Zette Matthews, darling of the music industry, has it all: haunting voice, dramatic looks and curvaceous figure. Every woman wants to be her, and every man wants to be with her.
Unlike the rest of her fans, Jarrett Jansen isn't content to adore Zette from afar. He intends to have her. Especially now as he finds himself in need of a wife before his birthday, or he'll lose control of the business he's run for years.
Revenge may be best served cold, but JJ prefers his hot, with a side order of pleasure, secured with a wedding band.
"I’ll make you a deal. Prove you can kiss me and not feel anything... if you can, I'll let you have the Swithland site for your concert," he promised, his voice pure temptation. "Hell, I'll even pledge my time to help you organize it!"
Zette stood motionless, biting back the retort that sprang to her tongue. Pledges didn't usually depend on getting something in return. She kept silent, turning the offer over in her mind, examining it from all angles and looking for the trap. There had to be one, this was JJ after all, and there was no way he would cave this early. He was up to something, something she couldn't see yet.
She nibbled her lower lip. It was tempting, so very tempting. Could she do it? Could she kiss him and not give herself away? If she could, and got him onside with the concert then... much as she hated to admit it, then Midsummer Night Dreams had a much better chance of success.
Finally she nodded, ignoring the small niggle of alarm in the back of her mind. She ignored it, locking it away. She could do this. It was just a kiss, surely she could keep a grip on herself for one kiss? Think of something harmless, kittens or cute puppies or something. A quick lip-lock and she’d have her venue and backup to boot! It was too good a chance to pass up...
Decision made, she turned with a casual shrug and a smile. "Put like that, sure. It'll be the easiest bet I've ever won," she said carelessly, as though she did this sort of thing every day of the week.
She turned her face up for the kiss, eyes half lidded as she waited for him to make his move. Anticipation shivered through her as she thought of his lips on hers again. No! Think of the puppies...shopping for shoes...expenses forms... But he didn't move, just looked down at her, his arms crossed over his broad chest and his face implacable.
She opened her eyes, sighed and looked at him curiously. "Okay, what's wrong? I thought you wanted to kiss me?"
He shook his head, a glimmer of amusement and something else, something hotter and darker, flickered in the depths. "No Zette. I want you to kiss me. Not the other way around," he rumbled, his low voice uncompromising.
She gritted her teeth, annoyed at him for the power games and herself for responding to them. A thrill of awareness shot through her at his attitude, irritating her even more. Surely she couldn't be getting turned on by his high-handed manner, by being bossed around? It was demeaning!
But he had the balance just right. He wasn't looming over her, not physically intimidating her even though at over six foot to her mere five three, he easily could have. No, he just stood there. His light eyes watching her and waiting. Waiting for her to make the choice and come to him.
Just a kiss she reminded herself, moving toward him. Drawn toward him as though he'd cast a spell over her. Which in a way he had, but years ago when she was eighteen, rather than today. Standing on her tip-toes she reached up and just brushed her lips over his, the quickest touch she could manage and have it still class as a kiss. Even that was too much, a quickly-hidden shiver going through her at the brief touch of those warm, firm lips against hers.
She'd done it!
Triumph filled her as she stepped back and looked up at him. She'd managed it. Actually kissed him without making a fool of herself or something else disastrous, like maybe the sky falling in.
He was shaking his head, his hands lifting to curl around her upper arms, burning through the thin layers of her clothing to brand her skin, each strong finger leaving its own tingling mark.
"Sweetheart, that was not a kiss. This is a kiss."