A Weaver Baby. Allison Leigh

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СКАЧАТЬ she whispered. “I haven’t done this in a long while.” In one smooth arch, she took him in.

      Her breath stopped. Her heart stopped.

      The world might have stopped, too, except she was too busy staring into the unholy pleasure that tightened Jake’s face to notice. He sucked in a sharp breath and closed his hands hard and tight around her hips. “How long a while?”

      She shook her head. How could she care about details that didn’t even merit comparison to this? “It doesn’t matter. Years.” She slowly worked her hips against his, and knew with feminine instinct that it felt as torturously perfect for him as it did for her.

      He sucked in another hard breath. “You’re dangerous.”

      “Next time, think twice before you give me Cristal.”

      She felt his bark of laughter down to the very center of her, and then neither one of them was laughing as he rolled her in the straw and sank even deeper. “You feel incredible,” he breathed against her ear.

      What she felt was a climax bearing down on her with the speed of a freight train. Her head twisted in the soft straw. “Jake—”

      “Forget the warm summer night.” He pushed up on his forearms, tendons tight in his neck. His shoulders. “You’re a storm.”

      And she felt suddenly buffeted. She cried out, the cataclysm spiraling even harder because Jake was right there with her, his own satisfaction flooding through her.

      It seemed endless, that pure pleasure that streaked through her veins, heating her from fingertips to soul. And maybe it was endless, because by the time Jake finally drew in a deep, shuddering breath and rolled over on his back, his arms splayed in the straw, J.D. knew the world could have come to a halt and she wouldn’t have noticed.

      She let out a long, shaking breath of her own. She couldn’t have moved just then to save her soul.

      “Wow,” he murmured after a while.

      She almost giggled. And she’d never much been a giggling sort. “I think I’m still vibrating.”

      He huffed out a faint laugh. “Honey, flattering as that is—” his voice was a low, sexy drawl “—I think that might be my cell phone.” He pushed himself up until he was sitting, his intoxicating gaze roving over her as he tugged the edge of his trousers out from beneath her hip. He pulled out his vibrating cell phone, his gaze meeting hers with a devilish humor. “Never going to be able to talk on this thing again without thinking about…today.”

      She wanted to roll over and bury her hot face in the straw, but his hand settled on her bare flank. It was vaguely appalling that she felt a stirring all over again, even when her entire body drifted in satiated stupor.

      But then his phone vibrated again and he checked the display. The humor in his face died and he drew back his hand.

      Despite the hot night, J.D. felt a sudden chill.

      Then he hit a button and set the phone to his ear. “Tiffany. What have the boys done now?”

      Chapter Two

      “Thanks for agreeing to meet me.”

      Jake rose from his chair and eyed J.D. where she stood, just inside the door of his study. “Of course.” He waved at the leather chairs situated in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

      Her green eyes didn’t meet his as she crossed the room. But instead of sitting, she stopped behind the chair closest to the opened French doors. She closed her fingers over the back of it and her knuckles were white.

      He bit back a sigh.

      Since that night in the barn more than a month ago, they’d only seen one another a handful of times. For minutes only, when it came right down to it. But even then, the brief encounters had felt awkward.

      Not because he regretted touching her.

      But because it was so clear that she did.

      “You didn’t tell Mabel why you wanted to meet with me.” His personal secretary had been quite put out as a result. But Jake could have told Mabel that he already had a good idea why J.D. had requested a meeting. It was something she’d never done before in all the time she’d worked at Forrest’s Crossing. If there was an issue at the stable, she would have gone to Miguel.

      Which, to Jake, meant only one thing.

      She was going to quit.

      “I thought it best not to tell Mabel the specifics.” J.D.’s fingers whitened even more over the back of the chair. “Actually, I tried to get an appointment with you at your office at Forco, but your secretary there was even less accommodating than Mabel. She said you had nothing available on your calendar there until November.”

      “Lucia is my assistant, actually. And she controls my schedule at the plant more than I do.” He wanted to go around to her and peel those fingers away from the leather, urge her down into the seat and tell her anything that would make her relax.

      He remained where he was. Things would be better all around if he refrained from touching her, since he already knew he seemed unable to exercise much control where she was concerned. Touching her was flammable. They’d already proven that. “You could have just phoned me directly, you know. Avoided the others altogether.”

      Her face looked a little pinched. “I don’t have your direct number.”

      He frowned a little at that and immediately pulled out a business card. He scribbled on the back of it. “Now you do.” He handed it to her. “Would you like a drink? I can call Mabel—”

      “No.” She took the card gingerly. “No, thank you.” She glanced over her shoulder as if she were afraid that his secretary would already be standing behind her.

      But the door to his office was firmly closed.

      They had all the privacy either one of them could want.

      He dragged his mind out of that dangerous direction.

      “How are things down in the stable?”

      Her slender throat worked. “They’re not too happy, needless to say. Everyone had high expectations for the Hopeful last week. I’m sure you did, too.”

      Despite the thrilling success at Latitude’s maiden race, followed up by an even more spectacular finish at the Saratoga Special, Latitude had fallen far short at the Hopeful Stakes, coming in damn close to last. “Yes, I did. My sisters and I expect winners, not losers.” That’s what Forrest’s Crossing did—produced world-class, winning thoroughbreds. “And you?”

      She lifted one shoulder and her yellow FC shirt tightened over the subtle, high swell of her breasts, needlessly reminding Jake of that night. “I’m never disappointed in Latitude.”

      Because she was the only one in his stable crew who wasn’t motivated by winning, he knew.

      “I think you’ll have him more than ready for the Champagne Stakes,” he assured.

      If СКАЧАТЬ