else?”
“Kissing.”
Janice lost her grip on her fork. It clattered nosily against her dish. “Sorry,” she mumbled, then picked up her napkin and pressed it against her mouth.
“Although quantity is somewhat important there,” he continued, ignoring her unease, “taking the time to do it right, to let the act express what you feel inside for the person, is the most important thing. Wouldn't you agree?”
So much for throwing him off-balance. “Yes. Absolutely. This pasta is really good.”
“You haven't eaten anything yet.”
Add observant to his list of attributes.
“I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I?”
“No. I asked a question, you gave me an honest answer. I must admit I find this fascinating. So, are there any other standards?” Janice took a bite, hoping his next answer would not have anything to do with sex. She was having enough trouble trying not to focus on what it would be like to be kissed qualitatively by Blake Ferguson.
“We'd have to want each other beyond reason . . . without reservation.”
His voice had lowered, softened. Janice looked up, and when her eyes found his, she trembled at the intensity and depth of emotion she felt in the words. She wondered . . . .
“Have you ever wanted anyone that way?”
“Yes.”
His answer had been immediate. His gaze on her did not waiver.
She leaned toward him, her body drawn to him as if of its own accord. “Did she feel the same way?”
“I'm not sure.”
Janice couldn't imagine any woman who hadn't been waiting her entire life for a man like Blake to want her beyond reason.
“What happened?” She said quietly, her dinner forgotten. “Did she hurt you?”
“Yes.”
Janice lowered her gaze. This was the worst-case scenario. The other reason a man like Blake would have never married. A broken heart. And now, no woman could ever replace the one he once loved.
She had to admit, if only to herself, that since meeting Blake, she'd held onto a fine, intangible thread—call it hope or curiosity—about something romantic developing between them. With that hope deflated, Janice felt a disappointment so acute that it pressed heavily on her heart.
“I'm sorry,” she said at last.
“Don't be. Christmas is a time of miracles. A time when hearts come home.”
Janice frowned. The man was definitely giving mixed signals. Had she missed something here? Was he talking about lost loves or something else entirely? He was sitting there looking at her like he could devour her. Maybe she could force his hand . . . .
Janice pushed her plate back. “You're hoping she'll come here for Christmas?”
“I've asked her, but, for some reason, she won't give me an answer.”
Janice let out her breath. He was referring to his earlier invitation. She looked away, still evading. “Maybe she's not interested.”
Blake carefully placed his napkin next to his plate and stood. Janice looked up at him, surprised, when he took her hand and gently urged her off the stool.
“There's one way to find out,” he murmured as he lowered his head to hers.
Chapter 5
Janice reeled with the implication of his words and the shock of his warm lips on hers. He'd been talking about her all along.
Logical thought fled when Blake slid a hand down her spine and pressed her close as his lips slanted across hers. Janice sighed. He was so tall. At five foot nine, standing on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck made her feel almost petite. Blake deepened the kiss, swirling his tongue in and out of her mouth in a heady rhythm, inviting her to kiss him back. She surrendered completely, giving as well as taking, until she was beyond weak with wanting him.
When his lips left hers, she slid her hands across his wide shoulders, rested her forehead against his chest, and closed her eyes. A kiss had never made her feel so much. Want so much.
He enfolded her in his arms and held her, his lips pressed to her hair. His heart beat fast and furious beneath her
“Kissing.”
Janice lost her grip on her fork. It clattered nosily against her dish. “Sorry,” she mumbled, then picked up her napkin and pressed it against her mouth.
“Although quantity is somewhat important there,” he continued, ignoring her unease, “taking the time to do it right, to let the act express what you feel inside for the person, is the most important thing. Wouldn't you agree?”
So much for throwing him off-balance. “Yes. Absolutely. This pasta is really good.”
“You haven't eaten anything yet.”
Add observant to his list of attributes.
“I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I?”
“No. I asked a question, you gave me an honest answer. I must admit I find this fascinating. So, are there any other standards?” Janice took a bite, hoping his next answer would not have anything to do with sex. She was having enough trouble trying not to focus on what it would be like to be kissed qualitatively by Blake Ferguson.
“We'd have to want each other beyond reason . . . without reservation.”
His voice had lowered, softened. Janice looked up, and when her eyes found his, she trembled at the intensity and depth of emotion she felt in the words. She wondered . . . .
“Have you ever wanted anyone that way?”
“Yes.”
His answer had been immediate. His gaze on her did not waiver.
She leaned toward him, her body drawn to him as if of its own accord. “Did she feel the same way?”
“I'm not sure.”
Janice couldn't imagine any woman who hadn't been waiting her entire life for a man like Blake to want her beyond reason.
“What happened?” She said quietly, her dinner forgotten. “Did she hurt you?”
“Yes.”
Janice lowered her gaze. This was the worst-case scenario. The other reason a man like Blake would have never married. A broken heart. And now, no woman could ever replace the one he once loved.
She had to admit, if only to herself, that since meeting Blake, she'd held onto a fine, intangible thread—call it hope or curiosity—about something romantic developing between them. With that hope deflated, Janice felt a disappointment so acute that it pressed heavily on her heart.
“I'm sorry,” she said at last.
“Don't be. Christmas is a time of miracles. A time when hearts come home.”
Janice frowned. The man was definitely giving mixed signals. Had she missed something here? Was he talking about lost loves or something else entirely? He was sitting there looking at her like he could devour her. Maybe she could force his hand . . . .
Janice pushed her plate back. “You're hoping she'll come here for Christmas?”
“I've asked her, but, for some reason, she won't give me an answer.”
Janice let out her breath. He was referring to his earlier invitation. She looked away, still evading. “Maybe she's not interested.”
Blake carefully placed his napkin next to his plate and stood. Janice looked up at him, surprised, when he took her hand and gently urged her off the stool.
“There's one way to find out,” he murmured as he lowered his head to hers.
Chapter 5
Janice reeled with the implication of his words and the shock of his warm lips on hers. He'd been talking about her all along.
Logical thought fled when Blake slid a hand down her spine and pressed her close as his lips slanted across hers. Janice sighed. He was so tall. At five foot nine, standing on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck made her feel almost petite. Blake deepened the kiss, swirling his tongue in and out of her mouth in a heady rhythm, inviting her to kiss him back. She surrendered completely, giving as well as taking, until she was beyond weak with wanting him.
When his lips left hers, she slid her hands across his wide shoulders, rested her forehead against his chest, and closed her eyes. A kiss had never made her feel so much. Want so much.
He enfolded her in his arms and held her, his lips pressed to her hair. His heart beat fast and furious beneath her
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