and also soft and smelt flower sweet. Like her eyes, the colour was fake, but her natural shade must be reasonably light because there wasn’t any darkness showing at the roots. Or maybe she’d just had it done. Jack was used to blondes and their high-maintenance hair, but he’d never seen blonde as snow white as this. Or as messy.
He swallowed, his mouth dry, as he bent closer to free her hair from the comb without hurting her. Her scent was all he could taste. She turned him on as if he hadn’t been turned on in a long while—and Jack was no stranger to sex.
Well, not usually. The knee op had put paid to any and all kinds of fun for a while—both on the snow and in the bedroom. That must be the reason for this intense reaction to this woman, right? Because petite pieces of fragility like her didn’t usually do it for him. He was into strong, athletic women who could match his needs, not slim things who looked as if they’d blow over in a light wind.
And he definitely wasn’t into overly emotional women. No to neediness, thanks very much—his lifestyle didn’t let him offer much to anyone, certainly not much in the way of emotional support. But when he’d seen the softness of her soul in those moments when she’d thought she’d hurt him, that womanly sweetness had been achingly tempting—the blinking back of the tears and the trembling lips. Yeah, her lips. Their crushed-rose colour—unlike so much else of her—was natural. Neither a glossy nor matte finish adorned them. They were full and deep and inviting all on their own.
He’d badly wanted to kiss her feelings better.
He wanted to do more than kiss her now. He was imagining scooping her up in his arms—it’d be so easy, and so delightful to nibble on the delicacies hidden under that to-the-floor, funeral-march-style dress.
He was in for an even longer spell of abstinence. That was the problem. Knowing he had another four weeks ahead of him with no chance of getting any had put sex at the forefront of his brain. That was why he was struggling to control his body in the middle of a busy café. That was why he was attracted to a woman as wrong a playmate for him as a piranha was as wrong a tank buddy for an angelfish.
Carefully he worked the comb free. It took longer than he’d thought it would but he didn’t mind. He hadn’t known he had a touch of the masochist in him. That he’d like the torture of his fingers brushing accidentally against her and not touching how he really wanted to. He throbbed with the temptation to run his fingers right through and muss up her hair even more. Yeah, the upcoming physical rehab session was making him wild-dog horny. He gritted his teeth and tried to concentrate on the job, not on the urges thudding through his blood.
Impossible. Pale, soft, striking, she sat like a statue before him, her embarrassment radiating out. But there was more to the heat, wasn’t there?
Jack was used to being wanted. He enjoyed being wanted—to be pleased and to please. So he knew the signs. Sometimes he ignored them, sometimes he didn’t.
But now his knee had stopped its death-pain throbbing, he knew he was going to succumb to the most debilitating bout of temptation he’d ever experienced. Even though it was probably inappropriate, he couldn’t resist. He liked the unexpected. He liked a challenge. He liked to live on the edge.
So what if he had less than twenty-four hours? So what if he should be in some boring meeting? That made it all the more delicious. Jack Greene knew how to make the most of every minute.
CHAPTER TWO
KELSI just couldn’t look Jack in the eye as he waved the comb in front of her before placing it on the table. She barely mumbled her thanks as he sat back down in the chair opposite her.
So she was too late for her appointment at the super spa. So she’d had a lime-green comb caught in the back of her hair. So she’d run over a prime piece of male. So she’d nearly hyperventilated when that prime piece had stood so close and so carefully got that comb out and all she’d been able to think about was how tall he was and how gentle, despite the way he was built…
So now she really wanted to leave. Except she had almost run him over, and, instead of her making it up to him, he’d driven her to a nice café, bought her coffee and encouraged her to relax. So she couldn’t skip out on him. She had to stay—just to be polite, right? Her internal debate was pointless anyway—he still had her car keys.
She looked at him and fell apart inside again. The gleam in his eyes was even brighter now and he definitely gave her the complete once-over, and did he linger on her lips? Kelsi fought against her immediate instinct to run her tongue over them—she was not going to be so obvious. Not, not, not. Especially because he was so gorgeous. Without doubt he was used to having some kind of mesmerising effect on females because that confident, cheeky smile was spreading over his face.
Instead of licking her lips she took another sip of coffee. The warmth braced her and sent the last of the cold, sick feeling from the accident packing. As she swallowed, her brain clicked back to fully functioning—finally.
She figured if she didn’t look him in the eye she could maybe keep her brain working. But looking at his body wasn’t that much better. Mentally she tried to box him up so she could put him away—but he needed one that she didn’t have in the ‘overwhelming male’ compartment of her brain. He was a bit too big and fit and breathtaking…
She inhaled deeply, determined to make a polite, hopefully sane, effort. She totally owed him that. He flashed the ultracharm smile again but she was smart and looked at her coffee cup instead. Only another mouthful and it’d be finished. Then she could go.
‘So, what were you late for?’ he asked as she lifted the cup.
She lowered it, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks. ‘Nothing.’
His brows lifted. ‘Not nothing. Tell me.’
OK, so now he was going to think she was a total sad ditz. ‘A spa treatment.’
‘A what?’ he asked, sounding a little too confused.
Kelsi was sure he’d heard but he was just making her say it again because she was so flushed. Pointlessly, she tried to smooth her hair behind her ear.
‘A spa,’ she said, determined to speak clearly. ‘You know, a day treatment at a beauty parlour.’ Not just any parlour, the most exclusive salon in town. They obviously thought she really needed it—this guy probably did, too.
‘And what were you having done?’
‘Facial, massage, hair.’ She shrugged and lifted the cup to her mouth.
‘Cut or wax?’
She nearly choked on the coffee. ‘Cut.’ She tried to lie like a pro but she knew her colour had risen higher. The nerve of him.
He was grinning wildly now. Openly laughing at her plans for the day and stupidly she felt the need to justify it—even when it hadn’t been her idea. ‘I haven’t had a day off in four months. My boss said I needed to recharge my batteries.’
‘A beauty salon wouldn’t be the place to do that.’
No. She’d have picked an art gallery. Preferably one in Paris. One day she’d get to do the travel thing—once she had her career established.
‘What about some fresh air? A walk somewhere nice? Wouldn’t that be more of a boost?’
Of course he would be the outdoor sports guy—the sport billy, with a practically-kill-yourself-climbing-a-mountain-to-feel-good approach to life. She couldn’t think of anything worse. She just wanted to relax—and rest. ‘Fresh air isn’t good for my skin,’ she said with a helpless gesture.
‘No?’
Was the man blind? She was practically albino. Well, not really—the hundreds of freckles proved her pigment worked all right. She felt her flush deepen. ‘I burn really easily.’
‘You could wear a hat,’ he drawled.
She opened her