Page 100 of Five Alarm Kiss

Jake cursed. “Gotta go. I’ll call you later.”

“Please be careful.”

“Always. And Princess?”

“Yes?”

“Keep those hands above the waist, babe.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jake stood in front of the door to Laurel’s apartment. She’d asked him to go with her to her parents’ fundraiser. That’d been a surprise… her asking him out. He could tell it’d taken a lot for her to work up the courage to do it. Like he’d ever say no. She could ask him almost anything, and he’d never refuse her.

He smiled, remembering the way she’d stumbled over her words on the phone. The audible inhalation of breath as she’d held it and waited for his answer. The forceable exhale of relief when he’d said yes. The overall awe he’d experienced at having been the reason she’d stepped outside of her comfort zone in the first place. He’d never felt special because of something a woman did, but that simple act had made him feel like a fucking king.

Jake rolled his shoulders, adjusting his suit jacket. He’d never been one for dressing up. Granted, he owned a suit, but rarely had an occasion to wear it. Not that he minded. He could dress up with the best of them, but give him a pair of jeans and a T-shirt any day. Hell, if he had his way, he’d probably wear jeans to his own wedding. Wonder how Laurel would feel about that?

Fuck, where the hell did that thought come from?

No doubt about it, he was in deep with this girl. And, oddly, he was surprisingly okay with that.

Him. The guy who never got close. The ultimate bachelor who refused to cross the line toward commitment. Yet here he was, wearing a suit and tie for a woman, not breaking out in hives at the thought of a future with her.

Well, shit.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, Jake rapped on the door. When Laurel opened it a moment later, he almost had a heart attack.

Her hair was pulled up and smoothed back from her face, emphasizing her cheekbones. Her full, pouty lips were stained blood red in drastic contrast to her flawless ivory skin. When he lowered his gaze, his knees almost hit the ground. She was wearing a dress crafted to kill. The same blood red color as her lips, it hugged her curves so tightly, he swore it must’ve been sprayed on. If someone had described it to him, he wouldn’t have imagined anything special. Sleeveless with wide straps and a hem that ended right above her knees. But the fit, and the way she looked, made it lethal. His mouth went dry as talc. It was a fucking assassin dress.

“You…”

God, she was heartbreakingly beautiful.

His eyes played down her curves once more. “You…”

Fuck! Why can’t I talk?

She touched her dress. “Is it bad?”

His gaze collided with hers. “What?”

“Should I change?”

She was anxious about how she looked when every other woman in the world paled in comparison?

“Don’t you dare,” he ground out. “You… you’re…”

Jesus! Fucking speak already!

“Perfection,” he said finally. “You’re utter perfection.”

“Really?” The worried wrinkle between her brows eased. “You really think so?”

If she had been any other woman, he would’ve thought she was fishing for a compliment, but not Laurel. “You want me to take you into that bedroom and show you how much I think so?”

Despite the fact her cheeks brightened, her eyes glimmered with awareness. “I don’t think we have time for that.”

“No,” he agreed, closing the distance between them to caress her cheek. He let his fingers trail the length of her neck before continuing down between the valley of her breasts. “We definitely don’t have time for all the things I want to do to you.”

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