Shadows At Sunset - Anne Stuart [42]
“You’re disgusting.”
“Actually I’m quite good. Probably a hell of a lot better than you’ve ever had, if Alan Dunbar is anything to go by.”
“How would you know? Did you sleep with Alan?” she retorted. She’d stopped trying to pull her hand free, but she hadn’t given up fighting.
“No, but your sister did.”
“Is that the best you’ve got for a trump card? I already knew that. Rachel-Ann doesn’t keep secrets from me.”
“Maybe she should.”
“Maybe you should let go of me. I’m not interested in having sex with you, Coltrane, no matter how talented you are in bed. I don’t want to end up some pathetic, needy love slave who’s so desperate for affection that she’ll do anything.”
“Hey, I’m good,” he said lightly, still holding on to her. “But I’m not that good. I haven’t had a love slave in years.”
“Leave me the fuck alone,” she said bitterly.
“Now that’s just what I’m not going to do.” He tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her toward him in the darkness. He knew exactly how she’d respond, her other hand coming up to push him away, her hand touching the bare, hot skin of his chest so that she drew back in surprise, long enough for him to wrap her tightly against his chest, trapping her hand between them. He knew she’d try to jerk her head away when he slid his hand into her hair and tilted her face back for his kiss. And he knew she’d open her mouth for him.
What he hadn’t guessed was what it would feel like. She was almost as tall as he was, her strong, ripe body wrapped in his as they stood on the terrace. Her hair was like a curtain down her back, reaching almost to her hips, and her breasts were soft and full beneath the thin layer of cotton as they pressed against his naked chest.
He hadn’t known a mouth could feel like that. That a woman, an argumentative, reluctant woman could feel so hot in his arms, so incredibly right that his monumental control could start to slip. In a moment he’d be on his knees in front of her, using his mouth, and she’d let him, he knew it, even as she hated herself for it.
She wanted him, which was no real surprise. All that hostility usually came from somewhere deep inside, and it was just as likely to be sparked by attraction as anything else. What shocked him was how much he wanted her. On a deep, growling primal level that made him want to howl at the moon.
He knew how to kiss; he was quite skilled at it because he knew women liked it. But he’d never realized until that moment how much he liked it, too. He could push her against the stucco wall and kiss her for hours, quite happily. Or he could unzip his jeans, pull off her skimpy nightclothes and fuck her in the moonlight. Just lose himself in her, body and soul, so that he didn’t need to think about anything but the touch and taste and scent of her, her breath in her mouth, her heart pounding against his.
But he wasn’t going to do it. The only thing he wanted more than Jilly Meyer was his self-control, and he set her away from him, carefully, holding her at arm’s length, wondering if she was going to hit him.
“Go away,” she said, but her voice wasn’t much more than a raw whisper.
He looked at her for a long moment in the moonlight, and then he nodded. “All right.”
“I mean it. Go away. Leave this house,” she said, her voice shaking. Maybe with fury, maybe with something else.
“I’m staying and you know it,” he said.
“Then keep away from me.”
He hesitated. “We both know I won’t. We both know we’ll end up in bed together, sooner or later. Why fight it?”
“Because I don’t want it.”
“You almost sound like you believe that.”
“You arrogant bastard, I—”
He moved swiftly, coming so close to her that she fell back against the wall. He didn’t touch her this time. He didn’t have to. “I’m not deluded enough to think everyone wants me. But you do.”
“I don’t even like you.”
“What