network. It’s huge and I’m not supposed to do anything to jeopardize it.”
“And kissing a woman in a bar jeopardizes it? This isn’t the 1950s.”
“No one cares what you do when you’re on cable, but network is another ball of wax entirely. All that drama with Ashley was fine back then, but this show is family friendly and I’m not supposed to be drawing any negative attention.”
“But it can’t be as bad as all that. We didn’t do anything X-rated.” Her memory rewound to the kiss. It had been hot—it had been Madras curry hot—but that was about all.
Jack still stomped, his eyes fiercely glued to the phone. Except for that explosion of heat when he dragged her into the bar corridor to show her his cave paintings and kiss her senseless, he had only ever projected a hazy sense of cool. Now he was acting so…Italian.
A couple of moments later, he took a time-out from his hissy fit and looked up. “I’m overreacting, aren’t I?”
“Just a smidge, but it’s very entertaining.”
He plopped down next to her, flattening the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Take a look.”
The recording started about halfway through, and if she hadn’t been there, she wouldn’t have recognized the participants. Jack’s hand was already all over her butt—the small screen totally worked in her favor there—and her own hand gripped his silky hair. The distant soundtrack was provided courtesy of the boys from U2, and as the video played, her body anticipated the syncopated backbeat of moans and whimpers.
His thigh currently pressed against hers and she tensed while sexual awareness raced through her On screen, it was a hot display of hands, mouths, and— gulp —other body parts all grasping and sucking and grinding. Idly, it occurred to her that kissing was rumored to burn calories and tone facial muscles. The Kilroy Kissing Workout. Finally, an exercise regimen she could get on board with.
“It’s not exactly chaste,” he murmured. Chaste it was not, more like smoking. They got to the point in the performance when she wrapped her leg around his thigh. Yum.
“Weak spot,” she whispered.
“What?”
“When I did that, you moaned. It’s one of your weak spots.” She couldn’t meet his eyes.
In the video, they parted, exchanged now-forgotten words, but almost immediately, they were kissing again. That’s when her hand had started an unauthorized solo mission down his chest, his abs, past his waistband. Oh dear, she had gone there and someone had captured it frame for damning frame.
She covered her face, then splayed her fingers to find Jack zoned in on her, his eyes dark with intent. Neurons in her brain fired like a round of applause. Her nipples beaded; her breasts ached. She had never wanted a man with such desperate, taut need. The thought of being kissed by him—or worse, not being kissed by him—made her shake.
For a moment they did that age-old dance where neither could decide which was most compelling, eyes or mouth. Eyes or mouth. Eyes or—oh, thigh. His sudden move made her jump like water drops on a griddle or maybe it was the distant loud thumping sound that jolted her. The Ghost of Illicit Kisses Past. She could almost hear the clanking of chains.
The pounding got louder. “Jack Kilroy, open this door right now.” Cara.
He frowned, then inhaled with a wince. “That’s all right. I don’t need all that hair.”
“What?”
“Chest hair. Some skin, too.”
Lili looked down to find one of her fists full of Jack’s tee. Wonder when that happened. “Oh, sorry.” She slackened her grasp but her fingers refused to open all the way.
Cara hammered again. “Jack, if you don’t open up, I’m calling nine-one-one.”
Lili reluctantly loosened her hold on the bull’s-eye covering his chest and the Kilroy DNA she’d taken a fancy to.
Rubbing his maligned pec, Jack dragged himself off the sofa and made a subtle package adjustment. Oh, yeah. He opened the door to admit an
“And kissing a woman in a bar jeopardizes it? This isn’t the 1950s.”
“No one cares what you do when you’re on cable, but network is another ball of wax entirely. All that drama with Ashley was fine back then, but this show is family friendly and I’m not supposed to be drawing any negative attention.”
“But it can’t be as bad as all that. We didn’t do anything X-rated.” Her memory rewound to the kiss. It had been hot—it had been Madras curry hot—but that was about all.
Jack still stomped, his eyes fiercely glued to the phone. Except for that explosion of heat when he dragged her into the bar corridor to show her his cave paintings and kiss her senseless, he had only ever projected a hazy sense of cool. Now he was acting so…Italian.
A couple of moments later, he took a time-out from his hissy fit and looked up. “I’m overreacting, aren’t I?”
“Just a smidge, but it’s very entertaining.”
He plopped down next to her, flattening the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Take a look.”
The recording started about halfway through, and if she hadn’t been there, she wouldn’t have recognized the participants. Jack’s hand was already all over her butt—the small screen totally worked in her favor there—and her own hand gripped his silky hair. The distant soundtrack was provided courtesy of the boys from U2, and as the video played, her body anticipated the syncopated backbeat of moans and whimpers.
His thigh currently pressed against hers and she tensed while sexual awareness raced through her On screen, it was a hot display of hands, mouths, and— gulp —other body parts all grasping and sucking and grinding. Idly, it occurred to her that kissing was rumored to burn calories and tone facial muscles. The Kilroy Kissing Workout. Finally, an exercise regimen she could get on board with.
“It’s not exactly chaste,” he murmured. Chaste it was not, more like smoking. They got to the point in the performance when she wrapped her leg around his thigh. Yum.
“Weak spot,” she whispered.
“What?”
“When I did that, you moaned. It’s one of your weak spots.” She couldn’t meet his eyes.
In the video, they parted, exchanged now-forgotten words, but almost immediately, they were kissing again. That’s when her hand had started an unauthorized solo mission down his chest, his abs, past his waistband. Oh dear, she had gone there and someone had captured it frame for damning frame.
She covered her face, then splayed her fingers to find Jack zoned in on her, his eyes dark with intent. Neurons in her brain fired like a round of applause. Her nipples beaded; her breasts ached. She had never wanted a man with such desperate, taut need. The thought of being kissed by him—or worse, not being kissed by him—made her shake.
For a moment they did that age-old dance where neither could decide which was most compelling, eyes or mouth. Eyes or mouth. Eyes or—oh, thigh. His sudden move made her jump like water drops on a griddle or maybe it was the distant loud thumping sound that jolted her. The Ghost of Illicit Kisses Past. She could almost hear the clanking of chains.
The pounding got louder. “Jack Kilroy, open this door right now.” Cara.
He frowned, then inhaled with a wince. “That’s all right. I don’t need all that hair.”
“What?”
“Chest hair. Some skin, too.”
Lili looked down to find one of her fists full of Jack’s tee. Wonder when that happened. “Oh, sorry.” She slackened her grasp but her fingers refused to open all the way.
Cara hammered again. “Jack, if you don’t open up, I’m calling nine-one-one.”
Lili reluctantly loosened her hold on the bull’s-eye covering his chest and the Kilroy DNA she’d taken a fancy to.
Rubbing his maligned pec, Jack dragged himself off the sofa and made a subtle package adjustment. Oh, yeah. He opened the door to admit an
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