“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 those around them 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 damn 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, even though for 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.”
She would smack him upside the head later.
When she finally felt her dangling feet touch the carpet again, and his mouth lifted from hers, she realized that men were slapping Furie on the back, and voices were raised on every side as her “fiance” accepted congratulations from his associates even while he kept her firmly pressed against his still-rampant hard-on. Probably to conceal it until it eased.
She smiled at the people who spoke to her, not hearing a damn word of what they were saying. Her belly was a wad of hot mush. Her legs wouldn’t have held her if he had decided to let go of her, and she had no desire to sit in a heap on the carpet at everyone’s feet. So she kept her hands tightly clenched on his shoulders.
“So, Furie…this is the surprise you said you had for everybody? It’s about time, man! I can’t say I blame you for keeping her under wraps. I wouldn’t let her out of my sight, if I were you.” Voices buzzing, glasses clinking as toasts were raised, laughter-not much strained through to her shell-shocked mind with that hard, completely mind- blowing body clamped possessively to hers.
She was going to kill him…and then maybe attack him and strip him and-
Jocular comments fueled by large quantities of expensive champagne were bandied back and forth, and when his amazing erection had eased enough to not make a spectacle of himself, he allowed her to move slightly away, but kept her firmly wrapped in one arm, pinned to his side. A flute of champagne was thrust into her hand, and she drank for want of anything better to do as he used her for the inevitable prop and made the most of the stir her presence had caused.
Numbly she smiled and shook hands as she was introduced as “My fiancee, Jill,” without her actual last name ever being given. Plausible deniability. She downed the flute of delicious champagne, and accepted another. She had begun to feel a lot like a blonde kewpie doll permanently attached to his hip.
After what seemed like hours of listening to inane talk, and male jokes being bandied back and forth, everything began to blend into everything else. Except that during those hours, she had very possibly swallowed about a gallon of champagne, and champagne was not her drink of choice.
Damn! Faces were swimming. Voices were fading in and out. Tinny laughter was making her dizzy. She felt something hard under her cheek, and realized that she was leaning into Furie’s chest, and they were dancing. Or at least, he was dancing, and half-carrying her around the floor with her feet half an inch off the floor. For the first time since she’d arrived, no one was babbling at them, and she drew a shaky breath and said, “I need…t’talk…to you.”
“We have plenty of time to talk later.” His breath was warm against her ear, and she shivered.
“No! Need to talk-now.” She shook her head. The motion made her dizzy as hell, and she hiccupped. “Ooops. I’m drunk as hell-” She giggled drunkenly.
“That you are. Am I the one who bought that ring for you?” His voice was a rumbling purr against her temple.
“Serves you right, you selfish prick,” she murmured. “Missing my…birthday…’cuz of…you.”
She expected him to be angry, so his soft laughter startled her. She twisted her head up from his chest where it lay, and frowned at him. He was definitely blurry. “Came here…to tell you…to fuck off.”
Dark blue eyes gazed back at her. Why’d the bastard have three eyes? Nope, four eyes-the son of a bitch had more of everything…as usual.
“You mad at me for some reason, Turner?” he breathed against her temple, sending chills through her.
“’Course…I’m mad-” She frowned, trying hard to figure out which eyes belonged where. The one on his nose was definitely in the wrong place. “Chauvinistic bastard. My name’s Jill…you never use my name-”
“Want to tell me how you really feel?” He gave her a crookedly sexy smile.
“I just did…didn’t I?”
“You don’t drink, do you, Jill?” He was grinning. The jerk.
“’Course I drink…’cuz I’m fucking drunk-”
“Calling you Turner makes me a bastard?” His mouth moved slowly against her skin as he whispered.
“‘Course not. You’re a…bastard…because you don’t even…know…I exist…you bastard-”
She thought he laughed, but she couldn’t be exactly sure, because that was the moment she passed out.
