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He’d been so careful, that in fact, the sex he’d just had with Maria was the first time he’d ever been naked inside a woman. And it had been amazing, stupendous even. As he drummed his fingers on his desk, it didn’t escape his notice that he was fast becoming addicted. He’d been obsessed with Maria for a long time, but having her hadn’t helped the feeling go away. Hell no, sleeping with her had only made matters worse.
And now he was acting far from his usual careful self. He never trusted women; he’d found most of them to be prevaricators as well as mercenary.
The memory of Maria calling him a liar the other night hit him. She’d told him that she had no room in her life for liars. The idea that a woman thought that about him was twisted. The tables had damn sure turned on him, and he had no idea if he was as in control of the situation as he was pretending to be.
But for now, he had no choice in the matter; there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that he was ready to let her go.
The insidious thought that he might never be ready to let her go tried to well up and take over his brain; he ruthlessly pushed it to the back of his mind, refusing to give it any attention.
****
A week passed and Maria had no idea if she was sinking or swimming. The sex between them was stupendous, amazing.
As she stood in the break room, she heard the click of the door shutting and the lock sliding into place. Without turning and looking, she knew who’d done it; she knew who stood behind her. Her hands shook as she made a fist around the coffee filter she’d just pulled from the box.
She continued to stand still in front of the counter, not moving a muscle, not turning to face the threat behind her.
“You knew Villareal was coming today, I believe I mentioned that yesterday.” Garrett rasped in a low, heated tone.
She had braced herself for a bark, but when he began speaking, that wasn’t what she got. His voice was low and quiet, and the fact that she knew more about his personality wasn’t something that was soothing her now. Hell, no. It was scaring the crap out of her. Garrett always barked when he was angry. The fact that he presently felt he had to keep his vocal chords under ruthless control only proved how pissed he really was.
She nodded her head in confirmation of his statement.
“Turn around,” he bit out in a voice that brooked no denial.
She turned slowly and leaned against the counter for support.
“You understand his reputation with women?”
Not fully understanding the question, Maria narrowed her eyes and shook her head.
“He wants to fuck anything on two legs,” he elaborated, gritting the words through his teeth. “I told you that once before—he’s a player.”
She sucked in a breath. “And you think this has something to do with me, how?”
He stared at her for the count of three beats and then pushed off the door. Without hesitation, he advanced on her until he was standing only inches away, invading her personal space. He lifted her chin, and as she looked up, she was mesmerized by his eyes. Eyes that contained a fire that almost scorched her where she stood.
His voice when he spoke reflected only a small slip of control, but Maria knew him well enough to know how affected he truly was. “We have a lot of shit going on between us,” he announced as his eyes ran over her face, down her neck and landed on the madly beating pulse in her throat. Sliding his hand from her chin, his thumb landed on the spot that told of her rapidly beating heart. He pressed on it, with just a hint of his strength, and raised his eyes back to hers. “I get that you’ve made it your mission in life to continue to keep me off-balance. Wearing your hair like this, the stiletto heels, making damn sure I know when you’ve got on thigh-high stockings.” His thumb slid up and down her throat before pressing into her pulse-point again. “Why you feel the need, I don’t have a clue.” He took in a deep breath. “But this dress . . . “ His voice trailed off before he began again. “You, in this dress. You know how fucking good you look in this dress. You knew I’d remember it. You had to know what I’d be thinking about the second I saw you in it.” His eyes turned into gleaming slits of accusation. “And you knew the son-of-a-bitch would be here today, watching you. You did it on purpose.”
“No, I--” She began, knowing he spoke the truth, but not about to admit to it. Why had she worn The Dress? Granted, she’d teamed it with a blazer to play it down, but Garrett was right. She had known that Maximo Villareal would be here today, and she’d known what Garrett would remember when he saw her in it. Why was she playing with fire? Was it because she’d let him have his way in so many areas that she needed some sort of affirmation of her own control?
