Free Jane's Gift by Karen Erickson

knees bumping against his.
    Reminding him that she wore a skirt. He could easily slide a hand up beneath the denim and touch her warm, tight-covered thigh. Yeah, he couldn’t go that far, though. Not yet, especially not in a movie theater. He wasn’t a teenager trying to cop a feel.
    Yet he felt like one, making out with a pretty girl in his arms, trying to get to second base at the movies. He’d done something similar with his first serious girlfriend in high school. Eager to crush his mouth onto hers, put his hands all over her body, he’d tried anything and everything to get them alone.
    He felt much the same with Jane now. Eager and fumbling and unsure of what she might want from him. Not wanting to push her too far for fear of scaring her off.
    Damn. He needed to quit thinking and start kissing. Now.
    So he settled his mouth on hers, touched the tip of his tongue to her barely parted lips. Her tongue darted out to meet his and he wanted to groan in triumph, crush her against him, feel her soft curves mold to his body.
    But he didn’t. He kept his hand in her hair, clutched the back of her head, and held her mouth to his. The kiss went deep, then deeper, and he wished they were somewhere else, somewhere private, so he could hold her even closer, comfort her with soft words, ease her into this with subtle persuasion.
    It was safer for her that they were in the theater. He couldn’t make any too-fast moves, couldn’t screw it up too badly.
    Chris focused on the lush taste of her mouth, the sweet rasp of her tongue. Her small hands had found their way to the front of his shirt and she held onto the fabric, balling it in her fists, wrinkling his shirt front.
    “I could kiss you all night,” he murmured minutes, hours later as he leaned his forehead against hers.
    She cleared her throat and giggled. “I think you have. The movie’s over.”
    “It is?” He glanced up, looked at the screen to see the credits rolling and music blaring, a definite signal the movie was long done. “You’re right.”
    The lights brightened and Jane shifted away from him, guilt darkening her pretty green eyes. Her mouth was swollen and red from his kisses, her hair a mess from his hands. He smoothed down the front of his shirt, the fabric lumpy from her frantic fingers, and suddenly he was at a loss of what to say.
    “We should go,” she suggested, her voice soft, her eyes downcast as she picked up her purse from the empty chair next to her. He stood, grabbing his jacket.
    “Jane, are you all right about what—happened?” he asked. But any remaining words stuck in his throat. He certainly wasn’t upset over what just happened, but he wondered if she might be. He knew how she felt, yet he wanted more—which conflicted with everything he’d ever done with women throughout his adult life. Women who wanted more scared him. He always left before they could leave him first—it was easier that way.
    For once, with Jane, he didn’t want to leave. The attraction between them was undeniable, despite what she said. He wanted to explore it further.
    Would she let him?
    “I’m fine.” She shook her head and looked up at him. “It was nice.”
    There was that word again. Nice .
    Chris didn’t want to be the nice guy. He wanted to be the hot guy she couldn’t resist, the man she wanted to spend more time with.
    She confused him. But he had a feeling he did the same to her.
    “Nice,” he muttered, feeling like an ass.
    She saw his disappointment, he could tell. “Well, it was more than nice.”
    “I’ll say.” He couldn’t resist behaving like a macho jerk. Grabbing her by the hand, he hauled her close, brought her right up against him so he could lay one on her pursed lips. The kiss was firm, even a little rough, his tongue doing such a thorough search of her mouth he heard her give a little whimper.
    And when he released her, she wobbled on her feet, had to reach out and grab his arm to steady herself.
    Yeah, he was real nice,