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Feet tangling, my hand slaps over his chest to catch myself—a movement that doesn’t go unnoticed by the brooding man consuming the doorway.
“Penelope was just helping me with some ideas, weren’t you?” Declan directs a smug grin at Logan, as if goading him intentionally.
“Do you have a death wish?” I mumble.
“Pen’s got quite the eye for design,” he says, ignoring me. “Maybe we should move her in here with me?”
Logan’s eyes snare on the hand Declan has on my shoulder.
Shrugging away from him, I laugh nervously. “You’re too kind.”
“I see.” He adjusts his sleeve cuffs meticulously, casually. Then that piercing gaze flicks up. “Is that what you want, Penelope?”
If I were Declan, I’d be shriveling under all that cold detachment. But he’s flashing his teeth with a broad smile, seemingly pleased with himself.
What the fuck is going on?
“Oh-kay,” I say when Logan pops his knuckles. I cross the room, stepping in front of him before he gets any ideas. “Easy does it.”
It takes a beat, but he eventually drags his attention from Declan to me. “I’ll see you in my office, Miss Vance. Now.”
That tone… I’d tell him where to shove that authority of his if it didn’t produce a whisper of desire in me.
He waits in the doorway, leaving no room for argument, and without another word, I stomp across the hall.
“Why are you so angry? It’s not like I was slapping Declan’s ass and calling him daddy—eep.”
The door slams behind us, ratcheting up my heart rate one rapid thump at a time, and I gasp when I whirl to find him crowding me.
My heels click as he backs me up, one step at a time, until my ass thumps the edge of my desk.
Pens and highlighters clatter at our feet as he growls, “I never want to hear the words Declan and daddy come out of your mouth again, understood?”
“If you’re waiting for a ‘yes, sir,’ then you’re going to be here a while.”
I flatten my palms against his chest, realizing too late that touching him only heightens this predatory trip he’s on. In a blink, I’m sitting on top of the desk with Logan’s belt at the same level as my knees.
A steady throb builds at my core as my body betrays me–arching when I should be pushing, thighs parting when I should be shutting down.
“He’s off limits,” he says, raising a finger to trace the hollow dip at the base of my throat, and I swallow beneath his fingertip, embarrassed by my lack of resistance.
“Keeping him all to yourself, hmm?” I ask, wondering who’s possessed my tongue, coating my words with a promiscuous purr that’s as foreign as the stranger who’s touching me.
His responding hum threads through the fine hairs at my temple, tickling my cheek. “More like keeping you from him.”
Untamed sparks of excitement skitter across my skin lightning fast. He’s hardly touched me, yet my chest and neck flame.
“You’re sounding awfully territorial right now, Mr. Anderson.”
I’d been prepared for a playful comeback, something reminiscent of our past, but not for the beast lurking in the depths of that lust-drunk gaze.
“That’s because I am.” Argument forgotten, his hand firmly grips the side of my neck, loosening several strands of hair from my braid. His hold is a mind-bending blend of gentle possession, and my traitorous body melts for him. “I don’t like other men touching what’s mine.”
My head spins, fighting for control while, at the same time, I want to fold. To answer his body’s call with a soul-reviving kiss and allow that hand at my throat to ease the ache he’s coaxed between my legs.
“I don’t belong to you,” I whisper, but it’s oh, so weak.
“You will always belong to me,” he rumbles.
