One Kiss, Two Kiss, Red Kiss, Now You Kiss Read online

  Greg glanced down at the box thrust into his hands. He carefully loosened the bow and dropped the ribbon to the carpet. The top went next, and he loosened the gold sticker holding the white tissue paper together. Inside was a pearl gray sweater flecked with blue. The wool was so soft it reminded him of the texture of Jill’s hair.

  “Honey, it’s beautiful.” He found it difficult to get the words past his clogged throat. “It has the color of both our eyes.”

  She braved a glance at him. “You like it?”

  He suddenly grinned. “It sure beats that Santa Claus bikini underwear you got me once. In fact, I love it.” He pulled her into his arms for an energetic hug.

  “Greg, you’re squashing your sweater,” Jill protested, but she couldn’t resist returning the hug.

  “Why don’t you model your new clothes for me?” he whispered in her ear.

  Jill got as far as trying on a pair of shoes before Greg stripped her clothing off and made love to her amid the paper bag and shoe boxes.

  When he eased between her legs, she looked up at the rapture written on his face, aware the same could be seen on her features. Jill knew no one else would ever give her such joy, and the thought of losing Greg as her lover and friend saddened her.

  After all, could their friendship still survive when the affair was over? But she didn’t want to end their affair … not when she loved him so much.

  Jill turned over and stared at the winking red light of the digital clock; three a.m. She half-turned to see that Greg was still asleep. She smiled at the man sprawled on his stomach, one arm curved around the pillow and a lock of hair lying across his forehead. At times like this Jill wanted to snuggle up to Greg and just hibernate for five or ten years. She might have awakened him and performed the great seduction scene of the century but for one minor problem—Jill wanted a cigarette so badly she was ready to kill for one. She glanced at the clock. Three-o-one.

  Jill flopped onto her back and stared up at the pseudo footprint on the ceiling. When she had told Greg about it, he looked up and laughed, agreeing it did indeed resemble a footprint, but while he was athletic, he wasn’t that good.

  Three-o-two. Jill felt as if her insides were one giant rubber band, stretching tighter with every passing second. At three-o-three she was past coherent thought as she threw the covers from her, shivering when the frigid air washed over her bare skin. Jill grabbed Greg’s green wool sweater that lay on the carpet and pulled it over her head. She glanced back to make sure that he was still asleep, and crept quietly out of the room.

  Jill made her way downstairs easily thanks to a night light burning at the foot of the stairs. When she reached her office, she switched on the desk lamp and proceeded to carefully search every drawer in the large room. She finished with the desk and moved on to the credenza, squatting and balancing herself on her heels as she explored the deep interior.

  “It’s clean as a whistle.”

  Jill shrieked, losing her balance and falling smack on her bottom.

  “You could have given me a heart attack, sneaking up on me like that!” she accused.

  The cold air didn’t seem to affect Greg, who wore only a pair of jeans with the snap undone and the zipper hovering at the top. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, and the expression on his face tore right through her. Greg didn’t appear too angry, merely disappointed, and the sorrow in his eyes hurt her more than any show of temper.

  “I, ah, I was looking for the pages we worked on today,” she managed lamely.

  He shook his head, looking very weary. “We both know better, Jill. Why don’t you come up to bed?”

  “Stop acting so nice to me!” she shrieked, pounding the carpet with her fists. “I hate you when you sound like Mr. Rogers! And don’t you dare smile and tell me this is just some kind of phase!” she ordered, shaking a fist at him.

  Greg walked slowly toward her, looking like a lion stalking his prey. When he reached her he leaned down, grasped her by the elbows and pulled her up to her knees.

  “You’re just going through a bad time,” he explained calmly, squatting on his heels in front of her. “You should have woken me up and we could have talked.”

  “I don’t want to talk,” she argued stubbornly. “I want a cigarette.”

  “Well, you can’t have one!” he yelled back, now having lost all patience with her. “You promised to quit for six months, and by God, you’re going to do it even if it kills you!”

  “Oh, sure, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Jill blazed. “I’m to the point where I’m dying for a cigarette, except that you don’t care. You don’t understand how hard this is for me, so how can you claim to help me?”

  “I most certainly do know all about it,” Greg rapped out, straightening before reaching down to pull her to her feet. “I began smoking when I was fifteen because all my friends did. Three years later I was smoking four packs a day. When I was twenty-one I decided smoking and jogging didn’t mix, so I gave up smoking. I was a regular bastard for months. There are times I still crave a cigarette.”

  Jill’s mouth dropped open at Greg’s revelation. “You never told me that.”

  “You should have been able to guess.” He grinned wryly, wrapping his hand around the back of his neck. “Ex-smokers are the worst enemies to smokers.”

  “Then you should have been more sympathetic toward me.” Jill’s temper was rising again.

  “Jill, you’re the damnedest little shrew I know.” Greg blew up. “Why I want to marry such a temperamental woman I’ll never know.”

  “I wouldn’t—” The meaning of his words sank in suddenly. Jill snapped her mouth shut, then tentatively asked, “You want to marry me?” She felt as if she had been hit with a ten-ton weight.

  “Why should I, when all you do is bitch every time I try to help you?” he railed at her, pacing back and forth. “And what do I get for my pains? You either yell at me or argue with me. I don’t have to take this from anyone, so why should I take it from you?” He turned on her, his anger still on a roll.

  “Greg, why do you want to marry me?” Jill asked softly, putting out a hand to halt his frenzied pacing.

  “Why? That really takes the cake, Jill,” he taunted. “Probably because I’m a masochist and I enjoy the way you drive me crazy twenty-four hours a day. Or maybe because I haven’t met anyone as sweet and loving as you, when you’re so inclined, and there’s no one else I would prefer spending the rest of my life with. The best reason I know of is that I love you!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

  “I love you too!” Jill shouted back, then stifled a giggle. “Why are we yelling at each other?”

  Greg shook his head. “Probably because it’s what we do best.”

  She arched an inquisitive eyebrow. “If that’s what we do best we’re in big trouble.”

  Greg stopped and picked her up in his arms. “Well, then, why don’t we see who’s right?” he murmured, rubbing his nose against hers. “It’s cold. At least you’re healthy.” He carried her into the conference room and set her on the small oval table.

  “Greg, what are you doing?” She flinched when her bare bottom made contact with the cold wood.

  “I’m fulfilling one of my fantasies,” he explained, unzipping his jeans and pushing them down. “For months I’ve dreamed of making love to you on this table. Now I intend to do just that.”

  Jill laughed shakily. “Isn’t it a bit cold down here?” She could see the goose bumps mapping her thighs.

  “I’ll warm you soon enough.” Greg moved between her legs, making sure she felt his potent arousal throbbing against her thigh. His tongue drew a line over her cheekbone and down to her lips. “You always taste so good,” he murmured.

  Jill could feel herself sinking fast. “It must be my strawberry cleanser,” she breathed, darting her tongue out to meet his.

  “I always did like strawberry.” His tongue rubbed against hers and allowed her to draw him into the warm cavern of her mou
th. “Especially on you.”

  As their tongues met again, Greg’s hands fastened on Jill’s hips under the large sweater, kneading the satiny texture of her skin. With his fingers splayed out, his thumbs just brushed against the aching juncture of her thighs, never once touching the moist area in between.

  Jill clasped her hands to the sides of Greg’s head, her rose-tipped fingers digging into the soft dark hair. Soft whispers traveled up her throat to be captured by Greg’s mouth. One of his hands slid over her stomach and moved up to caress the top of her breast with the back of his knuckles.

  “Touch me, Greg,” she pleaded in the throaty voice he only heard during their lovemaking. “Touch me.”

  “I could use some tactile stimulation myself,” he panted, grabbing hold of her earlobe with his teeth and tugging gently.

  Jill reached down to caress his hot, velvety skin, feeling his pulsing power. She touched him in ways that she knew drove him crazy and smiled at the raw words he whispered in her ear.

  In one abrupt movement Greg had the sweater drawn up to Jill’s neck and over her head. He enclosed a nipple in his mouth, pulling on it until the electric currents made their way down to the center of Jill’s femininity. She cried out, moving her hips against him and winding her legs around his waist. She dipped her own head to find the tiny brown nipple hidden among the dark crisp hair and bring it to life under her loving mouth. She worried it with teeth and tongue until it rose up as hard as her own and brought that same erotic ache to Greg.

  “Take me into you, Jill,” he ordered hoarsely. “Show me you want me as much as I want you.”

  She circled him with her fingertips and led him on a journey into a hot sensual world. What she began, he finished. Once she had guided him, he thrust deeply into her once, twice, until she was filled with his power. Jill held on tightly as Greg delved even deeper into her femininity. Their mouths mated as frantically as their bodies did, love tempering the raw hunger that urged them on.

  Jill knew she was reaching for the ultimate and that Greg was beside her. When the moment came they cried out together and remained still, holding each other as the small aftershocks settled within them.

  Jill nestled her face against Greg’s shoulder, licking the salt from his damp skin.

  “Did you mean it when you said you loved me?” he murmured, rubbing his hands up and down her back.

  “Yes.” She kissed his shoulder. “We’ll always argue, you know.”

  “But think of all the wonderful making up we’ll do.” He rested his cheek against her hair. “As much as I’d like to stay here, my buns are freezing. You’re right, it’s too cold down here.” He gathered Jill up in his arms and carried her upstairs to their warm bed. Once they were settled among the covers, they began making plans for the future.

  “We could knock out the dividing wall and convert this into one large apartment,” Jill suggested, yawning deeply. The intensity of their loving and her sleepless night had finally caught up with her.

  “I had wanted to take you out to a romantic restaurant and give you the proper atmosphere for my marriage proposal,” Greg said apologetically, with a contrite expression on his face. “I’m sorry for yelling it at you.”

  “You certainly made up for it later,” she countered, running her hand over the breadth of his chest and down to his flat stomach as she rested her head on his shoulder. She took a deep breath before admitting, “I lost the bet, Greg, as surely as if I had lit up.”

  “You weren’t smoking,” he corrected.

  “No, but if I had found a cigarette, I would have smoked it right away.” She sighed. “Therefore I owe you dinner in Paris.” She reached across his chest for the phone.

  “What are you doing?” Greg asked, watching her place the phone on his quilt-covered stomach and dial.

  Jill held up her hand, indicating silence. “Hello? Yes, I’d like to make two reservations, first-class.” She smiled at Greg. “To Paris. Does that flight lay over in Dallas or Houston? Hello?” She looked down at Greg’s fingers pressing down on the disconnect button.

  “Dallas and Houston are in Texas,” he informed her.

  “So is Paris.” She dropped a kiss on his nose, sliding down to his mouth. “You never specified which Paris. Besides,” she murmured against his mouth, “everyone dreams of going to Paris, France, for a special dinner. How many think of somewhere quiet and out of the way like Paris, Texas?”

  “I knew there was a reason I wanted to marry you,” he replied. “Prove it.” He did.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE:

  While restaurants don’t have smoking sections in California now, they did in 1986 when this book, formerly titled Written in the Stars, was published.

  I kept the scene in for those who have trouble quitting smoking. Maybe a partner like Jill or Greg would help.

  Linda Wisdom