Chapter 16

C. J.

Can’t wait to see you tonight. Can we meet at my place?

C. J. read the text on her phone screen and couldn’t resist breaking into a grin. She surreptitiously looked around her, glancing at the other reporters in the press box at the county commissioner’s meeting. She quickly typed Terrence a message.

Can’t wait to see you too and sure! I’ll be there at 8.

Her cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. She pressed Send and dropped her cell phone back into her satchel before returning her attention to the meeting in progress, but she could no longer concentrate on what any of the commissioners were saying. It was just an endless string of nonsensical syllables from that point onward. C. J.’s thoughts kept drifting back to Terrence and the date they were going to have that night. He was taking her out to dinner to one of the nicest restaurants in Chesterton—Le Bayou Bleu. They had gone on a few dates already and each date had been better than the last.

C. J. hadn’t realized how many wrong assumptions she had made about Terrence Murdoch. She had thought he was a self-involved, rich pretty boy who had as much depth as a puddle on the side of the road. But that wasn’t true at all. He was gorgeous, of course, and charming, and an amazing kisser, but he was also funny, witty, and complex. He still seemed to be struggling with his recovery from the car accident, battling the physical damage as well as the psychological aftermath. He was a man at odds with his new identity as a “disabled person,” and it made him insecure and occasionally in need of reassurance that he was still a man, that he was still worthy. How could that not tug at her heartstrings? How could she not like him? In truth, she was starting to suspect she more than liked him. She was starting to suspect she was falling in love.

“Meeting adjourned,” the board president said.

As soon as she heard the bang of the ceremonial gavel, C. J. leapt out of her seat and bolted from the press box. She almost ran out of the building and to her car. She wanted to head straight to Main Street in Chesterton to one of the local dress shops. She had raided her closet yesterday in search of something nice to wear that evening, but she hadn’t managed to find anything. This would be the first time she had gone shopping for a new outfit in months.

Her phone buzzed again as she walked across the parking lot to her Honda Civic. She eagerly dug into her satchel to retrieve it, wondering if it was another message from Terrence. Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

A reporter from the Washington Post should be calling you soon about Dad and his run for congress. Behave yourself. Remember what I told you.

C. J. rolled her eyes the instant she read the text. It was from her brother, Victor. Of course he was checking in on her, just like he had in the old days, to make sure she stayed in line, that she remained the perfect little preacher’s daughter. Hypocrite, she thought angrily.

Got it, she typed back before opening her car door.

Her reply was succinct, but no more needed to be said. She hated being dragged back into her family drama, but she didn’t want everyone in town—especially the guys at the paper—to know about her past. They already called her “African queen” and “Your Royal Highness.” She could only imagine what they would say if they found out she was actually the daughter of the esteemed Reverend Pete Aston. She wouldn’t hear the end of it! So she’d play along with Victor and her father’s wishes for now. She’d answer the reporters’ questions to appease her folks. She would just refuse to do video interviews—that was the deal she’d made with Victor.

A half hour later C. J. stepped through the door of a high-end boutique in town, the type of store that she usually avoided. Her mother had loved shops like this, dragging her to them constantly when she was a teenager.

“A young woman should always look her best and ladylike, Courtney,” her mother would admonish. “As God intended.”

Well, she had no plans to look “ladylike” tonight, but she certainly wanted to look her best. She knew the type of woman that Terrence was used to dating and though she had no hope of competing with those model types, she planned to come as close as she could.

C. J. instantly zeroed in on a rack of dresses with simple but flattering designs.

“Hi, can I help you?” someone said behind her.

C. J. turned to find a beautiful woman standing near an adjacent rack. Her dark hair was upswept. She had on a white tank top that showed off her perfect cleavage and a short skirt in a vibrant print that displayed her long, tanned legs. She smiled at C. J. She looked like one of the women Terrence usually dated. She looked like she’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine.

“Looking for something in particular?” the salesgirl asked perkily.

“Uh, n-no. I mean . . . yes.” C. J. laughed, feeling anxious all of a sudden. “I just . . . I just wanted to buy a dress.”

The salesgirl tilted her head. “Is it for a special occasion?”

“Sort of. I . . . I have a date tonight and—”

“A date! Oh, then we have to find you something really, really nice.” The salesgirl strode across the boutique, her high heels clicking on the gleaming cement floor. She passed the sales counter and a display table of hats and scarves before sauntering to another rack filled with sexy, alluring dresses that C. J. would never wear. “What are you? A size eight?” she shouted over her shoulder.

C. J. nodded. “Uh, yes I am. But . . .” I really don’t need any help, she wanted to say.

“Oh, I have the perfect dress for you! Just perfect!” The salesgirl yanked a dress off the rack, then paused. “Wait. Is this a first date?”

C. J. shook her head. “No, it’s the fourth, actually.”

The salesgirl’s blue eyes widened. “The fourth! Oh, sweetie! This won’t do. Not for a fourth date!” She put the dress back on the rack and grabbed another one. “This one is better.” She held it up in front of herself. It was a short, bronze bandage dress that looked like it would barely cover C. J.’s top and bottom. “I hope you have some sexy underwear to pair with it. If not, we have bras and thongs in the back.”

Why was what underwear she wore important? C. J.’s only rule was that as long as her underwear matched, it was fine. And sometimes she even bent that rule!

“I’m not wearing any special underwear. It’s not like I plan on anyone seeing it,” she joked.

“But it’s the fourth date,” the salesgirl repeated, looking dire. “You know what that means!”

“Umm, no. What . . . what does it mean?”

“Well”—the salesgirl walked toward her and dropped her voice to a whisper—“if you guys haven’t had sex already, that’s usually when a man makes his move. I don’t know. It’s like a rule nowadays.”

C. J.’s mouth fell open. “That’s not true, is it?”

The salesgirl shrugged. “It’s been true for every guy I’ve dated.” She shoved the bronze dress at her again. “Go to the dressing room and try it on. I bet you’ll look like a knockout!”

C. J. stared dumbly at the dress. It practically screamed, “You can have me any way you want, boy!” She couldn’t wear that. She couldn’t give Terrence the wrong impression about her. She wasn’t ready to have sex with him. Not yet! “You’ll have to do it at some point,” the voice in her head countered. “You’ve been a virgin for way too long.”

C. J. cursed her conservative background and her hypocritical father’s constant lectures about “keeping yourself pure for your future husband.” She even used to wear a sterling silver chastity ring. The ring was long gone, but thanks to all her father’s brainwashing, she was now a twenty-six-year-old virgin who was paralyzed with fear at the idea of sex. She had successfully managed to avoid it for years, dodging men’s advances, never letting any of them get too close—but would she be able to do it tonight? She gnawed at her bottom lip, wondering what she was going to do.

C. J. stood on the welcome mat in front of Terrence’s condo and fought the urge to nervously wring her hands. She glanced down at her low-cut sundress with its delicate spaghetti straps and the flowers around the hem—the same dress she had nearly talked herself out of buying because she had thought it was too sexy and just plain not “her,” but the salesgirl had talked her into it. She raised her hand to ring the doorbell.

It’s just a date, C. J., she told herself for the umpteenth time. It’s just a date, like the others we’ve already had.

“No, it’s the fourth date,” a voice countered in her head. “Remember what the salesgirl said?”

It meant sex. It meant sweaty, athletic, swinging-from-the-rafters sex—knowing Terrence and the many women he had probably bedded over the years. There was no way C. J. was ready for that.

C. J.’s finger hovered over the doorbell, inches away from the silver button.

But maybe he doesn’t want sex yet, she told herself desperately. Maybe the salesgirl doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about! Terrence has just had a car accident. He needs more time to heal. Maybe he’s willing to wait longer.

“Are you kidding?” The voice in her head laughed. “His leg, arm, and eye may have been hurt in the accident, baby girl, but I bet one appendage is working just fine! And he probably can’t wait to use it . . . if he hasn’t already.”

She grimaced. If Terrence was dating other women—more experienced women—then she didn’t stand a chance. She felt inferior enough with her average looks and lack of allure. She was painfully aware that she wasn’t one of the glamazons he usually dated. How the hell could she also compete with women who knew more positions than the Kama Sutra, who were the embodiment of every man’s sexual fantasy, when she was still a virgin?

I’m so in over my head with this, she thought, her shoulders slumping with glumness. What the hell am I doing?

Maybe it was better to just beg off, to gracefully walk away from her budding relationship with Terrence. They had lots of fun and of course she found him attractive, but it was so obvious that they weren’t compatible. She was C. J. Aston, the disowned preacher’s daughter who put on the bravado of being worldly but who was really still as innocent as a babe in the woods. And he was Terrence Murdoch, a rich playboy who could probably have just about any woman he wanted. So why on God’s green earth did he want her?

She lowered her hand from the doorbell and let it rest at her side.

She hated these feelings of self-doubt. She had worked so hard to become more confident, to stop questioning herself. But it had only taken a few dates with this man to make her insecure.

C. J. took a step back from the door, contemplating making an excuse for not seeing him tonight. Just as she was about to turn on her heel, Terrence’s front door opened. He stood in the doorway in black slacks and a simple white, button-down shirt. He couldn’t have been more handsome.

“Hey,” he said with a charming smile, and all her doubts instantly disappeared. “Where are you going?”

“Uh, no-nowhere! I was just about to knock,” she lied, then began fiddling with her hair. When she realized she was twirling a curly lock around her finger like some dippy schoolgirl, she dropped her hands to her sides.

“Well, you’re right on time.” He stepped forward, looped an arm around her waist, and drew her close to him, making her breathe in sharply. “You look amazing, by the way.”

“Thanks. You look nice t—”

Her words halted in her throat when he leaned down and kissed her. She melted, going mushier than a marshmallow on an open flame.

The feel of Terrence’s full lips against hers, the tickle of his goatee against her chin, the sensation of his tongue in her mouth, and his warm, manly smell all joined to overwhelm her senses. She couldn’t think straight. She looped her arms around his neck and pressed against his chest to steady herself. She heard his cane clatter to the floor as he wrapped his other arm around her. They fell back against the doorjamb and continued to kiss, almost panting with eagerness. C. J.’s heart was racing. A fire caught inside her and she could feel herself growing hotter and hotter. She could barely breathe. She had to come up for air. She abruptly wrenched her lips from his.

“So . . . uh . . . so, are we still heading to Le Bayou Bleu?” she asked.

Terrence slowly opened the eye that wasn’t covered by his eye patch. “Huh?”

“Le . . . Le Bayou Bleu,” she repeated, taking a step out of the embrace. She bent down and picked up his cane, which had fallen into the condo’s hallway. She handed it back to him. “You know, the . . . the restaurant. Our dinner reservations.”

“Oh! Oh yeah.” He licked his lips, and she was momentarily reminded of their steamy kiss. “I forgot to tell you . . . I had to cancel the reservations.”

She frowned in confusion. “Cancel them?”

“Yeah, I’m afraid my leg is acting up tonight,” he said with a slight wince as he gripped his cane and shifted his weight onto it. “It happens from time to time.”

She stared down at his leg, feeling disheartened. So all her agonizing had been pointless. They weren’t even going on a fourth date tonight!

“I’m sorry you aren’t feeling well,” she said softly. “Is there anything you need me to get for you?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m good.”

“Well . . . uh . . .” She twisted her satchel strap, trying her best to hide her disappointment, though she suspected she wasn’t being very successful. She painted on a smile. “I guess I can come back another day. Maybe we can reschedule when you’re feeling better.”

“Reschedule?” He raised an eyebrow. “Why would we reschedule?”

C. J. fell silent, now even more confused. Was he saying he didn’t want to see her again? Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“You thought I was canceling the date, too?” He reached out and grabbed her hand. He leaned down and kissed her reddened cheek. “You really think I’d let you get away that easily? Hell no! I just canceled the dinner reservations. We’re still having dinner, though.” He stepped back from the door and gestured with his cane into the home’s interior.

Her frown deepened as she peeked around his broad shoulder. The lights were turned down low in the living room so that she could only see the outline of his leather sectional sofa and armchairs. Beyond the living room was the dining area, where a table was set. It seemed to sit under a little spotlight in his vast condo. She could see from here the white tapered candles, a bouquet of white dahlias, and two table settings of fine china, silver dishes, and crystal set out on a white linen tablecloth. Two empty chairs also sat waiting for them.

When C. J. saw the setup, she blinked a few times as if to clear her vision. Was all this for her? Her mouth fell open in shock.

“Don’t worry. No one is gonna die from food poisoning tonight. I didn’t cook the dinner,” he joked before tugging her inside and shutting the door behind her.

They walked across the hardwood floor and Terrence paused to lean down and grab a digital remote from his glass coffee table. He tapped a button and flames erupted in the glass-tiled fireplace a few feet behind them, making her jump in surprise. He tapped another button and music suddenly filled the room—a low, soothing instrumental jazz piece.

“I had the food delivered,” he said as he lowered the remote back to the coffee table. He then guided her into the dining room. “And it’s not takeout—a reputable chef made it for us.”

He let go of her hand and pulled out one of the chairs at the dining room table. He then gestured for her to sit down and she fell back into the seat, too stunned to sit down gracefully.

He removed the silver lids from the plates sitting in front of her, revealing their dinner. “Escarole salad, beef tenderloin, puréed potatoes and leeks, sautéed spinach and caramelized onions, and a bomb dulce de leche cake is in the fridge,” he said as he walked to the other side of the table. “I cheated and sampled some of it before you arrived.” She watched as he sat down next to her and reached for the bottle of wine at the center of the table. “It was pretty good.”

“No, you’re the one who’s good, Terrence Murdoch,” the voice in her head murmured before laughing again.

He had canceled their dinner reservations and decided to give her an intimate, five-star dinner at his home. Part of her—the inquisitive, incredulous journalist part—wondered if he had embellished the story about his leg. Was all of this some orchestration on his part?

It is the fourth date, after all, she reminded herself yet again.

Terrence was a master player, the ultimate seducer. What better way to seduce a woman than pulling a grand romantic move like this one? C. J. should have seen a move like this coming from a mile away, but then again, why would she? Shaun was the last man she had seriously dated, and he was far from a lothario. She had no experience at this.

She watched as Terrence poured himself a glass of red wine, then held the bottle over the lip of her glass. “Would you like some?”

C. J. tore her gaze from the dining room table spread and stared at him in amazement. She dumbly nodded.

“I hope you aren’t too disappointed about not going out tonight,” he said as he poured.

“No. No! This is just as nice,” she answered honestly, running her hand over the linen tablecloth. “It’s even better!”

“I’m glad you think so, because I’ll be honest”—he set down the bottle, reached across the table and held her hand—“this leg thing isn’t fun, but I looked forward to the chance to have you all to myself.”

Her face warmed again, this time for a very different reason.

He gently ran his thumb over her knuckles and she started to tingle. “It may sound corny as hell when I say this, but . . . I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman like you before.”

“What . . . what do you mean?”

“Well, you’re smart. You definitely have a lot more going on in here”—he gestured to his forehead—“than I’m used to. You’re funny. You’re sexy as hell. You’re quite a woman, C. J.”

“You’re . . . you’re not so bad yourself,” she said dully, trying her best to reconcile herself with the woman he was now describing.

“I’m glad I met you,” he whispered before leaning toward her, raising a hand to cup her face, and kissing her again.

And that’s when C. J. knew she was gone. There was no hope of walking away from Terrence or postponing any sexual advances he might make tonight or in the near future. She didn’t know if his intentions were fake or legitimate, but it didn’t matter anymore. She had officially fallen for this guy—hard!

They ate dinner and fell into the familiar warmness that she had gotten used to having with Terrence. They joked with one another. They laughed and talked about anything and everything. All the while he kept touching and kissing her. A dumb smile plastered itself to her face. She felt drunk and giggly and it wasn’t just because of the red wine. Being with Terrence was intoxicating.

As it neared midnight, they had moved from the dining room table to the couch to watch old Hitchcock films while the fire glowed nearby. Their wineglasses sat on the coffee table in front of them, along with plates covered with crumbs and scraped icing from the dulce de leche cake. Terrence had been right; the cake had been the bomb.

“You know what I’ve never gotten about this damn movie?” Terrence announced as he lay across the sectional cushions. C. J. sat beside him with her elbow propped on the armrest. His head rested in her lap. “If they’re really so scared of the damn birds, why not just walk around with bread and birdseed and start throwing that stuff as soon as the birds come at them? Do it to distract them.”

She sipped her wine and grinned. “I guess because it would be a pretty short movie if the answer was as simple as throwing Wonder Bread.”

“But it would be straight to the point. You wouldn’t waste almost two hours of the movie ignoring the obvious.”

She shrugged and stared at the flat screen, watching as Tippi Hedren screamed and batted away an angry seagull. “Maybe.”

He looked up at her. “Don’t you think ‘straight to the point’ is best?”

She tore her eyes away from the television to look down at him. Terrence’s gaze had become a lot more heated. Were they still talking about the movie? “I guess it . . . it depends on the circumstances,” she said, lowering her glass to the end table.

“Not to me.” He slowly raised his head from her lap and sat upright. He then eased toward her on the sectional so that they were only inches apart. He snaked an arm around her. “I’m a guy who hates to beat around the bush.” He lowered his head to place a series of butterfly kisses on her bare shoulder.

She loudly swallowed, feeling her heart pounding again. Okay, we’re definitely no longer talking about the movie, she thought.

“For me, directness works every time,” Terrence said as he nipped and flicked his tongue along her neck.

C. J. closed her eyes and fought back a moan.

“And believe me, I like to be direct,” he whispered before bringing his mouth to hers.

This kiss wasn’t like the others. They had all been passionate and steamy, but C. J. got the sensation that imaginary floodgates had been thrown open. The hunger that Terrence had been keeping at bay surged forth—and she was swept under the current. They fell back against the sofa cushions and Terrence shifted his mouth from her lips to her neck and collarbone, then descended lower, kissing her breasts through the cotton fabric of her dress. He eased the straps of her sundress off of her shoulders and shoved the hem of her dress upward, revealing her white lace panties underneath. C. J. felt a mix of overwhelming pleasure, anticipation—and sheer panic.

“Terry,” she whispered as he nestled between her legs and opened the top two delicate pearl buttons of her dress. His leg pain miraculously seemed to be forgotten. “Terry,” she muttered plaintively, but her words were drowned by another kiss.

He undid yet another button and her breasts were suddenly exposed to the warm air of the living room. She felt her underwear being eased over her hips. Of all her emotions, panic won out.

I can’t do this, her mind screamed. I can’t do this!

“Terry, stop!” she ordered, shoving hard at his chest. “Stop, damnit!”

He did as she ordered, shifting back so that he was no longer on top of her. He stared at her in confusion. “What? What’s wrong?”

She scrambled to sit up and closed the panels of her sundress, covering her breasts. She shoved her disheveled hair back from her face.

“What happened? Why’d you tell me to stop?”

Her eyes stayed downcast as she buttoned her dress. She couldn’t meet his gaze. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry about what?”

“I can’t do this. I thought I might be able to . . . but I can’t. I can’t have sex with you. I’m sorry.”

She finally looked up at him, expecting to see anger on his face. Instead, he looked hurt. “Okay. Okay, fine.” He grabbed his cane and hoisted himself to his feet. “I get it.”

“You . . . you get what?”

He shook his head and laughed bitingly, walking away from the sofa. “I told you I prefer directness. Thanks for being so direct, C. J.” He turned to glare at her. “But you didn’t have to drag this out. You didn’t have to lead me on!”

“Lead you on?”

“I thought you just wanted to take things slow, but I guess I was wrong. If you weren’t interested in me in that way, you just could have said so in the beginning!”

Her brows furrowed. “What are you talking about? What makes you think I’m not interested in you? I just said I couldn’t have sex with you tonight. That’s all!”

“I should have known, though,” he continued, not hearing her. “You’re the bleeding heart type, right? You thought I was some sympathy case you could indulge with a few dates. You saw the half-blind cripple as some charity case that—”

“Is that what you think? That I went out with you for sympathy?”

“But I’m nobody’s charity, all right?” he shouted. “Next time you decide to help out the needy, you make a fucking donation to the Make a Wish Foundation! Don’t waste my time!”

“Hey!” She angrily shot to her feet. “I went out with you because I wanted to go out with you, Terry! Not because I pitied you, you . . . you asshole!”

“Yeah, okay,” he mumbled. “Whatever.”

“It’s true! And if you really want to be direct . . . if you really want some real talk, let’s talk about the fact that you probably never would have gone out with me if it wasn’t for your accident, if you weren’t so down on yourself. Let’s talk about that!”

He paused and narrowed his eye at her. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that last month’s banquet isn’t the first time we’ve run into each other, Terry! You’ve met me before, but you never asked me out. Why? Because you were too preoccupied chasing after fucking supermodel lookalikes and women who could star in porn movies! You weren’t interested in someone like me,” she said, pointing at her chest. “You looked right past me!”

He slowly shook his head. “That’s not . . . that’s not true.”

“Yes, it is!” She took a deep breath. The living room fell silent. “Look, your limp isn’t going to be this bad forever. You aren’t going to always need that cane, either. You can get a good prosthesis to cover your eye. One day, you’re going to go back to normal and you’ll . . .” Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment again. “I’m worried that you won’t see me the same way that you do now. You’ll look right past me again.”

“I would never do that,” he said softly.

Her throat tightened.

“I mean it!” He stepped forward and grabbed her hand. “I like you. I wasn’t bullshitting you when I told you that. I admit, before the accident I was one shallow son of a bitch, but I’m not completely blind! Only half-blind.” He laughed and she couldn’t help but join him. “But I can see what’s right in front of me. I’m attracted to you, C. J. There’s no doubt about that.”

She dropped her gaze again.

“So is that why you didn’t want to have sex? Because you thought one day I won’t be attracted to you anymore?”

“A . . . a little,” she answered honestly. “I also had . . . other reasons.”

“What other reasons?”

She gnawed the inside of her mouth. She would have to tell him the truth. She would have to make yet another humiliating revelation tonight. Oh, this fourth date was turning out to be a monumental one, indeed!

“Please tell me,” he said. His hold on her hand tightened. “It can’t be that bad. What is it? Are you on your period?”

She shook her head.

“Embarrassed about being naked in front of someone?”

She paused. That hit a lot closer to home, but of course, that wasn’t it, either. She shook her head again.

“Do you have an STD?” His face fell. “Are you HIV-POSITIVE?”

“No, it’s nothing like that.”

He sighed, seeming relieved.

“I’m . . . I’m a virgin,” she answered quietly.

“What?” He looked legitimately shocked at that one. He barked out a laugh. “You’re joking, right?”

“No. Afraid not.” She cleared her throat and met his gaze. “I’m a virgin, Terry.”

He let go of her hand and squinted at her. “But you’re like . . . what . . . twenty-five? Twenty-six years old?”

“I know how old I am,” she said tightly.

“I’m sorry . . . it’s just . . . how . . . how the hell are you still a virgin?”

“I grew up in a religious family, all right?” she explained, now beyond mortified. “I’ve been taught since I was a little girl to save myself for marriage. And I thought that’s what I was going to do until . . .”

Her words drifted off. She remembered herself the day of her wedding, running to her father’s Mercedes-Benz in her voluminous white dress, prepared to disappear to parts unknown.

“. . . until that plan didn’t work out so well,” she continued. “I didn’t get married. I’m not saving myself anymore, but you get so used to saying no, to holding back. It’s hard to just flip a switch and tell yourself that it’s okay to do this. But I think I could do it . . . eventually,” she quickly added, not wanting to give him the impression that she never planned to have sex with him.

“So you’ve never had sex with anyone? In any form?”

She shook her head.

“Not even blow jobs? Hand jobs?”

“No, Terry! Nothing!”

“Wow.” He looked shell-shocked. “That’s hard-core.” He scanned her up and down, as if really seeing her for the first time. “So, you’re really a virgin, huh?”

“Yes! For the hundredth time, I’m really a virgin . . . which is why I need you to be patient with me. I need to know that you’ll be willing to ease into this a little slower than you’re probably used to going.”

He ran a hand over his face and released a beleaguered breath. “Well, it’s definitely a challenge but”—he broke into his usual charming smile—“I’m never one to run away from a challenge.” He shrugged. “Okay, I’m game.”

This time she was the one who was mystified. “You’re game for what?”

“To help you ease into this stuff.” His smile broadened. “I humbly volunteer to be your sex tutor.”

She burst into laughter. “My sex tutor?”

He nodded, stepped forward, and clasped his hands on both sides of her face. “Yep, and your first lesson starts tonight.”

She was caught off guard when he started kissing her again. Hadn’t he just heard what she’d said? C. J. shoved back from him and glared at him with unveiled outrage.

“Terry, damnit, what are you doing? I told you I couldn’t have sex with you tonight!”

“And we’re not having sex,” he insisted as he began to undo the front buttons of her dress again with a slow deliberateness that made her quiver. “There are plenty of steps between this and doing the deed, C. J. Trust me. And I plan to show you each and every one.”

He pulled open the dress panels, then took a breast in each warm hand, making her gulp audibly as her nipples hardened.

“You ready?” he asked, not giving her the chance to respond before he lowered his mouth and devoured her whole.