Page 62 of Bound Enemies
Yet when I came in she was so cool, so calm, flicking through a magazine, not even deigning to look at me. It infuriated me. My temper was already on edge from having to make this quite unnecessary trip, and I had to pull the magazine away from her to get her attention.
Her blue gaze was cold, but I could see the fire lurking beneath all that ice. Especially when I told her the baby was a mistake. That drove her up onto her feet, the ice melting, fury glittering brightly in her eyes.
She clearly didn’t like me saying that, though for what reason I’m not sure. But then she tried to walk away from me, and I wasn’t having that. She’s done that twice to me now, first after our interlude at the church, and second, hanging up on me during our phone conversation. There will not be a third, so I stopped her. Then I reached out and took her jaw in my hand and forced her gaze to meet mine. I wanted to see what was in her eyes, ask her just what her issue with the paternity test was, especially if she’s so certain the baby isn’t mine.
That’s when I saw her fear. I caught only a fleeting glimpse before she managed to hide it, but it was there. Her fear shouldn’t have mattered to me, nor should I be curious about it, except if it was fear of taking the paternity test itself I need to know why.
Yet then came the moment that always comes when we get close. When physical awareness of each other impinges on and blots out everything else. The softness of her skin, the delicate scent of flowers, the flickering hunger beneath the ice in her eyes. The raging electricity that crackles and sparks when we touch.
It was enraging to find it still burning, yet it was impossible to deny. And, since I knew that self-restraint hadn’t worked, there was only one other possible solution: feed the hunger until I’m not hungry any more.
Hence my offer to her. I know she wants me, that she can’t resist me, and I know that she hates our chemistry as much as I do. This is a chance for her to set fire to it, let it burn away completely until there’s nothing but ashes left. And in return, she’ll take the test willingly.
‘Your “services”?’ she echoes, shock in her eyes.
Does she really not know what I’m talking about? When I made the same offer to her eighteen months ago?
‘Come, now, Miss Morgan,’ I say. ‘Do I really have to explain myself? You know exactly what I mean.’
Her pulse has picked up, I can feel the beat of it against my thumb. The shock in her eyes is giving way to a mix of fury and—yes, I can see how the blue darkens into tell-tale violet—desire. She doesn’t want to want me the way I don’t want to want her, but we’re both helpless against it all the same.
‘How dare you?’ she says, quivering with rage. ‘I’m not a sex worker.’
‘Are you not?’ I ask. ‘Didn’t my father pay you for your services?’ I don’t care that he did—after all, I offered her the same deal. No, I’m only asking out of curiosity.
Her cheeks flush with colour, her eyes glittering like stars. ‘It wasn’t like that,’ she says in a tight voice. ‘I chose to have sex with him.’
But I’m not interested in what it was ‘like’ with him. I don’t care about him, not any more. What I want is her.
The more I think about it, the more certain I become. I should have realised this four months ago in the church, when my self-control failed, that having her is the only way. Her in my bed for however long it takes us to finally get rid of this chemistry. It’s basic logic.
‘Just like you chose to have sex with me,’ I point out. ‘Or are you going to lie again and say you didn’t want me? That you didn’t beg when I had my hand between your thighs?’
She pulls herself out of my grip then, yet doesn’t sidestep me. Instead she stays exactly where she is, far too close to me, and lifts her chin, proud as any queen. ‘I see.’ One golden brow lifts. ‘So would this be for my benefit or yours?’ She leans in a little, her blue gaze on mine. ‘I bet if I was to put my hand betweenyourthighs, you’d be hard.’
If she thinks that giving me a taste of what I gave her will win this particular confrontation, she’d be wrong. Unlike her, I’m honest about what I want and I see no reason to hide it. Not when the truth is so obvious.
‘Why not find out?’ I invite silkily. ‘Don’t be shy.’
Are you sure this is what you want to do?
Naturally, I’m sure. It’s the most logical solution to a reprehensible situation. I would rather not feel this hunger for her, but it is what it is. I feel it and so does she, and feeding the hunger is the best answer. It doesn’t mean I’m addicted. It doesn’t mean I’m helpless against my baser urges.Ihave made the decision, not my cock, and as far as I’m concerned, my intellect is still in full control.
Her gaze drops to my fly, then back up again, cool and calm as a frozen sea. ‘No, thank you,’ she says, as if I’m offering her a cup of tea she doesn’t want. ‘I’d rather not.’
I almost admire her response. Respect even, that she’s working so hard to pretend she doesn’t want me with everything in her. But the darkness of her eyes, those flickers of violet, give her away. She wants to touch me. She’s desperate to touch me.
You want her to touch you, too.
Oh, I do. But I’m not desperate. I can wait.
I smile, letting her know that I can see all the way through her. ‘You need more to sweeten the deal? Fine. Multiple orgasmsandmoney. Whatever my father was paying you, I’ll double it.’
Her jaw tightens, hot sparks of temper melting the ice in them. ‘Idon’twant you,’ she insists. ‘And I don’t want your money.’
‘What do you want, then?’ I’m growing impatient with the conversation. If she continues to argue, I’ll throw her over my shoulder and carry her to the helicopter myself. I do not have the time for yet more protests.
A bright blue flame burns suddenly in her eyes. ‘I want to keep my baby. That’s what I want.’
