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Hands propped on the counter, Sabella lowered her head and fought the hurt and anger churning inside her. Damn. She’d liked Duncan. And she could have sworn she had discussed all those irritating little subjects like love and sex and her reasons why she wasn’t ready.
“You should have never let him in the house.” Noah stopped in front of the counter. “For God’s sake, Sabella, I thought you would know better than to confront that son of a bitch while you’re carrying my mark.”
She kept her head down. How many times had she laughed at Nathan when he had said something similar? When he had been irritated with her, or was just being a man.
She should have known better than to go four-wheeling with Sienna that first year they were married, without him, because when she wrecked, she wrenched her ankle and he hadn’t been there to make sure she was okay. She should have known better than to try to fix a busted pipe in the basement on her own, because she’d ended up drenched and the basement had gotten wet. So many instances. And she should have always known better.
She lifted her head. “Now you can leave. You should know better than to piss off an already angry woman.”
She should have known better than to give Rory a say in the hiring.
“Sabella, sweetheart, look at me.” His voice roughened. “If he had hurt you, I would have had to kill him. I would have enjoyed killing him.”
“And it would have been my fault.” She nodded with a bitter smile. “Sure, I understand.”
“No, it would been his fault for being stupid enough to touch you. But haven’t you figured out yet that men aren’t always smart enough to keep their hands off things that don’t belong to them?”
Her head jerked up in surprise. “So you think I belong to you now?”
She didn’t flinch when he reached out to touch her. Over the years, she had always had to suppress a flinch when another man tried to stroke her, kiss her.
“You don’t belong to him,” he told her, his fingertip stroking over the rasp of his beard that he had left on her jaw. “Testosterone is a dangerous thing sometimes. You should have waited to talk to him.”
At least Noah sounded reasonable, and he was right. She knew he was right. She had thought Duncan understood. She had imagined he had accepted that she couldn’t give him the things he wanted.
“He’ll get over it,” she finally breathed out roughly. “But I really think you should leave now too. I’m tired.”
She moved around the counter to lead him to the front door, only to feel his arm curling around her, pulling her against his hard body as she stared up at him in surprise.
“You ran from him,” he told her. “You know you’re safe with me. Admit it.”
“I was safe with him,” she told him quietly. “I’m not a moron, Noah. I know how to protect myself. And I will, when I have to.”
“Then prove it.” That gravelly, rough voice was a dark croon. “Try to get away from me, Sabella.”
She almost laughed at the challenge. She would have, except something inside her was burning, begging, pressing closer to him as he lifted her against him.
“You want me,” he stated roughly.
“I don’t want to want you,” she whispered back painfully. “Because he was right about one thing. You’re dangerous. Too dangerous and too dark for what I need. If I had a brain in my head, I’d have made certain you were gone a week ago.”
“You have plenty of brains.” His head lowered, his lips feathered against hers. “Enough brains to know whose arms you belong in. Enough to know where you’re safe.”
Noah wasn’t fighting it. He knew now wasn’t the time to take her. Her common sense would kick back in, she would blame them both when morning came, but the adrenaline was racing through him. The mix of whore’s dust and lust was torturing his cock, filling it with blood as his balls felt tortured between his thighs.
It had been over six years since he had taken his wife, since he had known the tight grip of her hot, sweet pussy. Since he had devoured her, licked her from head to toe, and heard her screams for more echoing in his head.
All he knew now was the hunger. A hunger that clawed at him, that had him lifting her into his arms as he claimed her lips. Slanting his against them, his tongue pushing inside, tasting her, the sweet, delicate taste of passion and woman and the wine.
He wanted to pour that wine over her body and lick it off her. He wanted to watch it stream over her pussy and bury his lips between her thighs to consume it. He wanted to be drunk on her, drunk on the lust and the need and a pleasure he had never been able to forget. Never been able to escape.
“God, the taste of you,” he groaned, sipping at her lips as her head fell back, her hands pressing to the back of his head, tunneling into his hair.
Oh, he knew what she wanted. A hard smile tugged at his lips as he let his beard rake over her neck, felt her shudder as he lifted her.
Noah set her on the counter before moving between her thighs. The thin shorts did nothing to protect her from the hard, denim-covered length of his cock. Pressing against her, he swore he felt the heat and dampness of her. Remembered how tight her grip was, how that sweet sheath rippled and hugged him.
Her moans were like fuel poured to the fire raging inside him. He tasted her neck with his tongue, gave her the caress of the rasp of his beard and felt her grinding against him.
