One of a Kind: Lionhearted / Letters to Kelly. Diana Palmer

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      He nibbled at her upper lip, feeling it quiver tentatively as his tongue slid under it and began to explore. One lean hand slid around to the base of her hips and slowly gathered them into his, in a lazy movement that made her suddenly aware of the changing contours of his body.

      She gasped and pulled against his hand.

      He lifted his head and searched her wide, shocked green eyes. “Plenty of boyfriends, hmm?” he murmured sarcastically, almost to himself.

      “Boy… friends?” Her voice sounded as if she were being strangled.

      His hand moved back to her waist, the other one moved to her round chin and his thumb tugged gently at her lower lip. “Leave it like this,” he whispered. His mouth hovered over hers just as it parted, and she found herself going on tiptoe, leaning toward him, almost begging for his mouth to come down and cover hers.

      But he was still nibbling at her upper lip, gently toying with it, until he tilted her chin and his teeth tugged softly at the lower lip. His mouth brushed roughly over hers, teaching it to follow, to plead, then to demand something more urgent, more thorough than this slow torment.

      Her nails bit into his chest and she moaned.

      As if he’d been waiting patiently for that tiny little sound, his arms swallowed her up whole and his eyes, when they met hers, glittered like candlelight from deep in a cave.

      His hand was in her ponytail, ripping away the rubber band so that he could catch strands of it in his strong fingers and angle her face just where he wanted it.

      “Maybe you are old enough…” he breathed just before his mouth plunged deeply into hers.

      She tautened all over with heated pleasure. Her body arched against him, no longer protesting the sudden hardness of him against her. She reached up to hold him, to keep that tormenting, hungry mouth against her lips. It was every dream she’d ever dreamed, coming true. She could hardly believe it was happening here, in broad daylight, in the kitchen where she’d been trying so hard to learn to make things that would please him. But he seemed to be pleased, just the same. He groaned against her lips, and his arms were bruising now, as if he wasn’t quite in control. That was exciting. She threw caution to the winds and opened her mouth deliberately under the crush of his, inviting him in.

      She felt his tongue go deep into the soft darkness, and she shivered as his mouth devoured hers.

      Only the sound of a door slamming penetrated the thick sensual fog that held them both in thrall.

      Leo lifted his head, slowly, and looked down into a face he didn’t recognize. Janie’s green eyes were like wet emeralds in her flushed face. Her lips were swollen, soft, sensual. Her body was clinging to his. He had her off the floor in his hungry embrace, and his body was throbbing with desire.

      He knew that she could feel him, that she knew he was aroused. It was a secret thing, that only the two of them knew. It had to stay that way. He had to stop. This was wrong…!

      He let go of her slowly, easing her back, while he sucked in a long, hard breath and shivered with a hunger he couldn’t satisfy. He became aware of the rough grip he had on her upper arms and he relaxed it at once. He’d never meant to hurt her.

      He fought for control, reciting multiplication tables silently in his mind until he felt his body unclench and relax.

      It troubled him that he’d lost control so abruptly, and with a woman he should never have touched. He hadn’t meant to touch her in the first place. He couldn’t understand why he’d gone headfirst at her like that. He was usually cool with women, especially with Janie.

      The way she was looking at him was disturbing. He was going to have a lot of explaining to do, and he didn’t know how to begin. Janie was years too young for him, only his body didn’t think so. Now he had to make his mind get himself out of this predicament.

      “That shouldn’t have happened,” he said through his teeth.

      She was hanging on every word, deaf to meanings, deaf to denials. Her body throbbed. “It’s like the flu,” she said, dazed, staring up at him. “It makes you… ache.”

      He shook her gently. “You’re too young to have aches,” he said flatly. “And I’m old enough to know better than to do something this stupid. Are you listening to me? This shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.”

      Belatedly, she realized that he was backtracking. Of course he hadn’t meant to kiss her. He’d made his opinion of her clear for years, and even if he liked kissing her, it didn’t mean that he was ready to rush out and buy a ring. Quite the opposite.

      She stepped away from him, her face still flushed, her eyes full of dreams she had to hide from him.

      “I… I’m sorry, too,” she stammered.

      “Hell,” he growled, ramming his hands into his pockets. “It was my fault. I started it.”

      She moved one shoulder. “No harm done.” She cleared her throat and fought for inspiration. It came unexpectedly. Her eyes began to twinkle wickedly. “I have to take lessons when they’re offered.”

      His eyebrows shot up. Had he heard her say that, or was he delusional?

      “I’m not the prom queen,” she pointed out. “Men aren’t thick on the ground around here, except old bachelors who chew tobacco and don’t bathe.”

      “I call that prejudice,” he said, relaxing into humor.

      “I’ll bet you don’t hang out with women who smell like dirty horses,” she said.

      He pursed his lips. Like hers, they were faintly swollen. “I don’t know about that. The last time I saw you, I recall, you were neck-deep in mud and sh—”

      “You can stop right there!” she interrupted, flushing.

      His dark eyes studied her long hair, liking its thick waves and its light brown color. “Pity your name isn’t Jeanie,” he murmured. “Stephen Foster wrote a song about her hair.”

      She smiled. He liked her hair, at least. Maybe he liked her a little, too.

      She was pretty when she smiled like that, he thought, observing her. “Do I get invited to supper?” he drawled, lost in that soft, hungry look she was giving him. “If you say yes, I might consider giving you a few more lessons. Beginner class only, of course,” he added with a grin.

      Chapter Two

      Janie was sure she hadn’t heard him say that, but he was still smiling. She smiled back. She felt pretty. No makeup, no shoes, disheveled—and Leo had kissed her anyway. She beamed. At least, she beamed until she remembered the Hart bread mania. Any of them would do anything for a biscuit. Did that extend to homemade rolls?

      “You’re looking suspicious,” he pointed out.

      “A СКАЧАТЬ