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“And you’re being a class A brat. Stop it.”
“Make me.”
His gaze crashes with mine and I can barely breathe as the heat of that loaded, bone-melting tension rises between us. “Is that,” he asks softly, “a challenge?”
“No.” Oh, is that word hard to say. “You said scandal. What are you trying to turn me into?”
“My pretend wife to be. Come on, you’re working for me. I don’t go around fucking the help. So, upping the ante with a whiff of a scandal is perfect. It all goes together. It was basically your idea.”
My head is spinning, but I think it’s because we’re so close and that fire in his gaze is sexual and predatory and I’m the kind of victim who’s tying herself to the rock.
The tricky thing is I know Sarah well enough to know she’d go with the flow. She’d probably try to marry him because he’s almost the whole package, and would be complete and perfect if he had a heart he wanted to use. Which he doesn’t. Which wouldn’t stop her.
I don’t want to marry him and we’re both using each other, and we agreed sex was just sex and still I’m furious and I don’t understand why.
“I think,” I snap, “I have to go.”
Whipping around, I take a step towards the door, but he can move fast. He’s right there, my wrist caught in his hand as he pulls me back to face him.
He stares down at me with narrowed eyes that still burn with fire, but it’s a mix of anger and sex and it turns me on more than it has any right to. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
“Away.”
“I haven’t said you can leave.”
I move into him, brushing my body against him, and it’s like brushing against an exposed low-current live wire. A buzz and a thrill and a charge. “I don’t need your permission.”
“There are several pieces of paper with your signature on it, Scarlett, that says I can. There’s the fact if you go and walk out the door and screw this up, I’ll screw up things for you.”
Placing my palm flat on his chest I go to push him, but he clamps his other hand on my wrist, holding me, and I’m trapped. Caught by him. Literally and figuratively. Because the way he looks at me, like I’m dessert that might be laced with poison but he’s damn hungry anyway, holds me there more than the physical.
I couldn’t walk away even if I tried.
“Hudson, I just want to get away for a bit. Calm down.”
“No.”
“No?” Heat and need is pooling in my body, and even though he’s been in it, even though we had sex a few hours ago, I start to ache for him all over again. I crave him.
“That’s what I said.”
“Why?”
He lets me go, only to twine his arms around me and draw me in and he stops, mouth a breath from mine he says, “This.”
And Hudson kisses me. It’s like an explosion of need as our mouths meet and open. Tongues dance and tease and duel. The carnal power rocks me right down through my core, right into the marrow of my bones.
I kiss him back and it’s not enough. How is it never enough?
He spins me, his hands everywhere, in my hair, skimming my body, sliding up between my thighs as I hit the desk.
I open for him and he steps in, his hand there, on my pussy, and I feel it through the layers of the material and he strokes and pushes against me with his fingers, teasing my clit with little light squeezes that are just sharp enough to send jolts of an almost-orgasm through me. I reach for him, for his fly, and his hand rises up to my zipper.
I’m ready, I’m so ready for this, here, now.
And then he’s there, my zipper is a hiss in the air and I raise my hips, and bite down on his throat as he reaches in.
I’m going to reach my own personal nirvana in seconds, all I need is him to touch my bare, wet flesh—
