Into the Fire - Anne Stuart [39]
“Then stay put.”
She started backing away again. “I don’t think so. Just tell me where I can find something to help me sleep and I’ll go back to bed.”
“Right here.” He caught up with her, shockingly close, and backed her up against the table.
“Don’t touch me.” Her voice was very quiet, a plea and a warning. “I don’t like to be touched.”
“Get over it,” he said again. He put his arm around her waist and lifted her, effortlessly. She heard the crash of glass and poker chips as he swept the table clean, and then she was lying in the middle of it and he was on top of her, looking down at her, pressing against her, his warm, smooth, naked chest, the unmistakable pressure of his erection against her thigh. She couldn’t move.
He looked down into her face, resting on his elbows as he contemplated her obvious panic. “Nate forgot to mention this little goodie,” he said, half to himself.
“What?” The sound that came from her mouth was nothing more than a terrified squeak. She was shivering, and she knew he could feel it, but he seemed totally unmoved.
“That you’re afraid of men. Did Paul do this to you?”
“I did it to myself,” she said. Knowing it was the truth. She could have worked through it, if she’d wanted to. But it was safer this way. Or at least, it had been.
To her horror he brushed his lips against her forehead in an almost absentminded gesture. “Good thing Paul’s dead,” he murmured. “I might have had to kill him.”
He let his lips trail down the side of her face, whisper soft, across her cheekbone and the corner of her mouth. “Then again, maybe there are advantages. This way you don’t know what you’ve been missing.” His lips touched hers, just briefly, then moved on, touching, tasting, caressing.
“Let me up, Dillon,” she said again, not bothering to sound strong. “Please.”
His mouth didn’t slow its lazy voyage down the side of her neck. She didn’t touch him, didn’t try to push him away. She simply lay beneath him, trapped, her arms beside her, hands flat on the table, every muscle rigid, her eyes squeezed shut. It would end, sooner or later, and she’d survive. She could endure anything if she had to.
His lips touched the corner of her mouth again, and she couldn’t keep the tiny whimper from escaping. “Open your eyes, Jamie,” he whispered.
She had no intention of doing any such thing. But her body had other ideas, and she slowly looked up into his face, into the deep, hypnotic blue of his eyes.
“That’s better,” he said. “If you want me to let you up you just have to do one thing.”
“No!”
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Jamie. You just have to kiss me.”
“You’re drunk,” she said. “Or stoned, or something.”
“You know I’m not drunk. You just about choked on my iced tea. And frankly, the only thing affecting my judgment right now is you.”
“Not for the better.”
He smiled wryly. “I never said you had a very good effect on me or my judgment. But it’s a strong one. So what are we going to do about it?”
“It’s your problem. I’m not going to do a damned thing.”
“You see—you’re already feeling better. You’ve stopped shivering, and you’re pissed as hell. That’s progress.”
She had stopped shaking, she realized. And her anger had just about wiped out her panic, and the fact that he’d noticed before she did made her even madder.
“Let me the hell up or you’ll wish you had,” she said, shifting slightly. She could bring her knee up, hard, into his groin. Not that she’d ever done such a thing, but it seemed easy enough, given their proximity.
“Don’t even think it, baby girl,” he said, pressing his hips down against her, effectively pinning her to the hard oak surface. There was no way she could move her leg, no way she could fight back, and she was so frustrated that she didn’t even notice what he’d call her.
“I’ll ask you one last time…” she growled.
“And I’ll tell you one last time. All you have to do is kiss me and you can go safely back to bed. I won’t even touch your breasts. But you really should think twice before coming around here without a bra. There’s only so much a