Daring Moves. Linda Miller Lael

time, Mandy,” he answered, his voice hardly more than a ragged whisper.

      Amanda was both surprised and insulted. “What the hell do you mean, ‘not this time’? Were you just trying to prove—”

      Jordan interrupted her tirade by bending to kiss her lips. “I wasn’t trying to prove anything. I just don’t want you hating my guts when you wake up tomorrow.”

      Amanda’s body, so long untouched by a man, was primed for a loving it wasn’t going to receive. “You’re too late,” she spat, bolting to an upright position and righting her bra and T-shirt. “I already hate your guts!”

      Jordan obligingly fetched her jeans and panties from the floor where he’d tossed them earlier. “Probably, but you’ll forgive me when the time is right.”

      She squirmed back into the rest of her clothes, then stood looking down at Jordan, one finger waggling. “No, I won’t!” she argued hotly.

      He clasped her hips in his hands and brought her forward, then softly nipped the place he’d just pillaged so sweetly. Even through her jeans, Amanda felt a piercing response to the contact; a shock went through her, and she gave a soft cry of mingled protest and surrender.

      Jordan drew back and gave her a swat on the bottom. “See? You’ll forgive me.”

      Amanda would have whirled away then, but Jordan caught her by the hand and wrenched her onto his lap. When she would have risen, he restricted her by catching hold of her hands and imprisoning them behind her back.

      With his free hand, he pushed her T-shirt up in front again, then boldly cupped a lace-covered breast that throbbed to be bared to him once more. “It’s going to be very good when we make love,” he said firmly, “but that isn’t going to happen yet.”

      Amanda squirmed, infuriated and confused. “Then why don’t you let me go?” she breathed.

      He chuckled. “Because I want to make damn sure you don’t forget that preview of how it’s going to be.”

      “Of all the arrogance—”

      Jordan pulled down one side of her bra, causing the breast to spring triumphantly to freedom. “I’ve got plenty of that,” he breathed against a peak that strained toward him.

      Amanda moaned despite herself when he took her into his mouth again.

      “Umm,” he murmured, blatant in his enjoyment.

      Utter and complete surprise possessed Amanda when she realized she was being propelled to another release, with Jordan merely gripping her hands behind her and feasting on her breast. She didn’t want him to know, and yet her body was already betraying her with feverish jerks and twists.

      She bit down hard on her lower lip and tried to keep herself still, but she couldn’t. She was moving at lightning speed toward a collision with a comet.

      Jordan lifted his mouth from her breast just long enough to mutter, “So it’s like that, is it?” before driving her hard up against her own nature as a woman.

      She surrendered in a burst of surprised gasps and sagged against Jordan, resting her head on his shoulder when it was finally over. “H-how did that happen?”

      Still caressing her breast, Jordan spoke against her ear. “No idea,” he answered, “but it damned near made me change my mind about waiting.”

      Amanda lay against his chest until she’d recovered the ability to stand and to breathe properly, then she rose from his lap, snapped her bra and pulled down her T-shirt. In a vain effort to regain her dignity, she squared her shoulders and plunged the splayed fingers of both hands through her hair. “You don’t find me attractive—that’s it, isn’t it?”

      “That’s the most ridiculous question I’ve ever been asked,” Jordan answered, rising a little awkwardly—and painfully, it seemed to Amanda—from the sofa. “I wouldn’t have done the things I just did if I didn’t.”

      “Then why don’t you want me?”

      “Believe me, I do want you. Too badly to risk lousing things up so soon.”

      Amanda wasn’t satisfied with that answer, so she turned on one heel and fled into the bathroom, where she splashed cold water on her face and brushed her love-tousled hair. When she came out, half fearing that Jordan would be gone, she found him standing at the window, gazing out at the city.

      Calmer, she stood behind him, slipped her arms around his lean waist and kissed his nape. “Stay for supper?”

      He turned in her embrace to smile down into her eyes. “That depends on what’s on the menu.”

      Amanda was mildly affronted, remembering his rejection. “It isn’t me,” she stated with a small pout, “so you can relax.”

      He laughed and gave her another playful swat on the bottom. “Take it from me, Mandy—I’m not relaxed.”

      She grinned, glad to know he was suffering justly, and kissed his chin, which was already darkening with the shadow of a beard. “Nobody has called me ‘Mandy’ since first grade,” she said.

      “Good.”

      “Why is that good?” Amanda inquired, snuggling close.

      “Because it saves me the trouble of thinking up some cutesy nickname like ‘babycakes’ or ‘buttercup.’”

      She laughed. “I can’t imagine you calling me ‘buttercup’ with a straight face.”

      “I don’t think I could,” he replied, bending his head to kiss her thoroughly. Amanda’s knees were weak when he finally drew back.

      “You delight in tormenting me,” she protested.

      His eyes twinkled. “What’s for supper?”

      “Grilled cheese sandwiches, unless we go to the market,” Amanda answered.

      “The market it is,” Jordan replied. Once again, in the entryway he helped Amanda into her coat.

      “You have good manners for a rascal,” Amanda remarked quite seriously.

      Jordan laughed. “Thank you—I think.”

      They walked to a small store on the corner, where food was overpriced but fresh and plentiful. Amanda selected two steaks, vegetables for a salad and potatoes for baking.

      “Does your fireplace work?” Jordan asked, lingering in front of a display of synthetic logs.

      Amanda nodded, wondering if she could stand the romance of a crackling fire when Jordan was so determined not to make love to her. “Are you trying to drive me crazy, or what?” she countered, her eyes snapping with irritation.

      He gave her one of his nuclear grins, then picked up two of the logs and carried them to the checkout counter, where he threw down a twenty-dollar bill. He would have paid for the food, too, except that Amanda wouldn’t let him.

      She did permit him to carry everything back to the apartment, however, thinking it might drain off some of his excess energy.