Читать книгу Better Than Chocolate... - Jennifer Labrecque - Страница 10

THE WOMAN COULD DEFINITELY control her enthusiasm. And she’d definitely captured his interest. Jack found her lush curves at odds with the driving determination that put her through thirty laps in thirty-five minutes. He’d counted.

There had been something terribly sexy about the way she’d pulled off her swim cap and shaken out her hair. Sexy, because she hadn’t known she had an audience. And then when she’d begun toweling herself—it’d been time for him to make himself known and gain control of the situation.

His smile had flustered her—just for a moment and then the damnedest thing had happened. She’d put him in his place with a laugh.

He indicated a table close to the bar’s muted light. “How about here?”

“This is fine.”

He placed his glass on the table and pulled out a chair for her. She took the seat with a murmured thank-you and crossed her legs. Dark nail polish gleamed against the pale length of her toes.

Jack sat next to her and caught the waitress’s eye, motioning her over. What would she order? He dismissed Sex on the Beach or Screaming Orgasm. Too obvious. Maybe a white wine or a piña colada with one of those paper umbrellas on the glass’s rim.

“Hi. I’m Jasmine. What can I get for you?” the waitress asked.

“Scotch. Neat.”

Okay. He was doubly intrigued. A woman who swam marathon laps and drank a real drink.

The waitress turned to him. “Anything for you, sir?”

“A fresh Glenlivet. A short one.”

“Both of these on your tab?”

He smiled. “Yes. Thank you, Jasmine.”

“No,” the woman said at the same time. “Put my drink on a separate bill and I’ll sign for it.”

He couldn’t get a read on her. “But I invited you for a drink.”

“And I plan to have a drink with you. But it doesn’t mean you’re buying.” Her teeth gleamed in a pleasant, resolute smile.

“Separate tabs it is then.”

Jasmine nodded and looked between Jack and the woman as if sizing up her competition.

“I’ll be right back.” Jasmine flashed Jack a smile and turned back toward the bar. He recognized her look. He could have more than a drink, if that’s what he wanted, when her shift was up. Jasmine was a known, familiar quantity.

He turned back to the woman at his table. Flickering candlelight painted her in sepia tones. Amusement danced in her wide-set eyes. What color were they? It was impossible to tell in the semidarkness. And he really wanted to know.

“You don’t even have to try, do you?” She leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers beneath her chin, watching him.

Women often watched him, but not with this detached amusement as if he were some specimen in a jar. “No. Not really.”

“I bet you’re lethal when you put effort into it,” she said, more speculation than come-on. Which made it even more of a come-on for him.

“I don’t know that I’ve ever really tried.” But maybe I will now. The thought hung unspoken between them.

She shook her head, her hair brushing the slope of her shoulders. “It’s a shame to never reach your true potential. That’s what happens to people when things come too easy.”

Jasmine returned with their drinks and saved him having to answer. And quite frankly he was at a loss as to how to respond—an unusual state for him.

Jack studied the woman next to him. Not beautiful, but attractive. What was it about her that had gotten under his skin? In a flash, he realized it was her utter lack of coyness. One of the most boring aspects of the women he’d met lately was the studied coyness they adopted—Cosmo devotees who’d read that they should drop their head, bite their lips and then glance through lowered lashes up at their targeted man.

He recognized the moves because he skimmed Cosmo, along with a host of other magazines, on a regular basis to keep his finger on the consumer pulse. And because he was a detached observer of life and its participants.

“Can I get you anything else?” Jasmine asked.

“No,” they both demurred and, after a moment’s hesitation and another glance his way, Jasmine slipped away.

The woman lifted her glass and sipped. She had a wide, generous mouth, perhaps a shade too large, but still quite lovely with plump, full lips.

“Mmm. Very nice.”

Jack resisted the urge to lean forward and taste the Scotch on her lips.

Instead he contented himself with a sip from his glass. “There’s nothing quite like a good single-malt Scotch, is there?”

“I like it, but it is something of an acquired taste.” Her arms gleamed in the candlelight, the muscles still delineated from her earlier swim. She pushed her hair back from her face and a faint whiff of perfume teased from beneath the unmistakable chlorine clinging to her hair and skin.

Jack found it refreshing that the woman didn’t attempt to fill the silence with chatter.

He ran his finger along the smooth curve of the glass. “Have you been in Chicago very long?”

“No. I just arrived today. Tonight actually. How about you?”

“Tonight as well. I’m unwinding before a business meeting next week. I’m traveling alone,” he volunteered, anticipating she’d reciprocate the information.

“I could tell.”

He raised his brow questioningly.

“You haven’t glanced over your shoulder even once,” she said. “If you were here with someone, you would’ve checked to see if they’d shown up at some point.”

Clever. “Neither have you. So, you’re here alone as well?”

She finished her drink. “I’m here on business,” she answered. She motioned to Jasmine for her tab.

Did she dispense with everything with that same slight ruthlessness? Swimming laps. Her drink. Him.

Jack realized she was about to leave. And he didn’t want her to leave. Not only was he not used to being dismissed, he found her total lack of seduction, well, utterly seductive.

“There’s no jealous husband at home to mind if I ask you to join me for a late dinner?”

“And I presume you don’t have a wife who would object to you inviting a woman to dinner?”

Once again, she ignored his question and posed one of her own.

“She wouldn’t mind at all.” He smiled at her start of surprise, delighted he’d finally managed to get one up on her. Then he relented. “I’m not married. Or divorced. Or attached to a significant other.” Jasmine arrived with the bills and promptly left. The woman reached for one tab.

What was her name? Where was she from? And what did she look like in the light? She’d piqued his interest and that hadn’t happened in a long time. “Would you join me for dinner?”

She hesitated, obviously undecided. Women didn’t usually hesitate. It took Jack a second or so to realize the knot in the pit of his stomach was nervousness. He wanted her to say yes quite badly. “I promise I don’t bite,” he added.

“I’ll make a note of that. Actually, I need to shower and change out of this damp suit.” She signed her bill and tucked a copy into her bag.

“That’s not a problem.” In his head, he slowly peeled her suit off, over the curve of her breasts, along the line of her back, past the indent of her waist, beyond her hips, down those luscious legs.

She pushed away from the table. “Give me forty-five minutes.”

His usual dates would’ve demanded an hour and a half. Jack stood when she did. “The restaurant off of the lobby?”

“Yes.”

“Forty-five minutes then.”

She walked away and Jack realized he didn’t even know her name. “Wait.”

She turned around.

“What’s your name?”

“Eve,” she tossed over her shoulder. She didn’t ask for his name in return. Actually, she didn’t hang around long enough for him to tell her.

Eve?

She’d disappeared into the building and Jack pulled her bar tab into the light, checking the signature line where she’d signed for her drink.

Blue ink and plain, bold script.

Room 325.

Eve Carmichael.

ANDREA WOULD’VE FOUND something more exciting to wear, Eve acknowledged, checking her reflection in the elevator on her way down. But then again, Andrea wouldn’t have had to worry about the Monday meeting. Still, Eve should’ve listened to her friend and tossed in a couple of sexy outfits. Instead, she’d made the best of business casual, ditching the jacket that went with her dress.

At least the sleeveless, short black dress covered her Godiva thighs and showed off her taut arms and legs. Then again, Mr. Gorgeous had already seen her in a swimsuit, and a swim cap no less, and he’d still asked her to dinner. Stranger things could happen.

Eve stepped off the elevator. Her pumps clicked against the polished tile as she crossed the lobby to the restaurant. At least her shoes had a decent heel on them.

The man stood outside the restaurant, one shoulder casually propped against the wall, his legs crossed, his attention focused on a handheld piece of electronic equipment. Polished. Sophisticated. Remote.

He looked almost as good dressed in charcoal-gray slacks and a black silk polo as he had in swim trunks and a towel. Eve’s heart stalled a beat and then raced to catch up. Pull yourself together, girl. He put on his pants the same way any other man did—he just looked better doing it. Andrea’s latest hottie simile came to mind—yumm-o.

“Hello,” she said as she approached him.

He glanced up and a slow smile curled his lips. He pocketed his Blackberry. Another workaholic. She had, of course, checked her e-mails before she left her room.

“Eve.”

Her name rolled off his tongue and trailed warmth through her like a sip of smooth Scotch. His eyes held hers and the same attraction she’d felt earlier at the pool surged between them again. Was that a hint of relief in his eyes? Had he thought she’d stand him up? Amazing. Women didn’t stand up a man like him.

“Have you been waiting long?” she asked.

“Not at all.” He paused, his gaze sweeping her. “You’re lovely.”

His words trailed across her skin and shivered through her.

“Thank you. So are you,” she said, tossing the compliment, which was actually an understatement when she considered how gorgeous he was, back at him, determined not to be thrown off balance.

“Thanks.” She almost laughed at the surprise that flickered across his face.

“The high-maintenance women you date never tell you that?”

“No. Not in so many words.” He slanted his head to one side and looked at her, casual male elegance personified. The light gleamed in his dark hair. “Why do you think I date high-maintenance women?”

In a moment of perfect timing, a couple exited the restaurant and walked past. The woman, a willowy blonde with exquisite makeup, hair and clothes glanced back over her shoulder at him. She obviously hadn’t slapped herself together in half an hour.

Neither Eve nor her dinner date missed the fact that the school-of-high-maintenance graduate had checked him out.

Eve arched an amused brow. “Lucky guess.”

He shrugged off the woman’s interest, a gesture that only confirmed for Eve that it was the norm. “Are you high maintenance?”

He had to ask? Please. Eve had a penchant for nice jewelry and lingerie, but aside from that, she bought her clothes and shoes on sale at discount stores. Her lack of interest in Jimmy Choo or Manolo Blahnik appalled Andrea. Eve splurged on the occasional spa visit, but didn’t have the time or budget to make it a regular part of her life. “What do you think?”

“Not overtly.”

That begged an explanation. She raised a questioning brow.

“You don’t impress me as needing a constant stream of adoration to feel good about yourself. But I think you don’t suffer fools gladly. I’d say you’re a woman who speaks her mind and does exactly as she pleases. And the result is very, very sexy.” His voice dropped an octave on the last observation and took her breath with it.

Eve’s heart repeated that stop-and-race trick. If he kept this up, she’d begin to believe she was closer to Angelina Jolie than she realized. He had the speaking-her-mind and doing-as-she-pleased parts down pat, but she was, quite frankly, surprised he found it sexy. It intimidated most men. But then again, from what she’d seen thus far, he wasn’t most men.

“And you strike me as a man who does what he wants and is used to getting what he wants. And that, too, is very, very sexy.”

And it was. Eve wasn’t so sure that she particularly liked this man. He was arrogant, far too handsome, and he set her on edge. But she was incredibly attracted to him.

“Perhaps we have more in common than you think, Eve.”

Caught up in the intimate way her name rolled off his tongue, it took a moment for his comment to register. There was an implied intimacy, almost a hint that he knew something she didn’t. Did she know him? Had she met him before? One of her brothers’ college buddies? Someone from last year’s national conference? Definitely not. A woman would never forget meeting this man. But something about him struck a chord of recognition.

“Do I know you? Have we met before?”

He shook his head. “We’ve never met before.”

Then why did she have this weird, nagging sense of the familiar? Aha. Jack LaRoux.

He reminded her of Jack. Not that she’d ever met Jack, but this man was everything she’d imagined her nemesis to be, possibly because she’d had some antagonistic, sexual fantasy thing going in her head around Jack LaRoux for the past several months. Sex and power were inextricably intertwined, and there was definitely a power struggle going on between her and Jack the Ripper. And she was definitely attracted to this man.

She’d come to Chicago early. Had Jack come early as well? He could have, except Eve had read an e-mail ten minutes ago from LaTonya. Jack had been in a late-afternoon meeting when LaTonya had contacted the San Francisco office earlier. Not even the West Coast Wonder Boy could manage to be in two places at one time.

“Hello. I think you’ve gone somewhere else,” he said

“Sorry. You remind me of someone I know.”

Annoyance tightened his face and flashed in his eyes. He quickly masked it with the detached air of urbane amusement he wore so well.

“Ready?” Obviously he didn’t like being compared to someone else.

“Yes.”

They stepped into the restaurant. A bird-of-paradise display in a large vase dominated the entry. A late-dinner crowd filled two-thirds of the white-linen-draped tables. Nice. Very nice. Minimalist, sophisticated decor. A jazz quartet, tucked into a corner, offered a dinner concert. A handful of couples swayed to the music on the small dance floor.

The maître d’ appeared. “Two for dinner?”

“Yes. Do you have something with a view?”

“A table with quite a nice view just opened. This way please.”

Eve’s companion brushed his fingers against her arm, ushering her ahead of him in a gesture she’d experienced countless times before. But, unlike all those other times, his warm fingers against her bare flesh set her heart racing. Far from being impersonal, his touch echoed through her. Evocative. Sensual.

The subtle scent of his expensive cologne tantalized her. It was incredible how a mere touch and a whiff of fragrance could so thoroughly entice and arouse.

The maıˆtre d’ seated them. Framed by the window, the city’s skyline and dark sky juxtaposed against the reflection of crisp linens, intimate lighting, and them.

The man across the table studied her.

“You have beautiful eyes. I’ve spent the last hour wondering what color they were.”

“Thank you. You could’ve asked at the pool.”

“It wouldn’t have been the same thing,” he said. “What would you have told me?”

“Blue-green.”

“Ah. That’s my point. They’re not simply blue-green. They’re an amazing blend of crystal blue and translucent green, like a natural spring. Beautiful. Bottomless.”

She’d heard before how unusual her eyes were, but never had anyone been so eloquent. It was a line. A really impressive line, but a line nonetheless.

“Do you always have such a way with words?”

“Only when I’m suitably inspired…which is seldom.”

He definitely knew how to deliver a compliment. And he was definitely just what the ego-doctor had ordered. She mentally gave Perry the finger.

At least five women had eyed him since they’d entered the restaurant. Eve had once gone out with a guy who’d spent their evening dividing his attention between Eve and all the other women in the room. It had been the date from hell. But this gorgeous man seemed oblivious to anyone but her.

The saxophone’s husky notes added a layer to the sensual mood, lending a fantasy quality to the evening.

“Eve?”

She looked at the other major player in her unfolding fantasy. “Hmm?”

“Aren’t you interested in my name? Who I am?”

The “Strangers in the Night” refrain came to a screeching halt. No, no, no. Not just when her fantasy was cranking up.

Andrea had prescribed a fling. Eve was eight hundred miles from home in a city where she didn’t know anyone. Fate had delivered this guy. Who was she to shut the door on opportunity when it knocked?

But why should they pretend to look each other up next week? Why make one more bad decision regarding a guy? Besides, she was on the verge of taking on one of the most important projects in her life. She didn’t need complications. She didn’t want to exchange phone numbers, then wait on a call that never came. Bottom line, she didn’t want a relationship. She wanted a memory. Did she want to know who he was?

“No.”

“You can be tough on an ego,” he said.

Right. His ego seemed fully intact. “Maybe I don’t want to spoil this evening by finding out your name is Bert and you manage a tampon factory in Boise.”

“Most domestic tampon production is in Detroit.”

She’d been tongue-in-cheek with her example but totally serious in her reluctance to kill the night’s fantasy. Had she, in one of those weird cosmic turnarounds, hit the nail on the head? “Are you…”

He smiled. Heat suffused her face and neck as she realized he’d got her.

“No. I just made that up. I’m not from Boise or Detroit, and my name isn’t Bert. If you don’t want to know who I really am…” He leaned forward and brushed his thumb across the back of her hand. A warm, melting heat flowed through her. “Why don’t you give me a name? Who would you like for me to be, Eve?”

If she was going for fantasy, why not just go all out?

“Why don’t I call you Jack?”

“JACK IT IS.” He managed a neutral expression despite his surprise. Was she playing him for a fool? Had she discovered his identity much the same way he’d stumbled on hers? Had the whole Bert from Boise been a clever ruse to throw him off track? “Can I ask, however, why Jack?”

“It suits you.” A hint of animosity shadowed her amazing eyes, but unless she was the world’s consummate actress, she really didn’t seem to know who he was.

“You said earlier I reminded you of someone. Is his name Jack?”

“As a matter of fact, it is.”

Damn. Everyone had a past. Why should it annoy him that Eve’s past included another Jack. “Ex-husband? Former lover?”

“Nothing so…intimate.” The way her low voice caressed the word knotted his gut. “A co-worker if you will. Actually, a rival.”

He was the Jack in her past? Life was stranger than fiction. They’d never met before, yet he reminded her of himself. “I see. I don’t want to be your rival this evening,” he said on behalf of both Jacks, Jack the Imposter and Jack the Rival. And amazingly he didn’t. Certainly, if she had anything business related to divulge, he’d listen. But he found himself fascinated by Eve—the woman and the Avenger.

“Poor choice of words. He’s my counterpart.”

She could backpedal all evening, but the truth as she saw it lay in her initial response. Ethically, he should speak up and admit his true identity. He’d actually tried to earlier, but she had turned down his offer. And he was much more likely to gain insight into her and her plans if she didn’t know who he was. An even more compelling justification for keeping his mouth shut was that Eve wasn’t likely to stay for dinner if she knew he was Jack LaRoux. At least not on the terms he wanted her to stay. All told, self-interest far outweighed ethics.

“Counterpart sounds like a much more interesting position than rival,” he said.

“Perhaps.”

“Oh?”

“A truly interesting position would be to become both.” Sensuality threaded her voice.

This was the way he’d seen her, fantasized about her even. She was his equal, yet also his rival, and they were locked in a struggle for domination. Arousal, swift and intense, arrowed through him.

Unfortunately, the waiter arrived for their drink order. Or perhaps it was fortunate, as it gave him a chance to recover his equilibrium.

They ordered coconut prawns and a bottle of wine, sommelier’s choice.

Jack wasn’t hungry for prawns or anything else on the menu. Dinner had merely been a way to get her to see him again. And that was even before he knew who she was. Eve was the most enigmatic, self-possessed women he’d ever met. His younger sister, Marta, would crucify him as a sexist pig, but the truth was, most of the women he knew couldn’t wait to tell him all about themselves. He’d never met a woman more closemouthed—or one he wanted to know about more.

“I’m glad you came,” he said.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

He shrugged. She hadn’t shown overwhelming enthusiasm when he offered the invitation. “I hoped you would.”

Skeptical amusement lit her eyes. “Have you ever been stood up?”

He smiled. Busted. “No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Hmm. I can’t imagine you have many first experiences left open.”

“There’s enough.” He’d had his fair share of sexual experiences, but he had a feeling making love to Eve would be something truly unique.

“Such as?” she asked.

Probably best not to bring up making love…yet. “I’ve never been married or engaged. I’ve never forfeited a handball game.” He smiled. “There’s a whole range of first experiences waiting for me.” Including you.

The waiter arrived with the wine. After the obligatory sniff and taste test, he poured two glasses of the pale drink and left.

Eve traced the glass rim with a neat, unpolished nail and picked up their conversational thread. “How about love? Have you ever been in love, Jack?”

Ah, the irresistible topic of love. “No. I’ve never succumbed to the power of Aphrodite.” He paused as she raised the wineglass to her full, generous mouth and sipped. “But then again, Aphrodite’s a myth.”

“Delicious,” she said, complimenting the wine and regarding him over her glass rim. “Love’s a myth?” She didn’t display feminine outrage, merely amused interest.

“Love’s a shadow puppet. People hide their real emotions and motivations behind it. Lust, passion, obsession, manipulation. Cloak them in the guise of love and all’s right with the world.” For her, for now, he would pretend to be himself, which worked out because he drew the line at pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

Eve tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. “It must be difficult.”

“What?”

“To view the world through such a dark shade of cynicism,” she said, her tone more amused than mocking.

He shrugged. “I manage.” He was what he was. “What about you, Eve? Have you ever been in love?”

“No.” She didn’t hesitate. “But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

Unflappable. Composed. She stared at him with those beautiful eyes. “Ah. Are you that delicious garden variety who considers herself one lucky date away from destiny?”

She laughed, a low chuckle that strummed through him. “Perhaps…but not tonight, Jack.”

“Touché.” And that was good news. Wasn’t it?

“What? Aren’t you relieved?”

“Absolutely.” He didn’t buy into that destiny nonsense. But he did believe in the strong attraction sizzling between them. Her emotional distance spurred his desire to hold her close. He held out his hand. “Dance with me.”

She put her hand in his and stood. Energy pulsed between them. He led her to the floor and drew her into his arms. She fit perfectly…at least for the night.

Her subtle scent and warm flesh teased him. He glanced into her eyes, crystal-clear pools alight with humor and intelligence, and a touch of mockery. She was warm, fluid, graceful and totally unreachable, even though he held her in his arms.

His intense reaction to Eve surprised him. What was it about her? She wasn’t overly beautiful, accomplished, or even particularly well dressed. But the fact remained, he wanted her more than he’d wanted any woman in a long time, perhaps ever. There was the element of the forbidden, the unattainable, about her. Perhaps he wanted her for the same reason she wanted to call a stranger Jack. The thought of this self-possessed woman as a conquest…His cynicism didn’t exclude himself and Jack always got what Jack wanted.

The song ended and they returned to the table. During their dance, the waiter had delivered their orders.

“You’re quite a good dancer,” he said. And she was—with a strong partner. Otherwise she would’ve slipped into the lead.

“Thanks.” Eve forked a plump, succulent shrimp. “My mother insisted all of us have ballroom dance classes. Learning to tango at Arthur Murray Dance Studio qualified as teen torture, but it’s paid off. Except I do have a tendency to try and lead….” She smiled and then neatly bit the shrimp in two.

He couldn’t contain an answering smile, charmed by her self-assessment. “I noticed.”

She grimaced. “I’m sure you did. My instructor used to say dancing with me was more work than pleasure.”

His body still held the imprint of her heat, her scent, her soft curves. “Then he obviously never danced with you once you’d grown up.”

She smiled. “I’ve changed a little bit since I was fourteen. What about you? Where’d you learn to dance like that?”

“It was a required course at boarding school. I got top marks in my class.”

He sounded like a desperate adolescent trying to impress the pretty girl who refused to be impressed. He’d witnessed it countless times, but he’d never been in the position himself. Not until now. He didn’t relish the role.

“It shows,” she said.

“If you’re going to do anything, you should do it well. I go for top marks every time.” And she’d do well to remember that.

“Everything?” Husky innuendo underscored the challenge.

“Everything.”

“My older brother once told me that beautiful girls weren’t as good in bed because they felt like it was enough of a treat for the guy to simply be there with them.”

Jack laughed, startled by her candor. He’d drawn the same conclusion on more than one occasion. But he’d be damned if he’d ever had a date voice it. Once again, she wrestled the upper hand from him.

“Are you warning me or is that a general observation?”

“Neither. I’m quizzing you. Is that the way it is with men?” How did she manage to be so blunt and bold, yet remote? As if he amused her, for the moment.

“I don’t know. I’ve never slept with a beautiful man and I don’t intend to start. Not even to satisfy your curiosity.” He delighted in misconstruing her meaning.

“There are far better ways to satisfy my curiosity as to whether breathtakingly handsome men try as hard.”

Jack’s ability to visualize was one of his greatest assets in his job. And right now he could visualize very clearly Eve naked beneath him, her ankles hooked over his shoulders, his hands gripping her thighs, while he proved just how hard and thoroughly he could convince her.

“I’m sure I could satisfy…your curiosity. As I said before, I go for top marks in everything.”

“Interesting. We do seem to have a lot in common. I, too, have a compulsion to be the best. That’s one of the reasons I’m here. To show my competitor that there’s only one spot at the top and it’s mine.”

“Jack? Your rival?”

“Jack.”

“So this is business?”

“Monday it’s business. This weekend is pleasure.”

The way pleasure rolled off her tongue brought out the best of Jack’s visualization skills again, arousing more than his intellect.

“You like being on top?” he asked. Instant image—her astride him. Instant erection.

“Absolutely.”

“And how do you think Jack will take you being on top?” he asked softly.

She shrugged one nearly bare shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll take it like a man.” A slow, wicked smile crooked her mouth. “How would you take it, Jack?”

As much as he hated being predictable, he was a man and her provocative choice of words tightened his entire body. “I’d uphold my end of the deal…until I could reverse positions. What if you don’t come out on top, Eve? What if Jack gets that spot?”

“He won’t.”

Jack recognized bluffing when he saw it. Eve wasn’t. She spoke with absolute conviction, as if she already owned the equipment account.

He’d seriously miscalculated. When he won the vice presidency, Eve wouldn’t be part of his team. Now that he’d actually met her, he knew she’d never work under him. Eve the Avenger was as good as gone.

Which left him free to do what he’d wanted to all evening—kiss her remarkable mouth until her composure shattered to hell and back.