Fortune's Mergers. Bronwyn Jameson

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      “Case,” she said in surprise.

      “Are you filming a pancake commercial?” he teased.

      Remembering that she had wrapped her hair in a bandanna, she ripped the scarf from her head and balled it into her fist. “Sorry. I was cleaning house.”

      He lifted a brow. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

      Flustered, she stepped back, allowing him to enter. “Sorry,” she murmured as she closed the door behind him.

      “That’s twice you’ve apologized in the same number of minutes.” He bit back a smile. “Usually that’s a sign of a guilty conscience.”

      She ducked her head, blushing. “More like embarrassment. Obviously, I wasn’t expecting company.” She peered up at him curiously, suddenly remembering the time. “What are you doing over here at this time of day? Shouldn’t you be at the office?”

      “I’m playing hooky.”

      “Really?” she said in surprise. “Somehow you don’t seem the type.”

      “Here we go with that ‘type’ thing again,” he said wearily.

      She winced. “Sorry.”

      “That’s three,” he said, then smiled, “But you’re right. Ordinarily I don’t skip out early, but I figured I might as well leave, since I wasn’t accomplishing anything, anyway.” He gave her a hopeful look. “I was hoping I could talk you into playing hooky with me.”

      She glanced down at her front and wrinkled her nose at the sight of her faded sweat suit and stocking feet. “I’m not exactly dressed for an outing.”

      “I was thinking more about a movie marathon.” He lifted his briefcase and gave it a pat. “I came prepared with a half dozen DVDs, a box of microwave popcorn and a six-pack of beer.”

      She choked a laugh. “Are you serious?”

      He plopped his briefcase down on the dining table, flipped up the latches and lifted the lid. Inside were a stack of DVDs, as well as the aforementioned boxes of popcorn and six-pack of beer.

      “You are serious” she said in disbelief.

      He shrugged off his coat, then loosened the knot of his tie. “So? What do you say? Are you game for a movie marathon?”

      Laughing, she plucked the box of popcorn from the briefcase and headed for the kitchen. “I’ll make the popcorn, while you cue up the DVD.”

      By the time the credits rolled on the last movie, Gina and Case were spooned on the sofa, with Case at her back and one of his legs hooked over hers.

      She dabbed a tissue at her eyes. “That movie always makes me cry.”

      “Me, too.”

      She snapped her head around to peer at him, then dug an elbow into his ribs. “Liar. You didn’t cry.”

      “I did, too,” he insisted.

      Picking up the remote, she aimed it at the TV. “Men,” she muttered, and turned off the set.

      “Just because we don’t wear our emotions for all the world to see, doesn’t mean we have don’t have any.”

      She shifted to her back to look up at him. “And that’s to say that women do?”

      He swiped a tear from her cheek and lifted it for her to see. “There’s your proof.”

      Chuckling, she swatted his hand away. “Okay, so I’m a wimp and cry at sad movies.”

      He bent his head to nuzzle her cheek. “Never argue with me. I’m always right.”

      She gave his head a playful push. “Your ego is showing again.”

      He dipped his head over hers. “Let’s make out,” he whispered against her lips.

      Gina knew she shouldn’t. Not when she knew what making out might lead to.

      But before she could tell him no, he cupped a palm over her breast and her resistance slipped away. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled his face closer.

      His kiss seemed to last forever. Little nips of his teeth; deep, greedy thrusts of his tongue. Whispered words that had no meaning, save her name. Hands that stroked and kneaded her breasts. The weight of his leg over hers. The steel-like column of his erection growing against her hip.

      Emitting a low groan, he buried his face in the curve of her neck, his breath fanning warm and moist against her skin. He remained in that position for a full minute, before he finally lifted his head with a sigh and met her gaze. “I better go, while I can still walk.” He gave her breast a last regretful squeeze and dragged his hand from beneath her sweatshirt. Heaving himself up and over her, he stood, taking a moment to adjust his slacks before turning to face her again.

      His smile soft, he leaned down to press a lingering kiss against her lips, then withdrew to meet her gaze. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he promised.

      Then he was gone.

      Gina had heard the phrase “sexually frustrated” before, but she’d never truly known what it meant … until now. Hours after Case had left and she still burned with need, her body all but aching with it. She couldn’t believe Case would arouse her to such a level, then leave without ever attempting to satisfy her—or himself, for that matter. And he’d been aroused, too. She knew, because she’d felt his erection lengthen and harden against her side.

      Why hadn’t he pressed her to have sex with him? she asked herself in frustration. Hadn’t he realized that she was as aroused as he was? That she wouldn’t have been able to stop him, even if she’d wanted to? Five more minutes at the mercy of his unbelievable sensual torture, and she would’ve stripped him naked and had her way with him.

      I’m saving myself for marriage.

      She rolled to her stomach with a groan and buried her face in her pillow, remembering what she’d told him the previous times he’d attempted to seduce her.

      It’s all my fault, she thought miserably. By leaving, he was demonstrating his willingness to abide by the rules she’d set. If nothing else, she should admire his nobility.

      But acknowledging he was noble didn’t take away the ache he’d left her with, or the need.

      Across town, Gina’s father, Curtis Reynolds, knelt on the kitchen floor, his head gripped between his hands. Dizzy. He was so dizzy. And the pain! It was blinding, debilitating and growing stronger by the day. Unable to sleep, he’d been on his way to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of juice, when the pain had first hit him.

      “Mr. Reynolds? Are you all right?”

      It took a moment for his housekeeper’s voice to penetrate the dark bounds that vised his mind.

      He drew in a deep breath, then another, before carefully lifting his head to СКАЧАТЬ