realise that your features look perfect against this winter landscape?’ he questioned suddenly. ‘Your skin pale as snow—and your hair the colour of the bare earth.’
Ashley started as she searched his face for signs of mockery, but she could find none—only a kind of dark intensity about him which made him look so
alive.
As if in that snapshot moment he found her the single most alluring person in the world. And she wasn’t imagining it—she definitely wasn’t—because the tension was so palpable that she could have reached out and touched it.
For one snatched second, she allowed herself the forbidden fantasy she’d entertained over and over again. Of Jack pulling her into his arms and crushing her against his hard and powerful body. For hadn’t she played out that scene countless times in her head as she lay in bed every night listening to his footsteps? Of him lowering his dark, rugged face to kiss her. Those black eyes gleaming some evocative message before his sensual lips came down to cover hers.
With a fierce determination, she forced the image from her mind. He was her
boss
and she needed this job. Needed it badly enough not to risk jeopardising it with
anything.
‘We’d… we’d better get back,’ she stammered, and yet her legs felt as if they were rooted to the spot and she’d never be able to move again.
‘Why?’
She raised her eyes up to his. ‘Because—’
‘Because of this?’ Without warning, he pulled her into his arms, expelling a shuddering breath as he felt that first collision with her soft body. ‘This damned thing between us which won’t seem to go away?’
‘Jack!’
‘Jack, what?’ he taunted.
All she could see was the sudden flintiness of his eyes—and the cold glint of pain at their depths. And she thought to herself,
Surely a man shouldn’t look like this just before he kisses you?
‘Jack, we mustn’t,’ she whispered.
‘Oh, but we must,’ he negated harshly, compelled by something far stronger than reason or the sudden frantic clamour of his conscience. ‘Because I think I’m going to go crazy unless we do.’
Some instinct told her to pull away from him but she couldn’t. Because by then it was too late. By then he was moulding her even closer, so that she could feel the contours of his hard body against hers. Cupping her face between his hands, he stared down at her—his facea dark mask, looking for all the world like a man who had just seen a tortured image of his own future.
And then—just like all her forbidden fantasies—Jack Marchant bent his head and began to kiss her.
CHAPTER FIVE
J ACK’S lips crushed down on Ashley’s, his kiss deep and passionate as his tongue probed deep inside her mouth. He groaned as he kissed her, making a sound of such helpless pleasure that Ashley made an answering moan of her own. She felt her hands grope blindly for his shoulders—as if she might slide to the ground without his support.
Her blood sang and her heart pounded. How shockingly intimate that felt. Jack’s tongue inside her mouth. Jack pressing her against his body. Jack pressing his hips into hers with blatant desire. Her fingers bit into his heavy coat as she clutched onto him—and now his kiss became even more fervent.
He plundered her mouth without restraint, like a man who had tasted food after a long period of starvation. His hands moved to her hair, his fingers impatiently weaving through the carefully positioned pins, so that several strands began to tumble down around her face. She could feel the mad quickening of her heart and the strange, honeyed sensation which was making herbody seem hot and tender and tight and restless—all at the same time. Like a coiled spring which was slowly beginning to unfurl.
He pulled her even nearer, so that the physique she had secretly admired from afar was now moulded firmly against her. And despite the clothing he wore she was acutely aware of his rampant masculinity—of the growing need at
Ashley started as she searched his face for signs of mockery, but she could find none—only a kind of dark intensity about him which made him look so
alive.
As if in that snapshot moment he found her the single most alluring person in the world. And she wasn’t imagining it—she definitely wasn’t—because the tension was so palpable that she could have reached out and touched it.
For one snatched second, she allowed herself the forbidden fantasy she’d entertained over and over again. Of Jack pulling her into his arms and crushing her against his hard and powerful body. For hadn’t she played out that scene countless times in her head as she lay in bed every night listening to his footsteps? Of him lowering his dark, rugged face to kiss her. Those black eyes gleaming some evocative message before his sensual lips came down to cover hers.
With a fierce determination, she forced the image from her mind. He was her
boss
and she needed this job. Needed it badly enough not to risk jeopardising it with
anything.
‘We’d… we’d better get back,’ she stammered, and yet her legs felt as if they were rooted to the spot and she’d never be able to move again.
‘Why?’
She raised her eyes up to his. ‘Because—’
‘Because of this?’ Without warning, he pulled her into his arms, expelling a shuddering breath as he felt that first collision with her soft body. ‘This damned thing between us which won’t seem to go away?’
‘Jack!’
‘Jack, what?’ he taunted.
All she could see was the sudden flintiness of his eyes—and the cold glint of pain at their depths. And she thought to herself,
Surely a man shouldn’t look like this just before he kisses you?
‘Jack, we mustn’t,’ she whispered.
‘Oh, but we must,’ he negated harshly, compelled by something far stronger than reason or the sudden frantic clamour of his conscience. ‘Because I think I’m going to go crazy unless we do.’
Some instinct told her to pull away from him but she couldn’t. Because by then it was too late. By then he was moulding her even closer, so that she could feel the contours of his hard body against hers. Cupping her face between his hands, he stared down at her—his facea dark mask, looking for all the world like a man who had just seen a tortured image of his own future.
And then—just like all her forbidden fantasies—Jack Marchant bent his head and began to kiss her.
CHAPTER FIVE
J ACK’S lips crushed down on Ashley’s, his kiss deep and passionate as his tongue probed deep inside her mouth. He groaned as he kissed her, making a sound of such helpless pleasure that Ashley made an answering moan of her own. She felt her hands grope blindly for his shoulders—as if she might slide to the ground without his support.
Her blood sang and her heart pounded. How shockingly intimate that felt. Jack’s tongue inside her mouth. Jack pressing her against his body. Jack pressing his hips into hers with blatant desire. Her fingers bit into his heavy coat as she clutched onto him—and now his kiss became even more fervent.
He plundered her mouth without restraint, like a man who had tasted food after a long period of starvation. His hands moved to her hair, his fingers impatiently weaving through the carefully positioned pins, so that several strands began to tumble down around her face. She could feel the mad quickening of her heart and the strange, honeyed sensation which was making herbody seem hot and tender and tight and restless—all at the same time. Like a coiled spring which was slowly beginning to unfurl.
He pulled her even nearer, so that the physique she had secretly admired from afar was now moulded firmly against her. And despite the clothing he wore she was acutely aware of his rampant masculinity—of the growing need at
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