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She cried out against his lips, tried to twist away from him. He moved closer, tightened his grip on her wrists and kissed her harder.
She was frantic now, whimpering into his mouth, her heart racing against his. She was terrified and she damned well should be, pulling a stunt that had driven Hamilton half-crazy, stealing dope, driving into these bandit-infested hills.
She was the kind of woman who did whatever she pleased and to hell with morality, who used her looks to get what she wanted.
How could she taste like heaven?
Reality blurred. He captured both her wrists in one hand. Cupped her face with the other. Changed the angle of the kiss. Nipped at her bottom lip and when she cried out at the tiny pain, he used the moment to slip his tongue into her mouth.
She gasped. Struggled.
And then—and then, she made the faintest whisper of sound.
The sound a woman makes when she gives herself to a man.
Matthew let go of her wrists and thrust his hands into her hair. He tilted her face up to his and he took the kiss deeper, deeper, deeper…
Mia exploded into action. Beat at him with her fists. Raised her knee, aimed for his most vulnerable spot and would have done damage if he hadn’t reacted quickly, grabbed her hands, pinned them to the wall and pinned her body to it, too, with the weight of his.
They stared at each other for a long minute, both breathing hard. Then, slowly, still holding her hands, Matthew took a step back.
Her robe had opened during the struggle.
He dropped his eyes to see what he’d uncovered.
High, creamy breasts with pale pink nipples. A taut navel. A delicate blur of dark, silky curls.
He fought not to let anything show in his face, though she’d have been blind not to see that he was hard as stone, his erection straining for release against his fly.
He thought of taking her. Here. Right here, against the wall. No matter how she’d try to deny it, she’d felt the same swift rush of desire. He’d tasted it in her kiss, heard it in her whispered response. Could still see it now, in her passion-blurred eyes. In the taut budding of her nipples.
All he had to do was unzip his jeans, cup her bottom, lift her onto the urgency of his straining, swollen flesh. If she protested, it would last only seconds, only until she took all of him deep inside, until he thrust into her, until she gave a high, keening cry and came…
Sweet Jesus, had he lost his mind?
This was a job. A job he hadn’t wanted. She was running dope or she’d stolen it from whoever supplied her, and he’d spent years of his life hating people like her.
On top of all that, she was another man’s woman. She could say what she wanted about Hamilton but that didn’t change the fact that she belonged to the man.
The hell with her little moans. A woman could fake that. This one could, and did, all the time.
It was probably how she’d worked Hamilton.
Matthew’s eyes darkened with distaste. For himself, and for the all-but-naked woman in front of him.
“Is this how you kept poor Dougie blind to what you were doing?” he said coldly. “Letting him think you’d let him have this someday?”
“I don’t know what you—”
Mia’s breath caught. His hand was at her breast, the tips of his fingers feathering across the nipple. She wasn’t a virgin. A man had caressed her breasts before but it had never made her feel—made her feel—
Terror flooded her senses.
Terror, and something else, something infinitely darker.
“I couldn’t figure it out. How such a smart guy could be such a sucker.” Matthew smiled thinly. “Then I saw his house. The sleeping arrangements. And I thought, the man’s an idiot, letting her sleep by herself.” He dipped his head, inhaled the soft, white-floral scent of her hair. “Now it’s starting to make sense. You teased him the way a mare teases a stud, giving him hints at what he could have if he behaved himself.”
