Page 42 of Cockpit
Fist.
Her hand in my shirt. Her other hand at the back of my neck as our bodies meet—pressed knee to chest. Her perfume in my nose. Her hair tickling my cheeks. The feel of her tits against my chest.
Give.
I can’t get enough.
I’m mad at her.
I want her.
I don’t want to want her.
Christ, do I want her.
“Gray.” A murmured protest.
I tear my lips from hers, shove off the door I have her pressed against, and stride to the other side of the room.
“You are . . . you just . . .” It’s as if I can barely breathe. Christ, I’m mad at you.”
She stands there, lips parted, chest heaving, and golden brown curls messed from my hands, but her eyes look hurt. A hurt I don’t want to see but can’t deny.
“Why?”
“You did this,” I accuse as I try to manage the anger that’s waging a war against my desire.
“Did what?” Her eyes narrow. Her hand goes to press against her chest.
“Made me want you.”
It’s her laugh that incites me now. That, and the taste of her kiss and the feel of her skin and the sound she made in the back of her throat and the goddamn ownership in her touch. Things I didn’t want from anyone. Things she makes me want from her.
Over and over.
He’s a caged tiger.
That’s all I can think when I look at him and his broad shoulders, clenched fists, and anger. Waves of anger are rolling off him.
I stare at him with so much to say in my mind, but every part of my body is stunned by the kisses he just numbed me with.
“Are you happy, Sidney? Isn’t this what you wanted?” His voice thunders in the small space but is drowned out by the buzz of the bar on the other side of the door. “Manipulate me? Paint me into a corner so I have to say yes or risk looking like a goddamn fool? So, I’ll say yes. Yes. I have no other choice. You win. You fucking took the cake. You made me want you when I didn’t want to want you. Bet you didn’t count on that with your little game, huh?” He takes a step toward me, his lips back on mine without preamble. He tastes of beer and anger, and just as quickly as my body reacts to him, he breaks from the kiss. “What are you going to do about that now?”
He leans back, one hand possessive on the nape of my neck as his eyes bore into mine. Searching. Asking. Wanting. Not wanting to admit.
Then, as soon as I see the fear that glances through his eyes, his hands are off me. He yanks the door open, shunting me forward, and he slams it closed behind him, leaving me in the dimly lit office.
“Well, shit.” I laugh; its nervous sound echoes in the empty office as I bring my fingertips to my lips and try to figure out what in the world just happened.
My hands tremble, and I stand there in shocked indecision. Did he really just do that? Did he really just blame me for making him want me and then kiss me senseless?
My first thought is to be pissed at him. No man gets to take without asking. No man gets to kiss me and put the blame on me.
My second thought is . . . the man can have anything he wants if he kisses like that.
Get a grip, Sid.
What the hell am I supposed to do now? This? This, I did not see coming. I may have gone along with Rissa’s plan to manipulate him into a corner, I may have just gotten him to participate, but apparently, I’d gotten a whole hell of a lot more from Grayson Malone than a few pictures and a short bio.
