Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [38]
With a groan of agony, he surveyed the tiny strip of metallic fabric that followed the line of her graceful spine down to the thong and then her firm round buttocks. How was a man to stay sane, let alone carry on an intelligent conversation?
“You’re sure you’re fine?” he asked again.
Her eyes roved over his face in a ghostly caress. He felt it as if it were a physical touch. His body jerked, painfully.
“Want me to do a handstand to prove it?” She stuck out her tongue at him playfully.
“Oh, brother.” He rolled his eyes, envisioning her doing handstands in that bathing suit. “In that case . . .”
Before she anticipated his actions, he’d flipped the mattress sideways, just for the thrill of catching her. His right arm was under her thighs and his left across her back; Asha felt nude in his embrace. The idea slammed into his body with a wall of fire. It wouldn’t surprise him if the water in the pool around him started to boil.
“Someone shoot me—please,” he muttered with a laugh.
Her gaze fixed on his chest, then slowly traveled up his neck, his jaw, mouth and finally met his stare. He’d never felt a woman’s eyes move over him the way Asha’s did: lasers burning into his skin. His heart pounded against his ribs to the point of bruising. Just remembering to breathe was an effort.
As with most things in his life, he usually was willing to hang back and study a woman from all angles. Asha made him want to forget his staid nature, pushed him to do something rash such as grab her by the hair and drag her off to his lair—hmm, bungalow—and make mad passionate love to her. It was unsettling, these desires, these needs that Asha provoked in him. That lush small mouth opened slightly, as if she could almost taste his kiss. He noticed her breathing was as erratic as his. It caused her breasts to rise and fall in slight jerks. Closing his eyes, he fought for control. Opening his lids, he looked into the fathomless eyes he could drown in.
“You do know where we’re headed, don’t you, Asha?”
She stared at him with a doe-in-the-headlights expression, shook her head yes, then no. He had the feeling she was barely aware of what she did. So was he.
It was that simple: One door closed in his mind and another opened. Staring into those amber eyes with a dark grey circle around the iris, Jago accepted Fate. He’d looked into the eyes of many women, yet somehow as he gazed into Asha’s he couldn’t recall any of them.
Life suddenly became very complicated.
He doubted she was anywhere near ready to trust him enough to let him close. He scared her. While part of him rose to that power, reveled in her female skittishness because it bespoke how strongly their chemistry worked on an animalistic level, it meant he’d have to bide his time, earn her trust. Not an easy prospect when the craving to claim her burned in him, to brand her as his, a need as elemental, as vital as drawing his next breath.
Romance was complex enough, but when you tossed in the fact he was here flying a false flag as part of Desmond’s schemes, any sort of a relationship would be built on extremely treacherous ground. How could he say trust me when Asha didn’t even know his real name? She knew he was connected to Trident Ventures’ attempt to buy the horse farm. Clearly she was devoted to her brother, and there was little doubt Liam Montgomerie wanted to hold on to that farm at all costs. Once she understood the full scope of Mershan International’s plans, Jago had a feeling the fur would fly.
Tamping down on the flickers of rising dread, he sighed and put her on her feet. Double damn. If he were Trev he’d go after her, no holds barred, and allow the chips to fall where they may. This wanting of Asha went bone deep. Not just the physical craving, it was everything