The Devil Served Desire by Shirley Jump Read Free Book Online

since."
    "That's wonderful. Good for you." She stepped back as if she were about to say good-bye and go into the house.
    Dante moved forward, no longer maintaining his respectable distance. The scent of jasmine teased at his nostrils, drawing him in like a siren song. "Why are you avoiding me?"
    "I’m not."
    "Yes, you are." He reached up and captured one of those stray ringlets in his finger, twirling the velvet tendril in a leisurely, sensual movement. "Is it my antipasto?"
    She blinked. "Your... your what?"
    He smiled. She wasn't as immune to him as she thought. "The salad, remember? Was it so terrible you decided never to see me again?"
    "No, not at all. It was... delicious." She gulped. "I've just been thinking since I met you Tuesday night and... I don't think getting involved with you is a good idea."
    He took a half step closer, the cloud of his breath mingling with hers. He trailed his finger down her jawline, along soft, smooth skin that glided beneath his touch like silk. Her eyes widened, her lips parted. He'd never wanted to kiss anyone so damned bad in his life. "Who said anything about getting involved? Why can't we just have mind-blowing sex? A few hundred times or so?"
    She laughed, a rich sound that flowed from her like wine from a bottle. "Only a guy would say something like that."
    He cupped her chin, tracing her lower lip with his thumb, slowly. Tenderly. The way he'd do it if it were his tongue instead of his finger. "You aren't interested in mind-blowing sex?"
    "I... I wouldn't say that," she breathed.
    "Good." And then, he decided to hell with waiting. With arguing about whether she was interested in him or not. He lowered his head, taking her cranberry lips with his, teasing at first, then not teasing at all when she moaned and opened against him, her arms spreading wide and reaching for his back.
    She fit against him like butter on bread, her body molding to his in perfect harmony. He roamed his hands down her back, feeling the slight bump of her bra strap through the fabric of her shirt. His mind skipped forward, imagining his fingers undoing the hooks, her breasts spilling forward, his mouth tasting them as thoroughly as he was tasting her right now.
    Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, demanding more. She pressed her pelvis against his, then away, the tease sending his brain into other stratospheres. She pressed, withdrew again.
    She was as much of an aggressor as he. Lord, what fun that would be in bed.
    " Maria . Oh, God, let's..." he whispered against her mouth, wanting to say much more. But he'd left his vocabulary somewhere between his fly and his brain.
    With a start, she broke away from him, stepping back several paces and swinging his jacket off her shoulders. "I—I—I can't do this."
    "What?" He wished like hell his body had an on/off switch. He definitely still felt on and it was damned hard to concentrate on anything but the memory of her body against his.
    "I can't get involved with you." She handed him the coat and took another step back.
    "Why not?"
    "You wouldn't understand," she said. "It's complicated. I'm not even sure I can explain it to myself."
    "Tell me." Hot desire still pulsed within him. He hoped she'd get to the explanation soon so he could show her the error of her argument and get her right back into his arms again.
    "Well," she paused, then let the rest out in a rush. "Mary Louise Zipparetto, for one."
    He raced through his mental little black book. "I don't know anyone named Mary Louise Zipparetto."
    But she didn't hear him. She'd backed up another two steps, as if he were a chainsaw murderer about to carve her for dinner. "You smell like mozzarella," she said. "And you taste like lasagna. And...you haven't noticed a damned thing above my neck." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I can't."
    Then she turned and dashed back into the house, leaving Dante in the cold, stunned. Now he knew how the heel end of a loaf of bread felt. Rejected and crummy.
    Women