Annette Blair (15 page)

The shock of her tears seared, then chilled him as they hit his collarbone. Though Kira made no sound, her throat convulsed, as did her chest. Her fingers closed into fists at his back.

Jason held her close, showing her, as silently as she wept, that she could trust him. Had he ever wanted another’s trust so much?

What was it with this woman? How did Kira Fitzgerald imprint her emotions on his soul, and why did he feel privileged to receive them?

He kissed her brow, her eyes, afraid and awed by the whole mystical experience.

KIRA
wanted to climb inside Jason’s skin, as if she would be safe and secure there in a way she could be in no other place, not even the rabbit hole.

Instead, she held herself together.

When the pain began to subside, she was shocked to discover that she also wanted to straddle him and let him make the pain go away. She wanted to know she was desirable, lovable.

She wanted . . . the oblivion of sexual fulfillment.

She
wanted
her first, real honest-to-goddess orgasm, and she was pretty damned sure Jason Pickering Goddard was the man who could give it to her.

Her boss. No, he wasn’t her boss in the rabbit hole.

He was, however, still a jock.

As good as she felt in his arms, nobody knew better than she did that Jason was a player like Charlie, a care-for-nobody-but-himself kind of guy who’d publicly screwed his
way through half the Free World. Hell, he was
better
at it than Charlie. He was so good, she fell for it, despite her hard lessons.

Unlike Farm Team Charlie, however, Jason was first string, top of the game, with everything he could ever want, every woman he could ever want, and no reason to be faithful to one.

That alone should make her run, and fast, in the opposite direction. So why was she clinging so hard? And why was it so difficult to let go?

Kira moved from Jason’s protective embrace, his silver eyes piercing, predatory, his arms not letting her go as easily as she’d wish. Then she discovered that she also needed to move from his lap—not sure when she’d landed there.

She sat back in her own corner of the sofa, wiped her eyes, curled her feet under her, and took a sip of her tomato juice. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That was unforgivable.”

“No,” he said, standing, his ice bags hitting the floor as he unconsciously wrapped her memory quilt around himself like a shield. She knew it, if he didn’t.

“It was completely forgivable,” he said. “Thank you for the TLC, the great sandwiches, and the peek into your rabbit hole. I think I’ll be able to sleep now.” He moved awkwardly toward the door, his antiwolf toga bringing hearthside snuggling and sweet slow sex to mind, despite her need to stay the hell away.

He looked down at the direction of her gaze and saw that he was still wearing her quilt. “I think some of my great grandmother’s quilts are around here somewhere. You’d like them. Can I borrow this until tomorrow? I’m feeling a chill from the ice packs.”

“Keep it. I have plenty.”

He looked uncertain again, as if he might step back into the rabbit hole, then he scooted into the kitchen, a toad once more, seeking fast freedom from the dangers of the warren.

“Night,” she said.

“See you at work,” he said.

She watched him shut the door between them, leaving one of them in, and one out, though she didn’t know which was which. She saw the light around her door go dark, and still she sat there stunned.

If she didn’t know better, she’d worry she chased him away, that she’d scared the bejeebers out of the Big Bad Ice Wolf . . . no, the slimy little toad. He was definitely back on that lily pad.

She guessed they weren’t riding in to work together anymore because he said he’d see her there.

“Well, fine,” she said, picking up her remote. “Fine. That’s what you get, Fitzgerald, for revealing yourself to a male of the jock species. Idiots. All of them. Scared of emotion, of commitment.” Like her, she thought.

To hell with it, then.

She spent the rest of the evening punishing herself by watching the highly publicized
Best Kisser in America
series, one segment after the other, the entire set of DVDs courtesy of Bessie.

No wonder Jason had won. It certainly looked as if his kisses were as amazing as the sex dolls he kissed claimed they were. The girls named the kisses, and rated them and their instigators, like in the Olympics. A nibbling kiss, a romantic kiss, a trying-too-hard kiss, a wet kiss—always a low rating—a shooting-star kiss, a looking-for-sex kiss, an out-of-the-ballpark kiss, a sincere kiss.

Watching him on the show was like watching a disaster take place; she knew she should turn away, but she couldn’t bring herself to hit the Off button on the remote. She was both repulsed and mesmerized, though it was killing her watching Jason kissing all those women when she wanted so badly for him to kiss her.

Past tense. Had wanted. Screw him.

If only she didn’t want—Shit. Why
did
she want him so much? Why him, of all men? Why did she keep choosing the wrong men? Did she do it on purpose?

“Screw commitment!” she said, tossing a butterfly pillow at the TV. “Why can’t I just find a man who can give me a freaking orgasm?”

Kira sat up. Maybe that was it. She’d always thought sex meant commitment. Maybe
she
was ready for sex without commitment. She grinned. Okay, so she was no different from Charlie or Jason. But that was good, right? Safe.

She thought about the vast world of possibilities that had just opened up to her. Sex without commitment. “Yes!” Good sex, no hang-ups, no hurt. Wouldn’t that be liberating?

What a hoot. What a temptation.

Kira sat back and rewound a particularly great kiss to watch Jason in action again, and she smiled.

This time she might get into the game to have some fun. She could play as hard as the jock—no strings, no emotions, no fouls, no penalties . . . no pain. Talk about a turn-on.

Sex for sport. How kinky was that?

Kira chuckled and wondered what Jason would think of her idea, providing she ever got up the courage to . . . propose it.

She wondered what he’d do if she went into his room now and told him she wanted hot, no-strings sex.

She laughed as she imagined the look on his face.

Except tonight she’d probably hurt him, he was so sore, and it had been so long for her, so she turned off her lights and went to bed to sleep and dream of one man’s world-class kisses.

She didn’t see him again for the entire weekend and she wondered if he was avoiding her the way she was avoiding him. Since she hadn’t gone down to Bessie’s to eat once, she’d never know.

On Monday morning it was raining when she got to the office and her feet were soaked. She supposed she should give up on the sandals for the season, but the more Jason hounded her about them, the longer she’d wear them.

He came into her office, his expression thunderous, and
her dream of his great kisses and no-strings sex disappeared like so much vapor.

“Your feet are wet,” he said.

“Thank you for stating the obvious.” She wiggled her toes, admiring her barely there peach nail polish. “They’re cold, too.”

“Serves you right for wearing straps instead of shoes. The suit’s nice,” he said. “Too bad it’s black.”

“Black is a professional color. It’s also slimming. And classic. Black is always in style.”

“And perfect for a witch.”

“Right.” Kira slipped her wand from her pocket and toyed with the tip, stroking it the way she’d like to stroke Harvey. “Don’t forget it.”

Jason quirked his brow at her gauntlet as if he were trying to subdue his curiosity. “Do you keep any socks in that special events dressing room closet of yours?” he asked.

“No, but I have an old pair of slippers that got brought over in a box of Halloween decorations.”

“Go dry your feet and put them on. I’ve just looked at our schedule, and frankly, we don’t have time for you to be sick. When you’re ready, come into my office; I want to go over the details of our upcoming events.”

“Good idea.” Kira headed for her bathroom and turned at the door. “Thank you. Nice prune by the way.”

He touched the lump on his temple and winced. “I liked you better in turquoise.”

She put a finger to her lips and shook her head. “Rabbit hole. Shh.”

Jason shook his head and went back into his office.

Ten minutes later Kira felt pretty stupid. Nevertheless, her feet were warm, and that’s what counted. She picked up her special events notes, her wand, her cola, and went into Jason’s office.

He was staring up at the portrait over his mantel when she did, and he came around to sit across from her on the matching sofa.

When he saw her crossed ankles, he barked a laugh.

“What?” she asked in all innocence. “Oh, these?” She turned an ankle as if she were showing off the most delicate of glass slippers, instead of a pair of playful witch-face slippers, complete with nose warts and pointy hats. “Don’t you like them?”

“They’re you,” he said.

“Thank you, dahling.”

“They’re more you than the black suit.”

She stiffened. “Don’t go there.”

“Where’s your wand?”

She took it from her pocket and placed it on the coffee table between them.

Jason reached for it.

“Touch it,” Kira said, “and Harvey’s a cocktail frank.”

JASON
froze, looked sharply up at her, left her wand alone, and placed his reaching hand in his pocket.

“Smart move,” Kira said. “Hey, Bessie,” she added as Jason’s grandmother came in. Kira patted the space beside her. “Sit. Want some coffee or cola? We were just about to discuss our upcoming events.”

Bessie took off her cape and sat, which suited Kira fine. “Something to drink?” she asked, rising.

“No, sit, dear, oh—” Bessie saw the witch slippers, and her laughter filled the office.

Jason’s grin was incredible. Now Kira knew how he looked at someone he loved. Wow. If she’d thought he was handsome before, she’d been wrong. The love in that man’s eyes made him drop-dead gorgeous.

He’d been right; he didn’t care that his parents had all but abandoned him. Bessie had done a fine job raising him, and she’d given him all the love he needed.

Bessie wiped away her tears of laughter, chuckled a couple more times, whenever she looked down, then cleared
her throat and became chairman of the board again. “Special events,” she said, a last chuckle escaping. “What’s on the agenda?”

“Actually,” Kira said, “I was about to ask Jason how many of his famous buddies he’s gotten to volunteer for the celebrity bachelor auction. We need to set a date and location so I can order the invitations.”

Jason growled, not quite beneath his breath.

“Jason?” Bessie said. “Do you have any prospects for the auction?”

“No,” he said, uncrossing his legs and sitting forward, “because I was hoping you’d forget that ridiculous scheme, which I believe you might have without this cauldron-stirring witch beside you.”

“Maybe I should let you two talk,” Kira said, going into her office and shutting the door.

“That woman can be a real pain,” Jason said.

His grandmother grinned. “She is cute, isn’t she?”

“I didn’t say she was cute, I . . . never mind. I’ll give hockey lessons to the kids, Gram, but please don’t let that witch auction me off. You don’t know what it’s like to be treated like a piece of meat. I’m telling you that reality show really put a sour taste in my mouth for some of the things I used to enjoy a great deal.”

“You mean it helped you grow up? Glory be.”

Jason shook his head, because dealing with his grandmother could be such a lost cause. “Sometimes I don’t know which of you is worse,” he said. “But at the moment, the witch is in first place.”

“Is she the one who gave you that bruise, dear?”

Jason touched his brow. “All but. I got it at hockey practice yesterday. I have bruises that would make you cry.” He stooped down in front of her. “Feel the lump on the back of my head; it’s twice as big,” he said, turning so she could. “Feel. I smacked it and every other part of me on that ice yesterday.”

His grandmother found the lump in his hair and made
some cooing noises. He turned, expecting sympathy, and she dutifully patted his cheek and shook her head as if the bump was a crying shame. “I hope you heal fast,” she said. “You have hockey practice again in a couple of days.”

Jason regarded her with disgust. “You’re all heart, Bessie Hazard.”

“Call Kira back in, will you?” his grandmother asked. “I want to talk to you both.”

Jason rose and hit the buzzer. “You can come back in now, Mizz Fitzgerald.”

Jason noted that Kira tried to act dignified when she returned, but with her eyes filled with merriment, and her feet covered in green wart-nosed witches, she failed.

“Sit, dear,” his grandmother said. “We’ve come to a decision about the auction. Jason is still going to get some of his famous friends to volunteer to be auctioned off,” she said, taking Jason’s breath away, “but we’re going to let
him
off the hook.”