Page 42 of The Jellybean Dilemma

Handing me my glass, he held his up, waiting for me to touch mine to it. “Cheers, to you, Jellybean. For pulling all this off.”

“I couldn’t have done it without my getaway driver.” I winked, and we both laughed, clinking our glasses together. The smooth perfection of the wine slid across my tongue, a note of apple lingering afterward. “Wow, that’s delicious.”

He grinned. “One of my favorites. It’s local, and my parents stock it just for me.”

I took another sip. “How much do they keep on hand? We might make a dent in their stash tonight.”

It took a few rounds to find my rhythm. The scarf was my biggest hang up, and I decided to fold them all first so I could just shove them into the bag. Once Greg saw what I was doing, he plopped next to me and mimicked my movements. It was a small couch. Our thighs brushed whenever he leaned over to reach for a new scarf.

“Excuse me,” he’d say, leaning more obtrusively each time.

I think after the fourth, or maybe fifth lean, he didn’t shift back, just let our legs rest against each other. I had to refold the scarf I was doing at least three times. It was a particularly difficult one.

With the last scarf in hand, he leaned over to put it on the pile, but he shifted too far. He lost his balance, taking me down with him. Both of us ended up in a heap on the floor between the couch and the table, me beneath him.

“You were supposed to catch me.” His elbows were braced on either side of my torso, one leg between mine. Those lips hovered above mine a hair's breadth away. “You okay?”

I shook my head.

At least he had the decency to frown. “Where does it hurt?”

I fought to keep my pout in place as I reached up to tap my lower lip. “Here.”

“Oh.” One corner of his mouth tipped up. “I suppose I need to kiss it and make it all better?”

I nodded. “I think it’s only right, since you dragged me down here in the first place.” I added a little challenge to my tone, excited to see heat flare in his eyes.

His lips brushed mine. “Better?”

But I wanted more, so much more. “Not quite.”

He knew exactly what he was doing, the cad, and a smug smile crossed his face. Then he leaned down to press his lips against mine, slowly, gently, stoking the ever-growing fire within me. “How’s that?”

“Greg, please.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I winced at the rawness in my voice.

He stilled, his heated gaze drilling into me. “Oh, Jellybean.” His whisper was husky. “What am I going to do with you?” This time he kissed me with all the passion I craved. His body sank onto mine, his hunger for me evident.

I welcomed his weight, wrapping my leg around his, sliding my hands up his muscular back. One of his hands shifted under me, pulling me closer still. My breasts pressed into his firm chest as he ran his fingers through my hair. I moaned into his mouth, our tongues colliding. I never wanted this to end, but I also needed to breathe. We both broke off, gasping as we stared at each other.

“The bags,” he bit out, finally. “We should finish the bags.”

Unfortunately, he was right.

When he stood, I felt cold and too light, like I might float away without him there to ground me. Greg extended a hand to help me up while Bon Jovi sang about being halfway there. Shit, if this is only halfway…I don’t think I can handle the rest.

I found my glass of wine, hoping it would douse the flames dancing inside me. I took a bracing sip then threw myself into stuffing bags. Soon I found a steady rhythm, the highlight being when I handed my bag to Greg and our fingers would brush. Liquid heat flared within me each time, then I’d have to make the circuit again to cool it off.

Just to repeat the cycle.

The first bottle of wine disappeared too fast. Greg poured the last of it into our glasses when I realized we only had five bags to go. Then what? My imagination raced. I rubbed my thighs together, taking an anxious sip of my wine. I hadn’t had sex with anyone since Kevin several months ago.

As I made my circuit, old doubts crept in. Kevin’s words about me being frigid, mixed with Yolanda’s taunts about him being right. I’d never been one to orgasm easily. What if it was too much for Greg?

I couldn’t handle that, not from him.

The last bag went to Greg, who took it with an easy smile that showed off his adorable dimple. Even in my wined-up state, I didn’t want to lick it. Sorry, Avery.

The full favor bags rested neatly in the cardboard boxes, waiting for the finishing touch of the truffles we’d get in the morning. A heady feeling of accomplishment washed over me, pushing out some of the anxiousness that had crept in.

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