you’re stupid.” Deliberately he raked his gaze over her, an insulting pass down her body and back up again. “We’re alone out here, and you’ve got no place to hide. I may have only one good arm, but if I decided to help myself, you couldn’t stop me.”
Anger danced up her spine, but there was no fear in it. No one had ever laid hands on her unless she’d allowed it. She didn’t intend for that to change. “You’re wrong about that. I don’t hide, I confront. I’m not weak or helpless.”
He tightened his grip on her wrist, fully aware his fingers would likely leave marks. He hoped they did, and she remembered it. For both their sakes. “You’re a woman, and I outweigh you by close to a hundred pounds. A lot of men would use that advantage to take a sample of you. Whether you were to their taste or not. I’m more particular, and, sister, you don’t appeal to me.”
“Really?” Her anger was full-blown now, a state she worked to avoid. When she was angry, overcome with anger, she knew she could be incredibly rash. She did her best to cool down, to take the reins of her temper in hand. “That’s fortunate for both of us then.”
She eased back, tugged her arm free when his grip on her loosened. She saw something flicker in his eyes—relief or disdain, she wasn’t sure. But either way, it fanned the flames again.
“But it’s a lie.”
She was angry, rash—and, she supposed, incredibly stupid. But the reins of temper slipped, and she fisted both hands in his hair and crushed her mouth to his.
Her first reaction was satisfaction, pure and simple, when she heard his quick, indrawn breath. She went with it, using her lips and tongue to get a good taste of him.
And as that taste filled her, pumped inside her with an unexpected wave of heat, it led to her second reaction.
A slow and slippery meltdown.
She hadn’t been prepared for it, not for need to burn through anger, every layer of it, and pull the hair trigger of her own passion. She made a little sound, both surprise and pleasure, and slid into him.
His mouth was hard, his face rough and his hair as thick and soft as mink pelt. She could feel the jackhammer of his heart, and the grip of his hand—this time vised on her nape. His teeth, then his tongue met hers. All she could think was: Give me more.
His reflexes were sluggish. It was the only excuse he could give for not shoving her away before she slid into him. And he was only human. That was the only reason he could find for his hand lifting—not to push her off, but to clamp over her neck, to keep her just where she was.
All over him.
The soft, greedy sounds she made had his blood surging, drove him to fight to deepen the kiss even as it reached depths he wasn’t sure he could stand.
He wanted to swallow her whole—one wild, voracious bite. He wanted it, wanted her, more than he wanted his next breath.
He shifted, struggling to wrap his other arm around her, drag her onto his lap. The sudden careless move had bright, blinding pain smothering passion.
She jerked back. She’d felt his body go rigid, heard him fight to catch his breath, knew she’d hurt him. Concern, apologies nearly fell off her tongue before his vicious glare stopped them.
“Stay the hell away from me.” He couldn’t pull in any air, and his head swam. He cursed because he knew it had every bit as much to do with his body’s reaction to her as it did to the pain.
“Let me help—”
“I said stay the hell away.” His chair crashed to the floor as he pushed himself upright. When his vision blurred he nearly swayed, and the weakness only added to his fury. “You want a quick roll, go somewhere else. I’m not in the market.”
He strode out of the house, the two doors slamming like bullets at his back.
* * *
She was thoroughly ashamed of herself, and had barely slept all night for cringing every time she replayed the scene in her head.
She’d pushed herself on him. All but
forced
herself