Runaway Vegas Bride by TERESA HILL

could just happily dissolve into a puddle in his arms, and let him do whatever he wanted to with her. Just like that.
    His mouth came back to hers, and she felt his thrusting tongue. Jane thought about taking him into her body in another way. Heat pooled between her legs. A pulse throbbed. He wanted her, too. His body told her so as he rocked gently against her.
    It was as if every sexual thought Jane had ever had came roaring to life, right here in this room, on Wyatt’s couch.
    “I am not a prude,” she said proudly.
    He lifted his head a fraction of an inch, grinned down at her. “No, you most certainly are not.”
    He started kissing her again.
    It felt glorious, sweet and wicked at the same time, overwhelming.
    And then Jane remembered—they were in Wyatt’s office, in the middle of the afternoon. His secretary was coming back to give Jane first aid for her skirmish with the bush at Remington Park.
    The bush, Leo, Gladdy, Gram, sharing…
    Jane pushed Wyatt away. “I can’t do this.”
    “Why not?” he asked, holding himself up on his elbows, but still stretched out on top of her.
    “Your secretary’s coming back with first aid supplies, remember?”
    “No. Not until you reminded me.”
    “And besides, I don’t have sex with men on the sofas in their offices,” she said, then feared she was sounding prudish again.
    Did women often have sex with men in their offices? Was that a requirement of non-prudishness, too?
    “Am I supposed to?” she asked.
    “Supposed to what?” Wyatt questioned, carefully climbing off her and sitting on the edge of the sofa.
    “Have sex with men on their sofas?”
    “Not unless you want to,” he told her, running his hands through his hair, hair she thought she might have mussed up herself a moment ago.
    Jane sighed. It was all so bewildering. What was normal and what was not? What was expected? In her admittedly not abundant experience, men wanted a lot these days. They expected a lot. Quickly. Very quickly.
    “I’m sorry,” she said.
    He frowned. “Why? You’re right. Lucy is coming back. I told her to. And I know you’re not the kind of woman who’d be comfortable having sex in my office on a sofa during business hours.”
    She got worried. “But does that—”
    “That doesn’t make you anything except who you are, Jane, and there’s nothing wrong with who you are. Any man who tries to tell you there is is an ass and probably just out to get whatever he can get as fast as he can.”
    “But you…I know you…I suspect you…wouldn’t really have a problem with…something like this.”
    He shrugged. “Maybe every now and then, for something quick and different. But the thing I like best…is someplace totally quiet and private, no time constraints at all, no interruptions. And nothing to do with sharing.”
    “Really?” she asked in wonder.
    He nodded.
    “Oh.” She was thinking about pulling him back down on top of her on the couch. He knew it, too. She could tell by that flare of heat in his eyes as he watched her watching him.
    She sighed, took his tie in her hand and gave it a tug. Grinning like the no-doubt wicked man he was, he happily lowered his mouth to hers once again. If she was going to be wicked herself, she might as well start right now with the time they had until his secretary did get back.
    “You’re just trying to mess with me now,” he said stopping with his lips a breath away from hers.
    “Yes,” she admitted.
    “You know Lucy’s coming back, and you know I know, so you think you’re perfectly safe here with me. That I’m not going to really do anything.”
    “Yes,” she agreed.
    “That is so bad of you, Jane,” he said, still not kissing her. “And you’re supposed to be such a good girl.”
    She’d been watching his eyes, his mouth, waiting for it to descend that last inch and kiss her again, and she hadn’t been paying attention to anything else. It wasn’t until she felt cool air on her chest that she realized