Page 5 of Size Doesn't Matter

Pressing their bodies together in all the best places.

“I’ve never thought of it that way before,” she said, smiling and suddenly breathless, “but you’re right. It does kinda sound that way, doesn’t it?” Then her smile faded, and she dropped her gaze again, pursing her lips as an odd combination of irritation and resignation clouded her pretty face. “And it was newwomen. Plural.”

Jack’s jaw clenched at the reminder of his brother’s thoughtless actions. If Ethan had no intention of spending the night with Sophie, why didn’t he just man the fuck up and tell her? That would have been 100 percent better than brazenly splashing his disregard for her all over social media for everyone to see.

But the look of consternation on Sophie’s face forced Jack to relax, made him want to make her laugh again and forget all about the dumb twat who’d stood her up. “So, a herd of cows, then?”

Her expression softened into something resembling relief, and one corner of her mouth lifted in a rueful smile. “I guess so.”

She tilted her head slightly and stared at him, her lovely eyes considering, skating over his features and studying him in a way most people didn’t dare to. Looked at him as if he was more than Hugh Martin’s youngest son, more than the uncompromising businessman he’d been groomed to be.

More than Ethan Martin’s grim-faced younger brother.

“You’re funny,” she said with a decisive nod, as though she’d made up her mind about him.

Jack laughed at her observation, letting loose a rumbling chuckle he almost didn’t recognise as his. “That’s not something I’m often accused of.”

She cocked one brow and grinned at him. “No?”

He shook his head. “Afraid not. And for the record,” he said, leaning in to whisper in her ear, “I’ve always found the grass is greener where you water it.”

Pulling back to stare at her, he noticed her breathing grow heavy, wanton, stuttering in and out of her lungs as her gaze dropped to his mouth and back again. As she stared at him with those dark, penetrating eyes. “A wise philosophy,” she murmured.

Taking a chance, Jack angled his mouth over hers and leaned closer, loving how her height matched his, how well they fit against each other, and he wondered not for the first time how she’d feel stretched out beneath him, all her soft curves and silky skin his to touch and devour. His to brand with his teeth and lips and the sharp sting of his palm. His fingers curled into her hips, eager, wanting. “God, you’re beautiful.”

But his words didn’t have the effect he’d anticipated, and Sophie pulled away slightly, her lips pressed together in a thin smile. “Oh, Jack, and we were off to such a good start,” she said, her sigh slightly exaggerated as she straightened his collar.

Jack’s eyes narrowed, his curiosity piqued. “Did I say something wrong?”

She shook her head. “Not really, no.” When he cocked one brow in silent question, she elaborated. “It’s just that you’re the twenty-seventh man tonight to tell me I’m beautiful.”

“Oh,” he said, confused by her statement. Confusion wasn’t a state of being Jack enjoyed. He had to know things. “And that’s abadthing?” He was going to need clarification on that point.

“When you know the only reason they’re saying it is because they think you’re a bobble-headed idiot and flattery is the quickest way to get in your pants, then yes, it’s averybad thing.”

“I see your point,” Jack said, nodding sagely. “And in that case, I take it back. You’re hideous.” He shuddered and made a gagging noise. “Ugly as sin.”

The look of shock on Sophie’s face was thankfully followed by another burst of laughter, the sound vibrant and wonderful. “I told you you were funny.” Then she inclined her head and grinned at him and his odd compliment. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, matching her smile with one of his own. The unfamiliar action was beginning to feel more natural the more he did it, as though his face had suddenly remembered how to do it and was determined to imprint the action into his muscle memory so he wouldn’t forget again. His cheeks were going to hurt in the morning. “But tell me, do you always keep track of how many men tell you you’re beautiful?”

“Not always.” She lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “Just when I’m with Anna.”

“Anna Valentine?”

She smiled and nodded, then gave him an appraising look as though she was pleasantly surprised he’d bothered to take the time to learn her friend’s surname. But of course he knew who Anna was. Not just because she was one of Australia’s top models, but because she was Sophie Bennett’s best friend. Which was common knowledge for anyone who didn’t live under a rock, not at all weird or stalkery.

“Yes. We made a competition out of it years ago. Tally up how many times men tell us we’re beautiful, highest score wins.”

“Wins what?”

“Anything we want,” she said, then added with a laugh, “up to a value of ten dollars.”

“And what do buy with your ten dollars?”

Sophie cocked one brow. “You’re assuming I’ve won?”

Jack stepped back and very deliberately slid his gaze from her lovely face and stunning eyes to the tips of her sensible yet fashionable shoes and back again, taking in every inch of her statuesque beauty, every luscious curve of her hourglass figure. Watched every staggered rise and fall of her ample chest as she awaited his answer.

---