Wrong Man, Right Kiss (8 page)

Her hair was held loosely by a shimmering crystal butterfly clasp, with a few soft tendrils escaping along her temples. She wasn’t used to pulling her hair back, but it seemed to emphasize her features this way. Her round cheekbones, her plump lips.

Her insecurities flickered to the forefront as she asked the bellhop to hold her canvases and paints below until she rang for them. He kept staring at her as if he’d never seen her before, and she wanted to run back home and put on a boho skirt, let her hair down and grab a huge pair of earrings.

But no. This was not the time to feel insecure.

She would show Julian sexy and confident if it killed her.

She crossed the marble lobby with purpose, aware of her hips swaying, the material clinging to her skin. Garrett was going to like what she was wearing; if he’d liked the wench costume, then he would love this one for sure. And if Julian didn’t like it? Her stomach did a twist inside her, and she wondered what that meant. Hopefully it meant
screw him.

She wasn’t wearing this for him.
At all.

Taking in a deep breath, she waved at the receptionist and pushed the elevator’s up button.

All right. Here goes nothing….

* * *

The elevator chimed, and Julian glanced up from the bar and almost dropped the bottle of wine he’d been examining. It was a Penfolds Grange Hermitage 1951—so rare and prized, only twenty bottles were left in the entire world, with the last having sold at auction for almost fifty thousand dollars.

But who cared about that now?

Because an exotic-looking creature resembling Molly had just stepped off the elevator, and something that felt like a paddle struck him in the chest, the gut and right between his straining eyeballs.

Holy mama.

He’d though this morning had been tough, watching that redheaded little package prance around in an old T-shirt of his with those curvy bare legs begging to be stroked.

And now…

He was certain that never in his life, after dating models, actresses and even a pampered princess, had he been as fired up by the sight of a woman as he was this instant, watching Molly Devaney and her pinup body walk toward him in that minuscule black dress.

She looked like a sexpot. A sex goddess. A sex
bomb.
Awakening every Neanderthal instinct inside of him.

Julian could hardly take her all in with one long sweep of his eyes, he was so dumbstruck.

Her titian hair was drawn back into some sort of careless knot, but several soft wisps escaped to frame her lovely face, the overall look enhancing the delicacy of her doll-like features. Her lovely, heart-shaped lips shone with a peach-colored gloss, and whatever silver-gray shade of eye shadow she’d worn made her eyes look even rounder and bluer than usual. Her earrings were small pearly dots, unlike her usual flashy chandelier style, and they made her look so elegant he wanted to fly her to Monaco on his jet right now and seat her next to him at a baccarat table.

Then the dress. Ahh, the dress. The satiny black fabric fell from her nape to drape over a pair of beautiful round breasts he’d kill to taste while the plunging neckline revealed inches and inches of smooth porcelain skin in the cleavage between. The skirt was barely a couple of inches long, and it hugged her rounded hips like Lycra. Suddenly he wanted to be that skirt. That dress. That cloth that molded to her and felt her and hugged her and practically rode those curves all over the place.

Molly had always been the funniest baby, the happiest baby he’d ever seen in his life. She cackled all the time. Especially with him. Now she was entirely, 100 percent, take-me-serious woman. And Julian was primed to stop mucking around with her and ready to do some serious, serious things with her. Aww,
crap!

This was going to be a long night.

Schooling his expression, he set the wine bottle down and noticed his hand wasn’t so steady. Not while his heart was doing vaults and backflips. “Is something wrong with your usual clothes, Molls?” He was amazed his voice made it past his dry throat.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” She planted her hands on her hips, thrusting her chin up in a silent dare. “They’re not sophisticated and sexy, according to you.”

He cocked a brow and remained silent, mentally deliberating what in the world to do now. A part of him wanted to escort this impostor out the door and demand to know where his red-haired, paint-streaked imp was. And another part was just thinking of how good this woman would look in his bedroom. Splayed open on his bed…where he would give her a goddamned hickey that would sting like hell tomorrow…

Okay, no.

No.

He was not doing any of that.

Not so soon and not like this.

But hell, had she actually picked this dress for
Garrett?

His jaw locked in wordless jealousy, his eyes so starved they felt like Ping-Pong balls as they went from her prominent cleavage to her narrow waist to her sexy stilettos and back to the enticing swell of her breasts and to her slim, sleek arms. A torch blazed inside his chest and the heat quickly spread to every corner of his tense body. “You call that sophisticated and sexy?” he asked gruffly.

Yeah. It was definitely sophisticated and it was so damned sexy his eyes were about to burst. But it was also practically nonexistent. And he told her so.

She stuck her little pink tongue out at him. “Eat your heart out, Jules. I look good.”

He was not even going to think of all the places he wanted to feel that little tongue. Really. “
Good
is not the word I’d use.”

“All right. I look amazing,” Molly countered.

“Says who? You?”

“Come on, I can see you struggling, Jules. Be the better man and admit it,” Molly teased, clearly enjoying this.

“I’m the only man here, Molls, and I’d gladly admit it if I wasn’t so busy looking for the rest of the dress. So? Where’s the rest of the goddamned dress?”

Her smile wavered. “You don’t like it? Fine. I’m not wearing this to impress you.” With a stiff shrug, she breezed past him to her bedroom, where she began shoving her things into a small clutch purse.

Julian followed her to the threshold of her room and watched her buttocks wiggle as she bent over. His mouth watered. She looked so sweet and so delicious he was salivating like a dog.

He’d had mile-long legs wrapped around his body, centerfold lips around his privates and breasts the size of melons in his hands. And he had never, ever, been so turned on.

He wanted Molly so bad he’d die for it.

He wanted to cup her breasts and suckle her until his jaw ached. He wanted to unpin her hair and watch as every fiery-red strand fell to caress the lovely curve of her nape and shoulders. He wanted to take a plunge into her cleavage and lick his way downward until he found the very center of her being—and he wanted to stay there, all night, drinking and feasting and adoring every prized and special inch of her.

He knew this girl like he knew himself. And he still wanted to know her
more.

He knew he only had Lucky Charms for breakfast when she did, so he could eat her marshmallows. He knew she had her cereal with almond milk. He knew when she got painting fever she would disappear into her studio for months and not care whether the world kept spinning or fell apart, except for taking a moment each day to see him and Kate. He knew she’d secretly donated the first million she’d made to an orphanage and that when she was younger she’d watched
The Princess Bride
about twenty times, rewinding and replaying the part when the hero tells the princess, “As you wish,” rather than, “I love you.”

He knew that she wanted his praise tonight.

He had seen the uncertainty underneath the confidence in those striking blue eyes of hers, could see the eager rise and fall of her pretty breasts.

More than anything, he wanted to shower her with the praise she wanted. He wanted to take off that slinky black dress with his teeth so she knew how badly he craved her. Then he wanted to take his teeth from her tiny toes and drag them up her shapely ankles, her firm calves, her slim beautiful thighs, and roam his hands up her tiny waist and her beautiful breasts while he buried his lips between her legs and drowned in the intoxicating taste of her. He wanted to take her to heaven, because that was the place where angels live, and he wanted her to ask something of him—anything—so that he could look into her eyes and tell her, “As you wish.”

But he did none of that.

Could not do it. Not yet.

Because she’d worn this dress tonight for another man. And the thought of that alone made him feel like kicking a kitten.

“I can feel your eyes on my back, Jules.” Molly broke into his thoughts, probably sensing his overwhelming testosterone encircling her.

He leaned on the door frame with his wide shoulders, still struggling to process this new feeling of complete and utter jealousy. “You’re showing off so much skin I’m concerned you’re contracting pneumonia as you stand there,” he said.

She swung around in surprise. Her mouth hung open, and then she tossed her head back and laughed. “Really? You’re concerned about my health? Or about your ego and the fact that you can’t even admit to me for one night in my life that I don’t look like I came out of a fistfight and a blender?”

His fingers curled into his palms and his lips clamped shut. So…she thought he’d insulted her?

“If you don’t want to be mauled the entire evening, I suggest you at least find a sweater,” he instructed. He was trying to sound friendly. Like a good friend. A best friend would make such a suggestion, wouldn’t he?

“It’s a hundred degrees outside. Why would I need a sweater?”

He stared down pointedly at her breasts—yes, so that she noticed—then back up at her until she squirmed under his stare. “Need I remind you you’re my lover for the time being? You’re like a property of mine and I won’t have any of those bastards…staring at your…your
assets.
”

“I’m like five feet tall and almost invisible, Jules. Nobody’s going to stare except, hopefully, Garrett. And then he’ll propose and we’ll have babies together.”

Over my dead, rotting body, you will!

He was a hair from hyperventilating by now. “I didn’t sign up to play the part of the freaking fool, Molls. What am I supposed to do while you hold court at the family gathering? You’re supposed to be
my
girl!”

Her eyes sparkled in mirth, because she’d probably never seen him worked up to a lather before. “Well, at least you can give your big ‘guns’ a good workout as you fend off my unwanted suitors, huh.”

He stalked over and grabbed her shoulders, not amused and very freaking jealous about all this. “Damned right I will, and you know why?”

“Enlighten me.”

“All the guys in attendance, from Landon’s friends to business associates, are going to swarm you like a pack of starving beasts. They always have, and you don’t even notice. You’re so damned different, Molly…” She had no idea, no idea what she did to him or anyone else. She was not only blind to him, she was blind to all men. The looks she received while she was staring off into space, thinking of a painting, were never even noticed.

Had she forgotten all the invitations she’d had to prom? She hadn’t even attended, but she goddamned well had been asked.

“You really think I’m different, Jules? You know, maybe that’s because of my special relationship with my Oster!”

He laughed and wondered when the hell he would hear the last of that.
Never,
he thought, then growled in frustration and clenched her shoulders. “You don’t need to change one whit about you to catch a man. If you need to change your identity to make him see something great about you, then Garrett doesn’t deserve you. None of those bastards do.”

Something he said struck a chord. Molly stopped fiddling with the bag and clutched it firmly to her abdomen. She surveyed him in curious speculation and tilted her head a notch, those sky-blue eyes wide with innocent expectation.

“So basically,” she said, her lips lifting at the corners, those same lips he wanted to kiss more than anything until they were red and swollen and only his. “So what you’re saying is—I
do
look good?”

Julian stood ramrod stiff as he struggled to reply, not wanting her to be seen like this by anyone. Anyone. But he owed her the truth and he had to shove his jealousy aside if it killed him.

And it was. Killing him.

Looking at her like this. Killing him.

Wanting her and having to wait.
Killing him.

He twirled his finger in the air and thickly commanded, “Give a little spin for me.”

She spun, slowly. Yep, killing him. Her butt was so perky and round he could already feel it in his hands. Needing to do something—touch her, anywhere—he reached out to tuck a loose tendril of red hair behind her ear, then his lips curled ever so slightly on one side as he inclined his head just a fraction, and said in a gruff voice, “Yeah, baby. You look good.” And he gave that rump a little playful pat because he’d been aching to. “Too damned good.”

Five

“S
o do you think Garrett will like my dress, too?”