“You think so?”
He rose a little to unbutton her shorts. He slid them down and off, tossing them over his shoulder. The camisole followed. Her underpants followed. His towel followed. When he looked back at her, he frowned, as if trying to recall his train of thought. “And I never intended to take over your life, you know. You were running away. You were just too damn good a lady to be running away. There’s nothing criminal about needing a little help once in a while, and you were clearly trying to take the entire world on your shoulders, while I was going nuts trying to make you shift just a little of it to mine. I warned you to need me,” he said quietly.
“I did.”
“You didn’t.” He shook his head, stretched out beside her. “You’re a strong lady, honey. You would have gotten there. You don’t need anyone. But you can still make the choice to share what’s hurting you, and it’s a choice that’s made from love. And I’ve forgotten,” he murmured, “the rest of your terms.”
So did she, for a while. Their bodies edged closer, in a slow, languid hello to each other. Bree closed her eyes, feeling love so strong that it almost hurt, and yet it felt so right. His skin warmed for her fingertips; her heart accelerated for his.
“Your computers,” he murmured suddenly, and lifted his head.
“Pardon?”
“You’re going to computerize my company. That’s fine, too, Bree, but not as important as a lab for your perfumes. You’ll need a lab, and you can either go back to school to learn chemistry, or we could hire you a chemist. Whatever you want, honey-but there was still something else.”
She could think of nothing else. Fleetingly, she considered taking advantage of Hart while he was in such a meek, submissive mood. It undoubtedly wouldn’t last long.
“I know what it was.” Hart trailed a finger between her breasts, circling first one and then the other, and then rubbing a nipple back and forth between his fingers until it rose, aching, like a soft red berry.
“Hart…” She was beginning to hurt from wanting him. It wasn’t so much the terrible surge of passion as the terrible surge of love. She wanted to be joined with him, part of him.
“I know what it was. Did I hear you say you loved me?” he whispered.
She smiled. “I love you.”
“Didn’t hear you.”
“I love you, Hart.”
“Honey, maybe if you’d shout it…”
She should have known it was too good to last. She poked a fingertip in his chest, and watched the man crash on his back as if hit by a bulldozer. Smiling, she scooted on top of him, pinning his legs with one of hers and, just as he had done to her, she leaned over him, her fingers gently combing back his hair. “I’m sure, Hart,” she whispered. “Very sure that I know what I want, and that’s you. In my life. For all of my life. But you’d better be just as sure, because you know dam well we’re going to argue a great deal-”
“No, we won’t.”
“Yes, we wi-” She stopped, gave him a rueful look and zoomed in for a kiss. “Do you think you could prove just once that you can take a few orders instead of handing them out?” she whispered.
“Certainly.”
“Then put your arms around my neck.”
He complied.
“And move your body, just a little…”
He did.
“Now make love to me, Hart.”
Grinning, he whispered, “See if I ever argue with you again, Bree.”
About the Author
Jennifer sold her first book in 1980, and since then she has sold more than eighty books in the contemporary romance genre. Her first professional writing award came from RWA-a Silver Medallion in 1984-followed by more than twenty nominations and awards, including being honored in RWA’s Hall of Fame and presented with the RWA Nora Roberts Lifetime Achievement Award. Jennifer has been on numerous bestseller lists, has written for Harlequin Books, Avon, Berkley and Dell, and has sold over the world in more than twenty languages. She has written under a number of pseudonyms, most recognizably Jennifer Greene, but also Jeanne Grant and Jessica Massey.
She was born in Michigan, started writing in high school, and graduated from Michigan State University with a degree in English and psychology. The university honored her with their “Lantern Night Award,” a tradition developed to honor fifty outstanding women graduates each year. Exploring issues and concerns for women today is what first motivated her to write, and she has long been an enthusiastic and active supporter of women’s fiction, which she believes is an “unbeatable way to reach out and support other women.” Jennifer lives in the country around Benton Harbor, Michigan, with her husband, Lar.
