Forged of Steele Bundle (Books 1-4) - Brenda Jackson [146]
“Or concentration, so please step back, Jocelyn. Your perfume is getting to me.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“In what way?”
His eyes flashed to hers. “I don’t think you really want to know.”
Jocelyn raised an arched brow. Did she or didn’t she? She was pulled out of her thoughts by his muttered curse. He hadn’t used his flippers fast enough and it was now her turn.
“Move over Steele. Time for me to recoup.”
Deciding not to crowd her, Bas took the chair a few feet away and watched her in action. He liked seeing the way her eyes sparkled with the feel of victory and the way she licked her lips each time she deployed a ball. Then there was that simple turn of her head, the smile that tilted her lips whenever she hit a shot that made the machine flash.
And last but definitely not least was the way she leaned her body just so to the machine, breasts perked, hips aligned at an angle that had heat drumming through him. Even with her trying to best him at this game, he detected a gracefulness in the ease in which she was attempting to do so. The woman had style, something he noted even when she was holding a hammer, saw or a drill.
She had taste. And she tasted good.
He rubbed a hand over his face wishing he hadn’t thought about her taste.
When the machine flashed that the game was over, he barely heard her unladylike curse, which let him know he had won this go-round.
“Want to do another game?”
He smiled. “No, we agreed on five and I won four of the five, which means I’m on top of you this time.”
Although Jocelyn knew what he meant by those words, her mind suddenly conjured up something else and heat clawed viciously at the lower part of her stomach. She could just imagine him naked and on top of her beneath silken sheets. “Okay, so now I want a rematch,” she said, needing to get her mind back on track and wondering how she had allowed it to veer into such an outlandish fantasy in the first place.
“I’ll think about it.”
Her eyes flamed. “What do you mean you’ll think about it?”
He stood and slowly walked in front of her. “Just what I said.” He smiled. “Now who’s the sore loser?”
“I’m not a sore loser,” she denied.
“Then why are you mad?”
“I’m not mad.”
“If not, you’re awfully close,” he said in a husky tone.
He reached out and took her hand in his, letting his fingers run across her wrist to feel her pulse. “Those are anger beats.”
“They’re not,” she said, refusing to let the feel of his finger on her wrist unnerve her, stoke a desire she didn’t want to acknowledge.
“And why are your eyes getting so dark if you aren’t mad?” he asked in an even deeper tone of voice.
“They aren’t getting dark.”
“Yes, they are and getting even darker as we speak.” The hand that wasn’t stroking her wrist reached up and framed her face. “And why are your lips trembling if you aren’t mad?”
She frowned. “You’re seeing things.”
He leaned in a little closer and let a single fingertip trace a path down to the base of her throat. “No, Jocelyn. I’m feeling things and I think it’s time you felt them, too.”
Suddenly, the air around them seemed to thicken as he leaned closer and lowered his mouth to hers. The moment their lips touched, lust of an intensity Jocelyn had never known flamed to life, and everything inside her, every cell, every pore, quivered with totally unique and unexpected pleasure.
When his tongue plundered her mouth, she felt her knees slipping and her nipples tingling against her blouse. Just as before, his tongue was in control, taking, giving and sharing. It was the most conducive pleasure mechanism she had ever felt, and with each and every stroke it was hitting its mark. She was beginning to feel drunk, intoxicated, just plain loose. He smelled good. The scent of him was going straight to her head and the taste of him was getting absorbed in areas she’d rather not think about. This kiss