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They both froze and she stared, horrified, fascinated, then horrified again at the faint red mark blooming on his lean cheek. Her blood halted its frenzied dash, her stomach tossed as if she’d thrown it into the ocean.
A single thought dominated her mind: What had she just done?
This time, when she got to her feet, he didn’t try to hold her down. She took a step away from the loveseat, and then another, still staring at what her unfamiliar temper had wrought. “You bring out the worst in me,” she said.
“You think?” His eyes narrowed and he slowly rose from the couch. “Maybe I bring out the best. Maybe I bring out what’s real about you.”
His taller figure towered over hers, and fear skittered down Juliet’s spine. Not fear of Noah, even though she’d just slapped him. The one she was afraid of was herself: What might she be capable of next? When he moved closer, she placed her palms against his chest to keep a distance between them. “No.”
The muscle in his jaw—his jaw that was still faintly red because she’d slapped him!—ticked. His gaze was trained on her face, the blue color hot as the center of a fire.
It burned her, so she looked away, and caught a glimpse of her reflection in that mirror she’d hung. Her usually straight hair was disheveled and a little wispy at the temples. A flush covered her from neck to forehead, making her own blue and green eyes stand out unnaturally bright. Her memory flashed to Nikki, stomping into Malibu & Ewe, intensity in every step, in every breath.
She’d thought then: That’s how I’d look if I ever really let go. In passion or in anger.
Noah had said: Maybe I bring out the best. Maybe I bring out what’s real about you.
In the mirror, she knew she had never so closely resembled her fiery little sister. And she marveled at the likeness. Was this Juliet at her best? Juliet..real?
Her gaze jumped back to Noah’s.
One of his hands lifted and he traced a finger down her hot cheek. “Juliet…”
“What?” In the wake of his touch, her skin prickled with a heat that had nothing to do with anger.
He stroked again. “Pity is the last thing I feel for you.”
“Is it?” It was that different Juliet, a tempestuous Juliet who was speaking through her lips, a carpe diem creature who curled her fingers and dug her nails into Noah’s dress shirt in order to get to those hard muscles behind the cotton. Now it was passion that was crawling like a flame inside of her. She shivered, as sensible thoughts—they should discuss this, they shouldn’t probably do this—evaporated in the heat.
“Well, me,” she said, staring into his face where she could see the reflection of her own desire, “I just want to feel.” Then, thrilled by her own audacity, she jerked her hands apart, tearing buttons from their moorings.
Revealing Noah’s naked chest.
Dimly, she registered the buttons pinging against harder surfaces. Vividly, she took in the view that had been distracting her since that first night when she’d caught him naked in her pool. His bare chest, bronzed, tempting with its heavy musculature and hard-tipped copper nipples.
If it was cold, she could fool herself and think it wasn’t a reaction to her. To what she’d just done. But it wasn’t the least bit cool in the room.
And she wasn’t going to fool herself anymore.
She wanted to feel. She wanted passion and sensation and her skin against a man’s skin.
No. This man’s skin.
Without another thought, she stepped forward and took that tempting nipple into her mouth.
Noah’s body tightened against hers. He groaned, and she didn’t even bother deciphering the tone. She wanted to taste his skin, to suck that small pebble of flesh, to experience the heavy pound of his heart against her hands.
He groaned again, one of his palms rising to cup the back of her head and she flattened her tongue against his areola, her own pulse slamming in secret places. Her breasts swelled against her bra and her inner thighs tightened, trying to hold her erotic response close.
Warmth and wet flooded despite that.
But she didn’t care. She ran the heel of her hand over his other tight nipple, rolled over it with the ball of her thumb, and Noah let her take the hard caress. With another groan, he let her own it.
Then she replaced her mouth with her other hand and lifted her head, demanding. He took the hint and dipped his lips to hers.
There was nothing gentle about their meeting.
His tongue thrust into her mouth, his penetration only a precursor to what she really wanted, and it was her time to groan because he knew what she needed. Hard, wet, invasion. Sensation.
This was real.
Him. She wanted all of him.
Yanking the dress shirt from the waist of his slacks, she pressed closer and let the kiss go wild. She bit at his bottom lip, sucked on this tongue, took his upper lip between hers to suckle it in hot, sweet, delight.
