It Was Only a Kiss (6 page)

Jess was staring at his mouth and he wondered if she was remembering that afternoon so long ago, how it had felt to be in his arms, her breasts mashed against his chest, his tongue in her warm, tasty mouth. Luke heaved in a deep breath and surreptitiously dropped his hand beneath the table to quickly rearrange his package. It seemed that Jess still had the same effect on him as she had all those years ago.

He was coming to realise that he really didn’t want to be attracted to this woman. He felt that she could, if he wasn’t very, very careful, be a threat to his emotional self-sufficiency, his resolve not to become emotionally entangled.

Sleeping with her wasn’t worth the price that he would have to pay if he found himself emotionally trapped. And that was why she shouldn’t be sitting in his kitchen on a rainy Sunday looking sweet and hot, relaxed and rosy. She looked far too enticing...

Luke shoved his chair back and abruptly stood up. ‘Listen, I can’t sit around and drink coffee all day. I need to get into my office.’

Jess lifted her eyebrows. ‘No rest for the wicked? Even on a Sunday?’

‘I’m still running another company...I have to take what time I can get.’ Luke gestured to the fridge and raked his fingers through his hair. ‘Help yourself to whatever you can find to eat if you’re hungry. When the storm lets up I’ll help you move into the manor house. There’s a TV in the lounge, or...’

Jess shrugged. ‘I’ll grab my computer from the room and do some work myself.’

Luke shoved his hands into his pockets, desperately wishing he could just drag her upstairs to bed. ‘Well, call me if you need anything.’

Jess nodded. ‘I’ll be fine, Luke. I always am.’

* * *

It was the first time in the history of the world that a film crew had been on time for anything, Jess thought as she roared up Luke’s driveway to see the vehicles of the film company outside Luke’s front door. Behind them she could see the portly figure of her favourite director, Sbu, the willow-thin stylist, Becca, and she recognised one of the two cameramen.

She hadn’t planned to shoot the first ad only two nights after she’d arrived at St Sylve, but, as Owen had said, the pruning was nearly done and if she wanted to capture Luke working on vines that had some foliage on them she’d have to get moving. It was fortuitous that Sbu and his team were free today—well, they had planned on some editing, but she’d persuaded, bribed, threatened them into coming to St Sylve instead.

Jess sat in her car for a moment, knowing that the next couple of hours were going to be madness. She needed five minutes to gather her wits...

She was now officially installed in the manor house, in a beautiful bedroom with an attached study and large bathroom.

After the storm had abated Luke had helped her move her mountains of luggage up to her room and then disappeared back into his office. Later she’d heard him leave on the dirt bike. She’d heard him come back around seven, and when he hadn’t wandered over, she’d decided that she was too tired to deal with him anyway and tumbled into the enormous bed.

She hadn’t seen him since, and thought the chances of her having to go yank him out of the lands were quite high.

Or not, Jess thought as she jumped out of her car. There he was, talking to Sbu, and—what was he wearing? A white button-down shirt and khaki pants...for pruning vines? Uh—
no
. Not going to work.

Jess grabbed her shopping bags—if she wasn’t going to be sharing meals with Luke then a girl still had to eat—and strode over to Luke and Sbu. Luke greeted her and automatically reached out to take her bags, which she handed over gratefully. Ready meals, when bought in quantity, were quite heavy, and she was happy to sacrifice her feminine principles to get the feeling back in her hands.

‘Hi, Luke.’ Jess hugged Sbu, greeted the rest of the crew and then spoke. ‘Good to see you, Sbu. Did you get my rough storyboard?’

‘Mmm.’ Sbu shoved his hands into trendy cargo pants. ‘Not that it means anything, Jess. You always change stuff halfway through.’

‘For the better,’ Jess reminded him.

‘Can’t argue with that,’ Sbu replied. ‘Are you ready to get this show on the road?’

‘Nearly. I need to put some stuff away, and Luke needs to change.’

Becca’s exquisitely plucked eyebrows pulled together. ‘What’s wrong with his outfit?’

‘Everything,’ Jess replied. ‘He looks like someone playing at farming, and that’s not what I want. He’s got to look the part and he doesn’t in that outfit.’

‘Thank God,’ she heard Luke mutter.

‘That’s the most casual outfit I brought!’ Becca protested.

Jess shrugged. ‘Sorry, but it doesn’t work. I’ll be more specific in the future.’ Jess looked at Luke. ‘Let’s dump these groceries and get you out of those clothes.’

Jess lifted her hand as Luke’s mouth twitched in amusement.

‘Don’t even go there...’ she muttered in a voice only he could hear.

* * *

‘This wouldn’t be happening if you’d used a model,’ Luke grumbled as he followed her upstairs to his bedroom.

‘I’m afraid it would. I’m obsessively detail-oriented. I’m an absolute pain in the ass to work for and a relentless perfectionist.’

‘Control freak, are you?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘It would be fun to watch you lose control, Blondie.’

At his comment, Jess swung round and caught his eyes on her butt. He didn’t make any effort to look contrite or apologetic and, damn it, she appreciated his...appreciation. Instead of feeling insulted she felt warm and feminine, and a little coy.

‘Are you going to watch my butt the whole way up the stairs?’ she asked.

‘Absolutely...as it’s in front of me it would be a crime not to,’ Luke answered as they resumed climbing. ‘So, are you just going to film me pruning the vines today?’

Jess explained that they were going to film him riding his dirt bike over the lands, pruning the vines and walking.

‘Oh, joy,’ Luke muttered sarcastically.

Jess sent him a sympathetic look over her shoulder. His eyes held a mixture of impatience and frustration and, more than either of those, a degree of insecurity that she hadn’t suspected he felt. He was stepping out of his comfort zone and handing over control and he didn’t like it. Jess empathised. If they’d asked her to prance around her business and smile for the camera she wouldn’t be Miss Suzy Sunshine either.

She hated not being in control.

Jess stopped, put her hand on the railing and turned to look at him. For the first time since she’d met him she didn’t have to tip her head to meet his eyes as she was two steps higher than him. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘if you’re uncomfortable with anything we do, just shout. Sbu and I need you to be as natural and relaxed as possible. If you’re not then the camera will pick it up. So talk to me. I’ll do anything I can to make this process as easy as possible for you.’

They reached the top of the stairs and Luke guided her into his bedroom. It was a good-sized room, Jess noted, with a king-sized bed. It desperately needed colour, Jess thought, being a study in neutrals. Beige curtains, cream linen on the hastily made bed... And then the painting on the wall caught her eye. It was of the vineyards of St Sylve in a swirling mist, with just the impression of buildings in the background. Jess just stared at the painting for a long time, caught up in the mystery, movement and the sheer magic of the art.

And she fell in love...with the painting and with St Sylve. It was inexplicable, but the painting smacked her in the emotional gut. She was an artist’s daughter, but she’d never reacted to a piece of art as she had to this one. It was a massive canvas, nearly two metres square, but the scene was intimate and she felt as if she wanted to step into the frame.

‘Jess?’

‘Oh, I love that.’ She eventually spoke, stepping forward to kneel on the bed and make out the signature in the bottom left corner. ‘Who painted this? It’s fantastic.’

‘My mother.’

‘You mother was an artist? My dad is an artist!’ Jess told him. ‘I wonder if they ever met.’

‘Not likely.’

‘You’d be surprised. I must ask him if he knew her.’ Jess looked over her shoulder at him. He stood at the edge of his bed, his hands shoved in the pockets of his cargo pants, his eyes on the painting. ‘She died when you were very young, right?’

‘I was three,’ Luke said in a flat voice.

Jess sat down on the edge of his big bed. ‘Do you remember her at all?’

Luke took so long to answer that she thought he was ignoring her question. ‘I have a vague impression of long dark hair.’

‘Did you inherit any of her talent?’

‘No. Did you?’

‘My dad’s love and appreciation for art, but not his skill.’ Jess looked at the painting again. ‘Do you have any more of her art? If you do, I’ll buy one right now.’

‘I only have this one and the one in the lounge downstairs.’ Luke gestured to two closed doors on the opposite side of the room. ‘My closet.’

Conversation over. Jess sighed. Damn it. He was as mysterious as his mother’s painting, she thought as she crossed the room to his closet. Inscrutable and elusive and very, very compelling. Jess pulled open the doors and raised her eyebrows at the jumble.

And very messy.

There were shelves on both sides of the narrow passage that led to the
en-suite
bathroom, and the right side held a rail that was bulging with jackets and shirts. Jess itched to reorganise the jumble: there was a pile of T-shirts jammed into a space next to some files, jerseys on top of piles of paper, shoes and sports equipment in a heap on the floor.

Jess found some jeans and picked them up to find the pair he’d worn the other day—with the handprint on the seat. She turned her attention to his shirts. Flipping through them, she muttered as she pushed hangers to find what she was looking for...if he had it. His shirts were either too businesslike or too smart-casual. She wanted something worn, but button-down—long-sleeved, but... And there it was, right at the back and half hanging off its hanger. A long-sleeved collared flannel shirt, missing a button and with its pocket half falling off, in a green-and-black check. Jess pulled it out and nodded. Perfect.

‘Jess, that shirt is about twelve years old. I wore it when I spent a summer travelling Alaska. It’s falling apart,’ Luke complained when she waved it at him.

‘It’s exactly what I want,’ Jess replied. ‘Where’s that hunter-green long-sleeved T-shirt and your leather belt?’

‘Belt is in the bathroom. Green shirt? In a pile...’ Luke grinned at her slight scowl. ‘I suppose your closets are military tidy? Everything organised by type?’

And colour. But Jess didn’t think she needed to tell him exactly how anal she was. ‘Get changed. T-shirt underneath. This on top. Sleeves shoved up your arms. Your normal boots.’

‘Yes, boss,’ Luke grumbled, reaching past her to pull the T-shirt from a pile she hadn’t looked in. Mostly because she’d thought it was full of rugby shirts.

God, this man needed a wife—if only to sort this mess out. Luke moved past her into the bathroom and Jess went back into his bedroom and walked over to a shelf where she could see a couple of photographs in silver frames. There was a photo of him and Kendall and Owen after a rugby match, looking much younger and splattered with mud. Another of two elderly people standing arm in arm in the doorway of the manor. Judging by their dress, Jess surmised that they were Luke’s grandparents. The man had Luke’s smile. The picture in the most ornate frame was very obviously of Luke’s mother, holding and gazing adoringly at, even more obviously, Luke as a toddler.

Jess picked up the frame and looked into the feminine version of Luke’s face. That was what his eyes would look like if he was happy, Jess realised. They’d dance in his face... His nose was longer than his mother’s, his mouth a little thinner. But those eyes, the shape of her face and that luxurious hair...that was all Luke.

Jess replaced the photo and noticed that Luke’s father wasn’t in any of the remaining frames. Hearing him behind her, Jess turned around and smiled. Yep, that was the look she wanted—relaxed, casual...happy in his old clothes because, hell, he
was
the Savage of St Sylve. He didn’t need to dress up and pretend to be something he wasn’t...

Jess smiled. ‘You’ll do.’

‘Good, because I’m not changing again.’ Luke tugged at the shirt. ‘I like this shirt. I’d forgotten about it.’

Jess thought about mentioning that if he cleared the cupboard out he’d be amazed at what he found. But it wasn’t her house, he wasn’t her boyfriend... She changed the subject. ‘Why don’t you have a photo of your father up with the rest of your family?’

‘Because, while he might have been my father, he wasn’t my family.’ Luke snapped the words off.

Whoa!
And didn’t
that
tell her a whole lot about their father-son relationship?

‘Can we get going? I still have real work to do today,’ Luke said, gesturing to the door.

Jess nodded and walked out of the room. Her family might drive her utterly insane, but she couldn’t imagine not having them in her life. If Luke had lost his mother when he was three, and if his father hadn’t been much of a father, as his previous statement implied, then that meant Luke had grown up without any sort of parental support system...

Jess felt her heart clench. He might have grown up on this beautiful estate, in a house full of very old furniture, but it sounded as if he’d grown up alone. Nobody, she decided, should grow up like that.

FIVE

Luke watched from his lounge as Jess said goodbye to a strawberry blonde who had just deposited a massive art folder into the boot of her car. She hugged Jess before climbing into her car, and they spent another minute or two chatting before the car moved down the driveway. He saw Jess rub her arms as she turned around to head back to the manor house. Her blonde hair was tousled by the wind, and in her black jeans and short cream jacket she looked just as fresh as she had that morning—if he ignored the shadows under her eyes and the tension in her shoulders.

Luke saw her look at his front door, saw the indecision cross her face and caught the small shake of her head. She wouldn’t invade his privacy, wouldn’t step over the line between work and play by inviting herself in for a drink, a meal, a roll in the sack.

Luke half smiled.
Please feel free to invade my privacy,
he silently told Jess,
especially if you have more in mind.

Jess walked over to the manor house. It was a lonely place, huge and oppressive, and he’d spent huge chunks of his life in it alone. On a cold winter’s night it could be gloomy, and he didn’t want Jess in the house on her own tonight.

Or maybe he didn’t want to be on his own tonight, Luke thought. After a crazy day being trailed by cameras he also wanted something normal. A hot meal, a glass of wine, some company.

Before he could talk himself out of inviting Jess over, Luke walked into the hall, grabbed his jacket off the newel post and shrugged it on, and opened the front door. He grimaced at the icy wind and wondered if Jess was warm enough at night. The manor house had no central heating—his father had spent money like a Russian oil billionaire but refused to spend money to warm the house. There was a down duvet on her bed and a heater in her room, and the study had a fireplace—God, he’d forgotten to get some wood to her—but if she wanted to sit in one of the many lounges she’d need a ski-suit.

Luke hunched his shoulders up around his ears as he walked around the house and up the back stairs to the kitchen. Slipping into the room, he blew on his fingers and looked around the empty space. The kettle was on, and a teabag was in the mug next to it...

Luke stepped from the kitchen into the passageway and stood at the bottom of a second simple staircase. In the old days it had been the servants’ staircase, and as a boy the only one he’d ever used.

‘Hi.’

Luke looked up and saw Jess leaning on the short strip of banister on the first floor. ‘Hey. I was wondering if you’d like to have supper with me.’

Jess grinned. ‘What’s on the menu?’

‘Since you cook like a first-year uni student, you can’t afford to be picky,’ Luke told her. ‘Get down here and come see.’

Jess’s smile held enough energy to power a rainbow, Luke thought as she disappeared from view. Two seconds later she was at the top of the stairs and lifting her buttock onto the railing. ‘Jess—no!’

Luke instinctively moved to the end of the railing and held his breath as Jess flew down the railing and practically fell into his arms. Luke banded his arms around her and bent his knees to soften the impact of her slamming into him.

‘Whoomph...’ Jess muttered as they connected.

He held her as they swayed and regained their balance. Jess recovered before he did, because she flung her head back and her eyes sparkled with fun. Luke looked down at her and did what any hot-blooded man would do in the same situation. He kissed her. Hard and fast, with an already beating heart and elevated pulse. He kissed her without thought, backing her into the wall behind her, shoving his knee between her legs to widen hers, rubbing the inside of her thigh with his knee.

Oh, God, she felt amazing. Soft and supple, slim yet strong. Her perfect breasts were pressed against his chest, and he wondered if she realised that she’d tilted her hips, bringing her closer to him. Luke’s hand dipped into the loose space between her back and jeans—that special area above her butt. Her skin was baby-smooth, warm, tantalising... He wondered if she still wore a thong and dipped his hand to find out. Yep, there it was...a thin cord against achingly smooth feminine skin.

Luke shifted so that he was even closer to her—so close that he could feel the thump of her heart, catch those breathy little moans as he tangled his tongue with hers. The scent of her was clean and warm, the taste of her spicy-sweet—and he decided that he’d never been this hot, this quickly.

What was it about this woman that sent him from nought to three hundred miles in six seconds flat? She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever had his hands on, nor the most built. But she made him spark and then burn. He needed to have her, to taste her sweet mouth, see the brilliance of her eyes, the warmth of her smile. He wanted to see her in his bed, looking up at him, her body flushed with pleasure, legs around his waist, her eyes closing with pleasure.

He felt Jess’s sigh, her breath in his mouth, felt her hands flatten against his chest...

‘I want you,’ he muttered against her cheekbone, and heard the rough desire in his voice.

‘I know,’ she whispered back. ‘But it’s too soon. I can’t...’

‘Why not?’ Luke demanded, snapping his head back. ‘We’re two single adults, mutually attracted. Nothing changes...’

Because he was hip to hip with her, nose to nose, he felt resistance invade her muscles. And heard the reluctance in her voice. ‘I’ve never been good at one-night stands, Luke, and we have to work together in the morning. This campaign is too important to risk messing it up because we want to scratch an itch.’

‘I’ll risk it,’ he growled, nipping her full bottom lip with his teeth.

Jess patted his chest. ‘Back up.’ When he pulled away, she shook her head. ‘More. Seriously—I need room to breathe.’

So did he. Luke moved away reluctantly and slumped against the wall next to her. This woman was going to be the death of him. He’d be the first person ever to die of sexual frustration.

Jess was the first to break the silence. Her voice was forced-casual when she spoke. ‘So, what did you think about my descent down the banister? Seven? Eight?’

‘Five. Average.’ Luke grinned reluctantly. ‘Not too bad. Not good, but okay.’

Jess lifted her eyebrows. ‘And I suppose you’re better?’

‘Miles.’

‘Prove it.’

Was she challenging him? To slide down the banister like a child? Luke started to roll his eyes and then he saw the dare in hers, in that arrogantly cocked eyebrow.

‘You are such a chicken,’ Jess said, and made a clucking sound.

He shouldn’t even be tempted. It was such a childish thing to do. Jess did her clucking sound again and he glared at her. ‘I take it your brothers taught you to slide down banisters?’

‘Who else? We have a long staircase at home. We used to put a mattress at the bottom of the stairs...shall I drag one down from the bedroom for you?’

‘I am
not
sliding down the bloody banister,’ Luke growled.

Jess hooted. ‘You’ve thought about it a couple of times. Just do it. Go big or go home.’

Luke shook his head. ‘You are such a brat.’

A man could only take so much when challenged by a woman, he thought. All his life he’d run up these stairs and slid down. The last time he’d done it had been a couple of weeks before his father’s death.

He squinted down at Jess, who was still silently laughing at him. ‘A chicken, huh?’

‘Cluck, cluck, cluck.’

‘Mmm. Well, if I meet your challenge then you have to meet mine.’

‘And what would that be?’ Jess asked, suddenly wary.

Luke grinned. He pushed her hair off her forehead and placed his hand on her cheekbone. ‘I get to kiss you.’

Jess’s eyes smoked over. ‘You just did,’ she pointed out with a hitch in her voice.

Luke shook his head. ‘Again. No holds barred.’

‘It’s not a good idea, Luke.’

‘Cluck, cluck, cluck.’ See—he could make chicken noises too.

Jess scowled at him, but he felt her acquiescence before he heard her muttered agreement. It seemed that she couldn’t resist a challenge either. Then he felt the sting of her hand on his rump.

‘Let’s see how the master does it.’

Luke grinned, stepped away from her and jogged up the stairs. He placed one buttock on the banister and suddenly he was ten again and flying. He let out a huge whoop as he gained speed. He was flying off the end... Oh,
hell
. At the last moment he remembered to bend his knees, and he landed awkwardly but safely.

He placed his hands on his thighs and grinned up at Jess. ‘I’m out of practice. That was less than elegant.’

Jess placed a hand on his back and patted him. ‘I’d say. Now, what’s for supper? I’m starving.’

Jess started to walk away, and his hand shot out and snagged the pocket of her jeans. She stopped mid-stride and swore softly.

‘Are you welshing on our bet?’ Luke demanded, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in the crook of her neck.

Jess hauled in a breath. He smelt so good—that perfect combination of man and deodorant, sexiness and skin. He spun her around, placed his hands on either side of her slender waist and pulled her towards him. He captured her yelp of surprise in his mouth and, while her mouth was open, slid into the kiss. She could feel his fingers curling into her hips, the pads of his fingers branding her through her clothes as he re-explored her mouth. She’d been thinking about this kiss—and more—for the past three weeks. Hell, for the past eight years.

It didn’t disappoint.
He
didn’t disappoint.

Unable, unwilling to stop, Luke threaded both his hands into her hair, tipping her head to allow him deeper access, pushing his body closer to hers. He sighed when her arms encircled his waist, the palms of her hands flat against his back under his shirt to explore those ridges of muscle, that heated skin.

She wanted him...wanted to take this kiss further, she thought as he placed tiny kisses on her cheek, her jaw, pulled the neck of her jersey down to scrape his teeth against the tendon in her neck. He feathered his fingers against her ribcage and Jess succumbed to temptation and twisted into his hand.

Luke, hearing her soft whimper, bent his legs and, placing his hands under her thighs, lifted her up.

Jess instinctively gripped his waist with her thighs, vaguely aware that he had her against the wall. She felt the icy bricks against her back when he yanked her shirt up and over her head. His eyes heated as he stared down at her breasts, covered by a lacy lilac bra.

‘You’re exquisite.’

Jess couldn’t find any moisture in her mouth to swallow. If she wiggled she’d go off like a cracker.

‘Luke...’

‘What?’ Luke muttered, his mouth against hers. ‘Rip my clothes off? Take me now?’

She wished she could say it. Wished she could surrender to him, lose herself in his arms. But that would require her handing over a smidgeon of control, and even that would be too much. Luke had the ability to overwhelm her, and she wasn’t prepared to risk feeling vulnerable...
being
vulnerable.

It took everything to drop her legs and unhook her arms from his waist. She wiggled out from under him and left him facing the wall, his forearm above his head.

‘Phew! Right, where were we?’

Luke scrubbed his face with his hands. ‘I have no idea. Give me a minute to get blood to my brain and I’ll tell you.’

‘Dinner,’ Jess said brightly, picking up her shirt and pulling it on. ‘You were going to make me dinner!’

‘I’d rather make love to you,’ Luke grumbled, turning around and tipping his head back to rest it against the wall.

Jess looked at his strong, exposed throat, the muscles bunching as he folded his arms, the frustration in his deep green eyes.

He really wanted her. To have such a man feeling so frustrated over her made her feel powerful, giddy, intensely and completely feminine...

But, as with any other drug, the high was not worth the low that followed.

* * *

Jess sat at Luke’s kitchen table while he made spaghetti Bolognese for supper. The aroma of fresh herbs and garlic and the satiny-smooth slide of the red wine Luke had pressed on her made her think she was in Tuscany again. She’d adored Tuscany—the food, the wine, the old buildings and the sleepy villages.

Of course in Tuscany she wouldn’t have had her laptop open in front of her or her iPad next to her. She wouldn’t be prefacing dinner with talk of work. But, knowing Luke’s intensive schedule, she realised that if she didn’t grab his attention now she might not have it later.

And, admittedly, she’d grabbed her computer to remind them both of why she was at St Sylve. She was here to work, not play. To work, not to race down banisters like children. Work, not exchange hot, melt-your-panties kisses against a two-hundred-year-old wall...

Work, Jessica.
Tangling with that mouth, playing with that delicious body was not an option.

Jess looked at her screen. The letters were out of focus and jumbled. Not only did he make her hormones jump but she also wanted to delve beneath that inscrutable façade. She kept getting glimpses of his soul, tiny flashes of resentment, sadness and more emotion than she would have credited him with. Luke Savage had unplumbed depths...

And she shouldn’t be thinking of plumbing those depths, Jess told herself. Nor should she be tempted by sleeping with him either. She knew the science behind attraction, Jess reminded herself. A girl thought she was just having a simple affair but the act of intercourse released the cuddle hormone—what was it called again? Oxytocin?—and while you intended to walk away you suddenly felt this man might be the one, your mate, your destiny, the father of your children.

Then months, years, decades later you’d find him in bed testing out someone else’s cuddle hormone.

All because she’d scratched an itch.

Not going to happen...mostly because she suspected that if she ever started thinking of Luke in terms of
together for ever
and
one and only
she might as well yank out her heart and ask him to stomp on it. Hard. With Grant her head and her pride had been dinged. She knew that if she allowed herself to feel anything more than friendship for Luke it would be the emotional equivalent of being disembowelled with a teaspoon. And the fastest way to get to that point? Sleep with him.