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“Talk?” Her voice rose. “Talk? Is that what you want me to believe? That you brought me here to have a nice, civilized conversation?”
He was on her in an instant, dragging her against him, claiming her mouth with his and savagely slipping his hand under her T-shirt to cup her breast.
“Nothing I feel about you is civilized,” he said roughly. “And I don’t like it. You got that? I’m fed up with you trying to play me for a fool, Mia. Stop it before you force me to do something about it.”
“Don’t,” she said, her voice high and breathless.
“Don’t what?” He shoved his hand under her bra; she gasped as his fingers closed on her nipple. “Don’t do this?” His fingers moved, moved again, and she tried to choke back the cry that rose in her throat but he heard it and exulted in it. “I want you, goddammit,” he growled. “And you want me.”
“No! I don’t. I don’t!”
He cupped the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair, and kissed her without mercy until, at last, she surrendered, to him and to herself, sobbing his name against his mouth.
“Matthew,” she whispered, “oh, Matthew…”
It was the first time she’d spoken his name, and the sound of it on her lips echoed in his blood.
Nobody had ever said his name the way she did.
“Again. Say it again.” When she didn’t, he kissed her, hard, hard enough to taste the warm saltiness of blood. Hers or his, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was her scent, her touch, her taste. “Damn you,” he growled, “say my name.”
“Matthew,” she whispered, “Matthew, Matthew…”
She was coming apart in his arms. Kissing him, sucking his tongue into her mouth, her hands up under his shirt, moving on his skin.
He pushed her back against the counter. Grabbed the neckline of her shirt and ripped it to the hem. Then he bent his head, bit lightly at a cotton-covered nipple and when she groaned, he bit it again.
It wasn’t enough. He needed the sweet taste of her naked breast. He raised his head, took her mouth with his, fumbled with the clasp of her bra, snarled and tore it in half.
Her breasts were beautiful. Round as apples and the color of richest cream. He wanted to feast his eyes on her but not now. Not now, when he could take a delicate pink nipple in his mouth, suck it, lave it until it glistened.
Ah, the incredible taste of her! She was wildflowers and honey against his tongue.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, cupping her breasts, tonguing one taut bud and then the other before drawing each deep into the heat of his mouth. “I’ve never wanted a woman as I want you.”
She was trembling in his arms. Holding him tight. Moving her hips against his.
He took her hand and brought it to him, flattening it over his erection.
On a soft moan, she cupped the denim that strained across his swollen flesh. For one terrible second, he was afraid he was going to come just from that touch, from that female whimper of desire.
“Matthew,” she said desperately, “please…”
Her knees buckled and she collapsed in his embrace. He swung her up into his arms and took her mouth again, biting into her bottom lip, savoring her taste even as slid his hand down her thigh, into that sweet, secret place between her legs.
He tore his mouth from hers and looked into her eyes, clouded with passion.
“Tell me,” he said thickly.
Her lips parted but the words he needed to hear didn’t come. In some microscopic, still-reasoning part of his brain he understood the reason. She knew this was insane, knew it shouldn’t be happening…
“Tell me,” he demanded.
A tremor went through her. She put her hand against his cheek. “Please,” she whispered, “Matthew, please… Take me to bed.”
Pure male triumph filled his veins. He started from the room and Mia looped her hands behind his neck. She tried to bury her hot face in his shoulder but he wouldn’t let her.
He kissed her instead, kissed her until their mouths were fused in passion.
