Jane Bonander by Wild Heart Page B

the wheat-colored mass as it fell to her shoulders.
    “You could see me in the window, couldn’t you?” She didn’t sound strident or angry.
    “Why would you think that?” He wanted to bury his face in her hair, against her neck … her breasts.
    She gave him a saucy, champagne-filled grin. “Because I can see myself in it now.”
    He turned from her, feeling ashamed. “A gentleman wouldn’t take advantage.”
    She came around in front of him, a dreamy expression on her face. “When you act like a gentleman, it confuses me,” she responded, touching his chest with her hand.
    He swallowed hard, hoping to kill the desire that stirred in his loins. “Go to bed, Miss Julia.” His voice was husky. Harsh.
    Her eyes continued to have a dreamy look. “I keep thinking about our kiss, McCloud. I think I’d like another.”
    “You’re still drunk. You don’t mean what you’re saying.”
    She leaned into him, her breasts pressed against his chest. “Try me.”
    If he’d been any kind of gentleman, he would have refused. He couldn’t. He drove his fingers into her hair, cradling the back of her head with his hands, and drew her forward.
    The moment their lips touched, something exploded inside him. Maybe it was the tiny whimper of pleasure that she made, maybe it was his own violent need for her, he didn’t know. He didn’t care.
    He slanted his mouth over hers, nudging her lips with his tongue. When she opened for him, he ventured inside, liquefying the kiss, raping her tongue with tender strokes. In spite of the champagne, she tasted sweet and exotic, her mouth quivering like a virgin’s against his.
    His hands left her head and roamed her back, over the gentle swell of her ass. He was hard as a rock behind the buttons of his fly, and the sting of hunger surged through him like fire.
    She emitted a long, breathy sigh, then went limp against him. Catching her up in his arms, he studied her slack features. Her harlot’s mouth, with lips pink and sweet. The tiny, turned-up nose of a flirt, which she surely was not. Finely shaped tawny eyebrows over eyes that had thick, dark-edged lashes. Skin as soft as the petals of a flower.
    But she’d passed out. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t remember anything in the morning. He, on the other hand, would remember all of it for the rest of his life.

Chapter 5
5
    A herd of wild horses galloped through Julia’s head, crashing against her skull. She moaned as she rose up off the pillow, feeling a hard rush of nausea. Pulling in a deep, slow breath, she put her head down, swallowing repeatedly.
    She rolled slowly onto her back, opening her eyes a crack, scanning the room. It was empty. Thank you, God. She didn’t remember much about the night before, but something told her she didn’t want to.
    She rarely, if ever, drank. The last time she’d sipped any alcohol at all had been a few years ago at Christmas when Papa had whipped up a batch of grog for the neighbors. She’d awakened with a headache that had threatened to push her eyes out, and she’d vowed never to imbibe again.
    Temperance might well be a virtue, but the last few days would have driven a saint to drink, she thought. And yesterday. Oh, yes, yesterday had been the most potent potable of all. Imagine having to marry a man she abhorred! She didn’t understand Papa’s reasoning.
    It was no wonder she’d downed champagne as if it had been water.
    Rolling to her side and facing the door, she curled into a ball, pressing her hands against her stomach as she thought about her nervousness the evening before. She hadn’t even recalled drinking more than two glasses, but she must have. She’d been jumpy as a cat, wondering how she and McCloud could possibly get through the night in the same room without her killing him for trying to … what? Had she expected him to attempt seduction? She didn’t think that even he was that big a fool.
    The last thing she remembered was— Her stomach took a dive. Oh, God! He’d