The Bravo Billionaire Part 6

"The wedding. When?"

She only stared at him, her gaze sliding from his mouth, to his eyes, then back to his mouth.

Imagine that. Emma Lynn Hewitt had nothing to say.

He answered the question for her. "I'll tell you when. Tomorrow. First thing. We'll fly to Vegas. We can be back in L.A. by tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow?" She looked more bewildered by the second. She also looked aroused. Jonas decided he liked her that way. Aroused and bewildered. And at a loss for words.

"Tomorrow," he repeated. "I have some important meetings on Wednesday. I'll need to be back in town for those."

"Oh. Important meetings. Of course."

Jonas found himself debating the pros and cons of a kiss. He did want to taste her but no. Waiting would be better. Tomorrow night, he'd be kissing his wife.

The idea sent a bolt of heat through him. All at once, he was rock-hard.

Yes. It could be amusing, to be married for a year.

Marriage wasn't for him. He never would have willingly agreed to such a thing. But since his dotty mother had fixed it so he had to marry, well, at least he'd be marrying a woman who, he might as well admit it now, had begun to intrigue him.

She was so deliciously contradictory. The high moral standards, the do-it-to-me shoes...

And it was only temporary. Might as well make the best of it."I'll pick you up at your house," he said. "Be packed and ready. Say, ten o'clock ?""Ten. Tomorrow morning? I don't ... it's all so fast..." She was hedging suddenly, backing toward the door.

Perhaps, he decided, a kiss was in order, after all.

"Emma Lynn."

"What?"

"Stand still."She froze but her mouth kept going. "I ... I have to go. Really. I can't-""Soon." He closed the s.p.a.ce she'd put between them.She looked up at him, her eyes jewel-green now, soft lips slightly parted. "Uh. No. I think I should go now."

He bent his head, brought his mouth to a distance of one inch from hers. "Now?"

"Now..."

He hardly had to move at all, just that inch and he had her mouth. She gasped, and then she stiffened.

He remained absolutely still, mouth to mouth with her, waiting.

Until she sighed. Her breath was sweet, as if she'd been eating apples. And the dewy-rose scent of her was all around him.

Slowly, so as not to startle her, he took her shoulders and very gently pushed the raincoat away. It collapsed to the floor.

She made a small, urgent sound in her throat, a word that didn't quite take form. A protest, a plea? He couldn't have said.

And he didn't care. Her mouth parted a tiny bit more. He slipped his tongue inside and pulled her body in to his.

Chapter 7.

T he kiss went on for a long, long time.

Somewhere in the back of Emma's mind, a voice that sounded very much like her aunt Ca.s.s scolded her roundly, telling her to stop this foolishness, to stop it right now.

But Emma was not listening to the wise voice of her dead aunt. She was too busy kissing Jonas back, moaning and sighing, rubbing her shameless self against him, running her hands over his huge hard shoulders, along his big neck and up into his thick brown hair.

My goodness, the man knew how to use that tongue of his. And she didn't mean for talking, no she did not. And his hands were every bit as busy as her hands, sliding all along her rib cage, and around to her back, then cupping her bottom and yanking her in even closer to him.

He was on her like paint. And she was loving it loving the feel of those big hands on her skin when he pushed up the puckered lace of her shirt and caressed what he uncovered.

Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were just aching for him to hurry up and get there. And she was, well, she was getting very damp, real humid down south, everything opening and softening, hungry and ready.

He was ready, too. She could feel him, down at the base of her belly hard, wanting her. Just like she wanted him.

This couldn't be happening. With Jonas Bravo, of all people. They didn't even like each other.

Did they?

She moaned. He moaned. His tongue did naughty things to her tongue and his hands, like her hands, would not be still.

Until he grasped her shoulders.

And, very gently, pushed her away.

Her eyes popped open. He was holding her at arm's length, those incredible hands of his firm on her shoulders. She stared at him. His lips looked bruised. She didn't even want to think about what her lips must look like. They had kissed so hard and long, they'd probably injured themselves.

"Time to go home, Emma Lynn," he said tenderly.

"Home," she repeated, in the voice of a woman hypnotized.

He smoothed her hair and tugged on the hem of her shirt, which had gotten all bunched up beneath her bra. Then he knelt and scooped up her coat. "Turn around."

She obeyed, still feeling as if she'd been sucked in to some kind of trance. Her body felt all quivery, and her brain felt way too slow, as if someone had filled her head with big, soft handfuls of fluffy cotton b.a.l.l.s.

"Give me your arm," he said, that rough-velvet voice of his driving her crazy, making her wish she could just turn around and throw herself on him, just climb him like a tree.

But some shred of dignity must have remained to her. She did not act on her wish. She did what he told her to do. She gave him her arm. He put it into the sleeve of her coat.

"Now the other arm."

She gave him that one, too. He guided the coat up and settled it onto her shoulders.

"There," he said, and touched her, at the nape of her neck. She shivered. He made a low, knowing sound in his throat, and he rubbed his finger up and down along the back of her neck, causing heated little goose b.u.mps to rise, making her shiver all over again.

She let her head drop forward, giving him easier access, and she couldn't stop the tiny moan that pushed its way out of her throat.

He bent closer, laying both hands on her shoulders again. She could feel the size of him, the heat of him at her back. She held her breath. And then his lips were there, on the nape of her neck, so soft and warm and exactly what she longed for.

She moaned again, louder than before.

And he responded by pulling her back against his body. His arms banded around her.

"Jonas," she whispered, letting her head fall back, into the crook of his shoulder.

He cupped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, testing their weight and fullness. She moaned some more, in pure delight. Oh, it felt so good. So right. To want him. For him to want her.

Then he went still.

Emma didn't move, either. Better not to. Better to just ... wait, for a moment. Until they could let each other go. All at once, she was aware of the rain again, the low, constant sound of it, like a whisper and a roar at once, against the windowpanes.

His hands fell away. He stepped to the side, reached for the door. She moved out of the way so that he could open it.

Then he took her hand and wrapped her fingers around his arm. "I'll walk you out." He moved toward the door and she went right along with him, her body thrumming, her mind a big fuzzy wad of cotton b.a.l.l.s.

The hallways at Angel's Crest were very wide, plenty of room for two people to walk side by side. He led her out to the grand foyer and opened the huge studded mahogany door, letting in the scent and sound of the rain.

He pulled her out beneath the ma.s.sive front portico with its row of stone pillars and its mosaic-tile floor, turning briefly to shut the big door, then guiding her on, to the top of the wide steps leading down to the front drive. The warm rain was a soft flood, dripping off the portico roof in silky, glittering sheets.

"Is your car open?"

She nodded.

"Come on, then."

They ran together, down the steps. They were drenched by the time they reached her red SUV.

He yanked open the door for her. "Get in."

She stepped up behind the wheel. Her key was in the pocket of her coat. She felt for it, found it, put it in the ignition.

Jonas was still standing there, his hand on her open door, watching her. Rain ran down his face, off the end of his big, blunt nose and along the cleft in his square chin. His beautiful dress shirt clung to his body, outlining the heavy muscles in his shoulders and his arms.

She felt weak inside, looking at him.

And then he leaned toward her and caught her mouth again, hard and hungrily. She tasted the rain, which felt cool on his lips. He opened his mouth, sucking. She sucked right back.

But only for a moment.

As quickly as he'd kissed her, he was pulling away. "Tomorrow morning. Ten o'clock ," he said. "Be ready."

"I..." She got out the one word and nothing more, because she'd completely forgotten whatever she'd started out to say.

Jonas didn't seem to mind. He shut her door, waved at her and then stood there, rain pouring down on him, staring in her side window at her, looking slightly put out.

She realized he was waiting for her to start the car and drive away.

Well, all right. Good idea.

She turned the key, put the vehicle in gear and drove around the big open s.p.a.ce in front of the mansion, until she was pointed toward the long drive down the hill, between the double row of palm trees. Jonas remained there, in the rain, watching her. She couldn't resist repeated glances in her rearview mirror. He stayed right where she'd left him, staring after her.

He should go in, get out of the rain. But he didn't. And she got so absorbed in checking on him that she almost drove smack dab into a palm tree.

That did it. She kept her eyes on the drive ahead from then on.

At home, which was half of a roomy duplex in North Hollywood, with three bedrooms and a tiny patch of patio in back, the Yorkies were waiting, their little bodies shaking with joy, even yipping once or twice, to welcome her back. She knelt and picked them up, first Bob and then Ted, letting them swipe their doggy kisses on her cheeks and telling them how very glad she was to see them again.

"Oh, you little sweeties. It has been a whole hour..."

Festus, the black-and-white cat who had shown up at her door the first week she came to L.A. and lived with her ever since, sat back in the open arch that led to the kitchen. He was much too dignified to beg for attention. Once she'd greeted the Yorkies, Emma went to him. He allowed her to stroke his head and scratch him behind the ears.

Emma hung her coat in the closet by the front door. The Yorkies pranced behind her down the hall as she went to her bedroom to pack for her wedding trip.

Her wedding trip...

Good Lord in heaven. Was this really happening? Had she actually agreed to marry Jonas Bravo? Tomorrow. In Las Vegas .

The idea of it stole all the breath right out of her body. She sat down on the edge of her bed with its cute white iron frame and comforting white chenille spread. The Yorkies jumped up to sit beside her.

What had he said? That he had important meetings on Wednesday, so they'd be back by tomorrow night. It would be a short trip, not a lot of time for seeing the sights.

But even though they weren't staying the night, she'd need to pack a few things, make a few arrangements. She picked up the phone on the bedside table and called Deirdre Laventhol.

Deirdre answered on the fourth ring. "Wha ... huh?""It's me."Deirdre groaned. "It's also after midnight , in case you didn't notice.""Sorry. Something has come up. I have to be gone all day tomorrow and I'm not sure when exactly I'll be back. I want to bring Festus and the Yorkies over to the shop first thing. Would you keep an eye on them for me, and take them home with you when you close up?"

"What? You don't want to board them?""That's real funny."It was a running joke at PetRitz. The grooming end of the business was doing just great, but no one especially not rich Beverly Hills matrons wanted to board their pets if they could avoid it. They let their servants watch their animals or they hired pet-sitters. So the roomy accommodations at PetRitz rarely saw use. Instead, Emma sometimes took pets home with her, and her employees picked up extra cash staying in big, beautiful houses, caring for the animals while the owners were away. Emma had plans, within the coming year, to discontinue the boarding service.

"What is going on?" demanded Deirdre."Will you do it?""Yeah, sure.""Thanks. I owe you one. And now, I have to-""Uh-uh. No way. You woke me up. You got me to baby-sit Festus and the Yorkies. Now, you tell me what's up." "It's too crazy. I can't get in to it now." "You said you owed me. I'm collecting. Tell." "But it's just too-" "Em. I mean it. Speak." Emma fell back across the bed. Bob whined and tried to lick her face. Ted jumped on her stomach, tipped his head to the side and perked up his ears. "I'm waiting." "All right." She patted Ted on the head and ordered Bob to sit, which he did, instantly. "What do you mean, sit?" "I was talking to Bob." "Sure you were. Well?" Emma went ahead and said it. "I'm gettin' married."

Deirdre let out a yelp. "What? Who to? And hey, how come I'm not invited?"

"Oh, calm down. It's only temporary."

"Huh, what?"

Emma rolled to her stomach and toed off her platform sandals. They dropped to the rose-patterned needlepoint rug by the bed. "Deirdre, it's a weird thing. You hear what I'm sayin'?"

"Tell me more."

Deirdre was a good friend. Almost as good a friend as Blythe had been. For a while, after Emma moved out of that first East Hollywood studio apartment and before she bought her house, she and Deirdre had shared a place in West Hollywood . Deirdre was the illegitimate daughter of a Las Vegas showgirl and a famous movie director. Her mother had died a number of years ago. Her father gave her money now and then but didn't want her intruding too much in his life. Deirdre was tough on the outside and a cream puff on the inside. And she could always be trusted to keep whatever you told her to herself.