Crying out, she jerked away in that last millisecond and millimeter before he could kiss her.
“Angela?”
“You...you want me? Is that supposed to mean something?” A deathly calm descended on her in the wake of all that passionate heat, allowing her to think clearly again. “Want? What does that even mean, coming from you?”
He blinked, clearly trying to focus and wrench the steering wheel back from his rock-hard arousal.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
“Oh my God,” she said on an incredulous laugh as she paced a few steps away. “I’m so stupid. What the hell were we thinking?”
“Angela. Come here.”
“No.”
Well, there it finally was—the steel in her voice she’d been looking for a few minutes ago. A day late and a dollar short, but, hey, better late than never.
The no seemed to pierce Justus’s lust-filled bubble, because when he reached for her again and she smacked his hand away, he stared at her, his eyes wide and stunned.
Then he cursed, held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, and backed up several steps.
“I’m not touching you,” he said quietly.
“Good. Don’t.”
They stared at each other for a few beats and then, when the effort of regaining control over his body seemed to overtake him, he bent at the waist and rested his hands on his thighs.
“I need a minute,” he told her with a harsh sigh.
Yeah, so did she, now that he mentioned it.
Her body, which had shivered to life so delightfully just a few minutes ago, now ached for him with a deep persistence that felt like she was on her last day of a weeks-long hunger strike. Her belly hurt. Her lungs refused to inflate properly.
And her blood...
Her blood flowed white hot for him, like molten gold through her veins, and if he came within a one-foot radius of her again, she was positive she’d take her panties off, hand them to him, and just be done with it once and for all.
He finally straightened, wiped his damp forehead with the back of his hand, and faced her. His erection, she couldn’t help but notice, was mostly gone now, but his eyes had a wild light she knew she’d be seeing again.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“What’s wrong? How dare you sexualize our relationship—”
“Our relationship was always sexual,” he said tiredly. “It’s been sexual since we laid eyes on each other.”
“We were becoming friends! How can that happen now?”
“The friendship is secondary. I want it, but it’s secondary to the attraction.”
“Yeah? Well how can we still be friends now, genius?”
“We can’t. That’s the point. I can’t be just friends with you. That could never work.”
She smacked her forehead. “Well, there I go being stupid again! What would make me think you could be friends with any woman? Coming on to women is like the sneezing reflex to you, isn’t it, Justus? Every now and then you just need to do it. Isn’t that how it works with you?”
His mouth twisted, and in the back of his jaw, she could see a muscle begin to pulse.
See? He wasn’t even bothering to deny it!
Her voice rose. “And now I’m supposed to feel special because you want me? Coming from you that means nothing! Nothing!”
“Angela—”
“That’s like me feeling special every week when the garbage man collects my trash. Why would I feel special when he collects everyone else’s, too?”
He refused to take the bait. “I’ve never wanted to be a woman’s friend. I’ve never wanted anyone else the way I want you. Not even close.”
God, she wanted to believe him. Even worse, she felt herself softening, especially since her body continued to cry out for him with every beat of her idiotic heart.
“How could you do this?” she asked, incredulous. “How could you come on to me when you know I just got dumped?”
“Is this good timing? No. Was it good timing back when I was seventeen and you were twenty-four? No. I’m not going to pressure you—”
She snorted.
“—I’m going to try not to pressure you, but this is going to happen between you and me. One day soon. I can’t make the stars arrange themselves in a perfect line for you. I can’t make it neat and clean. But you have to know: this is going to happen.”
“You don’t get it, do you? I’m like a walking emotional blister right now. Everything about me hurts.”
He stared at her, his expression softening. “Am I sorry he hurt you? Yes. Do I want to beat the shit out of his little punk ass for it? Yeah. But am I glad he’s out of your life? Hell yeah. It’s time for you and me now.”
“Oh my God,” she said, turning away.
He edged closer. She stiffened warily.
“When I saw you at the restaurant? I didn’t care about Ron. I didn’t care about Janet. So even if your relationship hadn’t crashed and burned, and even if the accident hadn’t happened, you have to know: I would have found you and come for you.” His jaw hardened. “Nothing would have stopped me.”
She wanted to clap her hands over her ears so she wouldn’t have to hear another word.
“I’ve wanted you since I was seventeen. I was a boy then. I’m a man now. And we’re both tired of waiting.” His pointed gaze swept over her body. “Aren’t we?”
Angela made an involuntary sound of distress. As if anyone could mistake his tall, muscular frame for anything other than a man overflowing with testosterone. As if any woman could look into those dark, hooded eyes and do anything other than wonder what such a man would feel like between her legs. Even ten years ago, when he’d danced with her at the wedding reception, Angela had known he wasn’t a boy—not really.
And she wanted him.
God knew she did.
“It’s going to be so good between us, Angela,” he said softly. “We both know it.”
Yes. Yes. “No.”
He took another step closer, blocking out her ability to see anything other than his smoldering eyes, erotic mouth, and wide shoulders.
“I want us to finish what we started when we danced together. When we connected. Do you remember?”
Oh, yes, she remembered. Forgetting didn’t seem to be an option. She remembered the exquisite pleasure of being wrapped in those hard arms, the thrill of his warm hands sliding down her bare back, the torture of his broad chest pressed against her throbbing breasts, and the excitement of feeling his smooth cheek pressed to her forehead.
She remembered her nerves around him, the way he’d made her laugh and the way she’d thought she understood him and his turbulent relationship with his father.
The memories were so vivid, it was like they’d tattooed themselves on her DNA so they’d be a part of her until the day she died.
And she was weakening again. He was eroding her resistance with his soft persuasion, leading her to where she already longed to go, and she couldn’t let that happen. She had half an ounce of screaming self-protective instinct left, and it warned her to steer clear at all costs.
Because, really—why would Justus bother with Angela for longer than three minutes when the floor at his feet was littered with sexy little video vixen types?
“You do remember. Don’t you, Duchess?”
The silky warmth in the endearment drove her to desperation. Desperation led her to cowardice and lies.
“Dance?” she asked, trying to look bewildered. “You’re making a big deal out of that one little dance we had?”
He flinched.
Her legal training urged her to zero in for the kill before he regained the advantage. So she let loose with a mocking little laugh. Did she hate herself for it? Absolutely. But she could never, ever surrender to Justus. She’d never survive when he dumped her for his next Janet.
“You were young, weren’t you?” she continued. “Why would you think there was anything special about some dance ten years ago? Is t
hat what this is all about?”
His handsome face warped with a terrible combination of hurt and anger that took as much out of her as it did out of him.
“‘Some dance’?” he echoed faintly.
Oh, God, she thought, pressing a hand to her knotted belly. Even his voice sounded ruined.
“It was only a dance,” she said, turning away because his obvious pain only added to her confusion, and she was ambivalent enough already.
Was this what simple thwarted want looked like on his face? Could there possibly be more to his feelings for her?
When his unfocused gaze dropped to the floor and he ran his hands over the top of his head, she tried to make her break. Quickly gathering her coat and bag again, she walked to the door and put her hand on the knob—
“Hang on,” he said.
Cursing to herself, she somehow mastered her flight instinct, which was demanding that she abandon all dignity and just sprint through the door and down the hall to the elevator to get away from him, and hesitated.
“Look at me, Angela.”
Rising panic made her shrill. “I have to go!”
“Look. At. Me.”
Channeling her inner Meryl Streep and doing her best to look defiant, she turned to face him across the space of about ten feet.
Their gazes locked and held.
His gleaming eyes narrowed with triumph.
And he knew.
“You’re a fucking liar, Duchess,” he said lightly.
Yes.
She absolutely was.
“I don’t have time for this! Believe what you want. Bye.”
She snatched the door open.
Employing the reflexes that’d made him a pretty good player at Xavier, he materialized behind her, reached over her shoulder, and slammed the door shut again.
Losing her head, she cried out with frustration.
He didn’t care.
Before she could yell at him, slide away from the cage of his arms and body on three sides of her and the door on the fourth, or do anything whatsoever to protect herself from this sensual assault that she wanted and dreaded more than anything else in the world, his skilled hands were on her again.
The second their bodies came back together, all her senses spiraled out of control again, sending her right to the edge as though they hadn’t just had several minutes to cool off.
One of his hands rubbed back and forth over her breasts, massaging them and unerringly finding her beaded nipples with every pass. The other hand grabbed one of her hips and yanked her back against him so he could thrust against her butt and taunt her with his full erection.
And then that second hand delved between her thighs and found her sweet spot.
Her skirt was still between them, but he knew where to go and what to do when he got there, and soon her resistance was weak and her knees were weaker.
Then he licked his way down the side of her neck and bit the tender hollow near her shoulder and she almost flew apart then and there. She held her orgasm back out of sheer stubbornness.
But she couldn’t hold back her incoherent little pleas.
“Ah, God, Justus. Please don’t do this to me,” she said, but her hypocrisy was still in full effect, because she clung to his muscular forearms and circled her hips against his.
His insistent lips had found her lobe and bitten that, too, by then, so she heard his soft laughter in full surround sound clarity.
“So we’re agreed, then. Let’s review.”
“Justus—”
“We connected that night. I thought about you. You thought about me. I want you. You want me. This is going to happen.”
“This is crazy!”
“Let me clarify what I mean by this.”
She could just imagine. Not wanting his velvety voice to add any images to the ones already writhing through her overheated mind, she put her back and some real effort into squirming away, but he wasn’t having it. With a low warning growl, he tightened his grip on her sex, and the utter perfection of the increased pressure killed all her resistance and trapped her breath in her throat.
She hated him for dominating her like this.
And a secret, shameful part of her loved him for it.
“That’s better,” he said when she stilled. “Where was I? Hang on. Got it. I was defining this.”
He flexed his fingers.
She cried out, not daring to move because she absolutely refused to come and thereby admit that he was right and already owned her body.
“By this I mean we’ll be fucking. A lot. I’m going to have my hands and mouth all over you, and you’re going to have your hands and mouth all over me. And by all, I mean all. Understand?”
Too choked on her passion to form syllables, she kept quiet.
“You’re not quite ready yet. I get that. You haven’t given yourself permission to enjoy the things we can do together even though we’re both consenting adults. I get that, too. We’re going to work on those issues. We’re going to get through them. Why? Because we’ve waited a long damn time to be together, and we need to figure it out. It’s all good. Got it?”
“Fuck you,” she said through clenched teeth.
Another seductive laugh in her ear. “There’s that dirty mouth again. Have I mentioned how much it turns me on? You’ve probably noticed by now, haven’t you?”
He thrust against her again.
Half blind with passion and rage, she tried, with zero success, to wrench free.
His hands stopped stroking her. Without warning, all the long muscles up and down his body tensed and became as unyielding as Michelangelo’s David.
“What’s not all good,” he continued with a distinct edge in his voice, “is you looking at me with those big brown eyes—the same brown eyes I think about for, oh, forty-five minutes out of every hour—and using them as a weapon against me when you disrespect me by lying to my face and telling me I don’t mean anything to you. That’s the kind of thing I’m going to have a problem with.”
To her utter surprise (and secret disappointment), he stepped back and turned her loose.
Since every part of her was reeling, physically and emotionally, she put a hand on the wall to make sure she didn’t fall on her butt when she spun to face him, ready to claw his eyes out.
Folding his arms over his chest, he watched her warily. His expression gave nothing away, but his voice, when he spoke again, was hard.
“Don’t do that again. Don’t ever lie to me. Play fair.”
His use of the F-word pushed her over the edge. Something snapped inside her head.
“Play fair?” she shouted. “Was that you playing fair with me just now?”
“That was me calling you out and making sure we’re on the same page.”
“We’re not on the same page, Justus! Not about Maya or anything else!”
“A judge will have to decide about Maya,” he said calmly. “What’s between you and me is between you and me. The one thing has nothing to do with the other.”
“You think I’m going to want anything to do with you after you try to take Maya away from me? Are you insane?”
“Insane?” His eyes flashed, giving her a dizzying glimpse of fire, ice, and way too many emotions for her to possibly identify. For the second time since she’d met him, she had the unsettling certainty that everything she needed to know was right there, hidden on the other side of those secretive brown eyes. If only she could read them better. “For wanting you this much?” Long pause. “Yeah. I think I am.”
“Magistrate Brooks is fair, so we were lucky she got assigned to the case. Now, when our case is called in a few minutes, we’ll go to her office and—Justus? Are you listening to me?”
Justus wasn’t, but he knew he should. So he shifted impatiently in his waiting area chair and tried to focus on his silver-haired new lawyer, Tom. “Sorry.”
Mollified, Tom nodded and resumed his lecture. “When we go in, you’ll...”
But after t
en additional seconds of the man’s droning, Justus gave up trying to listen. His focus was all shot to hell.
And why was that? Other than because of the looming custody battle?
Because of the woman sitting on the other side of the room, ignoring him.
He leaned back in his chair and watched Angela, seething.
Well, she hadn’t completely ignored him. She’d given him a distant Hello, Justus when she first arrived for the hearing. Just like that. Hello, Justus. As if they were acquaintances—and not even friendly acquaintances, at that—who’d run into each other in the produce section at Target.
Not as if they were two people teetering on the brink of an inevitable and passionate affair.
Which they were.
As he’d expected, she’d shown him no signs of warmth in the ten minutes they’d been waiting, much less any signs of the explosively passionate woman he now knew lurked beneath her elegant blue dress. After deigning to speak to him, she’d assumed her remote post in a chair as far away from him as she could get while still remaining in the building.
Then she’d crossed those amazing legs and commenced speaking with her lawyer and ignoring Justus.
As a chess player, he recognized a cruelly effective tactician when he saw one.
Angela.
She was good. He’d give her that.
He stared hungrily at her. The two days he hadn’t seen or spoken to her felt like twenty years. This morning he’d caught a glimpse of some gray hairs while shaving, and he was prepared to swear on a stack of Bibles that she’d put them there.
Angela.
A secret Machiavellian, she’d cleverly avoided any contact with him by dialing the phone for Maya at bedtime each night and letting the girl speak to him, thereby circumventing the one legitimate reason he had to talk to Angela.
Why would she do that to him? Probably because she knew it took years off his life.
He’d thrown her off-kilter the other night, obviously. He should’ve been pleased. Instead, he missed her so much he felt wrecked.
Yeah, he’d missed Maya, too, but that was different.
Risk (It's Complicated Book 2) Page 14