Once the new wines are served-including the rose for Emily-Rocco makes his exit. We listen as the door clicks shut.

"Oh my G.o.d," she says after taking her first bite. "Jackson, this is incredible."

I smile. "Of course it is. I only go in for the best. When I heard talk of Chef Barton opening his own restaurant I knew I had to get on board if for no other reason than to dine here whenever I wanted."

"You have to taste this," she says.

"I've had it," I say. "I know how good it is. You enjoy it."

She takes another bite and closes her eyes as she chews. I almost drop my fork as I watch the pure pleasure on her face as she slowly works her jaw, savoring each taste. She opens her eyes as if waking from a dream, swallowing the bite. "Here," she says, nudging her plate toward me. "You have to have some. It's the most amazing thing I've ever had in my mouth."

Christ, she's killing me and she has no idea. Absolutely none.

"I'll taste yours if you taste mine," I say. "You first." I cut off a small piece of meat for her. Emily leans forward in her seat, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s coming dangerously close dipping into the sauce on her plate. Without a word, she drops her mouth open and waits for me to feed her, her eyes locked on mine. I move the fork toward her mouth, and her tongue slips out the smallest bit to capture the food. She wraps her lips around the fork and gently tugs back. I think I might explode right here at the table.

"Mmm," she moans as she chews, her eyes falling shut again. "Amazing." I can't move while I watch her. Never in my life has a woman had me so charged up, and over dinner. "Your turn." She fills her fork and leans toward me again, her eyes on my lips. The fork hovers there for a moment, but I can't take my eyes off her. "Here."

"Put it down," I say, and I hear the scratchiness in my voice as if I'm choking on want.

"You don't want to taste?"

G.o.d, is she this innocent, or is she messing with me? I can't tell, but it's making me crazy just the same.

I stand up from the table and stride across the room to the door. I lock it. When I look back at Emily she's still holding that d.a.m.n fork but her mouth has fallen slightly open. I walk back to the table. I run my fingers over her jaw.

"Emily," I say. "I definitely want to taste."

Emily

Jackson moves his hand to the back of my neck and pulls me toward him. His face moves toward mine, his lips parted and eyes focused on my mouth. I'm watching it happen, frozen in my chair, not breathing, heart stopped. He's been open one moment and cold the next, leaving me wondering what's going on in that gorgeous head of his. Now I know. He's going to kiss me, and that means I am floating in a dream.

His lips touch mine softly, as if testing to see my reaction. I press my lips back, showing him that I want it too. His lips move over mine, feeling me, as one hand kneads over the back of my neck, gently pulling me closer to him. His other hand softly touches my face. I press into his lips until his tongue pushes through, seeking my own tongue and tasting me, exploring me. I give him back as much as I can but no one has ever kissed me with so much urgency it's almost messy, and delightfully so. It makes me lightheaded and I'm glad I'm sitting down, my hands resting in my lap as if I'm paralyzed which, in a way I am. Jackson Croft has me powerless to move my own body.

When he pulls away I almost fall forward. I'm looking up at him, still standing above me, and my eyes catch what's right in front of my face-the evidence of how excited Jackson is.

By me.

It hardly seems real. This guy is my exact opposite but the way he's looking at me now is the s.e.xist way anyone has ever looked at me in my life. Not just like he wants me, but like he needs me in order to keep breathing.

Jackson sits back down in his chair and I realize the moment is over. I want more but at least I'll leave tonight having had the most pa.s.sionate kiss of my life.

Jackson's eyes never leave mine, and his gaze is so penetrating that it still has me grounded to my seat. My breaths come in deep in slow as I try to gather my thoughts, bring myself back to reality.

"Emily," Jackson says, "come here." Without thought I somehow stand up and move closer to him. "Sit down." I look to his lap-buzzing in my stomach flutters up knowing what's happening in those tailored pants-and begin to sit, legs together and one arm around his back. But he stops me with his hand on my hip. "No. Face me."

He wants me to straddle him? In here? I look toward the door, knowing he locked it but still. What if Rocco or Chef Barton try to come back in to clear our plates or offer us dessert?

"Don't worry about that," he says, watching me. "No one will bother us. Now sit."

My face is heating up like I'm standing in front of the sun and frankly my knees may not be able to hold me much longer. But still...

"My skirt," I say, tugging it down like an awkward schoolgirl. "It's...it won't..." I don't know what I'm trying to say. If I were wearing a flowing skirt or pants it would be different, but to straddle him, in a restaurant, in this skirt, it's like the skirt is the one thing holding me back. Like it's one thing too many, one extra thing I've never done.

"Emily," Jackson says again, and every time he says my name it's a soft but firm command. His hands slid up the side of my thighs to my hips. There at the top, he tugs up the fabric ever so slightly. "I'm not going to tell you again."

The truth is, it gives and stretches easily. And I want him. I want to do whatever he asks, without thought, without care of who he is or what kind of person he is. So I place one leg on the side of him then drape the other on the opposite side, all the while his hands are resting on my hips, not pressing, not guiding, just letting me feel him on me.

"Down," he says, his eyes watching mine.

I lower myself onto his lap, spreading my leg out as I push my hips forward. Jackson's hands move toward the back, cupping my a.s.s as he pulls me up on him. I gasp, not only at how hard he is but how big, so big, more than I can probably handle but so tantalizing and right under my soaking panties.

"You don't even know," he says, his hand touching my face, "how s.e.xy you are." His lips softly touch mine. "You don't know what you're doing to me."

"I think I have an idea," I say, and I grind my hips down on his big hard d.i.c.k as he lets out a groan, burying his face in my neck. His kisses my neck, softly at first and then quickly, with urgency. My head falls back as his tongue teases my skin, the eager sensations coming at me all over my body. I move my hips into him, feeling his d.i.c.k like t.i.tanium beneath me, and each time I move he uses his hand on my waist to jerk me into him, harder and harder each time. I wrap my arms around his neck to hold on, my fingers gathering his thick hair above the base of his neck.

His hand moves up to my back and he pulls my chest into him, our bodies still thrusting into each other, the slickness of my p.u.s.s.y riding him through all that fabric. My b.r.e.a.s.t.s are pushed up to the top of his chest, just below his chin, and it doesn't take him long to see the proximity of that.

He pulls down the shoulder of my dress just so it's hanging on the side of my arm. He looks down at my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, rising and falling with my intense breathing from so much touching, so fast. "You are unbelievable," he mutters as he runs his hand across the top of my chest, an inch from my breast. I arch my back, eager for the touch that's so close I can feel his breath on me. I want him to pull down the fabric of my dress, free my b.r.e.a.s.t.s so that he can take them up in his hands and, G.o.d, his mouth. But he won't give me more. Instead he lets his fingertips drift back and forth, one finger barely drifting into my cleavage. I arch up into him again, desperate.

"Please," I say, the word coming out of me in a breath. "Jackson, please touch me." I grind my hips down into him again to show him how much my body needs him. I press my hands into the back of his neck, showing him, guiding him. But Jackson doesn't take orders. He moves his hand away from my chest and down onto my bare thigh.

He runs his hand up my burning skin, his thick fingers pressing into me as we continue to grind into each other, desperate to find some relief. Apparently he's unwilling to give it, at least not yet. I don't know how far he intends to take this, but my body is acting out of its own need and I have no desire to slow it down, especially when Jackson's hand slides up under my dress and squeezes my a.s.s. Our breathing is heavy, mixed with one another and I so desperately want to cry out but am fully aware that there's a restaurant full of people just outside that door. As we push into each other harder, Jackson puts both hands on my a.s.s, under my dress, on my bare skin and yanks me up on him, grunting softly as he does. His hands pull my b.u.t.t cheeks apart, the lips of my p.u.s.s.y throbbing even more as they too widen over his steel-hard c.o.c.k. I bite down on my lip to keep from screaming out from the pleasure that's all over my body, and the intense ache that it needs more. I need more. And apparently Jackson does too.

His hands stay where they are and he stretches his lips up to mine and our mouths crash together, tongues desperately deepening into one another's mouth to get more out of each other. No man has ever made me feel more pa.s.sionate and full of need than Jackson Croft, right in this moment.

My arms pull him into me, my b.r.e.a.s.t.s still frantic for him to take hold of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Finally he can't wait anymore and, with our mouths still melded together, he yanks the dangling sleeve down further until my nipple is just exposed.

He takes me in his hand, holding and pressing into me, so good that I want to cry his name. A little weep escapes my throat and goes into his mouth where are tongues are slipping every which way, feeling everything.

When he pulls away from me I want to yank him back, but that capable mouth of his is finally on my t.i.t, covering my exposed nipple. He sucks and pulls on it as I hug his head to my chest, rocking into him and still trying not scream out. His teeth tug on my hard nipple before his tongue quickly laps over it again. I can't believe it's possible to make me any wetter but he manages, taunting and teasing me until I feel like I can't take it anymore.

And then he goes even further.

With his mouth still on me, his hand moves down my stomach, over my hip and across my thigh. He moves up my inner thigh while working his tongue over my nipple, and runs his hand over my crotch.

"G.o.d I can feel through you," he says, slowly rubbing his fingers back and forth. "I can feel how wet you are. You're f.u.c.king soaking."

I'm already flush from the heat of him, from the burning he makes me feel, but those words of his make me blush in a way that has nothing to do his touch. It's crazy that I'm not at all shy about grinding down on his d.i.c.k, but knowing he knows how wet he's made me suddenly makes me feel timid.

"I've made you this wet," he says, rubbing his fingers across the thin fabric. He pauses to circle my hard nub with the tip of his middle finger. "Didn't I?"

My eyes are closed to the sound of his voice and the feel of his hands. "Yes," I say.

"You came storming into my office all self-righteous. Now look at you," he says, continuing his gentle rubbing. "You're desperate for me. Your p.u.s.s.y wants me. I did this to you. Tell me I did."

"Yes. You did this," I say, wondering what more he wants of me. He's got me. "Please."

"Please what?"

What? I don't know. My head is swimming. All I know is that I want. I'm greedy and I want more and more and more. The words he's saying are true but no man has ever spoken to me like this and it has me shy and hot at the same time. I like it, but I can't do it.

"Tell me what you want."

"You," I say. I can't open my eyes. I can't look at him. "More." More of his hands. More of his mouth. More of his tongue. I want his d.i.c.k inside me-suddenly it's all I can picture, but I certainly did not agree to go out on this one dinner with him to have s.e.x.

I've never gone this far on a first date and frankly I can't remember the last date I went on. In all my spinning thoughts, a tiny part of my brain that isn't drowning in endorphins reminds me that this is not a date. I don't know what this is, but my body aches for more and more.

"Be specific, Emily," Jackson says, teasing me with my name. "Do you want more of me here?" His fingers drift over the roundness of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, grazing my nipple.

"Yes," I say, because yes it feels so good.

"Or do you want more of me here?" He moves back to my throbbing p.u.s.s.y, making me want to cry.

"Yes!"

"No," he says. He moves his hands to my hips, no longer touching my skin. They rest there comfortably but suddenly feeling so far away from me. I slowly open my eyes. Won't he give me anymore?

"Please." It's the only word I can manage, and the only word I need to speak.

The way he looks at me is beyond hungry. It's an animal need. "I told you I always get my way. And I told you I wanted to taste you."

Before I can react, in one swift motion he has lifted me up by my waist and set me directly on the dinner table. He shoves back the plates and I'm sure the clanking of the china is going to make the staff come busting down the door.

My legs are still spread open, my skirt hiked up to the top of my thighs. I'm panting as I watch Jackson pull up his chair and sit before me, perched up on the table. He runs his hand up my stomach, over the center of my heaving b.r.e.a.s.t.s and to my clavicle, where he gently pushes me back.

"Lean back," he orders. "On your arms." I go back on my forearms. His hands push up the remaining bit of privacy and he looks at my panties like he's found the treasure.

"Please," I beg once again.

"Please what?"

"Please take them off."

A smirk comes up on his face. With his eyes locked on mine, he lifts my leg from beneath the knee and begins kissing the inside of my thigh, his tongue dancing over my skin as he goes. The higher he gets, the more I squirm, scooting down lower on the table to get myself to him, to his mouth and his tongue and all the pleasure I know is waiting for me.

"Jackson..."

He takes hold of the sides of my panties and rips them down, forcing me to temporarily close my legs so that he can get them off me. Soon he has me back in place, right where he wants me. He pushes my dress up again and stares down at me as he breathes heavily, hungrily. When he moves forward he doesn't go slowly. His tongue is on me like a bee to the flower, licking up my throbbing walls. He flicks his tongue over my c.l.i.t several times, making me sure I'm going to lose my mind. He has me panting, gasping for air. He pulls me closer to his mouth his tongue working over me as it throbs and pulses and I know I'm nearing the release. I have to see him.

I look down at Jackson, buried between my thighs, and I can't believe this is happening. He's beyond s.e.xy, beyond amazing. It doesn't even come close-no man has ever come close to making me feel this way.

I reach down for him, my hand brushing back his thick hair, wanting to touch him. He's doing everything right but I realize I'm pulling him even closer to me, pushing his head more into my p.u.s.s.y, and for a moment I'm afraid he'll stop and tell me he doesn't like to be told what to do. Instead, his eyes open and he looks up at me. He slows only for a moment, and then his tongue picks up again, devouring me, working over my c.l.i.t like nothing I've ever felt before.

"G.o.d, Jackson," I moan.

My breaths become shorter, my vision starts to tunnel, and as I watch Jackson take over my p.u.s.s.y, his eyes locked on mine, I explode. My hips buck and he grasps my thighs, keeping his mouth in place as I ride out the o.r.g.a.s.m, squeezing my eyes to all other sensations. I somehow manage to stifle the screams and moans that want to escape.

I can hear Jackson moving, but I still need a moment. I think I may have lost consciousness for a moment. I feel Jackson move my knees back together, then cover my legs with soft kisses.

"That was..." I begin.

"...intense," he finishes. We both manage to laugh.

He helps me off the table and places the strap of my dress back on my shoulder as I tug down the skirt. I can hardly look at him but when I do, for just a quick moment, it feels warm and sweet.

"I just want to say, for the record, that I have never done anything like that in my life," I tell him, once I've gotten myself dressed and back in my chair. I let my hair fall in my face, unable to look at him. "That was just...crazy."

Jackson reaches over and tucks my hair behind my ear. He lifts my chin so that I'll look at him. "You're beautiful," he says, and something in his eyes and the tone of his voice makes me feel like it's more than just a line he's using on me.

But then again, maybe that's why he's so seductive-he makes everything seem real, convincing, believable.

Does he mean any of it?

He walks back over to the door. He puts his fingers to his lips. "Shhh..."

I can't help but grin as he unlocks the door then hustles back to the table like a naughty schoolboy trying not to get caught. Moments later the door opens and Rocco and another waiter arrive to clear away our dishes and present us with dessert. We all act like nothing out of the ordinary happened.

And it was so incredible, so unbelievable, I could almost convince myself that I made it all up, that I blacked out from the wine and had an intense, erotic dream. But then Jackson reaches under the table and clasps my hand and I realize-it's real. I didn't even have to dream it.

Jackson

That was not how I intended the night to go.

That was bad.

Well, it was f.u.c.king amazing. The hottest s.e.xual experience I've ever had in my life. But it's bad because now I'm hooked on Emily Brown and I don't like to be addicted to anything.

I need my wits about me now more than ever, and all Emily does is make me lose my mind.

Is it possible that she's everything you never knew you wanted?

The question hangs in my mind for a brief moment before I shake it off.