The Duchess Diaries. Merline Lovelace

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      “Here.”

      She blinked, suddenly very much in the present. She didn’t trust either his simple gesture or her body’s instant response to it. He read the sudden wariness in her face and patted his thighs again.

      “I’ve been told I give a pretty good foot massage. Swing your feet up and see if you agree.”

      Oooooh, yeah! Gina most definitely agreed. Ten seconds after he went to work on her toes and arch, she was approaching nirvana. Groaning with pleasure, she wedged deeper into the corner of the sofa.

      “If you ever decide to give up ambassadoring, you could make a bundle plying the foot trade.”

      “I’ll keep that in mind.”

      Curious, she eyed him through the screen of her lashes. “What are you going to do when you give up ambassadoring?”

      “Good question.”

      His clever, clever fingers worked magic on the balls of her right foot before moving to the left.

      “What about those PACs I read about?” she asked. “The ones that think you’ve got the makings of a future president?”

      “Future being the operative word. There are a few steps I’d have to take in between.”

      “Such as?”

      “Running for public office, to start with. I’ve been just a career bureaucrat up to this point.”

      “Su-u-ure you have. I wonder how many career bureaucrats go toe-to-toe with armed terrorists.”

      “Too many, unfortunately. Still, elected office is almost a required stepping stone to anything higher. Except for the war heroes like Washington and Eisenhower, almost all of our presidents served as either governors or members of Congress.”

      “So run for governor. Or Congress. You’d make a great senator or representative. More to the point, someone’s got to get in there and straighten out that mess.”

      “Am I hearing right?” Ginning, he pulled on her toes. “This enthusiastic endorsement can’t be coming from the same woman who’s called me obnoxious and uptight and a few other adjectives I won’t repeat.”

      “You are obnoxious and uptight at times. Other times...” She circled a hand in the air, trying to pluck out one or two of his less irritating traits. “Other times you surprise me, Mr. Ambassador. Like tonight, for instance, when you got behind the bar. You went above and beyond the call of duty there.”

      “I’m a man of many talents,” he said smugly. “And that reminds me. I was promised payment for services rendered.”

      “So you were. Have you given any thought to what form that payment should take?”

      “Oh, sweetheart, I haven’t thought of anything else all evening.”

      Red flags went up instantly. Gina knew she was playing with fire. Knew the last thing she should do was slide her feet off his lap and curl them under her, rising to her knees in the process.

      All she had to do was look at him. The tanned skin, the white squint lines at the corners of his eyes, the square chin and the strong, sure column of his throat. Like a vampire hit with a ravenous hunger, her weariness disappeared in a red flash. She had to taste him. Had to lean forward and press her mouth to the warm skin in the V of his shirt. Had to nip the tendons in his neck, the prickly underside of his chin, the corner of his mouth.

      And of course, he had to turn his head and capture her lips with his. There was nothing gentle about the kiss. Nothing tentative. It went from zero to white-hot in less than a heartbeat. Mouths, teeth, tongues all engaged. Hips shifted. Hands fumbled. Muscles went tight.

      Jack moved then, tipping her back onto the cushions. He came down with her, one leg between hers, one hand brushing her hair off her face. Careful not to put all his weight on her middle but taut and coiled and hungry.

      She could feel him get hard against her hip. The sensation shot a hot, fierce rush through her veins. Shoving his jacket lapels aside, she tugged his starched shirt free of the satin cummerbund and tore at the buttons. When she got to the shoulder muscle underneath, she ran her palm over the smooth curve, then felt it bunch under her fingers as Jack’s hand went to her waist. The two buttons on her borrowed sequin jacket proved a flimsy barrier. Jack peeled back the lapels and came to a dead stop. Every muscle and tendon in his body seemed to freeze.

      “God.”

      It was half prayer, half groan. His brown eyes hot with desire, he brushed a finger along the lace trimming her demi-bra.

      “Good thing I didn’t know this was all you had on under those sequins. It was hard enough making it through the movie.”

      Gina tucked her chin and surveyed her chest with something less than enthusiasm. The underwired half cup of black silk and lace mounded her breasts almost obscenely.

      “I’ve gone up another whole size,” she muttered in disgust. “I had to buy all new bras.”

      Jack picked up on her tone and wisely didn’t comment. Good thing, because she probably wouldn’t have heard him. All it took was one brush of his thumb over her sensitized nipple and she was arching her back. And when he tugged down the lace and caught the aching tip between his teeth, every part of her screamed with instant, erotic delight.

      She arched again, and he took what she offered. His hands and mouth and tongue drove her higher and higher. The knee he wedged between her thighs and pressed against her center almost sent her over the edge.

      “Wait!” Gasping, she wiggled away from the tormenting knee. “Wait, Jack!”

      He raised his head, a shudder rippling across his face. Disgust followed a moment later.

      “Sorry. That was a little more than you probably expected to pay for my bartending services.”

      When he started to sit up, Gina grabbed his lapels and kept him in place. “Hold on, Ambassador. That little tussle doesn’t even constitute minimum wage. I just...I just thought we should shed a few more layers.”

      Jack stared down at her, eyes narrowed. He knew as well as she did they wouldn’t stop at a few layers. He was damned if he’d give her a chance to change her mind, though. Getting the stubborn Gina St. Sebastian into bed ranked almost as high up there as getting her to the altar.

      “Shedding is good,” he said with a crooked grin that masked his sudden iron determination. “I’ll start.”

      His tux jacket hit the floor. The cummerbund and shirt followed a moment later. He held out a hand and helped her to her feet, taking intense satisfaction from the play of her greedy hands over his bare chest.

      Once he’d disposed of the sequined jacket, he helped her shimmy out of her black satin pants. His self-control took a severe hit when he got a look at the hipsters that matched her black lace bra. They dipped to a low V on her still-flat belly and barely covered her bottom cheeks.

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