Forbidden Temptation. Gwynne Forster

veins and he plunged his tongue into her mouth, gripped her body to his and, mindless of their public posture, enjoyed the first sweetness he’d ever had from the lips of the woman he loved so desperately. He heard a gasp and set her away from him.

      “What do you mean by starting that here in front of all these people?” he asked in a voice that trembled with the emotion that besieged him.

      “There’s nobody else in here,” she said, but he could see that the kiss had discombobulated her, as well.

      “I’m sorry that happened, Ruby.”

      “Well, I’m not. I loved it.”

      He shook her shoulders, though he did it gently. “Don’t you know better than to tease a man the way you’ve been teasing me all evening? I’m a man with feelings, Ruby.”

      “Of course you are, and I haven’t been teasing you. You look good, and I’m enjoying it.” She looked around. “Where’s that waiter with the champagne?”

      “I think I’d better take you home. We’ll take your car, and I’ll come back and get mine. You shouldn’t drive.”

      “You listen to me, Luther Biggens. I am perfectly sober.”

      “If you’re sober, why did you kiss me?”

      Her hands went to her hips, but she quickly removed them. “I kissed you because I wanted to, and I fully enjoyed it.”

      Luther couldn’t deny he had, too.

      “I’m not going home to that big empty house,” she said. “If the wind blows the slightest bit, the whole place creaks. It’s too big, too old and too dark. I don’t like living there all by myself, and I’m not going there tonight.” She folded her arms like a recalcitrant child, poked out her bottom lip and pushed out her chin. “I’m going home with you.”

      “Oh no, you’re not,” he said, feeling as if he were between a rock and a hard place. He wanted her alone with him in his house in the worse way, but he didn’t want to spend the night struggling to control his rampaging libido.

      She walked to the table with head up and shoulders back in her usual regal stride, and got her jacket.

      “Where’re you going?” Pearl asked her.

      “Yes,” Amber said. “Are you leaving already?”

      “After all that I did yesterday and today, you’d think I’d be tired, wouldn’t you?” he heard Ruby say, and as far as he was concerned, those were the words of a sober person. What the hell! If she wanted to go home with him, he’d take her there. Ruby tripped to the bridal table, kissed Opal, patted D’marcus’s shoulder and walked back to Luther.

      “I’ll take you home, Ruby,” he said, wanting to do the right thing. “If you’re afraid to stay there by yourself, I’ll sleep on the living-room sofa.”

      She laid her head to one side and looked at him with half-open, seductive eyes. “Didn’t I tell you that I’m going home with you?” She reached out and took a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter, and before Luther could stop her, she emptied the glass down her throat. “Delicious. Absolutely delicious,” she said. “Come on. Let’s go.”

      She didn’t seem to need steadying, but, nonetheless, he walked out of the room with his arm around her. At the cloak room, he collected their coats, helped her into hers and took his time getting into his gray chesterfield. He was stalling for time while he did some thinking, but she locked arms with him, reached up and kissed his cheek and urged him to the door. If he lived to be a thousand, he’d never forget this night.

      He loved her and he desperately wanted her, but did he dare make a move? What if he misread her, took the wrong step and ruined the most important friendship of his life?

      “All right,” he said to her when they got into her car with him at the wheel, “you said you want to go to my house, so I’m taking you there. But when you decide you want to leave, you only have to tell me.”

      “I know that, Luther,” she said. “I’ve trusted you all my life. Sometimes I think you’re closer to me than my sisters are.”

      For some reason, he didn’t want to hear that. He wanted some assurance that, when she got to his house, she’d sprawl out on the sofa and go to sleep or, at best, she’d go to the guest room and stay there. He parked in front of his house, walked up the stone path to his front door and inserted his key. He opened the door, and she strolled in.

      “Gosh, what a beautiful place,” she said as she dropped herself on the sofa, crossed her knees and began swinging a shapely leg whose slope he knew so well that he could draw it from memory. “You wouldn’t have any champagne, would you?” she asked him. “I’ve decided that I like it. Imagine living twenty-nine years and not knowing how good champagne is.”

      “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any.”

      “Then could we have a glass of wine? After all, this is the first time I’ve been here since you bought this place. I like it.”

      “Since you’re tired, perhaps you’d like to turn in? I’ll show you the guest room.”

      “What about the wine? Don’t you plan to be hospitable?”

      “Look, sweetheart, it’s almost midnight.”

      She didn’t move. “I’ve been up this late before. Lots of times, in fact.”

      He took a deep breath, admitted defeat and went to his kitchen for the wine. When he returned to the living room with two glasses of white wine, she had removed her coat and the jacket to her dress, exposing her beautiful brown shoulders and just enough cleavage to excite him.

      He put the glasses on the coffee table. Damned if he was going to let her make a joke of him. “As soon as we drink this, I’m taking you upstairs.”

      He must have appeared foolish with his mouth agape as she picked up the glass, drank the wine, put the glass back on the table and said, “Okay. I’m ready.”

      She walked up the stairs ahead of him, and he could have told her to save the rear action; he’d been looking at it for years, and he knew it well enough to write a sonnet about it.

      “To your left,” he said, doing nothing to squelch the annoyance that crept into his voice. How was he supposed to deal with her? He didn’t know this side of her, wouldn’t have dreamed she had it, and seeing it made her even more enticing. “Not in there,” he said as she strode toward an open door. “That’s my room.”

      Without so much as a pause, she turned and entered his room.

      “I said this is my room,” he repeated. “You’re sleeping across the hall.”

      “Okay,” she said. “Where across the hall?”

      He directed her to the guest room, and when she walked in, he stepped out, closed the door and slumped against it. “Thank God, I can breathe.” Once inside his own room he removed his jacket, tie and shirt and sat on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes. Then he heard her knock. Now what? With a bare chest, but still wearing trousers, he got up, opened the door and gazed down at her.

      He gulped. “What is it, Ruby?” The voice he heard must surely belonged to someone other than him; he’d never squeaked.

      “Would you…uh…unzip my dress, please?” she asked him, managing to appear fragile and helpless. Oh, hell! Maybe it just seemed that way to him.

      “Unzip your…Who usually unzips it?”

      “Nobody. This is the first time I’ve worn it.”

      Instead of turning her back, she stepped closer, and he thought his knees had turned to rubber. “Please,” she said.

      “Turn around,” he said gruffly. His fingers shook as he attempted to grasp the zipper, and he fumbled uncontrollably. Finally he