“No. Don’t be absurd,” I bite out.
She tilts her chin stubbornly. “But you’re with her all the time.”
“No,sheis withme. Not the other way around. Because she’s my assistant. It’s her job.”
Grace shakes her head. Her thoughts are transparent on her face:So what? I don’t believe you.
“Are you kidding? You’re moody because you think I’m screwing my assistant?”
Grace stares at me like a mule refusing to move. “What if I am?”
“If you are, you’re being absurd.”
“Fine. Make me believe you. Put Madison somewhere else in the company.”
The blatant display of jealousy stirs an inexplicable euphoria, but the possibility that she’s trying to control the way I run my agency dampens it. It reminds me of my grandmother’s sneaky scheme to wrest ownership of the business from me.
There’s only one way to show Grace how ridiculous she’s being. I toss the paper napkin over my tray, stand up and wrap my hand around her wrist.
“What are you doing?” she says.
“I’m going to fuck this nonsense out of you.”
* * *
The Aylster Residence is close and convenient. And the perfect place to remind Grace of the chemistry we had. Does she think that happens all the time with everyone?
I pull her into the room. The door shuts with a click.
She glares at me. “Is this what you use for your rendezvous with her?”
Her question throws another bucket of gas on the fire inside me. “If I were screwing my assistant—which I’m not—I wouldn’t have to bother with a hotel. I’d do it in the office!”
Her cheeks flush, but the sharp glitter in her eyes doesn’t diminish. The plain skepticism fuels more than just my rage. My overheated blood pools into my cock, and I want to screw her until she accepts that I’m not the kind of man who sees nothing wrong with fucking multiple women at the same time. Just because I’m forced to marry her doesn’t mean I’m going to abandon my sense of right and wrong.I am not my father.
Digging my hand into the silk of her hair, I kiss her, careful not to reinjure her mouth. She slaps at my shoulders, then bites my lip. The copper tang fuses with the sweet taste of hers. Perversely, it only strips a layer of civilized restraint from me.
Her breathing grows uneven. Her slim fingers thread in my hair and clench it, but she doesn’t push me away. She seems torn about something, and I lick the cut on my lip, then run my tongue over her mouth, earning a small tremor from her.
“Kiss me with all the rage and fire you feel,” I demand. “Kiss me like you own me.”
Her eyes flick up at me. “Are you really mine?”
Jealousy burns in their blue depths, and I’m gratified. “You’d better hope so. Because I’m about to fuck you like I own you.”
“You don’t own me any more than I own you,” she counters, her voice raspy.
“We’ll see about that. That ring is the mark of my ownership.”
Pushing her to the bed, I press my mouth over her neck, suck and nibble the thin, sensitive skin there. Her pulse beats erratically against my lips and tongue, betraying her reaction. She tightens her fingers in my hair possessively and a soft whimper vibrates through her chest.
I grip the sides of her dress and rip it open, the buttons in front flying across the room. Grace gasps. “What am I going to wear?”
“Who cares?” I whisper darkly as I push down the bra and cup her breast.
The hardened nipple presses against my palm, and her back arches as I brush my thumb over the sensitive tip. Her body is incredibly responsive, sensual shivers running through it at my slightest touch. A lovely shade of rose colors her from head to toe, and the fragrance the body wash she used this morning—mybody wash—intensifies, smelling sweeter than it does on me, mixing with her feminine aroma.
My mouth waters, and I pull a nipple into my mouth. She cries out softly, twisting into me, pressing her body upward. Her grip grows tighter and more desperate. She always clings like she can never be sure if she can count on a satisfying climax.
