Page 9 of Fairy Tale Lies
“Yeah, it’s been nice.” He sounded shocked.
Greta opened her mouth, licking her lips, planning to tease him. His gaze zeroed in on her mouth, making her playfulness evaporate. Uncrossing his feet, he shifted closer.
She didn’t step back, and he advanced. Jacob’s gaze jumped to her eyes then back to her mouth, teeth capturing his beautiful full bottom lip briefly before letting go.
She wanted to lick the moisture left behind.
Dragging her gaze back to his eyes, she found desire swirling within them. He ran a thumb gently along her lips before leaning close enough that his breaths mingled with hers.
He was going to kiss her, and she wanted it. Might have even whispered, “please.”
For once in her life, she didn’t care about rules and consequences. Her only concern was discovering the taste and feel of his mouth on hers.
“Order ready for Greta and Jacob!”
Greta jerked back. The teen behind the counter was holding their two white paper bags.
Jacob exhaled. The warmth of his breath brushed against her neck. She glanced back at him and caught desire, and perhaps regret, flash across his face.
“I’ll get them,” he murmured, then left to retrieve their food.
Greta ran a shaky hand through her windblown hair then down her sides. She hoped organizing her outward appearance would slow her racing heart and runaway urges.
To her relief, self-discipline and the respite of space from him managed to lock up some of her desire. By the time Jacob returned with their lunches, she was more composed.
Without a word, they headed out under the ever-darkening spring sky, neither acknowledging the almost-kiss. Thunder rumbled, and the wind shoved at their backs, pushing them down the sidewalk at a brisk pace. The storm would hit. The only question was when it would strike and how much damage it would leave behind.
The rain held off until they were inside her mother’s gardens, then the skies opened. Greta took Jacob’s hand and tugged him to the nearby guesthouse. They reached the front door as an earsplitting clap of thunder crashed around them, followed by a bolt of lightning that lit up the murky afternoon.
She flipped open the keypad, typing in the six-digit code. Seconds later, it flashed green, and she exhaled with relief. Thank goodness, the password hadn’t changed. Twisting the knob, she shoved open the door, pulling Jacob inside with her.
He booted the door shut, not letting go of her hand. He cocked a questioning brow and scanned the house. Greta followed his gaze, taking in the calm, muted tones of the spacious living room. She stopped at the beautiful Alphonse Mucha lithograph hanging above the couch. It was her favorite. She loved its meandering lines and vibrant colors, but what spoke to her was the way the woman appeared serene and confident. Would she ever be like that, or was it unattainable, merely an artistic illusion?
Jacob cleared his throat. “Whose place is this? We’re on your property, right?”
She glanced at him and nodded. He was eyeing the hallway that lead to the three bedrooms.
Rooms with large beds and soft sheets.
The image of Jacob sprawled naked on one of the beds flashed through her mind. Miles of tawny skin against crisp, white sheets. Delectable.
She shook her head, trying to clear away her sinful visions, and took a deep breath. That was a mistake. The action caused her to inhale his scent of rain, cedar, and man.
She cleared her throat. “Yes. It’s the guesthouse. We can eat here and wait out the storm.”
“Guesthouse. Of course it is.” He let go of her hand and set their bags of food on a small table next to the door before bending to remove his damp boots.
The absence of his hand left her cold. She shoved the crazy reaction aside and followed his lead. Leaning over, she tugged on the clasp of her damp sandals, causing her other wet foot to slip from under her.
She fell into Jacob.Hard
He let out a startled grunt and grabbed her waist, losing his own footing and slamming into the wall, stopping them both from landing in a pile on the wet tile floor. They froze for interminable seconds before she noticed her hands were clutching his tantalizing biceps, and other parts of her were pressed firmly against him. Firm muscle, mixing with his mouthwatering scent was an erotic fantasy come true.
Nonetheless, she forced herself to shift from his hold. She needed to before she did something embarrassing, say, like licking his exposed neck.
“Sorry. It appears my years of ballet haven’t helped much. I’m probably the least graceful person you’ll ever meet.” She hoped her voice didn’t betray how much she liked being against him.
“I don’t mind. Fall on me anytime.” His tone was light, but his eyes were heavy and full of hunger.
