Night Jasmine by Erica Spindler Read Free Book Online Page A

lifted it from its bed of tissue. He gazed at it a moment, thinking of what the saleswoman had said about going with one’s gut. A smile tugged at his mouth, and he met Aimee’s gaze. “I’m going to make you see things my way.”
    â€œAnd I already told you, you’re not.”
    â€œYour father was right.” Hunter gave in and smiled. “You are stubborn. I can’t believe I didn’t notice that before.”
    She scowled. “Stuff it, Powell.”
    Hunter lifted his eyebrows and laughed. “Stuff it? Exactly where did you have in mind, Ms. Boudreaux?”
    For a moment it looked as if she were going to laugh. It pulled at her mouth, lit her eyes. In that moment he was reminded even more keenly of the girl she had been and of their time together.
    The blood began
to thrum in his head. He wanted to kiss her. Wanted to kiss her until they both forgot everything but the feel of each other’s mouths, forgot everything but the need for even deeper, more intimate contact. He wanted them to lose themselves in each other, the way they used to.
    Aimee saw his look. Her breath caught, the tiny sound reverberating in the quiet room. The blood rushed to her head; a place much lower began to throb. She hadn’t been touched by a man in so long. She hadn’t been looked at as a woman, a woman with needs, in forever.
    The way Hunter looked at her now.
    Aimee put a hand out behind her, bracing herself on the doorjamb. When was the last time she had been something other than a mother or daughter? When was the last time she had acknowledged her own needs? The last time she had allowed herself to be a woman?
    She didn’t need to ask herself the question. She knew the answer already. Three and a half years ago.
    She lowered her eyes to Hunter’s mouth, then skimmed them lower, across his chest and flat abdomen, lower still. She remembered what he’d looked like naked—lean and muscular and all male. She remembered how his flesh had felt beneath her fingers—firm but resilient, hot when aroused.
    Longing raced through her, heat followed.
    â€œAimee,” he murmured, his voice thick. He took a step nearer to her.
    Stunned, she lifted her gaze back to his. What was she doing? She didn’t love him any more. She didn’t.
    But love didn’t have a thing to do with what she was feeling. Her body had always reacted to him this way. From the night they met, it had taken nothing more than a look, a word or smile, to send her into his arms, his bed.
    She jerked her chin up. That was a long time ago. A lifetime even. She was no longer so naive. So easily impressed.
    â€œIf you’ve come here because you thought you and I could resume…or if you thought we could just pick up—”
    â€œWhere we left off?” he filled in, shaking his head. “It never crossed my mind.”
    She folded her arms across her chest and wished she could read something of his thoughts in his eyes. “Then, stop it.”
    â€œWhat? All I’m doing is looking at you.”
    That was enough. And that was the problem. “Then, it’s what you’re thinking. What you’re remembering.”
    Hunter laughed and took another step toward her; she inched backward, hating that she had to tip her head back to meet his eyes. “Maybe it is. But some thoughts can’t be stopped. They just…come.”
    He took another step. He was so close now she could feel his breath fan against her cheek. She fought the sensations that raced, lightninglike, over her.
    â€œAnd the truth is,” he murmured, lifting his hand to her face, his tone full of regret, “I never forgot touching you. Making love with you. I wanted to. Believe me, I tried.”
    Aimee drew in a shuddering breath. Dear, God, she had tried, too. And been unsuccessful.
    He moved his fingers lightly against her cheek. Aimee held absolutely still, torn between running for safety and the