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“You slept with them,” he snarled. “You admitted to sleeping with Lessing. ”
She shrugged. “I slept with them occasionally. ”
“Both of them?”
Her arms crossed over her breasts then. “Both of them,” she agreed.
“At the same fucking time?”
Her lips thinned, irritation sparkling in her eyes then. “At the same time. ”
Crista had never considered herself to be the type of woman who walked heedlessly into danger, but she admitted to herself that right now, that was exactly what she was doing.
She would have thought that suspecting she had two lovers would have pleased him. She had expected him to suggest blackmailing her to sleep with Natches as well. Instead, he seemed angry.
“You ran away from me, by your own words, because I said I wanted to share you with Rowdy and Natches, yet you leave my bed and move in with two other men?” Incredulity filled his voice, causing it to rise as she stared back at him in surprise.
“What I did after I left you is none of your business. ” She stepped back as he threw his shirt to the side of the room.
He looked enraged. Dark brows were lowered heavily over brilliant, light green eyes that seemed to glow in his dark face. His lips were a flat, thin line, his shoulders bunched with tension.
He wasn’t frightening; he was sexy. He should have been frightening. Instead, she could feel a sense of overwhelming eroticism, anticipation. She should have been enraged, at least as angry as he was. But she was seeing so much emotion in his face, something besides the mocking amusement or cynical awareness he normally displayed.
He was—jealous.
Dawg, jealous?
She felt her breasts become more sensitive, her nipples beading impossibly harder against the material of the T-shirt that she wore, and it made no sense. He had no reason to be jealous; she didn’t want him to be jealous. But he was.
Dawg had never been jealous about another woman. Never possessive. That possessiveness had every cell in her body hypersensitive and screaming for his touch.
Her clit was swollen, the
folds surrounding it heated and wet. She stared at him, mesmerized, watching as his hand went to the wide leather belt cinching his waist, seeing as though in slow motion the loosening of the leather, the way he left it hanging to jerk the snap of his jeans free.
“What are you doing?” The words rose unbidden. He was furious with her; she could see it.
Furious and aroused and so possessive she could see the emotions blazing in his eyes.
“You agreed. ” His lips twisted, lost their flat, furious line, only to appear fuller, almost swollen, hungry.
The metamorphosis was hypnotizing. Watching anger fall beneath hunger, suspicion beneath possessiveness, and need overtaking his expression.
“You agreed,” he repeated as he toed his boots off and tossed them aside, “to sleep with me. To fuck with me. ”
She flinched at the sound of his voice, not his words. It was rough, guttural, filled with lust. And it struck a chord inside her own sensuality that had her womb clenching violently.
“That’s my shirt,” he rasped when she continued to stare back at him. “Take it off!”
Crista shook her head slowly, watching as he advanced on her, as muscles rippled across his chest and shoulders, along his tight abs.
Below, pressing hard and tight against his jeans, his rampant erection demanded freedom.
She knew what Dawg was like when hunger beat him. She had seen him drunk and aroused but never sober and hungry. Not like this. Powerful, intent, focused only on the lust burning inside him.
Burning inside her.
Even before, the one night she had spent in his bed, she hadn’t known the powerful draw he could be. Tanned and hard, strong and dominant. The determination glowing in his eyes was like chains, holding her still, silent, as he advanced on her.
