by Lynda Chance
Her eyes dropped to the base of his throat. It was tanned and laced with sinewy muscle, an obvious pulse showing where the blood pumped swiftly through his veins. He was invading her personal space as if it were his due; his legs were braced apart on either side of hers, holding her trapped. He pressed his body so closely against hers that she could feel his pulsing arousal. His erection against her was hard and hot and it inflamed her senses to a dangerous degree.
“Giving up so easily?” His voice was brusque and arrogant as he slid his free hand into her hair and lifted her face, controlling her easily, allowing her no movement to turn away from him, even had she wanted to.
His words brought her back to herself; she wasn’t here to engage in a bout of afternoon sex with him. Truly, she wasn’t, even if she had to force herself to remember that. She was here to tell him about his mother and she needed to focus on that. “No.”
“No?” As if the conversation they were having and what their bodies were doing were two different things, he slid his leg between hers with a quick, jerky movement, forcing her thighs apart. “You want to play more mind games with me?”
The feel of his steely-muscled thigh wedged against her most intimate spot almost blew her away. Her communication skills dropped to almost nothing as she parroted his words back to him. “Mind games?”
He dropped his hand from her chin and it landed on her breast, finding and squeezing her nipple. Sensation exploded in a kaleidoscope of colors. “Mind games, you little witch. Why are you here if you’re not giving up?”
Angie felt the brush of his thumb against her nipple as a damp heat flooded her panties. “I have … I have something to tell you,” she managed to mumble, vaguely recognizing that there was a subject about his mother that needed discussing, but not having a clue what it was since her brain was so jumbled.
His mouth fell to her ear. “I have something to tell you, too.” The rush of his hot breath against her inner ear sent shivers of delight to the pit of her stomach and his next words almost made her faint. “I want to strip you naked and fuck you from behind.” His hands slid between them and with rapid movements, began unfastening the front enclosure of her pants. “But first I’m going to fuck you with my tongue until you scream.”
He began pushing her pants down her hips almost violently, and her heart thundered, her skin prickled with the hazy memory of something he’d previously said to her. “Wait—”
He cut her off with his lips on hers, his tongue delving deep into the interior of her mouth, making gooseflesh rise on her skin as sexual need, hot and heavy, held her in its grip. She couldn’t catch her breath as he stroked her tongue with his, and with both panic and arousal, Angie felt the material of her pants slide down to her knees.
Impatiently, he pulled her panties to the side, and in sync with the next stroke of his tongue, Angie felt herself impaled by a thick, blunt finger. At the impact, her body arched, and he took immediate advantage and pushed further inside. Her body held his finger snugly, and she adjusted her stance minutely, to give him more room. The back of her head hit the door as her legs weakened and her knees shook as he claimed her with his hands.
His mouth left hers and with his finger finding and stroking a sweet spot deep inside her, her eyes opened and she found him staring at her, his nostrils flaring.
Explosive currents of need raced through her, her heart hammering so strongly it almost hurt. The blood pounded in her veins and coalesced in the spot deep inside where he stroked her. Her eyes began to close again and when she heard his threatening growl, they flew open. “Don’t shut me out while I make you come.”
There was something in that demand that sent a strong arrow of trepidation bleeding through the pleasure Angie was feeling. Abruptly, the warning he’d given her before began blaring through her head in a series of alarm bells. She stared at him and then shook her head, “No.” He seemed to only want sex, but all she could hear was the silken thread of caution reverberating through her memory. It wouldn’t be just fucking with you and me. If you ever made the mistake of sleeping with me, it wouldn’t be just sex. So, I’m warning you now. I’d own you.
His lips curled over his teeth in a snarl, “No, what?”
“I don’t want you to make me come.” As she said it, she began pushing at him, trying to get free, her brain functioning again, for the moment at least, overruling the needs of her body. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever tried to do, but she had a sudden, overwhelming need to listen to her brain and not her libido.
An enraged snarl left his throat as she sank both of her hands around his arm, trying to dislodge him from her body. He pushed against her for the space of two seconds before pulling away from the juncture of her thighs.
The immediate sexual threat was gone but before she could breathe a sigh of relief, his hands sank into her hair and held her scalp strongly, his fingers biting into her. He stared down at her with accusing, molten eyes and his words were laced with icy contempt, “Are you being a tease on purpose? Did you come here with the intention of playing a fucking game with me? Because I assure you, I don’t like it.”
His eyes riveted her to the spot. His jaw was clenched; there was a visible tic in his cheek and he looked as if he could attack at any moment. She licked her suddenly dry lips and shook her head with a jerky movement. “It’s your … your mother.”
His eyes narrowed. “What about my mother?”
“I came here to tell you … ” Angie sucked in a breath and tried to calm her raging heartbeat. “I came here to tell you that she came to see me.”
His curt voice deepened, “When was this?”
“A few days ago. She made an appointment for next week, for me to do her hair. But she was very clear that she wants to talk about us.”
“Us?”
Angie nodded before she could form a reply. “You and me.”
His grip lessened infinitesimally and she could see his brain ticking. “That’s why you’re here? In my office?”
She nodded her head again. “I don’t know what you want me to say to her. I don’t want to carry on with more untruths. But she’s your mother and this is really your call.”
He pulled back from her, removing his hands from her scalp but not moving away from her. One finger slid down her cheek before he put his forearms on either side of her head in an enclosure she couldn’t escape. His expression stilled and grew somber. “Do I owe you an apology?”
The question itself sounded contrite to Angie, and her heart rate came down a notch. “I think we’re okay.”
“I was rough on you,” he said smoothly, with no expression showing on his features, but the words themselves soothed her.
“It’s all right.” After a slight pause, her hands landed lightly on his hips, both because she missed the connection and to show she held no animosity.
His hand left the door and settled around her chin, lifting it gently. “I’m having a hard time staying away from you,” he said, as if admitting his greatest sin.
Stunned by his honesty, Angie didn’t try to contain her answer, “I’m having a hard time, too.”
He stroked her bottom lip as his face grew taut. “Maybe we should do something about it.”
She flushed and shook her head, keenly aware of his scrutiny. “You tripped me up with the verbal warning the other day.”
His forehead fell to hers and he whispered, “It was a lame attempt to scare you away.”
Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. “I think it worked.”
“Forget what I said.”
At his words, the air around them electrified, but she tried to hold onto her sanity. “I don’t know if I can. You seemed pretty serious at the time.”
“I was pissed at my mother that day and I took it out on you.”
Angie didn’t know if she quite believed him but her curiosity was roused.
His hand ran up her cheekbone before sliding down to touch her lip again. A shiver ran through her but sh
e pretended not to be affected. “So what are you saying?” she asked.
He shrugged his shoulders in a nonchalant attitude that she didn’t quite believe was nonchalant at all. “We don’t have to let anything get out of hand,” he said in a controlled voice, but not really answering her question.
Was he trying to talk her into something, just as he’d warned he might? She swallowed hard and asked, “And by that, you mean, nothing serious has to happen between us?”
His finger continued to scrape back and forth across her bottom lip. “Nothing serious.”
She felt another ripple of excitement. She didn’t know if she believed him, though. “Casual?”
He looked as if the word pained him, but he agreed quickly enough. “Sure.”
“What about your mother?”
He scanned her critically. “What about her?”
“We tell her the truth? That our relationship is casual?” she clarified.
A muscle flicked at his jaw. “No. The less she knows the better. As far as she’s concerned, we’re friends, nothing more, no relationship.”
“Just friends?” she questioned.
“Just friends,” he agreed.
Angie cleared her throat. “And are we?”
His hand left her face as he threaded his fingers through her hair. “What?”
Her pulse became erratic as she questioned, “Are we friends?”
His gaze became almost glazed as he glanced down at her lips and lingered there. Finally, he raised his eyes to hers, but he took his time about answering. “Sure. Why not?”
Why did she get the feeling they were at cross-purposes? “I can’t … I can’t think of a reason.”
A half-smile twisted his lips. “As my friend, will you let me buy you dinner tonight?”
The butterflies that had been humming low in her stomach took flight and began beating against her breastbone, because she knew that dinner was definitely not the only thing on his agenda. Say no. Say no. Say. No. She waited a prolonged second before answering, “Okay.”
A look of satisfaction crossed his face. “Then, fine. I see no reason we can’t be friends.”
****
Her doorbell went off at seven o’clock on the dot that evening. Her nerves had been shot the rest of the day, knowing he was coming to get her, and now, as she opened the door, she took a sustaining breath as she found him leaning negligently against her doorframe.
“Hi.” The word was a croak from her throat.
His gaze dropped to her black stilettos and a subtle tension seemed to take hold of his body. “Hello.”
“I’m ready to go.”
He twisted his head to look inside her apartment, but he made no move to try to go inside. He glanced back at her and cocked his head in a motion for her to follow him. “Let’s go.”
Angie closed the door and locked it with fingers that shook, and as they walked down the exterior stairs, she held tightly to the rail, the heels on her shoes and the trembling of her limbs making the descent more difficult than usual.
He didn’t try to rush her as he led her over to his Mercedes; he opened the door for her and stood back as she sat down. The door closed with a quiet snap, and as he was walking around the car, Angie tried to settle her nerves by taking a few deep breaths.
It didn’t work; the only thing it accomplished was to make her hyperventilate.
When he opened his door, sat down and started the engine, her heart rate was still too elevated for comfort. She looked around at the interior of the elegant vehicle, at the detailed luxury, and she knew, without a doubt, that they lived on separate planets.
He looked at her but remained silent, the engine idling.
After a moment, she couldn’t stand his hooded stare any longer. “What?”
He let out a sigh, and leaned over and pulled the strap over her shoulder, and buckled it into place. Her heart began pounding a loud cadence, and when he placed a simple kiss on her forehead, she about lost it—her nerves were all over the place. She was elated; she was terrified.
He didn’t make idle chatter as they drove to the restaurant, and before long, they were sitting in a corner booth with a bottle of wine between them.
“You didn’t wear the lipstick,” he accused lightly.
She took a sip of her wine before answering, “You said it was too much.”
“It would have been too much if I was forced to stand in a room full of other men and watch them staring at you as if you were fair game.”
The smoldering fire in his eyes, combined with his silken words, made a hot ache begin to grow in her belly. “Oh.”
“Oh, what?” He reached across the table and picked up her hand in both of his and began to play with her fingers.
Her heart beat unmercifully. “Okay … I know you want me to wear the lipstick.”
He studied her, making no attempt to hide the fact. “I want you to wear the lipstick when it’s just you and me, like it is tonight.”
The blood surged from her fingertips where he caressed her. “We’ll see,” was the only answer she could manage.
He raised one wicked eyebrow. “We’ll see?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “Casual, right?” she challenged, in a bid to remind him of their agreement, which surely didn’t include him telling her what to do.
He released her hand and leaned back in his seat, picking up his wineglass.
When he only stared at her from across the table, she asked, “Right, Damian?”
After studying her for what was almost too long for comfort, he responded, “We’ll see.”
The way he copied her words but turned them around made her tremble, and in that moment, she admitted that she felt an unequivocal and total attraction for this man. Trying to get a grip, she wrenched herself away from his undeniable magnetism by flipping open the menu and glancing down.
****
There was little doubt in Damian’s mind that when he died, he was going down. Straight down. He already knew he was doomed, and the scam he was performing on Angie was going to cement the deal. He’d almost fucked up beyond what was repairable when he’d issued that idiotic warning to her. What the hell had he been thinking? He knew the answer to that question; he’d been trying to scare her off because he knew damn good and well that he wouldn’t have the willpower to stay away from her all on his own. So, he’d tried to take the power out of his hands and damn if it hadn’t almost worked.
But now he was on a course to mend his fuck-up, and she was falling for it, thank God. Yeah, she was falling for it one hundred percent, and before the night was over, he’d have her in his bed and that was all he cared about. Fuck the rest of the world.
He didn’t give a shit anymore that she wasn’t right for him. His brothers could both go take a flying leap. He was going to keep her and keep her as long as he wanted. After all, how much more damn money did his family need? He didn’t really need a wife, shit, he’d been doing without one for all this time, he could continue on for a while longer. He and his brothers were already rolling in dough; they had more goddamn money than they could spend in several lifetimes. So, he wasn’t going to think about the business.
For once, he was going to have what he wanted. Since the day his father had died, Damian had lived and breathed the business. He’d taken on the considerable burdens, along with his brothers, and every day of his life since had been dedicated to bringing in the money and keeping his mother and the girls in comfort.
Yeah, there was no denying that he liked the cash. He received satisfaction from closing deals and seeing the money double. And there were other residuals: the women, the real estate, the respect. He admitted that he liked his life and everything about it. He didn’t mind working hard, he didn’t mind the travel, he didn’t mind the responsibility, in fact, he relished it all.
There was only one damn thing that made him edgy. The thought of having to tie himself to a woman solely for the business. He wanted to choose his own woman. He res
ented the fact that he had to think of the corporation first, even when it came to something so potentially fucking detrimental to his happiness.
But he wasn’t going to worry about it right now. He was giving himself permission to do as he liked for a bit, a sabbatical from the pressure of finding the right woman. Because, evidently, he wanted the wrong woman, and for a change, he was going to do something selfish.
His mind made up, he let his responsibilities go and immersed himself in the tantalizing prospect of nailing Angie to his bed.
But first, he had to get through dinner.
He watched her from across the table, the heightened color in her cheekbones giving her a heated flush that accentuated the delicate oval of her face. Her hair was shiny and healthy, hanging in lustrous curls around her shoulders. Her beauty was exotic, and it abruptly occurred to him that this was really going to happen; the fantasy that had been fucking with him for months was within touching distance.
She looked up from the menu and their glances connected; he felt an aggressive, feral need rise in his blood. He struggled to remain seated; there was a persuasive beat in his veins that begged him to pull her from the restaurant at that very moment. He knew he couldn’t do that, and it was a test of his control to appear calm. He grasped the edge of the table to keep from reaching across and dragging her from her seat. His knuckles turned white with the effort.
As his attention remained focused on her, her eyes widened imperceptibly and he saw a tiny tremor in her cheek. It hit him all at once that she was somewhat agitated around him, maybe even scared, and instead of making him uneasy, he admitted that her apprehension was a powerful aphrodisiac to the predator within him. He smelled her scent; a primal urge to pursue threatened to overwhelm him. His muscles contracted as his shaft engorged and become rigid. The urge to mate rose up and took over his senses in a compulsion that he had to physically restrain.
It became a contest to see if he could continue sitting in his seat. As he sat back with a false air of indolence, he soothed the beast inside by allowing himself to touch her.
As their eyes held, he reached out, picked up her hand, and laced her fingers through his.