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"Now that we solved that issue, what other things don't we have in common?" he asked.
She shrugged. "We fight, of course. Fighting is definitely not in my box. I want my spouse to respect my opinions, be calm in all situations, and have patience to think things through a logical sequence before making a decision." She was quite proud of her speech, so when he burst into laughter she wanted to climb over the table and hit him.
"Couples fight, Riley. Life would be pretty dull and boring if no one stood up for their opinions, or completely succumbed to their partner."
"Oh, please. Have you ever been trapped at dinner with a couple who fights? They pick at everything the other does, and you're so uncomfortable you want to die. Last time that happened I had to skip dessert, and I never skip dessert. I don't want that type of tension in my marriage."
"We're talking about a different type of fighting. Take us, for example."
"What about us? We fight all the time."
He reached for his wine and swirled it around, as if contemplating the burgundy liquid gave him all the answers. "It's different," he said again. "You challenged me in school. Forced me to defend my beliefs. Made me reach deeper to really examine things, whether it be a business solution or an ethical issue or an opinion. You also pushed me to do better. I have respect for you. I enjoy the fighting, because there's something going on beneath it. Make sense?"
Wow. The words brought a warm glow, but she shook her head. "I disagree. Can you imagine if we were together and had a difference of opinion on everything? That's exhausting and detrimental to a healthy relationship."
"After one of our fights, did you ever feel damaged by my words? Disrespected? Undermined?"
"No. Just majorly pissed off."
He grinned. "Me, too. I'm just saying there's different levels of fighting, and ours is more of a part of communicating. Sure, we each got in a jibe now and then, but I never wanted to hurt you."
Riley went over the endless incidents, battles, and arguments that made up her years at Cornell. Funny, she never really thought of it like that. But when she stormed off, she was more aggravated he wouldn't do what she wanted. He never took potshots, or bullied, or ever made her cry. Huh. Weird. In a way, it was almost like . . .
Foreplay.
Her eyes widened.
She couldn't stop looking at those lips, wondering if they'd feel the same or she'd be in for a huge disappointment. After all, it was a decade ago, and she'd changed. So had he. Innocence and illusions were gone. The kiss had probably been blown up in her memory as something untouchable. Right?
"Do you believe me, Riley?" His voice caressed her name in a low, deep rumble. Her breath hitched, and suddenly she was burning up in her chair, desperate to touch him.
"Yes."
"Good." Those beastly erotic eyes burned across the table and held her captive. "You know a lot of fighting is well documented to be an indicator of repressed sexual attraction."
Usually she'd treat him to a withering remark, or a derisive snort. Instead, her tongue remained glued to the roof of her mouth. She sat helplessly still in her chair, unable to move.
Because he was right.
There was some type of attraction between them. Maybe lust. He may not be suited to be her husband, or fit in her box, but Dylan McCray made her want. Bad things. Dirty things.
They were stuck together overnight, while a blizzard raged outside. She was a bit tipsy from the wine. They dined in a gorgeous room with a cozy fire. All the pieces slid together, and in that one blinding instant, she wanted to give herself this one night. If she offered, would he take her up on it? Was every step of banter up to now leading to this?
One night of reckless passion and abandonment. Her skin tingled from the thought. Did she dare? Her mind spun with the possibilities, caught on the precipice of impulse and reasoning, and then the final, irrevocable element locked in her decision.
The lights went out.
chapter 5
Something was happening.
The lights snuffed out and Dylan was left in the dark, sporting a mental fog and a massive erection. She completely entranced him with her quick-witted dialogue, more intoxicating than whiskey and more of a turn-on than a Sports Illustrated cover model.
The memory of her as a young girl was a faint shimmer of the woman she'd become. Magnificent. How many dates had he been on and been disappointed? Too many to count. Always needing more . . . wanting more . . . yet not able to figure out what the elusive element was.
Until now.
Riley was spit and vinegar, smart and sassy, and he wanted her. Under him. Over him. In his house, and his bed.
Tonight.
Dylan finally managed to speak. "Guess those candles were a good idea after all."
Her husky laugh stroked his ears and other places. Shadows fell on the wall and played. Her silhouette from the fire and candlelight illuminated her in a fiery glow. The thoughts of what he wanted to do with her, to her, made his gut clench and his dick stretch uncomfortably against his jeans. Now he just had to convince her to play.
Dylan rose, taking one of the candelabras to the other end of the table. "Are you okay?"
She tilted her head. God, she was beautiful. The burgundy in her hair, the soft violet of her eyes the redness of her lips. The deep V neck of her sweater tempted him to taste the tender flesh there, pull down her sweater to bare her breasts. Suck and bite her nipples until she grabbed his shoulders and cried out his name.
She seemed to catch the vibe in the air and trembled. So close. Her barriers were shifting, opening, allowing just a tiny access point where he intended to jump right in. Timing was everything.
Yes, she was just as aware of him as he was of her. They'd always had a strange physical chemistry that battled with their verbal and mental clashes. Maybe that's what made it so damn hot.
"For being trapped in spook mansion with no lights in a blizzard? I'm peachy."
"I have a backup generator. Need to go put it on."
She stretched out her legs with a languorous air and propped one elbow on the table. "I don't know. It sets the mood."
Dylan stiffened. Was she flirting? He'd planned on trying to seduce her, but Riley Fox always seemed to switch things up. He got off on trying to anticipate her next move. "Mood, huh? We spoke about everything else. Maybe it's time we talked about the kiss."
Ah, he'd managed to surprise her. His skin tingled with anticipation. They'd been dancing around each other all night, and it was finally time to get honest. The tension tightened a notch. Her scent enveloped him in a mix of exotic musk and a touch of jasmine--kick-ass and powerful--and not the least bit subtle. Just how he liked it.
He wanted her. There was a reason she was trapped in his house on the night of a blizzard. Kinnections had matched them. It was a sign, and he'd spent most of his life listening to his gut to balance the logic in his head. Too much logic and control caused mistakes. Too much impulse and freedom cau
sed sloppiness.
Balance equaled success.
Riley had it all along or she'd never been able to build her business. Somewhere on her journey, she trusted her gut to make bold decisions that didn't make sense on paper. He knew well the ugliness out in the world when dealing with money and power, and no one came away without disillusions. She'd taken hers and made herself stronger. Every part of her fascinated him, and he intended to plumb the depths tonight.
She tapped a finger against her glass. "Surprised you remembered."
"What if I told you I still dream about that kiss?"
"I'd say I barely put a blip on your radar. You were always happy to move on to the next pretty face and good set of boobs."
"You're right. I was too young, raw, and ambitious. I wanted to savor every flavor life threw at me, suck the nectar dry, and have no regrets. And I don't, Riley. Except for one."
"What?"
Without breaking her gaze, he dropped in front of her, his hand resting lightly on her knee. Slowly, he parted her legs and knelt between them. Her harsh indrawn breath drifted to his ears in a symphony. Dylan reached out and grabbed a tendril of hair, sliding it between his fingers from root to tip, enjoying the feel of raw silk wrapping itself around him in a tight bind. The thought of her gorgeous hair wrapping around his dick as she pleasured him made a low groan rumble from his throat.
"You," he said simply.
Shock mingled with an arousal she couldn't hide, evident in her wide eyes, the tightening of her nipples, the way she squeezed her thighs together mercilessly, as if desperate to keep him from scenting the truth. Dylan bet if he slipped his hand beneath her panties he'd find her wet and willing to do whatever he wanted. The key was getting her mind on board with her very delectable, sensual body.
He sunk both hands into her hair, holding her firmly at the nape of her neck. "That kiss haunted me. Do you know how many times I jerked off to just the memory of your lips over mine, your taste against my tongue? How badly I ached to lay you naked on my bed and take everything you'd give me? Bring you so much pleasure you'd scream and beg me to stop? To continue? To fuck you so thoroughly there's not another man on the planet you'd be able to touch without thinking of me?"
