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Authors: Janet Dailey
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lover that you don’t want me to meet?”
The gleam of jealousy in his green eyes kept the question from stinging. “No. There isn’t anyone … any man living with me.”
“Has anyone made an offer recently?” A warmth had entered both his voice and his look.
“Not recently,” she admitted on a breathless note.
“Not until now,” he corrected.
His mouth began a slow descent toward hers and Tamara moved to meet it. Her hands eased their way around his neck to link up and curl into the sensual crispness of the hair at the back of his neck. The silk material of her dress allowed his hands to glide over her ribs and lift her with a twisting motion until the upper half of her body was molded to his.
The long, sensuous kiss made her feel warm and weightless in his arms. His hands were spreading and shaping, flattening her breasts against his chest, the buttons of his shirt digging into her tender skin. When his mouth left hers, she tipped her head back to permit his easy exploration of her throat and the hollow below her ear. Exquisite shivers of joy danced over her skin, drawing an unconscious sigh from her lips.
Bick raised his head, satisfaction and desire flaring his nostrils before his mouth returned to seductively cover hers. Shifting, he laid her across his lap, cradling her head on his arm and shoulder. A loving languor stole over Tamara. One hand slipped from his neck to curve inside his open jacket. She could feel the heat of his hard flesh burning through the material of his shirt and the drumbeat of his heart.
The male hand that had been cradling her hipbone left it to unbutton his shirt and guide her hand inside. Her heart thudded wildly against her ribs as her fingers came in contact with the living bronze skin of his chest. Aspringing vee of hair tickled the palm of her hand, stimulating another moan from her throat, which his mouth muffled and absorbed.
Reduced to a state of helpless desire, Tamara felt a shameless pleasure when his hand cupped a breast, molding it into his palm and exploring its slopes and peak through the material of her dress. Her own caressing hand wandered across the hard, flat muscles of his stomach and drew a violent shudder from Bick. Forsaking her lips, his mouth moved to her ear, his tongue darting out to start violent tremors between the love nips of his teeth on her earlobe.
“My God, Tamara,” he breathed against her skin, speaking with a labored effort. “I can think of a lot more satisfactory place to make love to you than the front seat of the car in broad daylight.”
“Yes.” There was an aching throb in her voice. “The steering wheel …”
“The steering wheel, the zipper on your dress—why couldn’t you have worn something that buttoned down the front?” Bick criticized with mock gruffness and punished her with a sweetly hard kiss.
His hand ended its exploration of her breast, gliding across her stomach to her hip to leisurely knead the soft roundness of her cheek bottom. The skirt of her dress gradually worked its way past her knee to display the beginning curve of her thigh.
Tamara was past the point of resisting anything. It came as a surprise when Bick abruptlybroke off the embrace and sat her up in the passenger seat. His hands clasped the steering wheel at the top curve as he lowered his head to conceal it between his arms. Dazed, she watched the deep, shuddering breaths he took to gain control of himself.
“Invite me into the house, Tamara,” he ordered thickly. “We’ll have dinner. You can do your typing—”
“I would never get past the first ‘Whereas the party of the first part,’” she laughed softly at his suggestion. “You would be too much of a distraction, Bick.”
“Then don’t do the typing.” He lifted his head to send her a hotly disturbed look of sheer passion.
“I … can’t. I promised Mr. Symington I’d have it done for him and … I need the extra money.” Tamara tried to explain.
“Call this Mr.
The gleam of jealousy in his green eyes kept the question from stinging. “No. There isn’t anyone … any man living with me.”
“Has anyone made an offer recently?” A warmth had entered both his voice and his look.
“Not recently,” she admitted on a breathless note.
“Not until now,” he corrected.
His mouth began a slow descent toward hers and Tamara moved to meet it. Her hands eased their way around his neck to link up and curl into the sensual crispness of the hair at the back of his neck. The silk material of her dress allowed his hands to glide over her ribs and lift her with a twisting motion until the upper half of her body was molded to his.
The long, sensuous kiss made her feel warm and weightless in his arms. His hands were spreading and shaping, flattening her breasts against his chest, the buttons of his shirt digging into her tender skin. When his mouth left hers, she tipped her head back to permit his easy exploration of her throat and the hollow below her ear. Exquisite shivers of joy danced over her skin, drawing an unconscious sigh from her lips.
Bick raised his head, satisfaction and desire flaring his nostrils before his mouth returned to seductively cover hers. Shifting, he laid her across his lap, cradling her head on his arm and shoulder. A loving languor stole over Tamara. One hand slipped from his neck to curve inside his open jacket. She could feel the heat of his hard flesh burning through the material of his shirt and the drumbeat of his heart.
The male hand that had been cradling her hipbone left it to unbutton his shirt and guide her hand inside. Her heart thudded wildly against her ribs as her fingers came in contact with the living bronze skin of his chest. Aspringing vee of hair tickled the palm of her hand, stimulating another moan from her throat, which his mouth muffled and absorbed.
Reduced to a state of helpless desire, Tamara felt a shameless pleasure when his hand cupped a breast, molding it into his palm and exploring its slopes and peak through the material of her dress. Her own caressing hand wandered across the hard, flat muscles of his stomach and drew a violent shudder from Bick. Forsaking her lips, his mouth moved to her ear, his tongue darting out to start violent tremors between the love nips of his teeth on her earlobe.
“My God, Tamara,” he breathed against her skin, speaking with a labored effort. “I can think of a lot more satisfactory place to make love to you than the front seat of the car in broad daylight.”
“Yes.” There was an aching throb in her voice. “The steering wheel …”
“The steering wheel, the zipper on your dress—why couldn’t you have worn something that buttoned down the front?” Bick criticized with mock gruffness and punished her with a sweetly hard kiss.
His hand ended its exploration of her breast, gliding across her stomach to her hip to leisurely knead the soft roundness of her cheek bottom. The skirt of her dress gradually worked its way past her knee to display the beginning curve of her thigh.
Tamara was past the point of resisting anything. It came as a surprise when Bick abruptlybroke off the embrace and sat her up in the passenger seat. His hands clasped the steering wheel at the top curve as he lowered his head to conceal it between his arms. Dazed, she watched the deep, shuddering breaths he took to gain control of himself.
“Invite me into the house, Tamara,” he ordered thickly. “We’ll have dinner. You can do your typing—”
“I would never get past the first ‘Whereas the party of the first part,’” she laughed softly at his suggestion. “You would be too much of a distraction, Bick.”
“Then don’t do the typing.” He lifted his head to send her a hotly disturbed look of sheer passion.
“I … can’t. I promised Mr. Symington I’d have it done for him and … I need the extra money.” Tamara tried to explain.
“Call this Mr.
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