It’s Saturday snippet time… and isn’t that handy… because we’re still doing teasers for Tuesday’s release of Grimm Tidings…we’re bouncing out of order, though. It’s a love scene today.
Lifting her head, she found herself the object of a pair of narrow, gunmetal gray eyes.
“I think Will sometimes gets too involved in the lives of others,” Jacob said, staring at her over the edge of a glass that looked like it might be crystal.
“Well, I’d agree with you, but you know, he finally listened to reason and sent me here.” Standing, she brushed off the knees of her pants and shoved her hands in her pockets, watching him. If she even got an inkling he was going to try and pull his disappearing act, she was jumping him.
“Reason? If he was listening to reason, you wouldn’t be here.”
Ouch, she thought. Then she frowned, hearing the slight slur in his words.
And the stink in the air—thick with the stink of whiskey. Very, very strong whiskey.
“Are you…” She paused. That was going to sound really stupid. Oh, well. “Are you drunk?”
Jacob tossed back the contents of the glass and then slammed it down, added more from the decanter at his side. With a devilish smile, he filled it and lifted the glass once more. “Do you know, when we first come out of stasis, our metabolism and all the rot is almost like it was when we were human? Which means if I drink enough, and do it fast enough…I can get drunk.” He sighed and lowered his gaze, studying the amber contents of the glass. “Sometimes I miss a good drunk.”
Celine moved toward him. His gaze cut to her. She froze—oh, hell, don’t let him do it again, she thought. But all he did was watch her. As she sank to her knees in front of him, something bright and wild flickered in the depths of his eyes.
“Why are you here, Celine?” he whispered, taking another swig from his glass.
“Because you are.” She reached up and gently took the glass away from him, a little surprised when he let her. “Now I get to ask a question—why are you sitting here getting drunk?”
“Beats sitting here thinking about things I don’t want to think about.” He started to reach up, but then he stopped.
She caught his hand. “You need to know something,” she said quietly, lacing her fingers with his.
Jacob closed his hands, dropping his head back against the heavily padded back of the chair. “I already know more than I care to, thank you,” he groused. “I don’t wish to talk. I want to go back to my drinking.”
“We need to—”
“No.” He opened one eye. And this time, when he lifted a hand, he did touch her. He pushed his fingers into her hair and abruptly, he rose. It should have been awkward, because he didn’t release his hold on her hair and she’d been kneeling in front of him.
But Jacob had more than a few decades behind him to figure out how to move and he managed to do it without tangling their bodies or fumbling around. “I think I’ve changed my mind, love,” he muttered, pressing his mouth to hers. “I’ll be your distraction.”
But she didn’t manage to get the words out. Didn’t manage to get another breath, because Jacob stole it. With his tongue in her mouth and his hands stroking over her body, he stole her words and her thoughts. And her strength.
It drained out of her and if he hadn’t been there, that solid, steady length pressing against her body, she would have sagged to the floor.
She wrapped her arms around his waist, clutching him tight. Damn it, if he tried to pull away this time, she was going to hurt him. In so many ways—
This was madness.
And if his brain wasn’t clouded by liquor, need and that befuddling confusion, he might have been able to stop it. But he couldn’t…just couldn’t. Then there was that terrible ache in his chest. That need for her. That love for her.
She reached up and shoved his shirt away, then curled a hand around his neck, tugging his mouth back to hers. “Just kiss me,” she whispered. “You don’t want to talk, so we’ll do that later. Kiss me.”
No. He didn’t want to talk.
But this, was this what he needed?
As her fingers stroked his waist and dipped inside his trousers, he thought, Hell, yes. Not like he didn’t already have all these miseries and regrets to live with. What was one more?
He eased back, staring into her eyes. Toying with the hem of her shirt, he said, “You tore my shirt. It seems I should return the favor.”
“Does it?” She lowered her gaze, eyeing the ripped shirt he still wore. She reached up, smoothed the remains of it away from his shoulders. “Yeah. I did pretty much ruin the thing, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did.” He hooked the front of his hand in the neck of her T-shirt, holding her gaze. “It’s not a favorite of yours, I hope.”
“Well, I never asked if that was yours…”
The sound of fabric ripping loudly echoed through the room. Jacob’s breath hitched in his chest as he found himself staring at the baby-blue lace that cupped her breasts. It was covered with little white polka dots and dotted with flowers. “Now, we can’t tear this,” he murmured, absently stripping the remains of her shirt away.
“Well, I do like the bra.” She reached behind but before she could unhook it, he did it.
Pressing his lips to her shoulder, he tossed the bra aside.
“I should take you to my room,” he whispered.
“I’m fine.” She glanced at the fireplace and smiled. “I like the fire.”
“No.” Dimly, through the lust, through the need, he could still think and he knew he shouldn’t let this happen again. Not unless she was really his. He’d have one memory of her in his bed, though. One memory. Then he’d let her go. Find some way to keep away.
Sweeping her up into his arms, he waited until the room stopped spinning and then he left the library, striding down familiar halls. This had been his home for decades and although he rarely visited, it was still…plain and simply, home.
He’d wanted her in his home.
The sprawling four-poster bed waited for them in the shadows. He didn’t bother with the lights. He didn’t need them to see her and he didn’t want to waste a second. Already he could feel the cloud struggling to clear from his mind and he didn’t want that—didn’t want the responsibility of thinking clearly. Not yet.
He settled them on the bed and grabbed the waist of her jeans, jerking at the button, the zipper, fumbling in his haste. He should just tear the damn material—
“Hey, what’s your hurry?”
Her hands came over his and he looked up, half-mad with his determination to get her naked. “Damn blue jeans. They won’t seem to come off,” he muttered.
“Sure they will.” She unbuttoned them, unzipped them.
A flush settled on his cheeks as she lifted her hips, wiggling a little as she shoved them down. Then it stopped as the blood drained out of his head, straight, straight down…
for more authors out there doing the love-scene thing…