Is that why I sink into him like quicksand, the density of this thing greater than my will?
“You keep saying things I can’t trust.”
“Trust that I want you. Trust that my mouth would’ve worshipped you if you hadn’t crept out this morning.”
“Don’t sweet-talk me, Oliver. Not when I know you would’ve left me on the sidewalk.”
He pulls back, his gaze sliding over me, hot and heavy. “I lied. I lost my breath the moment I found you on top of me.”
“Sounds like you’re calling me fat.”
His blue eyes glint without generosity or humor as he slips his free hand under my hair, tugging back my head. “What part ofperfectly formeddon’t you comprehend?”
I gasp as much from his words as his hold. I hate how he seems to know exactly just what to say.Hate it as much as I love this push and pull.
“These fingers, this mouth. They would worship you.”
“In the quest to ruin him.” This is what I need to hang on to. His motivations, not the Oliver voodoo he works on me.
“Wouldn’t you like to be part of the fun?”
“I’m not vindictive.” Despite what that video says.
His dark laughter creates a rush of goose bumps along my arms. “You are such a lovely liar.” He lowers his mouth to mine, his kiss just as I’d tried not to remember it. Lips soft yet sure, tongue licking into my mouth as though it’s a source of deliciousness.
Whatever my plan was, he wasn’t supposed to sweep me away like this as my hands grip his biceps, the muscles flexing under my fingertips. I turn my head, and he makes a sound of approval, his mouth trailing across my jaw, making a path down my neck. His hand slips under the hem of my T-shirt, and I arch against him like a cat, my body turning hot and liquid as he exposes my nipple—here in the hallway of a restaurant.
“Come back with me, Eve.”
“No,” I whisper, swallowing over the thudding of my pulse.
“Let me—”
“No.” I push at his arms, self-preservation, that other animal instinct, taking over.
His thumb retracts from the lace of my bra, slipping away from my nipple. My T-shirt falls as his hand smooths it over my hip, but he doesn’t move, our bodies still touching entirely too much.
“I don’t need revenge.”
Now he steps back, the air between us suddenly cool. “You’re sure about that?” His question sounds barely curious.
I nod and press my back against the wall as he reaches out, his thumb passing over my collarbone.
“That’s a shame,” he says, his gaze following the movement. “Because I’m afraid I do.” His charm is a satin sticky web, easy to fall into. Which is probably why it takes a beat for his next words to compute. “You will do this for me, Eve. You will give me three months of your time. Three months of you.”
“You don’t want me, not really.”
He chuckles. It sounds unkind.
“You just want to use me.”
“It doesn’t have to be so sordid. Why can’t we call it ‘helping each other’?”
“Whatever you call it, I don’t want any part.” I swipe at his arm, only for him to catch my wrist.
“Not even as a means to keep you in London?”
Anger zips down my spine.Romeo or the villain?he’d asked before. The man is no Romeo.
