Page 10 of What He Wants

Stupid, I know. But most of the men who walked through my door took one look at Jasmine and saw no one else. Why was it different for this man? He wasn’t my type at all. He was too overwhelmingly male with his huge body, bushy beard, and long hair. And when he’d tucked my cross in between my breasts I’d nearly swallowed my tongue. The heat his one finger had generated in me had been enough to start a fire deep inside my core, one that threatened to consume me.

He had beautiful, thick hair, and I’d chopped off three inches so that it fell just below his ears now. Still enough to pull back the way he’d worn it the day I’d met him. It was drying naturally, I suspected that he wasn’t the kind of guy to sit under a blow dryer. The image almost made me smile. I could still feel the heat of his head against my breasts. The material of my tank was damp, and I resisted the urge to glance down to see if my nipples could be seen through it. He, however, hadn’t, and once his eyes narrowed on the front of my shirt, I felt my nipples tingle as they hardened.

It occurred to me suddenly that I was just standing there like a dummy, staring at his grin and noticing how freaking handsome he was. I swallowed and tried to pull myself together. My body may have been quivering all over with awareness, but he didn’t need to know that. Besides, it was crazy to want a stranger like that.

“Ah, you want a shave? You want it all off?”

He seemed to think about it for a minute. “I’ll leave it up to you. Take off as much as you want.”

His response surprised me, but I wasn’t going to argue with him. Suddenly I wanted to see what he looked like without all the facial hair. But I wouldn’t take it all off. No, I’d always liked a jaw covered with a little scruff. It was sexy. I smiled and went to work. The problem was that I needed to get even closer to him. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek, close enough to inhale the scent of man, smoke, and motor oil. It was a masculine smell that tantalized my senses.

I just barely cut off a moan.

I carefully cut his beard, removing the thick bushy part of it with scissors until I was close to the skin. Then I grabbed a bottle of sandalwood pre-shave oil. Research had led me to purchase a bottle of Taylor of Old Bond Street, which had a scent that the few male customers I had raved over. I poured some oil in one palm and rubbed my hands together before putting them against his cheeks. The intimate gesture caused me to still for a moment, and I mistakenly made eye contact with him.

I smiled in the face of his fierce frown, thinking that maybe he was having second thoughts about giving me full rein to cut off as much as I wanted. There was no telling how long he’d had the beard. I forced myself to move, massaging his face thoroughly and slowly to make sure I conditioned the remaining hair and the skin beneath it. It was clear from his tanned skin and the little crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes that he’d spent a lot of time outdoors.

I was relieved when he closed his eyes. It gave me the chance to examine the contours of his strong jaw, his firm lips, and the shape of his chin and cheekbones. The face I’d exposed was ruggedly handsome. Not in a classic, perfect way, but in a rough, strong way that revealed that he lived life hard.

His sudden growl caused me to still. “Does that hurt?” Maybe I was being too rough and he wasn’t as tough as I’d thought he was.

His massive chest rumbled with his snort. “You couldn’t hurt me if you tried,” he joked. “Your hands feel damned good.”

That had been a sound of pleasure?

Oh, my!

I felt myself blush, and went back to massaging. When I felt I’d done enough, I wiped my hands and reached for the hair trimmer. I set it on four and changed the settings as needed. Minutes later, where there had been a bushy beard covering the lower half of his face and neckline, was now covered in an even layer of scruff, a three-day-beard. It made him sexier.

“Almost done,” I said, going to the sink and wetting a clean washcloth.

“No hurry.”

When I returned, his eyes were open. I avoided them at first, gently wiping down his face and neck to remove any loose hairs. God, he looked like a totally different man. Cleaned up, he took my breath away. I had the sudden, unexpected urge to climb up on his lap and straddle him. The thought made my cheeks burn, but didn’t stop me from raising my curious gaze to his. He was watching me closely, and I noticed the look of hunger in his expression. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if he were to let his control slip.

Without warning, he raised his hand. I held my breath, totally mesmerized as his fingers began to gently trace over my cheek, down to the corner of my mouth, and then over my lips. “I’m not going to hurt you, Daisy Mae Flowers.”

I sucked in a breath, unsure of how to respond at first. I pushed Paul to the back of my mind. Not all men were like him. Big and scary didn’t always lead to pain. “Good to know. . .”

“Big John,” he said, guessing at the cause of my hesitation. He seemed fascinated with my mouth, because his gaze remained there. “Say it,” he ordered firmly.

I wet my lips to comply. “Big John.” I knew that was probably his road name, and why wasn’t I pulling away from him? Why was I allowing him to touch me so intimately?

“Yeah, baby,” he said in a low, snarl-like tone. “I like my name on your lips.” He looked deep into my eyes, as if searching for something. “Are you afraid of me, or what’s happening here?”

So, he did feel it too! I was almost relieved, because I’d thought I was losing my freaking mind. I opened my mouth before realizing that I couldn’t acknowledge it, though. I didn’t want to encourage him into thinking that anything was going to happen between us, that we would be acting on the intense, outrageous attraction we felt.

“Nothing is happening,” I said, unable to bring myself to say, ‘between us’. The lie would undoubtedly stick in my throat. I’d been about to back it up by stepping out of his reach, but when I made a move, his hand was suddenly cupping the back of my neck and pulling me toward him. I automatically brought my hands up against his chest and leaned back against his strong hand. “No−” My heart jumped out of rhythm. I was suddenly terrified.

“I have to, baby.” His tone was a low rumble through his chest that sent a shiver of desire down my back. “Just one little kiss, Daisy Mae Flowers.”

Nooooo! But then I was saying yesssss when the smooth taste of his mouth covered mine and I was lost. It immediately turned rough and needy. Big John ground his mouth over mine until I parted my lips and let him inside. Then we were both sounding out our pleasure as our mouths went on the attack in a clash of teeth, tongue, and lips. The taste of him, the passion behind his kiss, overwhelmed my senses, yet I still wanted more.

Pushing against his chest was like trying to move a brick wall. I could feel his defined muscles flex beneath my palms, could feel the vibration of the animal-like sound that was climbing up his torso. I curled my nails into him, the impulsive action seeming to set him off. The next thing I knew, Big John was twisting a hand into my hair and pulling me onto his lap. The chair wasn’t conducive for what he obviously had in mind, and his frustration made itself known.

“Fuck,” he groaned, breathing heavily against my panting mouth. “I forgot where we were.” The hand in my hair loosened slightly, massaging now instead of yanking. His other hand had moved to my ass, squeezing and rubbing one cheek.

It was then that I realized that I was humping against him as if trying to get off, and I knew that I was wet, I could feel it. I ceased moving, praying he hadn’t noticed what I’d been doing, and if he had, that he wouldn’t say anything about it. His expression, though, the sexy half-grin that curved the corner of his mouth up, and the glitter of humor in his eyes, revealed that I hadn’t gotten away with anything. He hadn’t missed a thing.

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