“Thank you. You’re looking pretty good yourself.” He pulled her close once more, and she brushed her fingers across his shoulder, feeling the texture of his jacket. If she leaned in just a fraction, the smell of his cologne and the starch of his shirt filled her nose. “Very nice.”
“I like your hair.”
“I got it cut this morning. It looks good now, but the real test will come in the morning when I have to wash it.”
When he spoke again, his voice was a smooth rumble next to her ear. “I just wash mine and go.”
She closed her eyes. Good, a nice safe boring subject. Hair care.
“I like your dress.”
Another safe subject. “Thanks. It’s not black.”
“I noticed.” He slid his hand from her side to the small of her back, his warm palm and fingers against her bare skin. “Do you think you might ever wear it backward?”
His touch seemed to warm her up from the inside out, and startled laughter escaped her lips. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Too bad. I wouldn’t mind seeing it on backward.”
The music flowed around Jane as everything within her stilled. Luc Martineau, with his wicked grin and horseshoe tattoo, wanted to see her naked. Impossible. Just beneath the surface, her skin tingled, hot and alive with sensation. Want and need pooled low in her abdomen and she wondered if he’d notice if she leaned into him. Just enough to smell the side of his neck. Right above the black band of his tie and starched collar.
“Jane?”
“Hmm?”
“Marie is back. We have an early flight and better get going.”
Jane looked up into the shadows caressing his face. While impure thoughts sullied her mind, he appeared unaffected. I wouldn’t mind seeing it on backward, he’d said. No doubt he was pulling her chain again. “I’ll get my coat.”
He removed his hand from her back, and cool air replaced his warm touch. He took her arm, and as they walked from the dance floor, he handed her Caroline’s little bag. “Give me your ticket. I’ll get your coat when I get Marie’s.”
Jane fished around in the purse and pulled out the piece of paper. While he retrieved the coats, she talked to Marie, but her mind was on Luc, and there was no denying it. She lusted after him. Bad. She wondered if he’d noticed. She sincerely hoped not. She hoped he would never find out. She could happily live her entire life without anyone knowing that Jane Alcott wanted to jump bad boy hockey player Luc Martineau. If he suspected, he’d no doubt run long and hard in the opposite direction.
When he returned, he helped her on with her black raincoat. His fingers brushed the back of her neck as he fixed the collar for her, and she wondered what it would be like to feel his arms slide around her as she leaned back into him. But even if she’d had the nerve to act on her impulse, she was too late; he stepped away and held his sister’s coat open for her.
While they waited at the bottom of the Space Needle for the valet to bring around Luc’s white Land Cruiser, he fastened the four buttons on his jacket and stuck his hands in the pockets, his broad shoulders hunched against the cold. They talked about the weather and about the early flight in the morning. Nothing important. Marie told them about the view from the observation deck, and Jane cast glances at Luc’s dark profile. Light from the Needle lit up one side of his face and wide shoulders and cast a long shadow across the concrete.
When the valet returned, Luc opened the front passenger door for Jane and the back for his sister. He climbed into the driver’s side and they headed for Bellevue. Within a few blocks, Luc broke the silence.
“Mrs. Jackson knows she’s to come over tomorrow before you get home from school,” he told his sister. “Do you need money for anything?”
Jane looked over at him through the corner of her eye. His profile was just a black outline within the dark interior. Golden light from the dash shone on his wristwatch and sent slivers of gold on to the front of his jacket. Jane turned and gazed out her window.
“I need lunch money and I haven’t paid for ceramics class.”
“How much do you need?”
Jane listened to their conversation, feeling like an intruder, sitting within the rich leather interior of Luc’s SUV while he talked to his sister about their everyday life. A life that did not include her. This was his life. Not hers. She had her own life. One she’d made for herself, and she did not belong in his.
When the vehicle pulled up to the curb in front of her apartment, Jane reached for the door. “Thanks so much for bringing me home,” she said.
Luc reached across the distance and grabbed her arm through her thin coat. “Don’t move.” He glanced in the backseat. “I’ll be right back, Marie,” he said as he got out of the vehicle.
The headlamps briefly spotlighted him as he walked in front of the Land Cruiser, then he opened her door. He helped her out and moved beside her up the short walkway. Beneath her illuminated porch, she opened her little bag and pulled out her keys, but just as he had the night he’d walked her to her hotel room in San Jose, he took the key from her and shoved it in the lock.
Inside, she’d left on a floor lamp, and the light spilled across the carpet and lit up the front door. “Thanks again,” she said as she stepped into the apartment. She held her hand out for her keys and he grasped her wrist and placed the keys in her palm. Instead of letting go, he followed her inside.
“This is not a good idea,” he said and brushed his thumb across her pulse.
“What? Bringing me home?”
“No.” He pulled her against him and lowered his face to hers. “You’ve been driving me crazy. With your hair that makes me wonder what it’d feel like tangled around my fingers.” His hand grasped the back of her raincoat, twisting the material in his fist and pulling it tight. “Your red lips and your little red dress give me all kinds of crazy ideas. Stuff I shouldn’t think about you, but I am. Questions that are better left alone.” His blue eyes stared into hers, hot and intense. “But I can’t leave them alone,” he whispered against her mouth. “So tell me, Jane, are you cold?” His lips brushed hers and he said through a hot breath, “Or turned on?” Then he kissed her, and the shock stunned her for several seconds. She could do nothing more that just stand there as he placed tender kisses on her lips.
What did he mean, was she cold or turned on? She definitely was not cold.
He pressed his warm mouth to hers and brought his free hand to the side of her face, cupping her cheek and running his fingers through the hair at her temples. A little moan stuck in her throat, the keys dropped from her hand, and she no longer cared what he meant about her being cold. She ran her palm up the front of his jacket to the side of his neck. This couldn’t be happening. Not to her. Not with him.
His lips teased and pressed harder until she opened her mouth. His tongue slipped inside and touched her, wet and oh so welcome.
For a man who spent his time hitting people and pucks with a hockey stick, his touch was surprisingly gentle. The little moan worked free, escaped into his mouth, and she let herself go. She let herself slide into the hot passion spreading across her skin, pounding in her chest, and aching between her thighs. She let herself fall face first into the lust she’d been trying to hold at bay. His big hand cupped her breast through the layers of her dress and coat, and she leaned into him. His thumb brushed her nipple and she raised onto her toes. There was no more thought of letting, just doing. Just kissing him as if she wanted to eat him up in one sitting. Her tongue sliding across his as if she wanted to binge on Luc Martineau.
He pulled back and looked into her face, his eyes dazed, his voice a bemused rasp. “You make me want to suck a bruise on you just to kiss it better.”
Jane licked her moist lips and nodded. She wanted that too.