Free Innocent Hostage by Vonnie Hughes Page B

then they would go their separate ways. Be the same as they had before. Acquaintances.
Ah, what a pathetic excuse that was. He was lonely, that’s all. Lonely for someone to share all the ups and downs with. And Ingrid rang all his bells. That sexy little backside in those tight jeans and that silver hair that hung down her back like a translucent waterfall turned him on like a halogen globe.
And he was going to leave right now before he got into trouble.
He took a step towards her. Then another.
Then somehow she was in his arms, tucked tight against his chest. She didn’t resist. Not for a second. He held her warmth and savored it. “Ingrid, I-I’m not sure if we—”
She stood on tip-toe and raised her face to his.
He lost it. Completely. He covered her face with soft kisses and then jumped straight in. God, those pliant lips were heavenly. And addictive. Her arms tightened around his waist and his pulse leapt, drumming up a demand he struggled to crush. Don’t startle her, Marchant; she’s not the sort of woman you devour. Slow-dance into it.
But somehow he couldn’t slow down. As Ingrid pressed closer and closer, crushing her breasts against his chest, he knew she must be able to feel his hard, hot erection against her stomach. And she wasn’t slowing down either. Boy, could she kiss. She was exploring every inch of his lips, over and over, sensitizing his skin with her soft hesitancy. His blood boiled with anticipation and—he had to let her go. Now .
He pressed one last kiss to the side of her neck and eased back, holding her loosely, careful not to give the impression of rejection. God knew the last thing he wanted to do was stop.
Her head drooped on to his shoulder and he freed one hand to stroke her hair. Say something, Marchant.
“That was—that was uh…”
“Amazing?”
He tried to grin. “That’s the word I was looking for.”
She freed herself and stood back. “Thank you,” she said unexpectedly.
She sounded as though he’d given her a gift. Thank you? He couldn’t remember ever having been thanked for kissing a woman. When he was fourteen Marian Sinclair had kneed him in the groin because he’d kissed her ear. He’d been aiming for her lips but at fourteen his expertise hadn’t had time to develop. When he’d worked in the wool stores the boss’s daughter, three years older than he, had cornered him and planted a humungous wet one on him that had brought him to his knees. Then she’d flounced off, grinning over her shoulder at him.
Tania had seemed to take his kisses for granted.
One thing was for sure. He’d never before felt the zing that Ingrid’s kiss had fizzled through his blood at light speed. Ingrid Rowland was one interesting woman.
“Uh, this is awkward,” he blurted.
Blushing like a beacon she murmured, head down, “Enjoyed it. Much.”
Breck sagged in relief then backed away before he grabbed her again and took it further. Much further. Time to go.
“Oh, yeah. Me too.” He sighed. “But I think it’s time I went. I’ll uh…let you know what happens at the Kerrs’ place.”
“When do you plan on going?”
He opened his mouth to answer but his eye caught the title of a book tucked into her overflowing bookcase.
“What the hell?” He strode over and tugged the book out. Beside it were two more, written by the same authors. A & J Marchant. He dragged them all out and dumped them on the table, disappointment sitting heavy on his shoulders.
Ingrid stared at him. “What is it?”
“You using these books as manuals?”
“Well, sometimes I refer to them, but not often. Too esoteric for me. They’re standard textbooks for student teachers—” She broke off as realization struck. “Marchant,” she said slowly.
“Yep. My loving parents.”
“I don’t understand. You sound bitter. You should be proud to have such famous parents.”
“Oh, when I was little I was real proud. Everywhere we went, people knew them, spoke their language. I desperately tried to live up