The Bravo Billionaire. Christine Rimmer

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СКАЧАТЬ south, everything opening and softening, hungry and ready.

      He was ready, too. She could feel him, down at the base of her belly—hard, wanting her. Just like she wanted him.

      This couldn’t be happening. With Jonas Bravo, of all people. They didn’t even like each other.

      Did they?

      She moaned. He moaned. His tongue did naughty things to her tongue and his hands, like her hands, would not be still.

      Until he grasped her shoulders.

      And, very gently, pushed her away.

      Her eyes popped open. He was holding her at arm’s length, those incredible hands of his firm on her shoulders. She stared at him. His lips looked bruised. She didn’t even want to think about what her lips must look like. They had kissed so hard and long, they’d probably injured themselves.

      “Time to go home, Emma Lynn,” he said tenderly.

      “Home,” she repeated, in the voice of a woman hypnotized.

      He smoothed her hair and tugged on the hem of her shirt, which had gotten all bunched up beneath her bra. Then he knelt and scooped up her coat. “Turn around.”

      She obeyed, still feeling as if she’d been sucked in to some kind of trance. Her body felt all quivery, and her brain felt way too slow, as if someone had filled her head with big, soft handfuls of fluffy cotton balls.

      “Give me your arm,” he said, that rough-velvet voice of his driving her crazy, making her wish she could just turn around and throw herself on him, just climb him like a tree.

      But some shred of dignity must have remained to her. She did not act on her wish. She did what he told her to do. She gave him her arm. He put it into the sleeve of her coat.

      “Now the other arm.”

      She gave him that one, too. He guided the coat up and settled it onto her shoulders.

      “There,” he said, and touched her, at the nape of her neck. She shivered. He made a low, knowing sound in his throat, and he rubbed his finger up and down along the back of her neck, causing heated little goose bumps to rise, making her shiver all over again.

      She let her head drop forward, giving him easier access, and she couldn’t stop the tiny moan that pushed its way out of her throat.

      He bent closer, laying both hands on her shoulders again. She could feel the size of him, the heat of him at her back. She held her breath. And then his lips were there, on the nape of her neck, so soft and warm and exactly what she longed for.

      She moaned again, louder than before.

      And he responded by pulling her back against his body. His arms banded around her.

      “Jonas,” she whispered, letting her head fall back, into the crook of his shoulder.

      He cupped her breasts, testing their weight and fullness. She moaned some more, in pure delight. Oh, it felt so good. So right. To want him. For him to want her.

      Then he went still.

      Emma didn’t move, either. Better not to. Better to just…wait, for a moment. Until they could let each other go. All at once, she was aware of the rain again, the low, constant sound of it, like a whisper and a roar at once, against the windowpanes.

      His hands fell away. He stepped to the side, reached for the door. She moved out of the way so that he could open it.

      Then he took her hand and wrapped her fingers around his arm. “I’ll walk you out.” He moved toward the door and she went right along with him, her body thrumming, her mind a big fuzzy wad of cotton balls.

      The hallways at Angel’s Crest were very wide, plenty of room for two people to walk side by side. He led her out to the grand foyer and opened the huge studded mahogany door, letting in the scent and sound of the rain.

      He pulled her out beneath the massive front portico with its row of stone pillars and its mosaic-tile floor, turning briefly to shut the big door, then guiding her on, to the top of the wide steps leading down to the front drive. The warm rain was a soft flood, dripping off the portico roof in silky, glittering sheets.

      “Is your car open?”

      She nodded.

      “Come on, then.”

      They ran together, down the steps. They were drenched by the time they reached her red SUV.

      He yanked open the door for her. “Get in.”

      She stepped up behind the wheel. Her key was in the pocket of her coat. She felt for it, found it, put it in the ignition.

      Jonas was still standing there, his hand on her open door, watching her. Rain ran down his face, off the end of his big, blunt nose and along the cleft in his square chin. His beautiful dress shirt clung to his body, outlining the heavy muscles in his shoulders and his arms.

      She felt weak inside, looking at him.

      And then he leaned toward her and caught her mouth again, hard and hungrily. She tasted the rain, which felt cool on his lips. He opened his mouth, sucking. She sucked right back.

      But only for a moment.

      As quickly as he’d kissed her, he was pulling away. “Tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock,” he said. “Be ready.”

      “I…” She got out the one word and nothing more, because she’d completely forgotten whatever she’d started out to say.

      Jonas didn’t seem to mind. He shut her door, waved at her and then stood there, rain pouring down on him, staring in her side window at her, looking slightly put out.

      She realized he was waiting for her to start the car and drive away.

      Well, all right. Good idea.

      She turned the key, put the vehicle in gear and drove around the big open space in front of the mansion, until she was pointed toward the long drive down the hill, between the double row of palm trees. Jonas remained there, in the rain, watching her. She couldn’t resist repeated glances in her rearview mirror. He stayed right where she’d left him, staring after her.

      He should go in, get out of the rain. But he didn’t. And she got so absorbed in checking on him that she almost drove smack dab into a palm tree.

      That did it. She kept her eyes on the drive ahead from then on.

      At home, which was half of a roomy duplex in North Hollywood, with three bedrooms and a tiny patch of patio in back, the Yorkies were waiting, their little bodies shaking with joy, even yipping once or twice, to welcome her back. She knelt and picked them up, first Bob and then Ted, letting them swipe their doggy kisses on her cheeks and telling them how very glad she was to see them again.

      “Oh, you little sweeties. It has been a whole hour….”

      Festus, the black-and-white cat who had shown up at her door the first week she came to L.A. and lived with her ever since, sat back in the open СКАЧАТЬ