Okay.
She swallowed hard and after a long minute, brought the right words out of her oatmeal-filled brain and rushed them through her vocal chords. “You were going to give me the file on the Napa weekend. The guests? Right? So, I could start putting an itinerary together. Isn’t that what you were going to do?”
He leaned down, his eyes again at half-mast and she knew he meant to kiss her again. She had to look away. If she let him kiss her, she’d be lost. She looked at the floor, at his shoes. He wore very nice shoes. Gucci, maybe. What were her Timberlines doing staring at a pair of Gucci’s? It was all wrong.
She took a step back and again she was grateful his body didn’t follow. She forced herself to remember that he was a man on a mission, that he had said he would get her winery so help him, and that falling into his bed, which was only a few yards away in the other room, would be the height of foolishness. She reminded herself that she had a bad history with men of Quint’s ilk, ambitious men who made a habit of narrow, self-involved thinking.
“The file?” she reiterated. She looked up at him.
He nodded at her and kept on nodding. He scowled and nodded. He must have nodded a dozen times, maybe twenty. When he finally just shook his head, his eyes cleared and he turned away from her. He crossed to the desk, picked up a manila folder, then retraced his steps.
She grabbed the file and whirled on her heel. She moved fast, but he was faster and grabbed the door handle first. She thought he meant
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