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Mikayla froze. For one horrible second she could only imagine who was standing behind them. Her breath stopped. Her eyes widened; then she sneaked a peek around them, nearly giving a hard breath of relief when she saw no one. Her gaze jerked back to him.
"Come inside and talk to me, or we'll talk out here."
"You don't want to talk," she hissed.
"Talking is the last thing on my mind," he assured her, his fingers curling around her wrist, his eyes locking onto hers. "Isn't this where the bad boy kisses the good girl in public and begins sullying her pristine reputation?"
There was a twinkle of amusement in his gaze, but it was hesitant, as though in teasing her he was enjoying something he hadn't expected to enjoy.
"Sorry, someone else already took care of sullying that pristine reputation. At least, the honesty part of it." She sighed as she attempted to pull her wrist from his grip.
"Let me go, Nik. I don't have time for this. I have a window to clean."
"And I have a discussion I want to have with you. Come along, sweetheart." He pulled her into the shop as she stared at his back in amazement. The black T-shirt he wore stretched across the hard, well-defined muscles, catching her gaze. Otherwise, she assured herself, she would have never followed him, at least not without the fight she should have given him, into her office. As the door closed behind them and he began to turn, her lips parted to inform him of her opinion, in blistering detail, of his high-handed tactics. He was quicker than she. Between one breath and the next he was lifting her to him, his lips catching hers, his tongue slipping between her lips with rapacious demand, with hungry sexuality.
And she wasn't fighting him. She didn't have the strength to fight him. Instead, her fingers gripped his shoulders, her lips parted further, and her tongue stroked against his, tasted him, drew him into her like the sweetest nectar.
It was exquisite. The taste and the feel of him.
It was like drowning in dark heat and forbidden hunger, and for precious seconds Mikayla allowed herself the sheer luxury of having exactly what she wanted, exactly how she wanted it.
She wasn't going to fall in love with him, she promised herself. This was not going to mess up her plans for her future, because she simply wouldn't allow it to. It was just a moment out of time, she promised herself.
She could have this moment.
She could have his lips on hers, his arms wrapped around her, holding her against the rock-solid heat of his chest, feeling his heart beat against her breasts, the hard outline of his erection beneath his jeans, pressing into her lower stomach. God, she wanted him.
Straining closer, she fought for a deeper kiss, more touch. She wanted to feel him 60
against every inch of her body. She needed him at this moment like she needed the very air to breathe.
Just for a moment.
"Such a good girl," he murmured as his lips sipped from hers, his hands shaping, then cupping the rounded curves of her rear as he lifted her, pressed her against the wall, and let her feel him.
"Aren't you supposed to be fighting, Mikayla?"
The hard wedge of his cock pressed firmly between her thighs, hot, thick, a solid weight of arousal behind the leather pants he wore.
The thin silk of her stylish short skirt rode up her thighs, leaving only a narrow band of silk between the leather and her dampening flesh.
Her panties were no barrier. She felt too much; the sensations traveled too deep.
"I am fighting." She bit at his lips for not kissing her, for daring to pull away from her.
At the nip, he seemed to freeze, then a harsh growl of hunger tore from his lips and he was kissing her as though the sheer act of thrusting his tongue inside her mouth, stroking against hers, mimicking the act their bodies were suddenly desperate for, would somehow assuage a hunger Mikayla knew she was never going to be free of. His hand slid beneath the skirt, calloused fingertips touching bare flesh only a breath from the elastic band of her panties.
She wanted his fingers there. She wanted them sliding beneath the material. She wanted him touching her.
&nbs
p; Rocking against the press of his erection, she allowed her fingers to bite into his shoulders as his lips slanted over hers, the hunger deepening, the need tearing through her.
She couldn't have him.
She couldn't have this.
She wanted it.
