Until We Touch. Susan Mallery

She liked him, but not that way.

      He touched her arm. Just a light touch, but it seemed to burn all the way to her gut.

      “Thanks,” he said sincerely. “Why didn’t I come talk to you earlier?”

      “You didn’t come talk to me now. I came to you.”

      He flashed her a smile. A sweet sexy smile that made her knees weak.

      “Right as always,” he told her. “Come on. I’ll buy you a glass of wine.”

      She automatically followed him into his big, open kitchen. He pulled a bottle of merlot from the built-in wine cellar and walked to the drawer that held the opener. She collected glasses. Because they’d done this a thousand times before, they had a ritual. A ritual she liked.

      Only tonight she wanted something different. She wanted him to pull her close and kiss her and... Well, she wasn’t exactly sure what they would do next, but she wasn’t feeling that picky. As long as it was Jack, she was happy.

      For the second time in as many minutes, she was mentally backtracking. No, she told herself firmly. They weren’t involved. They never had been. She’d learned that lesson early and she’d learned it well. Jack was heartache. Jack wanted the most beautiful woman in the room...for fifteen minutes. And then he was done. He wanted sex and easy conversation—he didn’t want to get involved. And she...she didn’t know what she wanted but it wasn’t that. Was it?

      She took the glass of wine he offered and followed him into the big open living room. When they watched movies they went downstairs to the media room. Because Jack had, if not the biggest house in town, then one that was certainly close. Five or six bedrooms, a fully finished basement, a three-car garage. He had space and gadgets and lots of shiny surfaces. But sometimes she wondered if he ever got lonely in his big house.

      His place in L.A. had been similar. Maybe that explained all the fast-food women he favored. He got to pretend he was a part of something, even for a few hours, and then didn’t have any relationship messiness.

      There was a large curved sofa facing a massive fireplace. Paintings hung on the walls. Real paintings of beaches and trees. Not quasi–pop art representations of him playing football.

      She spotted a small oil painting by the antique writing desk in the corner.

      “Is that new?” she asked. She put down her glass of wine and walked to study it.

      The colors were all shades of the ocean and forest. There was a rough sea and an island beyond. She could barely make out the tiny sign by the boats. “Blackberry Island Marina.”

      “When did you get this?” she asked, turning to face him.

      He set his wine next to hers and grinned. “You don’t know everything about me.”

      “I usually do, but this is unexpected.” Her smile widened. “You have a secret life.”

      “I wish. A little privacy in this town would be nice, but I’m not holding my breath.”

      She returned to stand next to him. “What would you want to keep private? It’s nice that we know everything about each other.”

      “It’s a guy thing.”

      She rolled her eyes. “A convenient fallback statement that has no basis in reality. You’re trying to distract me and it’s not going to work.”

      “Larissa, if I wanted to distract you, there are better ways.”

      He was being fun. Or playful. She knew that, because she knew Jack. But when he made that statement, in a firm voice that was both teasing and slightly sexy, she could only think of one thing.

      Her muscles tensed even as her gaze involuntarily settled on his mouth. Breathing was tough and the only thought she could hold on to was an intense desire to have him kiss her. Not on the cheek or the forehead, like he usually did. She wanted him to kiss her on the mouth. Like he meant it.

      Jack’s startled expression quickly changed to something she couldn’t read. He took a step back and held up his arms, as if warding her off. But in the next movement, he grabbed her, hauled her against him, then pressed his mouth to hers.

      The contact was unexpected and exactly what she wanted. She went willingly into his embrace. Her hands settled on his broad shoulders as her thighs nestled against his. But the best part was how he kissed her.

      Gently, at first. Light, barely touching, then more firmly. His mouth lingered. Her eyes sank closed as she melted against him. Yes, he was definitely lingering, she thought. Lingering and moving back and forth. There was a tenderness, but also a hint of something else. Something more.

      Heat began to bubble deep in her chest. It flowed in all directions, making her body warm and sensitive to every touch. His fingers stroked her back, holding her with just the right amount of pressure. Thinking became more difficult and the world reduced itself to this man and what he was doing to her.

      His tongue brushed against her bottom lip. She sucked in her breath even as she parted for him. He slipped inside. The kiss deepened and then they were straining against each other. She moved her hands up and down his back, wanting more. Needing him to touch her everywhere. He responded in kind. One hand slipped to her rear while the other slipped around her waist and up her rib cage until it settled on her left breast. His fingers brushed against her tight nipple. Electricity shot through her and she jumped back.

      They stared at each other, both breathing hard. Passion darkened his eyes. It made her tremble. She tried to speak, but honest to God, what was there to say? Larissa did the only thing that made sense. This time it was her turn to run.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      “I KISSED JACK.”

      Larissa supposed “Hi” or “Can I come in?” was a more conventional greeting, but the words just sort of spilled out. Bailey stared at her a second before motioning her into her small house.

      “Wow,” her friend said. “I’d been thinking I was going to have a quiet, if slightly boring, evening at home while Chloe is with one of her friends, and then you come along. Well done.”

      “I’m sorry,” Larissa breathed. “Is this an okay time?”

      “Of course. Like I said, Chloe’s gone. And you are better than anything on TV. Let’s go into the kitchen. I have some very cheap wine and I made brownies yesterday.”

      Another offer of wine, Larissa thought, determined to actually taste it this time.

      She followed Bailey into her kitchen. The contrast between the open, modern new space at Jack’s place and this tiny, aging but homey one couldn’t have been greater. Here the counters were yellow and green tile—a holdout from the previous century. The cabinets had seen better days and there was barely room for a tiny table and chairs.

      Yet the room felt cozy. There were dozens of brightly colored drawings held to the front of the refrigerator with magnets. A big, bright calendar dominated one wall. It showed lots of activities and dates with friends.

      Larissa inhaled slowly and started to relax. Nothing too horrible had happened. Nothing that she couldn’t recover from. Order and balance would be restored. And if they weren’t, she would find another cause and lose herself in that.

      Bailey unscrewed the top on the wine and poured them each a glass, then set out a plate of brownies. They sat across from each other at the tiny table. Bailey leaned forward and grinned.

      “Okay, start at the beginning. How long have you and Jack been kissing?”

      Larissa groaned and covered her face with her hands. “We haven’t. Ever.” She straightened and reached for her wine. “It just happened.”

      “When?”

      “Like twenty minutes ago. We were talking and then we were kissing.” At least she thought that was how it had happened. The memory