Jordan blinked. “What?”
“That’s what he said when I broke up with him.”
“He’s a fuckin’ liar, Weiss. I hope you didn’t believe that shit.”
I shrugged, staring into the fire. I had to admit that I had believed it. But Jordan’s reaction was somewhat encouraging.
He shifted to face me, reaching out a hand. The back of his fingers skimmed along my jaw. The touch sizzled right through me—as it did every time this man touched me. I swallowed. He grasped my chin and turned my face toward his. “If he really thought that, then he’s the dimmest man on the planet. For real. Or maybe he bored you.”
My eyes held fast to his, which appeared darker since most of his face was in shadow now. I licked my lips. His eyes followed the movement and I saw his Adam’s apple bob. But instead of removing his hand, he brushed it along my cheek, pushing a strand of my hair behind my ear. I couldn’t control the shiver that trickled down my spine.
“So…so you didn’t think I was boring?” My voice was barely above a whisper.
Slowly, he shook his head, his eyes never leaving mine. I was enthralled by every move, every gesture. His fingers slid along my jaw again, his thumb caressing my cheek. Every breath in my chest was checked by a band of tension tightening around me, and each inhalation seemed harder to grasp than the last one.
The pad of his thumb smoothed over my bottom lip. The touch was light, slow, deliberate. Torturously erotic. I felt every ridge of that thumbprint smooth over my skin, permanently marking me.
“You were the complete opposite of boring,” he breathed in a voice so quiet I had to strain my ears to hear. His thumb pushed again and I pursed my lips, kissing it.
His eyes darkened, the thumb slipped between my lips and I caught it lightly in my teeth. “It was so not boring that I fight with myself to try to forget.” The tip of my tongue snaked out and molded around his invading thumb. His head moved, his face inches from mine, so close I could not see him clearly. “You don’t fight fair, Weiss.”
My lips closed around him and I sucked. There was a new feeling all over my body—fire on my skin and a cold, cold ache inside. I was an empty bowl, and I needed him to fill me up.
I drew back so I could speak. “Because I don’t want to fight it anymore,” I said.
His lips were on mine in an instant.
He tasted a little like the wine he had downed at the reception, but other than that, he tasted just as he had the night before. His warm lips covered mine, melded with them, our tongues uniting at the same time. His hand hooked around my neck, holding my head to his. He needn’t have bothered. It wasn’t like I was going anywhere.
I wanted this too much.
After minutes of our mouths pressed together, I felt like I had to remind myself to breathe. My eyes fluttered closed and I could barely think of anything but the feel of his lips traveling across my jaw, the scrape of whiskers against my cheek and neck. Now I was breathing too fast and I was too mindless to draw it back under my control.
My lips found the pulse on his sandpapery neck, and I sucked and licked him there. “You’re making this very difficult, Weiss,” he said.
“So are you.”
His mouth traveled down my neck, kissing along the low scoop of my neckline. I shivered. His hand that gripped my upper arm tightened. “I really want to peel you out of this dress.”
My hands laced through his soft hair as he kissed his way toward my cleavage, each touch of his mouth striking me like an arrow clear down to my core. God, the ache was so ferocious now, I was almost whimpering with it.
“I wouldn’t mind at all if you did that.”
“But I can’t—I shouldn’t. You’re the forbidden fruit.” His tongue dipped between my breasts, licking his way up my breastbone. I gasped. “But damned if you don’t taste so fucking good. What I really want to do is strip you naked and spread you out underneath me.”
“Also something I wouldn’t object to.” My voice trembled. The tension inside was building to near epic pressure levels. His mouth and hands were conjuring wicked, sinful spells, entrancing me willingly. He was far too good at this.
And I was forgetting every bit of sense I was born with. He was my boss. My business school recommendation depended on him. If anyone found out this was happening, he could lose his job.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said, as if reading my thoughts. But at the same time, his fingers were dipping below the edge of the back of my dress.
Despite the alert in my brain that we should stop, my hand snaked up to unbutton his shirt. We both seemed to be having the problem of our hands and bodies functioning independently of our brains. I slipped my hand inside his shirt, smoothing across that hard, sculpted chest. He felt so good I could—