from the corner of her mouth to below her
cheekbone. As her eyes drifted closed, he kept his hand moving,
until his fingers tunneled through the heavy richness of her ebony
curls and his palm cupped the nape of her neck. Then, before he
lowered his mouth to hers, he let his gaze roam down her silky
throat to where she’d unbuttoned the two buttons, and he wished
she’d freed two more.
He made no preliminary passes when he kissed
her. He covered her mouth with his, and the slow stroke of his
tongue across her lips granted him immediate access to her honeyed
sweetness. Her response was instantaneous, and arousal raced
between them like a flash fire.
Welding from A to Z and Beyond fell
to the floor with an unheeded clunk. He wanted to touch her. He
wanted to lower her to the couch and press into her. He thought
they’d gotten kissing down to a fever pitch and it was time to move
on. She was doing things with her mouth he never wanted to stop,
not when they seemed to pull on his loins. She was sweet, so sweet,
and he wanted all of her. He slid his other hand up to her breast
and groaned deep in his throat.
Shimmering waves of excitement flooded
through Lila at that sound and his caress. Oh, yes, Jack definitely
had a way about him, a way of making her feel her power as a woman,
and it turned her senses to putty. The gentle, insistent strength
of him, his easy, seductive aggression, became more and more
irresistible with each track of his mouth over hers, with each—
“Lila? Lila, honey? Are you home?”
Her mother? In the kitchen? At eight-thirty
on a Saturday night?
“I knocked, honey, but you didn’t answer, so
I let myself in. I brought food.” Cupboard doors opened and
closed.
“My . . . my mother,” she gasped, but he
captured her mouth again, and she sank under the spell of yet one
more kiss.
“I’m putting soup in the freezer and
spaghetti sauce in the refrigerator to thaw. Don’t worry. I brought
some pasta too.”
Her mother was in the kitchen, and she was
in the living room kissing the living daylights out of Jack Hudson
and enjoying every forbidden second, every single sensation.
“Whose truck is that in the driveway, Lila?”
a masculine voice asked, and Lila froze.
Her father? In the kitchen? With her mother?
“My . . . my father,” she muttered against Jack’s mouth.
Now, deep in the heart of every male member
of the species is a special spot saved for the fear and respect of
fathers of daughters, especially fear and respect of fathers of
daughters they’re kissing, especially if in their hearts and
minds they’re fast moving far beyond the kissing stage.
“Your father?” he whispered, stealing more
kisses from the corner of her mouth, the curve of her cheek, and
the wonderful spot he’d found on the side of her neck, just below
her left ear, which seemed to drive her a little bit crazy.
“My sweater!” she exclaimed softly,
wondering how in the world he’d gotten her unbuttoned to the point
of revealing her bra. He nipped at her neck, and she moaned, her
fingers fumbling with the shiny black circles of plastic.
“Say hello to your dad,” he instructed her,
kissing her again and taking over the buttoning job.
“Hi, Dad!” she hollered breathlessly, and
thought if that didn’t bring him running, nothing would.
“Tell him we’re in the living room.”
“I—I can’t tell him that.”
“Tell him.” He pressed a kiss beneath her
collarbone and silently cursed parental timing.
Jack was undermining her breathing
faculties, Lila thought, let alone her speaking faculties, but she
managed to get the words out. “We’re in the living room!”
“We picked you up a trunk at an auction
today,” her father called back, still in the kitchen and mercifully
not charging into the living room. “Should I put it in the office?
Hey, this place is looking great. Didn’t I tell you Hudson would
make good on the job?”
Make good? Lila repeated silently. Her
father didn’t
cheekbone. As her eyes drifted closed, he kept his hand moving,
until his fingers tunneled through the heavy richness of her ebony
curls and his palm cupped the nape of her neck. Then, before he
lowered his mouth to hers, he let his gaze roam down her silky
throat to where she’d unbuttoned the two buttons, and he wished
she’d freed two more.
He made no preliminary passes when he kissed
her. He covered her mouth with his, and the slow stroke of his
tongue across her lips granted him immediate access to her honeyed
sweetness. Her response was instantaneous, and arousal raced
between them like a flash fire.
Welding from A to Z and Beyond fell
to the floor with an unheeded clunk. He wanted to touch her. He
wanted to lower her to the couch and press into her. He thought
they’d gotten kissing down to a fever pitch and it was time to move
on. She was doing things with her mouth he never wanted to stop,
not when they seemed to pull on his loins. She was sweet, so sweet,
and he wanted all of her. He slid his other hand up to her breast
and groaned deep in his throat.
Shimmering waves of excitement flooded
through Lila at that sound and his caress. Oh, yes, Jack definitely
had a way about him, a way of making her feel her power as a woman,
and it turned her senses to putty. The gentle, insistent strength
of him, his easy, seductive aggression, became more and more
irresistible with each track of his mouth over hers, with each—
“Lila? Lila, honey? Are you home?”
Her mother? In the kitchen? At eight-thirty
on a Saturday night?
“I knocked, honey, but you didn’t answer, so
I let myself in. I brought food.” Cupboard doors opened and
closed.
“My . . . my mother,” she gasped, but he
captured her mouth again, and she sank under the spell of yet one
more kiss.
“I’m putting soup in the freezer and
spaghetti sauce in the refrigerator to thaw. Don’t worry. I brought
some pasta too.”
Her mother was in the kitchen, and she was
in the living room kissing the living daylights out of Jack Hudson
and enjoying every forbidden second, every single sensation.
“Whose truck is that in the driveway, Lila?”
a masculine voice asked, and Lila froze.
Her father? In the kitchen? With her mother?
“My . . . my father,” she muttered against Jack’s mouth.
Now, deep in the heart of every male member
of the species is a special spot saved for the fear and respect of
fathers of daughters, especially fear and respect of fathers of
daughters they’re kissing, especially if in their hearts and
minds they’re fast moving far beyond the kissing stage.
“Your father?” he whispered, stealing more
kisses from the corner of her mouth, the curve of her cheek, and
the wonderful spot he’d found on the side of her neck, just below
her left ear, which seemed to drive her a little bit crazy.
“My sweater!” she exclaimed softly,
wondering how in the world he’d gotten her unbuttoned to the point
of revealing her bra. He nipped at her neck, and she moaned, her
fingers fumbling with the shiny black circles of plastic.
“Say hello to your dad,” he instructed her,
kissing her again and taking over the buttoning job.
“Hi, Dad!” she hollered breathlessly, and
thought if that didn’t bring him running, nothing would.
“Tell him we’re in the living room.”
“I—I can’t tell him that.”
“Tell him.” He pressed a kiss beneath her
collarbone and silently cursed parental timing.
Jack was undermining her breathing
faculties, Lila thought, let alone her speaking faculties, but she
managed to get the words out. “We’re in the living room!”
“We picked you up a trunk at an auction
today,” her father called back, still in the kitchen and mercifully
not charging into the living room. “Should I put it in the office?
Hey, this place is looking great. Didn’t I tell you Hudson would
make good on the job?”
Make good? Lila repeated silently. Her
father didn’t
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