April 12, 2010 by admin
Filed under Contemporary Romance, Looking for Home, Nan Donahue
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Her skin, and everything underneath it, tingled as the scowl morphed into a predatory gleam. Her brain conjured a picture of a jungle cat stalking a fawn. No, not a fawn, a doe. He’d play with it a long time before devouring every tasty morsel.
Man, she had a sick mind. As far as sexual analogies went, that one was pretty gross.
Jonathan stepped in closer, crowding her back into the counter. His pheromones called, hers screamed in answer, and if she’d been the swooning, girly type, she would’ve hit the floor at the power of it.
When their bodies were barely brushing, he said, “Who says that had anything to do with your choking? Maybe it was just an excuse to get closer and see how you’d react. Guess what? You reacted.” His brows kissed his hairline as he smirked. “I saw.”
Jerk! Men are such pigs!
He stepped back. “And you might want to keep something else in mind. If I remember correctly—and I assure you, I do—Alicia told you yesterday I get to spank you if you yell at me. Try it again and see what happens.”
With that parting shot, he left the room.
M stumbled over to a kitchen chair, dropped onto it, and pressed an overheated cheek to the cool granite table.
Okay, as far as sexual power went, she wasn’t the only one with it, and she’d been a fool to forget it for even a minute. Ah, but what an incredibly heady feeling. Heady and even a little—fun.
However, in reality, it wasn’t quite so amusing when she was the one on the receiving end. He’d very easily shifted the balance of power back to his favour.
Well, fine. She didn’t plan on scurrying around like a scared mouse, or hiding in a corner whenever he happened to be around. She planned to take him up on his offer of help, but she had some research to do first. Because no way on earth was she going to look like a fool in front of him. Again.
She got up and poured the rest of her coffee down the sink.
Since it seemed she lived with a walking, talking defibrillator—clear!—the extra jolt of caffeine left in her cup was redundant. Jonathan had kick-started her body to the point where reserve currents of electricity still pulsated.
Yep. She could forget about her java fix for the next week or so.
Shoring up her tingling nerves, she headed to his office and tapped on the door. Hopefully, he’d be in there. If she had to track him down, or wait any longer, she’d chicken out.
“Come in.”
M pressed her forehead to the door. Shoulda waited.
Jonathan wrenched his eyes away from his computer monitor and watched her enter. So much for wishing not to see her for another twenty-four hours or so.
Trying to focus his mind on something—anything—else hadn’t helped. About every two seconds his thoughts cycled back to the scene in the kitchen, making it impossible for his body to settle back down.
Thank God for being hidden behind his desk.
He cleared his throat. “Something wrong?”
He waited. Watched her colour advance and recede at an alarming rate. Finally, her eyes settled just above his head, and she spoke.
“Um, I’d like to take you up on your offer.” Colour poured back into her face. “Ah, yesterday’s offer. You know…when you said you’d give me a hand with my start-up. Does the offer still stand?”
A breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding slowly released. Good to know he wasn’t the only one rattled. Even better knowing she wasn’t here to tell him she planned to leave. Although, why he cared so much was a mystery. One he didn’t plan on trying to solve.
Barely restraining a grin, he said, “It does.”
“Okay. Thanks. But I’d like to do a bit more research first. I have a laptop, and I was wondering what the internet situation is here. I don’t have an ISP.”
“I talked my father into Wi-Fi a few years ago. Will that work for you?”
She nodded. “Yes. It’s not Wi-Fi integrated, but I do have a PC card in my laptop.”
“Good. If you want to get it for me, I’ll update your settings so you can connect.”
“Thanks. I’ll get it now.”
After watching her practically run from his office, Jonathan sat forward and banged his forehead on his desk.
Clearly, he’d lost his mind since meeting Em. What had he been thinking earlier? Well, okay, he hadn’t been thinking. Therein lay the problem.
He lifted his head and looked at the text displayed on his monitor. He’d Googled “what to do when your child is choking,” and landed on a parenting site which firmly stated, “Don’t ever slap the victim’s back. If a child is coughing and choking, let them cough.”
Who knew? He certainly hadn’t, and it was enough to make his blood run cold. What if he’d done that to Alicia and hurt her? Sometimes the minefield called parenting scared him silly.
When Em had started to choke, he’d reacted instantly. He’d wanted to help. Hah! He’d done anything but help the situation. All he’d managed to do was heat himself up to incendiary levels. And she’d made everything worse—or better, depending on your point of view. At the feel of her nipples pecking into his chest, and the soft brush of her lips across his throat, he’d nearly detonated. If he hadn’t been so quick to push her away, she would have felt his reaction as firmly as he’d felt hers.
Not good. Not good at all. He wasn’t his father. He wouldn’t let his heart or his head be ruled by a pretty face. He’d spent his life—from adolescence anyway—making sure his logical brain stayed in charge. And for the most part, it hadn’t been that difficult.
Yet in the last few days his other side had been fighting for supremacy.
He sighed. Okay, he wasn’t being entirely fair. Over the last few months, creative urges he’d buried long ago began pushing their way to the surface. He didn’t have to look far to see the proof of that.
Reaching across his desk, Jonathan clicked the mouse and closed the browser window. His CAD program popped into view, showing the house design he’d been playing around with for the last few months.
Becoming a parent—because for all intents and purposes, that’s what he was now—had changed him somehow. His carefully planned, purposefully structured, life suddenly felt flat. Cold.
Pushing away from his desk, he went to one of the long drawers in his credenza and pulled out a role of drafts. Months ago he’d been compelled to go in search of his drafting tools and sketch a design idea for a house. Smoothing out the paper, he looked at the bare bones of his idea. He’d missed this process, and he hated to admit it. First, the clarity of a picture in his mind, then the freehand flow of pencil across paper, as that thought transformed into something tangible. Then the next step of computer aided design. Unfortunately, he’d given this all up before he had the chance to see a finished product.
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Thanks to Nan Donahue for sharing one of her manuscripts.
