She spun on her heel with every
intention of chewing him out, but froze under the gaze of those mesmerizing
eyes that haunted her dreams. His grin
said he had her where he wanted her—all to himself.
He
needed to be set straight on a few points, first that she wouldn’t be
manipulated. Maybe he couldn’t help
himself, being a director, but she didn’t like it. She closed the gap between them as though she
were glad to be alone with him. She got
up close and personal, in full-on flirt mode, fingering his collar, feeling the
pulse at his neck quicken, hearing his intake of breath. She leaned into him as if she meant to kiss
him and whispered, “If you’d wanted to get me alone, sweetheart, all you had to
do was ask.”
He
started to reach for her, but she pulled back.
He cocked his head, studied her, something bothering him, but not what
she expected. “How’s Lucas?”
The
question seemed to come out of the blue, like an angry hornet biting into her
exposed flesh. Why had he asked about
her son? What did Lucas have to do with
him? Nothing, that’s what. “He’s none of your concern.”
Ice
pressed his lips together, nodding.
“You’re right. He’s not. I was just. . .being polite.”
She
nodded, knowing she needed to draw a line with him. “The other day with you was an awful
mistake. It can’t happen again. Ever.”
“Awful?” A soft laugh vibrated in his throat. “I don’t believe you. . .and you know as well
as I do that it will happen again. . .”
He was staring at her mouth, and then her breasts—which were standing at
attention, either from the cold of the room or the heat of his gaze. She should leave now, but her brain wasn’t
paying attention. It was listening to
the baser requests being made by the glances of this so-wrong-for-her man.
“I
don’t have any expectations,” she said.
“I don’t want anything more. No
strings.”
“What
if I want strings?”
“You
don’t want strings.” She couldn’t help
but chuckle at the absurdity of that.
“Any woman harboring that fantasy only has to sleep with you to realize
it’s a foolhardy notion.”
His
eyes clouded, a sure sign that she’d dented his ego. “What does that mean?”
Oh,
God, why had she opened this can of worms?
How did she explain that she’d had a man exactly like him? That she knew from experience he was only in
it for himself. He didn’t want her for
her. He was only turned on by her loving
wild sex as much as he did. What could
she say that would make him stop coming after her for more? “Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy hot, dirty sex as much as anyone,
especially with a lover who knows his way around the female body. But like most women, I want something more.”
“Such
as?” The glint in his eye said “bring it
on.” He was up for any challenge she
wanted to throw at him. Literally up for
it, she realized, judging by the bulge in his chinos.
Her
resolve wobbled, her grasp on the situation slipping through her fingers. But she couldn’t think when he looked at her
like this, when she wanted to feel his mouth on hers, his arms around her, his
body pressed close.
He
came toward her. “Can’t think of
anything?”
“Yes. I can.”
But nothing was coming to her.
Nothing she’d say to him.
He’d
backed her into a corner, the heat issuing off him making her panties wet and
her heart thunder. She felt like a moth
fluttering toward a killing light. If
she wasn’t careful, she might let him strip her naked right here, just to
extinguish the flame that burned for him.
So much for being in control of any area of her life. She was a screwed-up mess.
He
groaned her name, shoved his hands into her hair, and captured her mouth in a
brain-tingling explosion of lust. She
wanted to claw his clothes off and climb on top of him, right here, right now
in the pie shop. He broke off the kiss,
panting, his forehead to hers. “What is
it about you. . .?”
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