Footloose

“Yes, you are,” she conceded, his proximity stealing the oxygen from her lungs.

“And I’m a bastard,” he continued, sliding his thumb down her throat to her collar bone.

Her mouth went dry. “I wouldn’t have chosen that term.”

He chuckled, then lowered his head. “Do I turn you on, Magnolia?”

She bit her lip.

“You turn me on.”

She found that difficult to believe. “Why?” The question was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

“I like your mouth,” he said, tugging on her lip with his thumb. “It’s pink. I like your body. You’re curvy.”

“I’m not thin.”

“I want to see you naked. I want to see your breasts. I want to see what color your nipples are and how they taste.”

Her temperature shot up so fast she felt like she had a sunburn all over.

“I like the color of your skin.”

“I’m too pale,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “Not for what I have in mind.” He lowered his head again, his lips just inches from hers. “I make you hot, don’t I?”

She tried to turn away, but her body wasn’t following her feeble mental instructions.

“When are you going to take what you want?”

The fact that he didn’t push himself on her, but made himself oh, so available drove her a little crazy. It was like having a hot fudge sundae placed in front of her. All she had to do was pick up the spoon and that delicious dessert would be in her mouth.

One spoonful wouldn’t kill her, she thought, and lifted her mouth. She rubbed her lips against his and lifted her arms to his shoulders, then the back of his neck. She slid her tongue over his bottom lip and he immediately responded by cradling her head in his palms and tilting her mouth to one side for better access.

Lightly massaging her jaw, he suckled on her lips and thrust his tongue inside her mouth. She felt as if she were being sensually devoured by him, as if the tables had been turned and she was the hot fudge sundae and he wanted more than a bite.

She felt the tips of her breasts tighten. He slid one of his hands over her thigh and she felt an edgy restlessness between her legs.

Unable to resist the urge to squirm, she heard him mutter his approval. “Oh, you’re so hot. You feel so good.”

He trailed his fingertip down her neck to her collarbone, then lower, to the open neck of her shirt. He fingered the strap of her bathing suit at the same time as he slid his hand higher up her thigh, all the while stealing her breath and her sanity with kisses that grew longer and more sexual.

His fingers dipped closer and closer to her breast. If he didn’t touch her nipple, Amelia thought she would die. She arched against him, but still he didn’t quite—

She lifted her hands to the back of his head and gave him a no-holds barred kiss. His finger finally glanced her nipple and she moaned.

He touched her again and she shuddered. She felt him slide his other hand further between her legs. He skimmed his finger beneath the edge of her bathing suit, just inside her, and swore.

“Damn, you’re wet.” He rubbed his finger inside her and she felt her heart pound in her head with arousal.

“I want to get inside you and…”

The combination of his sex talk and the way he stroked her took her into a different dimension. The tension inside her tightened with shocking speed and when he rubbed her sweet spot, she went over the edge in a ragged burst that took her by surprise.

“Omigod,” she whispered, gasping desperately for a sliver of oxygen.

Jack swore under his breath. “Damn, you’re good. If we weren’t in this excuse for a car, I’d have you out of your clothes right now.”

It slowly dawned on Amelia that she had just had the most intense climax of her life on the side of the road, in a Porsche, with a man she hadn’t known more than a couple of days. Embarrassment seeped through her. “I don’t know what to say. I didn’t expect that. It just—”

“Don’t apologize, Magnolia. Payback will be heaven.”

CHAPTER FIVE

JACK RECEIVED a second royal invitation from Queen Bellagio herself two days later. It was almost as if she’d known he wouldn’t cool his heels any longer to meet with her. When she’d cancelled their first meeting with a promise to reschedule, he’d debated heading back to Chicago, but had decided to give her a few more days. After all, he’d been waiting for this for thirty-one years. He could conduct business anywhere and Bellagio’s grande dame could be useful.

She hadn’t invited him to her home or to a restaurant in town. No. She still didn’t want the public to know of his existence, but it didn’t bother him. Jack was accustomed to being a dirty secret.

He researched the address she’d given him and learned it belonged to a cottage Lillian owned. She allowed a longtime friend to operate a catering business out of it.

Jack wore a Brooks Brothers suit that fit him perfectly due to his demanding tailor’s specifications, Bellagio shoes and a gold watch. Everything about the way he looked spelled success. He knew it because he had earned it, bought it and paid for it.

Arriving five minutes early for their appointment, he allowed himself to be led inside by a thin woman with iron gray hair and neutral gray eyes. She offered him tea, coffee or lemonade but he politely passed and wandered to the back verandah, where a table was set with a white tablecloth, fine china, crystal and sterling silver.

He couldn’t help thinking the plastic placemats and veneer table his mother had bought at a yard sale were worlds apart from this. He was worlds apart.

He’d been a scrawny, skinny, illegitimate Irish-Italian kid with a mother who favored illegal drugs over feeding and clothing him. Swearing under his breath at the beautifully tended hedges that provided privacy, he felt a sudden tightness in his chest—a suffocating sensation he’d felt too often when he’d been a kid.

Glancing at his watch and noting that Mrs. Bellagio was now fifteen minutes late, he decided to leave. The old bag would have to get her fun jerking some other poor fool’s chain. He headed for the front of the house in time to hear a car door close. Out the window, he saw the gray-haired woman embrace Lillian Bellagio and Lillian return the hug.

That surprised him. From what he’d heard about her, the southern belle who had captured the heart and bank account of Dario Bellagio would eat her young. Maybe that was why her son had moved to the west coast to pursue a career in research and education. Instead of joining the family shoe empire, Lillian’s precious son had turned up his nose at the idea of working for Bellagio, much to the grave disappointment of both Lillian and Dario.

“Life’s a bitch,” Jack muttered under his breath. “And I’m getting ready to meet the top she-dog of them all.”

He returned to the patio in the back and took a seat. Within a moment, Lillian, every white hair in place and dressed in a crisp navy dress, navy shoes and bag, stepped toward him.

He stood, but waited for Lillian to speak first.

“Jack, I’m Lillian Bellagio.” She extended her hand. “Please forgive my tardiness. I had to address an unexpected matter at home.”

He accepted her hand and gently shook it, looking into her eyes. She was warmer than he’d expected. His mother had always told him how cold she was.

“Forgiven,” he said, because her tardiness was the least of her sins. “I’ve looked forward to meeting you.”

She gave a slight nod, as if she wasn’t sure she could say the same. “Please have a seat. Margaret will bring us tea. Or do you prefer coffee?”

“Coffee, thank you,” he said, sitting down.