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Lord, if he could get her alone and peel her out of that dress, he just knew she’d look and smell and taste like every one of his most secret sexual fantasies come to life.
He wanted her like he wanted his next breath, his next meal, his most cherished, lifelong goal of… Damned if he could even remember what that was right now. All he could see was Hope.
She smiled directly into his eyes and spoke in a voice gone soft and husky. “Well? What do you say, cowboy? Want to dance?”
A smart man would ignore this insane but powerful attraction, make a polite excuse and head for the hills. Jake had been a smart man all summer with regard to Hope. But today he was sick and tired of being smart.
With her standing right in front of him, looking so sweet and sexy, and knowing that out of all the guys at this shindig, many younger, more handsome and more charming, she wanted to be with him… Well, he had to admit it was flattering as hell. And where was the harm in enjoying that for a little while? After all, it was just a dance.
He wasn’t going to sleep with her, fall in love with her, or, God forbid, marry her.
So what if this was the fifth family wedding in the past year? He didn’t need to get himself all spooked about it. By tomorrow, she’d show up for lunch with green or purple hair. She’d be wearing one of those eye-popping, L.A.-Western getups no self-respecting cowgirl would even try on, much less buy, and he’d remember all the reasons he’d been avoiding her.
Glad to have that figured out, he stood up and offered the lady his arm. “Thanks, Hope. It’ll be my pleasure.”
Hope blinked in surprise at Jake’s laid-back smile and easy acceptance of her invitation. He’d been avoiding her so much lately, she’d expected to have to drag him onto the dance floor, if she managed to get him to dance with her at all. She exhaled the breath she’d been holding while he made up his mind; it probably had taken only a few seconds, but it had felt like an eternity. She didn’t even want to know what complicated mental gyrations he’d performed in reaching his decision.
Hope’s Rule Number One for a Happy Life was never question the Universe when it gives you what you want, and today the Universe was in an extremely generous mood.
The weather had been perfect for the wedding, with only pleasantly warm temperatures for the middle of July. Blair’s darling cowboy, Dillon McBride, was now her husband, and the newlyweds were safely on their way to a storybook honeymoon on a tropical island the media would never find.
The reception had turned into a lovely party, with none of the brittle, see-and-be-seen politics so prevalent at Hollywood social gatherings. All in all, it had been a perfect day. Having an opportunity to dance with Jake was a bonus she hadn’t dared expect.
Her heart stumbled when he took her into his arms on the dance floor. He was big, strong and solid, and she felt dainty and safe whenever she stood next to him. Thank you, Universe.
Honest, decent, deeply devoted to his family and loyal to his friends, Jake McBride was the kind of man other people depended on. The kind of man who never let anyone down if he could help it. He was exactly the kind of man Hope had spent her adult life searching for but never really expected to find. Being with him like this, having him smile at her as if he thought she was fascinating was a fantasy come true.
“Havin’ a good time?” he asked, leading her into a competent, dance-class two-step.
“Wonderful.” Hope smiled to herself at the respectful distance he kept between their bodies. Jake would never be the smooth and inventive dancer Marsh was, but he got the job done and there was a lot to be said for his predictability. She tipped her head back to smile at him. “And it’s all thanks to you. You did a marvelous job of creating this wedding.”
His teeth flashed in a surprisingly shy smile. “I can’t claim all the credit. Lots of folks helped in putting it on.”
“Other people had some ideas for it, but you’re the one who made the actual arrangements.”
His tanned face flushed. Glancing away, he started to shake his head, but she cut him off before he could speak. “Don’t even try to deny it. I know exactly how much you did.”
He chuckled and tightened his arm around her waist, turning her toward the middle of the dance floor. “Is that so?”
“Of course it is.” To her surprise, Jake didn’t loosen his hold when he’d completed the turn the way he usually did. She didn’t know why he’d always ignored her previous advances, but she wasn’t going to complain if he made an advance of his own toward her now. Never question the Universe. “And believe me when I tell you that false modesty is not an attractive character trait.”
“Well, when you put it that way.” His decidedly boyish grin softened the strong planes of his face and charmed her completely. “Thank you kindly, ma’am.”
“You’re welcome.”
They two-stepped in a relaxed silence until the song ended. Since he’d never spent any more time with her at a party than absolutely necessary for a “duty” dance, Hope expected Jake to escort her from the dance floor. This time, however, he stood there looking down at her with an unfathomable expression in his dark eyes until the band started another ballad. A slow, decidedly sexy ballad.
Without asking permission, he started moving in time with the music again. While she was mystified by his behavior, Hope willingly moved with him. He gradually pulled her closer until their bodies brushed with each step. Her pulse sped up with each contact, no matter how fleeting, and she wondered if he even realized what he was doing.
She’d dreamed about being this close to Jake since she’d met him a little over a year ago. He’d never given her the slightest encouragement to believe he felt any sort of attraction between them, however, and she’d all but given up hoping he ever would. It was tempting to violate Rule Number One, but Hope firmly resisted the urge.
When he danced right through a third song, she rested the side of her head against his shoulder and inhaled deeply, savoring the faint, spicy scent of his aftershave. She felt, more than heard him release a sigh. His arm tightened one last time, pulling her flush against him.
His body definitely was attracted to hers. She raised her head. Oh, dear. His gaze met hers and for the first time ever, she glimpsed something hot and excitingly dangerous lurking in the depths of his eyes.
With her breasts firmly pressed against his chest, she felt his heart thumping in tandem with hers. Her lips formed his name, but no sound emerged. He stopped moving and stood there, studying her as if he’d never seen her before.
His gaze latched on to her mouth. Time slowed, slowed, slowed, and she feared it would stop altogether and he never would kiss her the way he so clearly wanted to do. The way she so desperately wanted him to do.
But then, inch by agonizing inch, he lowered his head. One second she was dying of anticipation. The next, she was in heaven, reveling in the firm pressure of his lips against hers, tasting the bite of whiskey when his tongue entered her mouth, hearing a half-stifled groan fighting its way out of his throat.
Giving herself up to the experience, she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck. Slid her fingers through his thick black hair. Stroked the edges of his teeth with the tip of her tongue.
He nearly inhaled her whole, body and soul.
Kissing him was better than any kiss she’d ever seen on the silver screen. Better than any kiss she’d ever read about in anyone else’s book. Better than any kiss she’d ever imagined and written about in her own books. If the reviewers were to be believed, she’d imagined and written some of the best, steamiest kisses in the history of print.
Nothing—real or imagined—compared to Jake McBride’s kiss.
Heat. Hunger. Passion. They were all there in the movement and pressure of his lips, his tongue and his teeth. In the strength of his arms holding her as if he never intended to let her go. In the unmistakable ridge of his arousal pressing against her through two layers of clothing.
Her pulse raced. Her knees turned mushy. A hot, achy sensation invaded her lower belly.
She felt as if the Universe had read her every fantasy of what a perfect kiss should be and delivered it all in one perfect, dizzying rush of pleasure.
Then he stiffened. As suddenly as he’d started kissing her, Jake yanked his mouth away. Hope opened her eyes and found him staring at her, looking shocked and disoriented, his broad chest heaving as if he were having trouble catching his breath. The sound of laughter and catcalls nearly drowned out the music.
A horrified expression crossed his face. He released her and stepped back so quickly she stumbled and would’ve fallen if he hadn’t grabbed her elbow to steady her. The instant she found her balance, he let go again, muttering something that sounded like, “Sorry, Hope.”
Without another word, he turned and strode off. Hope glanced around at the other dancers and the guests seated at the tables, many of them Jake’s grinning relatives. Uh-oh. She gave them all a quelling scowl, then picked up her long skirt and hurried after Jake.
A devastating sense of disappointment washed over her to have such a wonderful moment spoiled. If she didn’t get to Jake in a hurry, he’d draw so far back into his shell, she’d never be able to coax or pry him out again. She found him leaning against the fence between the corral and the horse pasture, his elbows propped on the top rail, his back and shoulders as stiff as the fence posts.
From the far end of the pasture, a big, buckskin gelding raised his head and nickered, then ambled toward Jake. Hope smoothed down her dress and climbed onto the bottom fence rail, raising herself to his eye level. Three other horses followed the buckskin. Propping her arms beside Jake’s, Hope silently watched the animals approach, searching for something to say.
“Jake?” It wasn’t much, but it was the best she could come up with at the moment.
“You shouldn’t have come out here.”
His voice sounded gruff and not the least bit friendly, which wasn’t at all like the Jake she knew. He’d always been pleasant, even when she knew she was annoying the devil out of him. “You seemed…upset when you left.”
“I’m fine.”
She studied him closely. His eyes had become narrow slits. His nostrils flared. A muscle along the side of his jaw ticked madly. She’d heard he had a healthy temper but had never seen it. She suspected, however, she was about to make its acquaintance. How interesting.
“You’re not fine,” she said, using the same, patient tone she’d use with a pesky reporter. “I just had the most spectacular kiss of my entire life, but you’re definitely upset.”
His neck and ears turned a dark reddish color. “Leave it alone, Hope. Forget about that kiss, and—”
“Forget about it?” She laughed in astonishment at the very idea. “Oh, I don’t believe that’s likely to happen. I don’t believe you’re going to forget it, either.”
The horses arrived at the fence. Jake scratched the buckskin’s forehead. “That kiss never should’ve happened.”
“You’ve wanted to kiss me for weeks.” She patted a black mare’s glossy neck. “If you weren’t such a big coward—”
“Coward! You think I’ve been afraid to kiss you?”
“I’ve given you every encouragement but an engraved invitation. What other explanation could there be?”
“It never occurred to you that I might not’ve been interested in kissing you?”
She chuckled. Now she’d nicked his ego, and of course he had to retaliate. “Jake, Jake, Jake, there’s been a lovely little sizzle between us since we met last summer. Please, don’t even try to pretend you haven’t been aware of it.”
He gave her a frown hot enough to start a forest fire, but kept his voice low in deference, she assumed, to the horses. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about. I’m polite to most everybody and I try to be a gentleman where women are concerned, but—”
“It’s more than politeness—”
“Only in your dreams.”
Her own temper began to simmer, but she’d never let him see it. Rule Number Two for a Happy Universe—never let them see when words stung. She shot a meaningful glance at the fly of his slacks and grinned. “Funny, it didn’t feel like…politeness when you were kissing me.”
“Well, don’t turn any cartwheels over it. That’s never gonna happen again.”
“I beg your pardon?” she asked in her sweetest tone. “I believe you enjoyed that kiss as much as I did.”
He shooed the gelding and his equine pals away. “Go on now, you big moochers. I’ve got nothin’ for ya.” When they’d trotted to the middle of the pasture, he turned back to Hope. “Just because I enjoyed it, doesn’t mean it was a good idea.”
“Darling,” she chided, barely holding in a gurgling laugh. Who would’ve dreamed he’d be so absolutely adorable when he was in a snit? “Kissing me was the best idea you’ve had in months. In fact,” she paused and leaned closer to him, “I think you should do it again.”
“Dammit.” He let out an indignant huff. “Would you be serious for one minute?”
She tipped her head slightly to one side, pretending to consider his question, then cheerfully shook her head. “I don’t think so. You’re more than serious enough for both of us.”
Glaring at her, he tightened his big hands on the fence rail, giving her the impression he’d like to have them wrapped around her neck. “You don’t understand what we’ve just gotten ourselves into. My whole family and half of Sunshine Gap saw that kiss. The other half—hell, the whole stinkin’ county will know about it before morning.”
“The last I checked, we were both single and over twenty-one. What’s the big problem?”
“Every matchmaker in a hundred square miles is liable to be after us. If you stay here, the pressure for us to get together will be unbelievable.”
“So, why don’t we get together a few times?” It was difficult to keep a straight face since she’d only been trying to convince him to do just that for the past three months. “We might actually enjoy it.”
He shook his head so vigorously, his hair fell across his forehead, giving him a rumpled look that made him seem ten years younger. “No offense intended, but you’re not the kind of gal I’d ever date.”
It wasn’t easy to hold back a wince at such bluntness, but she managed. “Why not?”
“For one thing, we’ve got nothing in common.”
“That didn’t stop Blair and Dillon.”
“I’m not Dillon and you’re sure as heck not Blair.”
Oooh, that one smarted. She’d been unfavorably compared to Blair more than once and, while Hope didn’t care about hearing it from some people, she definitely minded hearing it from Jake. “We’re not very different from them.”
“Hey, at least Blair eats meat,” he said.
“That’s important?”
He snorted at her. “This is beef country. I’m a rancher. Yeah, it’s important.”
“Well, I don’t care if other people eat meat,” Hope protested. “I simply don’t like it.” In fact, red meat actually gagged her. Jake rolled his eyes as if what she’d said was silly. He had some nerve.
“Fine,” he said. “How about the age difference? I’m too old for you.”
Hope let out an incredulous huff. “You can’t be more than forty-five.”
“I’m only forty,” he grumbled. “But that’s still too old for you.”
“Oooh, ten whole years. You’re ancient, McBride. Shall I find a cane for you?”
“Well, it just wouldn’t be right. It’s not appropriate.” He glanced at her hair, opened his mouth as if he would say something, then clamped it shut again.
“What?” she said. “You don’t like my hair?”
“It looks okay now,” he admitted, his tone grudging.
“But?” She left the word hanging between them. “Come on, you’ve obviously got a problem with my hair. Tell me.”
“When you make it spiky and turn it all those different colors, it looks mighty strange.”
“I suppose it does here.” She grinned, enjoying the idea immensely. “But it’s just a little thing I do for fun. It washes right out.”
“It’s not just the hair.” He sounded as if his patience was stretching thin in spots. “It’s the whole package.”
Hope caught a harsher note of criticism in his voice that surprised her. She raised her chin and met his gaze head-on. “Do tell.”
“You’re too flashy for a guy like me,” he said bluntly.
“Flashy?” She raised her eyebrows and patted her collarbones, feigning surprise. “Moi?”
“You know what I mean.”
She supposed she did, but sincerely hoped she was wrong. “Why don’t you explain it to me anyway? Just to be absolutely certain?”
He gave her a long, considering look, as if he were debating whether or not he should answer. “It’s the hair. The fingernails. The clothes.”
“What’s wrong with my clothes?” she asked, carefully maintaining a neutral tone.
“Nothing’s wrong with ’em. I doubt anybody’d even notice ’em in L.A.”
