“Quit doing that,” he said.

“What?”

“Messing with your hair.”

“I wasn’t messing with it.”

He laughed. “Yeah, you were. You do that a lot, you know.”

“Really?” She resisted the urge to smooth her hair.

“Yeah. Your hair is gorgeous. Leave it alone. I like it a little messy.” He pulled the pony tail holder off and slid his hands into the back of her hair, massaging her neck with his fingertips.

She shuddered at the sensual contact. His fingers worked magic, gently kneading the muscles.

“You’re tense. Turn around and I’ll rub your shoulders.” She didn’t need to be told twice. She shifted sideways and presented him with her back.

The first touch of his strong hands was heaven. She hadn’t realized how much tension she’d been holding in.

He had such an expert touch. She felt like clay as he molded his thumbs to the knots, sliding along the tense spots until they melted away.

“You’re driving me crazy doing that,” he whispered in her ear.

“Huh?” She was so relaxed she was almost in a trance-like state, listening to the night sounds of crickets, Rascal’s light snore at her feet, and Jake’s breathing.

“You’re moaning.”

“I am?”

“Yeah.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Bothers the hell out of me.” His voice was low and husky and made her shiver.

She smiled into the darkness, feeling a tiny feminine thrill. She couldn’t recall ever driving a man crazy. It was an intriguing concept. “Your hands are magical.”

“You have no idea.” His hands traveled lower, gently pressing into the muscles of her back.

His touch weaved a tantalizing spell over her. Every nerve ending shot to life under his ministrations. She wanted his hands everywhere, wanted to feel his touch in other places besides her back.

Maybe it was the wine, or that she never relaxed, never let her guard down. Most men she knew were after one thing, and that was the Fairchild fortune. She was nothing more than a means to a merger. With Jake, it wasn’t like that.

With him, she felt safe. Like he really wanted to be with her. Not because she was a Fairchild, but because she was Lucy.

How many times in her life had she taken a chance, taken the initiative? What would happen if she leaned back a little against Jake?

Feeling more than a little emboldened by the wine she’d consumed, she scooted toward him, her back half resting against his chest.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice suddenly tight.

“Getting more comfortable.” What would she do if he pushed her away?

Shifting slightly, she half turned and placed her palm down on the glider on the other side of Jake. This put them nearly face to face. Her chest was inches from his chest. In fact, if she leaned in a little…

“Lucy.”

“Yes?”

“You’ve got about five seconds to move away, or I’m going to hoist you on my lap and kiss you until your toes curl.”

Fire burned from her already-curling toes to the top of her head. She struggled for her next breath, trying to find a way to bank the raging flames his hot words had sparked.

Every second that passed, she knew she wanted that heat, that scorching flame.

“Okay.”

In the light of the full moon his forehead wrinkled, his whisky eyes darkened, and he swallowed. “Okay, what?”

Now was the moment. She could scoot away, maintain her distance, and keep things at the respectable level they’d been before. Or she could say the words and change their relationship. “Kiss me.”

Without another word he pulled her roughly onto his lap, threaded both hands into her hair and pulled her face toward his. His mouth swooped down over hers, capturing it with the urgency of a starving man.

Her lips trembled at the first touch of his mouth on hers. Her breath caught on a sigh of exquisite pleasure as his tongue weaved its way inside, searching until it captured hers, tangling and twining in a heated frenzy.

This was no gentle kiss. This was hard, demanding passion, just as she expected. It was like the kiss he gave her in the bar that night, the kind of kiss she’d wanted ever since. Jake was not a tentative man in any way, and his kiss proved it. This was a man who knew what he wanted, and when he went after it, no holds barred.

Keeping one hand at the back of her neck, the other sloped down over her bare shoulder, sliding down her arm until he found her hip. He adjusted her closer, fitting her more intimately against him the same way his mouth held hers. Her hip brushed the hardened length of him, and heat pooled low and deep within her. She couldn’t help pressing a little closer, rewarded by his guttural groan.

Breathing normally wasn’t an option. She let loose a series of panting gasps as she caught her breath, desperate to touch him. She clenched at his shoulders, holding on to him as if she would fall.

Not a chance that would happen. Not the way he clutched her to him. She was practically on her side now, her legs drawn up against him, her br**sts crushed against his heaving chest. She felt the mad thumping of his heart against her breasts, heard his groans of pleasure as he breathed against her mouth.

She uttered a protest when he tore his mouth away, but she was in ecstasy when he tilted her head back to rain kisses down her neck, licking the pulse point at her throat.

“Your heart’s pounding,” he said in a deep whisper.

“Yes,” she rasped.

“I love your neck.”

Goose bumps prickled on her skin at the feel of his tongue lathing the recesses of her throat. She slipped her hands into his hair, willing him closer, releasing a throaty laugh as his teeth nipped that spot between her neck and shoulder, lightly teasing the tender skin.

Jake turned the flame up a notch when he slipped his hand underneath her tank top, his palm grazing her ribs. Her stomach quivered at the glide of his fingers over her flesh.

She’d never wanted a man’s hands on her more than she did at that moment. He could have stripped her na**d and had his way with her on the spot and she wouldn’t make a single protest.

His hand snaked up the valley of na**d skin from her belly to her ribs, resting on the spot just under her bra where her heart beat a frantic rhythm. Her ni**les tingled and tightened under the flimsy silk, the only barrier to his questing fingers.

When his thumb swept over her breast she gasped and he once again captured her mouth in a long, drugging kiss. He lightly rubbed the palm of his hand over her aching nipple. It sprung to life, searching for the exquisite pleasure only Jake’s touch could give. She arched her back, filling his hand with more of her.

Suddenly she was on her back across his lap, her neck resting in the crook of his arm.

Their eyes met, his dark and smoldering like the incendiary feel of her body.

“Your skin is like butter,” he said in a husky voice that pooled wetness between her thighs. He swept the tank top upward, baring her upper body to his greedy gaze.

“I’ve wanted to look at you, to touch your skin and kiss you like this, since that first day you opened that sassy mouth of yours.”

She should have been embarrassed lying in Jake’s arms under a full moon, exposed like she was. But for some reason her sense of modesty had disappeared. Jake looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, a look she’d never seen on a man’s face before. And whether it was reality or simply too much wine and stress, she didn’t care.

All she knew was she didn’t want the moment to end.

And then in an instant, she was sitting upright. Jake stood, combing his fingers through his hair.

What had just happened? Her body was awake and alive and dying for more, and he had suddenly stopped.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, trying for some semblance of clarity. Her brain was fuddled and her body still lingered in a fog of sensual pleasure wrought from Jake’s kisses and touch.

He blew out a breath, seemingly as shaken as she. The outline of his erection pressed rigidly against his shorts, telling her he was as affected as she was, and yet he had stopped from going further.

“I think we need a step back.”

Maybe he wasn’t as attracted to her as she’d thought. No—his body told her otherwise. “I’m confused. Did I do something wrong?”

“No. Hell, no. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just fed you too much Chardonnay.” She tilted her head, trying to focus on his words. “Huh?” He knelt in front of her, resting his hands on her knees. “You had a lot of wine tonight.”

“Not that much.”

“More than you think.” He swept her hair away from her face. “We need to sober you up, clear your head. It’s getting late. And if I’m going to make love to you, I don’t want it to be because you’re too fuzzy headed to know what you’re doing.” The logical part of her heard what he said. The female part of her screamed in protest.

“Really, I’m fine.” She stood, then wobbled a bit to the side. Okay, maybe she wasn’t as fine as she thought.

“Yeah. You’re fine all right. Let’s get you up and moving around, breathing some fresh air.”

How could she have had so much to drink? Lying in Jake’s arms she’d felt fine.

More than fine. Perfect, giddy, delirious with want and desire. That wasn’t wine talking, then.

He slipped his arm around her waist and walked her around the stone patio, reminding her to breathe.

Ugh. Breathing was not making her feel better. In fact, she’d like nothing more than to curl up on the glider with Jake again. At least then her world hadn’t been spinning out of control. Well, it had, but in a good way. She laughed at the thought.

“What’s so funny?”

“Funny? I have no idea.” What was she just laughing about? She couldn’t remember.

“Breathe, Lucy. Take a deep breath. It’ll help.”

She did. It didn’t. Now that she was actually up and moving around, it hit her. Her legs wobbled.

“Oh. Oh, Jake, I don’t feel well at all.”

She tried to focus on Jake’s face, but suddenly there were two of him. He said something about green not really being her color, and then all hell broke loose.

Ten minutes later she was lying on the floor in his bathroom, praying for a quick death.

Chapter Six

Jake turned the door handle and pushed it open a crack to see if his overnight guest was still breathing.

He sucked in a breath at the scene before him. Lucy lay on her stomach with one arm flung over the side of the bed, her cute rear end stuck up in the air. Her hair was a mass of riotous curls, half swept over her face. She slept with her mouth open, too.

He swallowed, hard, thankful she at least had a cover on, considering she’d ripped her clothes off in his bathroom last night. That’s how he’d tucked her in, trying not to look at her and muttering to himself about how much chivalry sucked.

After inching the door closed, he stepped into the kitchen and took a long drink of coffee, welcoming the jolting surge the caffeine provided.

Thank God he’d stopped last night. She wouldn’t have, and if he hadn’t had an inkling that she was tipping the scales on the drunk as a skunk side, he’d have had her right there and then. As it was, he’d entertained thoughts about pulling her astride him and letting her rock them both in the glider.

Instead, he’d had to stand by and watch her strip na**d in his bathroom, then hold her hair while she’d emptied the contents of dinner and more than half a bottle of wine.

Not exactly a scene conducive to a passionate ending. After she’d given up everything she’d consumed, she curled up in a ball on the cold tile floor and promptly passed out. He’d cleaned her up, then carried her to his bed.

After he was certain she’d be all right, he’d flopped down in the spare bedroom, wide awake, achingly hard and unable to sleep. Remembering the feel of her in his arms.

How perfect she felt there. Remembering her soft skin and pouty lips gliding over his, tearing him apart inside until he’d wanted to ravage her there in his backyard.

Probably a good thing he’d ended the kiss when he did. Otherwise he could have made a monumental mistake. Like making love to her. Him, the lowly toad, and her, practically a princess. Yeah, what a pair. A pair going nowhere.

Now he had a houseguest. A beautiful one. Sleeping na**d in his bed. He’d give up a vital organ to join her there and feel the silk of her bare skin against his. He longed to touch his lips to hers again and slide his hands over her body until she moaned and begged for him to sink deep inside her. The thought of it brought on that familiar ache, the one he’d had nonstop since the first time he’d laid eyes on Lucy Fairchild.

“Mornin’.”

Would it be inappropriate for a grown man to cry? Lucy stood at the doorway to the kitchen clad in one of his T-shirts. It skimmed her upper thighs and, though way too large for her, still made her look sexier than the night he’d seen her clad in black velvet.

“Good morning,” he rasped, trying to find his voice. He took a swig of coffee and tried for a smile. “Feeling better?”

The pink tinge to her cheeks only added to her sexy look. She nodded and flipped her hair off her face. “Yeah. Much. I’m so sorry about last night.” He poured her a glass of ginger ale. “Sip this. Don’t guzzle.” She took a couple sips and licked her lips, an action he watched with rapt fascination.

“Thank you, I was thirsty.”

“Dehydrated. Keep sipping.”

She took a seat at the kitchen table, sliding her feet underneath her and pulling at the hem of his T-shirt. He bit back a smile and sat next to her.