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A trip to Aspen to "rescue" Mike from the clutches of the latest woman seeking to sink her claws into him, an excess of champagne to fortify her, and she tells him what she thinks of his high-handed tactics. She's quitting. Again.
So how the hell did she end up in bed with him in a Tahoe honeymoon suite, naked? Why can't she recall how her signature got on that marriage license?
Mike discovers talents he never knew Jill possessed. Now he has her right where he wants her. And he wants her again…and again. In his bed and under him. But it's not all about the lust, and if he gets his way, Jillian won’t be leaving his side or his bed—-ever.
Copyright © FRAN LEE, 2009
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
She had not had time for a hairdo, so she had simply swept the thick red-gold curls up into a high-set ponytail at her crown, and had wound another bit of sapphire silk around the band to conceal the elastic. It gave the impression that her neck was longer and left the gorgeous earrings plenty of space to sway and glitter breathtakingly.
She stepped up the final carpeted stair and paused, glancing around the smaller salon that opened up over the gallery at the head of the stairs, before narrowing to the corridor that led to the bedrooms at the back of the level. The bronze and smoked glass chandelier at the apex of the vaulted ceiling cast warm light over the area, and made her shimmery gold overdress and glittering jewels look even more amazing than they had in the showroom. She decided that not a soul would recognize her unless she introduced herself, so she gathered her courage and moved slowly toward the center of the gallery, looking about for Furie.
Heads turned to follow her progress, but no one called out her name. She was not a familiar face to the beautiful people. Only his employees knew her well enough to recognize her. Her anonymity was assured.
And then she saw him, standing uncomfortably in a tight group of people, with a stunningly beautiful supermodel type holding onto his arm like she had grown there, her laugh a high tinkle of feigned amusement that never quite reached those gorgeous amber-colored eyes. She stood for a long moment, relishing the amount of discomfort he was experiencing, waiting for his eyes to swivel her way before she made her grand entrance.
A man turned to glance at her from a jovial conversation beside her, and gave her a keen once-over before sidling up to her and introducing himself. He didn't have to. She would known his face from the magazine covers and the tabloids as Jerrod Lane, two-time Academy Award winning actor and heartthrob of millions of females the world over. She glanced at him with a cool smile and replied to his outrageous compliment with a simple thank-you, before turning her gaze back to her boss.
"I haven’t seen you around before. And from the look of that boulder on your hand, I'd say you were taken…but Heaven help me, I wouldn't be a red-blooded male if I didn’t try." Jerrod slid one lean hand around her waist, and tried to draw her closer. His reward was an acid stare that could have wilted the entire White River National Forest. He grinned and released her waist, and said in a husky tone that had dropped an octave, "Who's the lucky devil who's got you wrapped around his pinkie?"
The moment he spoke, Michael Furie glanced up, his ice-laden dark blue gaze locked with hers, and his body unfurled from the defensive posture he'd assumed, forcing the female hanger-on to loosen her grip. Jill tried not to look shaken. She tried not to react to the heat that ran through her like a shot of fire from head to toe-tips, making her wonder numbly if the Manolo Blahniks had melted off. She smiled across the room at him, and Jerrod followed her gaze, instantly whistling softly and backing off a step.
"I should have guessed, Gorgeous. But if you ever decide to trade up, I'm always around." He vacated his spot beside her as Furie slowly extracted himself from the other woman’s grasp, with a quiet, "Excuse me." Heads turned as he stepped out of the tight knot of bodies and moved across the gallery toward her, and she fought the urge to bite her knuckles and whimper. That man had such a walk!
She managed a brilliant smile up into his eyes as he stopped so close, she could feel his body heat through the silk of her gown, and she placed her hand with the blinding rock on it on his forearm, and said just loudly enough to be overheard for about ten feet, "Mike! Darling! I'm sorry I’m late!”"
She noted the circuitous route those eyes took as they slipped over her gown, her jewelry, and the impressively breathtaking engagement ring she was prominently displaying, and a muscle twitched in the deep groove beside his mouth. He seemed to be fighting some dark and angry emotion that she feared she would hear about later, and in the most uncomplimentary tones possible, but surprisingly, he gave her a sexily crooked smile.
"Don't I even get a kiss after waiting all this time for you to finally show up?" His voice was a sexy growl that was just loud enough for everyone within ten feet to hear clearly, although he pretended to be speaking for her ears alone. Jill felt like they were in a fishbowl, the way all eyes were glued to them. She stood up on her tiptoes and aimed for his cheek. But before her lips made contact, he turned his head and she ended up planting one smack-dab on his smiling mouth. And oh, what a mouth the man had…
And he didn't settle just for a friendly kiss. He slid his arms around her body and dragged her up against his chest, smoothly covering her jerk of shock by catching the back of her head in the palm of one hand and slanting his mouth to take hers completely. His strong, champagne-flavored tongue slipped easily past her lips as she opened them to ask what the hell he was doing. Her heart rate ratcheted up as he traced the inside of her mouth sensuously. If she hadn't known her boss so damned well, that kiss might have fooled even her, but she figured he had paid through the nose to be kissed, and she decided that she might as well let 'er rip.
Warring with his tongue, she explored the warm depths of his mouth as she slid her hands up behind his head and arched her body into his tuxedo, pressing her hips against his suddenly burgeoning cock, ignoring the rush of excitement his highly obvious arousal gave her, as she did exactly what she had wanted to do for the past six-plus years.
She kissed him—savagely, hungrily, possessively! Giving as good as she got from him, even though with him it was just an act to discourage the positively fuming blonde who had turned and stomped off toward the stairs back to the second level.
His mouth was decadently hot and delicious. The expensive champagne was dry and heady on his tongue, and she could not possibly have imagined how it would feel to have him kissing her like this—not even in her wildest wet dreams! His hot, spicy masculine scent filled her nostrils. Her heart felt like a super ball that might easily zap its way straight out the front of her silk gown and go bouncing wildly across the carpet if he kept kissing her.
Tongues tangling voraciously, breathing uneven and heated, their bodies were plastered hungrily against each other as his arms pulled her so tight into his embrace she could almost feel his spine. And then his hand cupped her ass in a familiar, possessive squeeze, and she inhaled and tried to back away. He murmured huskily against her lips, "Relax. You'll survive."
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