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She walks out of her room and stares at me as she buttons her overshirt. “Y’know, I kind of hate that you can say those kinds of things. I hate that you can be so right but also be so fucking hypocritical.”
I feel like I’ve been smacked across the face. I thought we were okay. But apparently, I upset her. Apparently, something I said buried itself deep inside her brain so that when she left the room, she just kept playing it on a self-deprecating loop. So now, she seems angry with me, but is she? Is she really angry?
“What?” I ask dumbly.
“I said, I hate that you are so good at giving advice about families but you’re such an ass to yours,” she paraphrases.
I blink. She really wants to do this? She wants to start something now? I know I shouldn’t rise to the bait; she looks near tears even though she is closer to screaming at me and tearing me a verbal new one. I know that she is just emotional and thrown for a loop, treading in a sea that’s too big for her to see any safe land. I should reach out; I should be that safe land.
“You don’t mean that,” I tread carefully, giving her the out. Trying to give her the guidance she obviously needs but of course, Amelia always does things her own way.
“Tell me you really care about your family. Didn’t you just say your feelings are different than mine in all this?” She throws up her hands. She wants a reason to fight, I can see it in her eyes.
“I never once said I cared or didn’t care about my family. I just said my feelings were fucking different,” my voice drops. I feel myself retreating into that cold anger I haven’t felt with her since before the party. She doesn’t get it. She just wants to lash out. But why, when I’m trying to help her, am I the one receiving it all?
My lips lift in a nasty snarl. I wait for her response, and what I get isn’t what I expect.
“Do you care about anything but your dogs?” she nearly screeches.
“Of course I fucking do.” I run a hand through my hair. “I care about you, dammit!”
My hand palm slaps against the counter with a heavy thud, my eyes find hers anchored onto me. Amelia feels the fear, the excitement, and the anticipation I do, and we both fall head first into it.
CHAPTER 16
AMELIA
Adrian says he cares.
I don’t ask how he cares; I don’t need to, nor do I want to. It’s complicated, but I can tell the basic intentions, just from the way the tension crackles in the air and the engulfing flames of desire burn behind his eyes. I know he wants it just as badly as I do, and this would be so much better than fighting.
We meet each other in the middle of the room, our mouths coming together like they’re magnetically drawn. I’ve been aching to do this since I fled the party last night. He tastes of bitter coffee and smoky salt from the bacon. He tastes like the familiar and the safe. Everything that Adrian Saunders isn’t.
Still, I kiss him like I’m drowning, and he is feeding me air. I need this; he is the anchor point that will save me in this endless ocean. He will stop my boat from capsizing during this storm. Or perhaps he will be the thing that pulls me down, and I’ll willingly become one of his victims. I know the red flags are there, waving bright warnings and telling me to turn back. But I’m not sure I want to. I’m not sure I can anymore.
I whimper into his mouth as he takes control of the kiss with long steady strokes of his tongue and a commanding grip on the back of my skull. He tilts my head just the way he wants it, so he can claim my lips just the way I need it.
I thought it was good the first time we did this. This time though, my brain nearly melts from the sheer passion and near aggression in the pull of his lips and nips of his teeth. He steers me back against the counter and shifts me upward onto it, but I don’t just want to be on the receiving end this time. I want to show Adrian what I can do. I want to thank him for everything he’s done for me, even though earlier I was willing to bite his head off because I was spiraling out of control.
I push back against his chest, and despite the sheer fierceness of his advances, he stops and follows my gentle pressure. He lets me guide him so he’s the one against the counter, so he’s the one leaning back against it on the heels of his hand. I smirk at him, an expression that’s softer than I intend it to be, and I drop to my knees in front of him. His eyes widen in obvious surprise.
“Wait,” he hisses.
But he doesn’t mean it, even though I pause to watch him. “What?”
“You sure?” he asks, and I roll my eyes.
I work his slacks open, completely aware this is going to make me late for work and I don’t give a damn. I doubt the boss will mind if it’s due to his cock in my mouth. If I’m lucky he may even be late for his first client. That thought makes me smile as I press a kiss on the soft trail of hair just below his belly button. I scrape my teeth along the dark strands, causing the muscles of his abdomen to jump under the sensation, and he hisses as I snap the band of his boxer briefs.
“Tease,” he snarls with no heat behind it.
I merely loll out my tongue to lick at the cotton, encouraging the zipper down with my fingers until his pants fall. He doesn’t do the dumb or awkward thing I expect which is for him to try and catch them. Instead, he leans further back, sighing as he watches me through hooded and unbelievably sexy eyes. God, does he look at every woman he fucks like this? I push that thought from my head vehemently. That doesn’t matter.
I pull his briefs down his twitching thighs. He’s half hard, still growing before my eyes with each beat of his heart. I watch with a shiver of anticipation and swallow hard. Precum pearls at his tip and he’s flushed a painful shade of red within seconds.
Apparently when he’s being teased, Adrian talks.
“God, you have no fucking idea. No idea how gorgeous you look,” he growls, one of his hands coming forward to run through my still-loose hair.
