Don't Let Go by Marliss Melton Page B

added, lowering a lingering look at her breasts.
    Jordan drew an uncertain breath. Was he serious or was he being deliberately crass? Thirty an hour was extremely generous, unless, of course, his bold gaze was an indication that he expected something more. That had to be it. Her blood flashed to a boil. She shot to her feet to glare down at him. “You said you needed a tutor for Silas,” she reminded him accusingly. She started to stalk past him.
    Fast as a trap, he snared her wrist and rolled to his feet. That put less than an inch between her heaving chest and his broad one. Jordan’s head spun at the familiar, musky scent surrounding her. “What an interesting assumption,” he murmured, his gaze sliding to her mouth. “Though why sell yourself short? I’m sure you’d be worth more than that.”
    “Oh!” she sputtered, even as liquid heat flooded her entire body. “You . . .” she groped for a word that captured how maddening he was. “. . . you jackass!”
    He quirked a mocking eyebrow at the epithet, but then his expression turned serious. “I take my son’s inability to read very seriously,” he explained. “And I’m not above bribery to keep you in this country.”
    Bribery? Was that his only reason for offering her such competitive pay? Surely he didn’t know how desperately she needed it. With humiliation pinching her cheeks, Jordan tugged her wrist free and carried her glass to the kitchen. “Just so you know, I still intend to leave for Venezuela sometime soon.” There, she’d given him fair warning without actually telling him when.
    He’d followed her and was now blocking her path to the door. “You’re leaving when you can stand to make thirty an hour for the rest of the summer?”
    “Yes,” she retorted.
    He narrowed his eyes at her. “Then you’d better start tomorrow,” he recommended. “Come as early as you like.”
    “I can’t guarantee that Silas will be reading before school starts,” she said, aware that her knees were trembling.
    His eyes gleamed with private thoughts. “Just do your best.”
    “Very well. I’ll see you in the morning.” She gripped the car keys in her skirt pocket. “Do you have a cell phone number in case I need to call you?”
    “No,” he said.
    She just looked at him. “What about a house phone?”
    “No again. I carry a pager for work, and that’s it. If you intend to back out on me, you’ll have to tell me so in person.”
    It dawned on Jordan that he enjoyed pushing her buttons. “I’ll be here,” she said, tightly. “And, now that you’ve got your son back, I recommend you get a cell phone as a safety precaution. Now kindly step aside,” she added.
    He didn’t move. Her pulse jumped as he took a step closer, lifted his right hand, and captured her jaw with it. His touch electrified her. He pulled her gently to him, and she went, helplessly, as if under a spell. All she could do was stare at him as he lowered his head, parted her lips with his thumb, and silenced her belated, outraged gasp by diving inside her.
    He filled her mouth with undulations of his tongue that had her grasping his upper arms to keep from crashing to her knees.
    God in heaven!
He was kissing her, and she was responding like a woman who hadn’t been kissed in three years, which was exactly the case. Which was the only excuse she allowed herself.
    Of its own accord, one of her hands went up to sink into the short, thick strands of his hair. Her hips curved toward his. She leaned into him, overcome by the unrelenting maleness that crowded her, threatening to steal her very soul.
    To her chagrin, he was the first to lift his head, to set her back on her heels. “Better go while you can,” he advised her, softly. “Unless you’d like to change your mind and earn that hundred.”
    With an outraged cry, Jordan shoved him aside and fled to the door. She slammed it shut and scurried across the gangplank, all but running to her car.
    “How much can you give me