Page 66 of The Bride Wore White

“That was part of it. But I told myself that for you, the real problem with flirting was that you would be too busy fretting about how the relationship would end. You wouldn’t be able to enjoy the moment.”

“Just to be clear, I don’t fret. I make deductions and conclusions and assign probabilities to specific outcomes.”

“Whatever you say.”

“I don’t fret,” Jack repeated. He paused for emphasis. “And I don’t flirt.”

“I might be able to teach you,” she whispered.

“No.”

She closed her eyes, her heart sinking. She had let the high-wireexcitement and emotions of the night lead her down a treacherous path. What she had done was not fair to Jack.

“My apologies,” she said. “I should not have led you on.”

“I may not be any good at flirting, but I still want to kiss you,” he said, his voice rough and edgy.

Her eyes flew open. She was shocked by the intensity in his voice. The fires in his eyes were no longer banked. Elation swept through her senses. Her mouth went dry. She shivered, not from cold—from excitement and anticipation.

“I want to kiss you, too,” she said.

There was no time to say anything else. His mouth came down on hers in a heavy, desperate, hungry kiss that sent shock waves through her.

When he finally raised his head, she could hardly breathe.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked.

She had survived a fire intended to kill her tonight. She could survive a few more passionate kisses with Jack.

“No,” she said. “No, I don’t want to stop. But it’s only fair to warn you that at some point I will have a panic attack and ruin everything.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

She swallowed hard. “I’m trying to explain why I’ve made the decision to become a flirt. I found out on my wedding night that my nerves can’t handle the paranormal energy of sex.”

He moved his hands to her waist and lifted her off her feet. She gripped his shoulders to steady herself. His eyes burned.

“You discovered this little problem with your nerves on your wedding night?” he asked.

“Yes. Exactly.” She struggled to catch her breath. “But I’ll be okay up until, you know, the actual act. And then I’ll have a panic attack, during which I might, ah, hurt you.”

“Hurt me?”

“Accidentally,” she said quickly. “Not intentionally.”

“Right. Not intentionally. How will you hurt me?”

“You’ll have a panic attack, too—or, to be more accurate, my panic attack will slam into your nerves and trigger one. It’s the close physical connection that does it, I think. You’ll be sensitized, and after that, every time we touch each other there will be a rebound effect, and it will get worse and, oh, I really, really do not want to talk about this. Not now. I just want to kiss you and flirt as long as I can.”

“Life is never dull around you, Prudence Ryland. I’ll tell you what. Let’s see how far we get before we both have panic attacks.”

“You’re sure you want to take the risk?”

“I have never been more sure of anything in my life.”

He carried her into a darkened bedroom—his bedroom.

So much for teaching Jack how to flirt, she thought. He was a natural.

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