Page 100 of The Making of Marnie Jones

With the lightest motion, he pushed away from the SUV and closed the space between them.

As she gazed up at him, he gently cupped her chin in both hands. She closed her eyes as his lips grazed hers. This time, the tentativeness disappeared. Opening her mouth, she welcomed the invasion.

Ah, so this is why people enjoy this so much.

Inching closer, she pressed herself against him.

His hands eased into her hair and he deepened the kiss.

His movements were slow and gentle, but she wanted more. More of this magic. More of this intensity. Just more.

Her body grew languid as she melted into his embrace. He was a good kisser and, needing to deepen the connection, she raised her hands to encircle his neck. Instinctively, she pressed her body against his. He was strong, his grip on her secure, but not in a scary way.

He eased his hand down her side, then rested it at the small of her back, bringing their bodies into alignment.

Breasts tingling, she laced her fingers behind his neck, bringing him closer.

When his erection grew against her belly, she didn’t panic as she’d anticipated. Instead, a frisson of thrill snaked down her spine. She was responsible for this, and his arousal was proof of his attraction to her. Of course, he might be doing this for a lark, but she didn't believe that. She was way more hassle than she was worth.

Just like that, a bucket of cold water upended over her head. He was being solicitous and considerate, but could she ever give him more than kisses?

He eased his lips from hers. “You're doing it again.” A quiet murmur.

“What?”

“Overthinking it. Try to give in to the sensation rather than focusing on the cerebral aspect.”

Abruptly, she pushed him away. One of her arms wrapped around her waist while she brought her other hand to her lips. Again, there was an odd prickling sensation at the back of her eyes. Was she about to cry? Surely not.

Marnie Jones never cried.

When he advanced, she retreated. He held up his arms entreating her to step back into the comfort and safety she found only moments ago in that embrace.

“I can't, Jake. I just can't.”

“Tell me what I can do.”

“There's nothing to do, don't you see?” She gestured in frustration. “I'm not capable of doing what you want.”

His eyes flashed—like a cat’s in the dark. “You don't know what I want.”

“You're a man.” Harsh. Defiant. “There's only one thing they have on their minds.”

“If you really believe that, I guess there's nothing I can do.” He drew in a ragged breath. “Don't you see what’s happening? You’re having to feel things, and that scares you. You can't retreat to your house and lock out the world.”

“Don't tell me what I can and can't do.” She wanted to accuse him of being arrogant, but there was a grain of truth in what he was saying. The urge to erase the last minute and try again to recapture the magic was powerful, but she’d pushed too far, and now reconciliation was impossible.

“You're not only deciding for yourself.” He met her gaze head-on. “You’ll influence Olivia. If you have a negative attitude toward men, what's Olivia going to perceive?”

“That's a low blow.” Was he right? Would her prejudices negatively affect Olivia? Would she ever be able to have a man touch her intimately without being overcome by memories? Lacking a simple answer, she closed her eyes, seeking her place of peace, but it wasn't forthcoming. She opened her eyes.

His face was partly hidden in the light, yet she could still discern most of his features. Someone somber and serious had replaced easygoing Jake.

“I should be going.”

No. If she let him leave, irreparable damage would be done. Yet she couldn't bring herself to say something. Anything. She opened her mouth and closed it again.

He pulled his keys from his pocket. “Tell Olivia I'll call her tomorrow.”

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