“You know exactly what to do and how to do it. Personally … you’re the first woman I’ve met who was so willing to concede she couldn’t make a man dance to her tune.”
“I’m a realist.”
“I think you’re a coward.”
Her chin shot up. “Go to hell.”
He wasn’t about to back off. He had a point to prove, to both of them. “I think you’re afraid to get close to a man, afraid to find out just what’s inside. Maybe you’d find out it’s something you can’t control.”
“I don’t need this from you. You just get this man off my back.” She started to storm past him but was brought up short when he grabbed her arm.
“What do you say to an experiment?”
“An experiment?”
“Why don’t you give it a try, O’Roarke—with me? It should be safe, since you can barely stand the sight of me. A test.” He took her other arm. “Low-risk.” He could feel the anger vibrate through her as he held her. Good. For reasons he couldn’t have begun to name, he was just as angry. “Five to one I don’t feel a thing.” He drew her inches closer. “Want to prove me wrong?”
Chapter 4
They were close. She had lifted one hand in an unconscious defensive gesture and now her fingers were splayed across his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, slow and steady, beneath her palm. She focused her resentment on that even rhythm as her own pulse jerked and scrambled.
“I don’t have to prove anything to you.”
He nodded. The barely banked fury in her eyes was easier for him to handle than the glaze of fear it replaced. “To yourself, then.” Deliberately he smiled, baiting her. “What’s the matter, O’Roarke? Do I scare you?”
He’d pushed exactly the right button. They both knew it. He didn’t give a damn if it was temper that pushed her forward. As long as she moved.
She tossed her hair back and slowly, purposefully slid her hand from his chest to his shoulder. She wanted a reaction, hang him. He only lifted a brow and, with that faint smile playing around his mouth, watched her.
So he wanted to play games, she thought. Well, she was up for it. Tossing common sense aside, she pressed her lips to his.
His were firm, cool. And unresponsive. With her eyes open, she watched his remain patient, steady and hatefully amused. As her hand balled into a fist on his shoulder, she snapped her head back.
“Satisfied?”
“Not hardly.” His eyes might have been calm. That was training. But if she had bothered to monitor his heartbeat she would have found it erratic. “You’re not trying, O’Roarke.” He slid a hand down to her hip, shifting her balance just enough to have her sway against him. “You want me to believe that’s the best you can do?”
Angry humiliation rippled through her. Cursing him, she dragged his mouth to hers and poured herself into the kiss.
His lips were still firm, but they were no longer cool. Nor were they unresponsive. For an instant the urge to retreat hammered at her. And then needs, almost forgotten needs, surged. A flood of longings, a storm of desires. Overwhelmed by them, she strained against him, letting the power and the heat whip through her, reminding her what it was like to sample passion again.
Every other thought, every other wish, winked out. She could feel the long, hard length of him pressed against her, the slow, deliberate stroke of his hands as they moved up her back and into her hair. His mouth, no longer patient, took and took from hers until the blood pounded like thunder in her head.
He’d known she would pack a punch. He’d thought he was prepared for it. In the days he’d known her he’d imagined tasting her like this dozens of times. He’d imagined what it would be like to hold her against him, to hear her sigh, to catch the fevered scent of her skin as he took his mouth over her.
But reality was much more potent than any dream had been.
Chain lightning. She was every bit as explosive, as turbulent, as potentially lethal. The
“I’m a realist.”
“I think you’re a coward.”
Her chin shot up. “Go to hell.”
He wasn’t about to back off. He had a point to prove, to both of them. “I think you’re afraid to get close to a man, afraid to find out just what’s inside. Maybe you’d find out it’s something you can’t control.”
“I don’t need this from you. You just get this man off my back.” She started to storm past him but was brought up short when he grabbed her arm.
“What do you say to an experiment?”
“An experiment?”
“Why don’t you give it a try, O’Roarke—with me? It should be safe, since you can barely stand the sight of me. A test.” He took her other arm. “Low-risk.” He could feel the anger vibrate through her as he held her. Good. For reasons he couldn’t have begun to name, he was just as angry. “Five to one I don’t feel a thing.” He drew her inches closer. “Want to prove me wrong?”
Chapter 4
They were close. She had lifted one hand in an unconscious defensive gesture and now her fingers were splayed across his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, slow and steady, beneath her palm. She focused her resentment on that even rhythm as her own pulse jerked and scrambled.
“I don’t have to prove anything to you.”
He nodded. The barely banked fury in her eyes was easier for him to handle than the glaze of fear it replaced. “To yourself, then.” Deliberately he smiled, baiting her. “What’s the matter, O’Roarke? Do I scare you?”
He’d pushed exactly the right button. They both knew it. He didn’t give a damn if it was temper that pushed her forward. As long as she moved.
She tossed her hair back and slowly, purposefully slid her hand from his chest to his shoulder. She wanted a reaction, hang him. He only lifted a brow and, with that faint smile playing around his mouth, watched her.
So he wanted to play games, she thought. Well, she was up for it. Tossing common sense aside, she pressed her lips to his.
His were firm, cool. And unresponsive. With her eyes open, she watched his remain patient, steady and hatefully amused. As her hand balled into a fist on his shoulder, she snapped her head back.
“Satisfied?”
“Not hardly.” His eyes might have been calm. That was training. But if she had bothered to monitor his heartbeat she would have found it erratic. “You’re not trying, O’Roarke.” He slid a hand down to her hip, shifting her balance just enough to have her sway against him. “You want me to believe that’s the best you can do?”
Angry humiliation rippled through her. Cursing him, she dragged his mouth to hers and poured herself into the kiss.
His lips were still firm, but they were no longer cool. Nor were they unresponsive. For an instant the urge to retreat hammered at her. And then needs, almost forgotten needs, surged. A flood of longings, a storm of desires. Overwhelmed by them, she strained against him, letting the power and the heat whip through her, reminding her what it was like to sample passion again.
Every other thought, every other wish, winked out. She could feel the long, hard length of him pressed against her, the slow, deliberate stroke of his hands as they moved up her back and into her hair. His mouth, no longer patient, took and took from hers until the blood pounded like thunder in her head.
He’d known she would pack a punch. He’d thought he was prepared for it. In the days he’d known her he’d imagined tasting her like this dozens of times. He’d imagined what it would be like to hold her against him, to hear her sigh, to catch the fevered scent of her skin as he took his mouth over her.
But reality was much more potent than any dream had been.
Chain lightning. She was every bit as explosive, as turbulent, as potentially lethal. The
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