href="#u21760907-da54-5153-b7bb-06affa276050"> Chapter Twelve
Clare Connelly
“I want to taste you tonight.”
With chemistry this hot, it’s worth getting burned...
Billionaire Jack Grant is totally off-limits to Gemma Picton. He’s wild, deliciously dangerous...and her boss. When working late turns X-rated, it’s better than her wildest imaginings—and Gemma’s imagined a lot! But Jack has major emotional baggage, so when Gemma starts wanting to heal his heart as well as enjoy his body, she knows she’s in big trouble...
“Dare is Harlequin’s hottest line yet. Every book should come with a free fan. I dare you to try them!”
—Tiffany Reisz, international bestselling author
This book is for romance readers everywhere, who fall in love again and again with the characters of our creation.
You give our stories life just by reading them.
Thank you.
‘YOU’VE GOT THE Prime Minister calling in ten minutes.’
Jack nods, showing not a flicker of response at the prospect of this. Then again, nothing about Jack Grant is what you’d expect. For a self-made billionaire-investor-cum-philanthropist-cum-sex-god, he is wild, disrespectful of authority and the establishment, and rough around the edges. Deliciously so.
Take this situation: Jack, in his bed, naked as the day he was born, uncaring that he should have been at his desk an hour ago. That I can see most of his beautiful back and backside. That my insides are clenching with hot, steamy lust.
‘About...?’
It’s a lazy drawl as he flips over and pierces me with those intelligent green eyes. His accent is pure Irish brogue. Like Colin Farrell after a night of cigarettes and booze: deep, hoarse and throaty.
‘The latest episode of The Great British Bake Off.’
I roll my eyes. We’ve been negotiating to buy a huge swathe of Crown land for the last six months; it’s at the highest level of negotiation and, given the media interest, the Prime Minister has become involved.
‘What do you think?’
His laugh is a rumble that barrels out of his chest. ‘Well, every man needs a good scone recipe.’
‘And you’ve got one?’
‘Sure.’
He grins. It’s a grin that is at once devilish and charming, and I know how easy it must be for him to get women into bed. And that’s before you factor in the body, the money, the power.
‘Nine minutes,’ I snap.
His grin unfurls like a ribbon on his face. My heart kerthunks. I ignore it. Stupid heart.
‘Did you book Sydney?’
‘Yes.’
He arches a brow at my impatient tone and, as if to contradict it, stretches in the bed, his arms high over his head, his body