The Bravo Billionaire. Christine Rimmer

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      Omigoodness. Jonas was going to touch her. Now why in the world would he go and do that?

      She knew she should say something, move back, flinch away.

      But she didn’t. She remained absolutely still as his big, square hand brushed at her hair, slid along her cheek—and then dropped away.

      They were standing just inside the door of his study. And now neither of them was moving. Emma felt that she couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Could hardly even breathe.

      Jonas Bravo had touched her.

      And now, he was looking at her so strangely. The very air felt changed. Charged. It seemed to vibrate with the tension between them—a whole new kind of tension. The sexual kind.

      Emma’s silly throat had gone bone-dry. She gulped again.

      What was this? She did not need this—to get all hot and bothered over Blythe’s big old bully of a son.

      Okay, they were getting married. But there wasn’t going to be any funny stuff, no there was not. Blythe’s will hadn’t said a thing about the two of them sleeping together. Emma was going to open him up and teach him a little about giving and caring.

      But sex? Uh-uh. There was no need for that and they were not going to go there.

      “Um. It’s getting late, isn’t it? I’d better be headin’ out.”

      Jonas allowed himself a second smile—this one more obvious than the first.

      Yes, he was thinking. There it was, beneath the irritation. Attraction. Mutual attraction. Interesting.

      And she was completely bewildered by it. Not prepared for it, fighting it, even.

      Jonas felt better by the second.

      The way he saw it, Emma Lynn Hewitt’s confusion provided a clear opportunity. It represented his chance to get the upper hand with her. And if there was one thing that Jonas Bravo understood, it was the importance of getting and keeping the upper hand.

      He moved in closer. Her eyes got wider. “When?” he asked softly.

      She actually licked those pretty full lips. “Um…what?”

      “The wedding. When?”

      She only stared at him, her gaze sliding from his mouth, to his eyes, then back to his mouth.

      Imagine that. Emma Lynn Hewitt had nothing to say.

      He answered the question for her. “I’ll tell you when. Tomorrow. First thing. We’ll fly to Vegas. We can be back in L.A. by tomorrow night.”

      “Tomorrow?” She looked more bewildered by the second. She also looked aroused. Jonas decided he liked her that way. Aroused and bewildered. And at a loss for words.

      “Tomorrow,” he repeated. “I have some important meetings on Wednesday. I’ll need to be back in town for those.”

      “Oh. Important meetings. Of course.”

      Jonas found himself debating the pros and cons of a kiss. He did want to taste her—but no. Waiting would be better. Tomorrow night, he’d be kissing his wife.

      The idea sent a bolt of heat through him. All at once, he was rock-hard.

      Yes. It could be amusing, to be married for a year.

      Marriage wasn’t for him. He never would have willingly agreed to such a thing. But since his dotty mother had fixed it so he had to marry, well, at least he’d be marrying a woman who, he might as well admit it now, had begun to intrigue him.

      She was so deliciously contradictory. The high moral standards, the do-it-to-me shoes…

      And it was only temporary. Might as well make the best of it.

      “I’ll pick you up at your house,” he said. “Be packed and ready. Say, ten o’clock?”

      “Ten. Tomorrow morning? I don’t…it’s all so fast…” She was hedging suddenly, backing toward the door.

      Perhaps, he decided, a kiss was in order, after all.

      “Emma Lynn.”

      “What?”

      “Stand still.”

      She froze—but her mouth kept going. “I…I have to go. Really. I can’t—”

      “Soon.” He closed the space she’d put between them.

      She looked up at him, her eyes jewel-green now, soft lips slightly parted. “Uh. No. I think I should go now.”

      He bent his head, brought his mouth to a distance of one inch from hers. “Now?”

      “Now…”

      He hardly had to move at all, just that inch—and he had her mouth. She gasped, and then she stiffened.

      He remained absolutely still, mouth to mouth with her, waiting.

      Until she sighed. Her breath was sweet, as if she’d been eating apples. And the dewy-rose scent of her was all around him.

      Slowly, so as not to startle her, he took her shoulders and very gently pushed the raincoat away. It collapsed to the floor.

      She made a small, urgent sound in her throat, a word that didn’t quite take form. A protest, a plea? He couldn’t have said.

      And he didn’t care. Her mouth parted a tiny bit more. He slipped his tongue inside and pulled her body in to his.

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