Dare to Love user (ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt) 📖

“I think we need a step back.”

Maybe he wasn’t as attracted to her as she’d thought. No—his body told her otherwise. “I’m confused. Did I do something wrong?”

“No. Hell, no. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just fed you too much Chardonnay.” She tilted her head, trying to focus on his words. “Huh?” He knelt in front of her, resting his hands on her knees. “You had a lot of wine tonight.”

“Not that much.”

“More than you think.” He swept her hair away from her face. “We need to sober you up, clear your head. It’s getting late. And if I’m going to make love to you, I don’t

want it to be because you’re too fuzzy headed to know what you’re doing.” The logical part of her heard what he said. The female part of her screamed in protest.

“Really, I’m fine.” She stood, then wobbled a bit to the side. Okay, maybe she wasn’t as fine as she thought.

“Yeah. You’re fine all right. Let’s get you up and moving around, breathing some fresh air.”

How could she have had so much to drink? Lying in Jake’s arms she’d felt fine.

More than fine. Perfect, giddy, delirious with want and desire. That wasn’t wine talking,

then.

He slipped his arm around her waist and walked her around the stone patio, reminding her to breathe.

Ugh. Breathing was not making her feel better. In fact, she’d like nothing more than

to curl up on the glider with Jake again. At least then her world hadn’t been spinning out

of control. Well, it had, but in a good way. She laughed at the thought.

“What’s so funny?”

“Funny? I have no idea.” What was she just laughing about? She couldn’t remember.

“Breathe, Lucy. Take a deep breath. It’ll help.”

She did. It didn’t. Now that she was actually up and moving around, it hit her. Her legs wobbled.

“Oh. Oh, Jake, I don’t feel well at all.”

She tried to focus on Jake’s face, but suddenly there were two of him. He said something about green not really being her color, and then all hell broke loose.

Ten minutes later she was lying on the floor in his bathroom, praying for a quick death.

Chapter Six

Jake turned the door handle and pushed it open a crack to see if his overnight guest

was still breathing.

He sucked in a breath at the scene before him. Lucy lay on her stomach with one arm

flung over the side of the bed, her cute rear end stuck up in the air. Her hair was a mass of

riotous curls, half swept over her face. She slept with her mouth open, too.

He swallowed, hard, thankful she at least had a cover on, considering she’d ripped her clothes off in his bathroom last night. That’s how he’d tucked her in, trying not to

look at her and muttering to himself about how much chivalry sucked.

After inching the door closed, he stepped into the kitchen and took a long drink of coffee, welcoming the jolting surge the caffeine provided.

Thank God he’d stopped last night. She wouldn’t have, and if he hadn’t had an inkling that she was tipping the scales on the drunk as a skunk side, he’d have had her

right there and then. As it was, he’d entertained thoughts about pulling her astride him

and letting her rock them both in the glider.

Instead, he’d had to stand by and watch her strip naked in his bathroom, then hold

her hair while she’d emptied the contents of dinner and more than half a bottle of wine.

Not exactly a scene conducive to a passionate ending. After she’d given up everything she’d consumed, she curled up in a ball on the cold tile floor and promptly

passed out. He’d cleaned her up, then carried her to his bed.

After he was certain she’d be all right, he’d flopped down in the spare bedroom, wide awake, achingly hard and unable to sleep. Remembering the feel of her in his arms.

How perfect she felt there. Remembering her soft skin and pouty lips gliding over his,

tearing him apart inside until he’d wanted to ravage her there in his backyard.

Probably a good thing he’d ended the kiss when he did. Otherwise he could have made a monumental mistake. Like making love to her. Him, the lowly toad, and her,

practically a princess. Yeah, what a pair. A pair going nowhere.

Now he had a houseguest. A beautiful one. Sleeping naked in his bed. He’d give up a

vital organ to join her there and feel the silk of her bare skin against his. He longed to

touch his lips to hers again and slide his hands over her body until she moaned and

begged for him to sink deep inside her. The thought of it brought on that familiar ache,

the one he’d had nonstop since the first time he’d laid eyes on Lucy Fairchild.

“Mornin’.”

Would it be inappropriate for a grown man to cry? Lucy stood at the doorway to the

kitchen clad in one of his T-shirts. It skimmed her upper thighs and, though way too large

for her, still made her look sexier than the night he’d seen her clad in black velvet.

“Good morning,” he rasped, trying to find his voice. He took a swig of coffee and tried for a smile. “Feeling better?”

The pink tinge to her cheeks only added to her sexy look. She nodded and flipped her

hair off her face. “Yeah. Much. I’m so sorry about last night.” He poured her a glass of ginger ale. “Sip this. Don’t guzzle.” She took a couple sips and licked her lips, an action he watched with rapt fascination.

“Thank you, I was thirsty.”

“Dehydrated. Keep sipping.”

She took a seat at the kitchen table, sliding her feet underneath her and pulling at the

hem of his T-shirt. He bit back a smile and sat next to her.

“I take it I slept in your bed last night?”

“Yeah.”

“And you slept…”

“In the guestroom.”

“I’m so sorry.” She dipped her head and fingered the hem of his t-shirt.

“Stop saying that. You think you’re the first person to