“People don’t change and you’re proof of that. You told me what happened on that mountain, how you let the part of you that didn’t give a damn about anyone else take over. And right after you told me, you went and did the same thing with Tilney, racing those stupid karts. You tell me, how is what happened today any different?”
His heart pounded so hard, his ears were ringing and his temples throbbed.
“Is this how it’s going to be? I open myself up to you in a way I haven’t with anyone else, telling you something that will haunt me the rest of my life, and when you get angry you just throw it back up at me?”
“No,” she said, “because there is nohow it’s going to be, there is nogoing to be.”
The pounding became so violent it felt like it might split the earth beneath his feet.
“So what? You quit? I make one mistake, and that’s it?” He paused, but only for a breath. He was too angry not to say it. “I guess that shouldn’t surprise me. You did the same thing when you quit driving Formula 3. One setback and you give up.”
Those eyes blew wide as though a sudden gray gust had thrown open a window.
Her hand flew up.
Not this time.
He grabbed her wrist.
“I hate you!” she spat.
“Trust me, right now the feeling is mutual!”
“I hate your stiff, starched, stick-up-your-ass button-down shirts!”
He still had hold of her right hand, so she grabbed his shirt with her left and pulled, ripping it open and sending three buttons flying to the floor.
He grabbed her pajama shirt and did the same. Stepping forward, he forced her to walk backwards until she and her right hand, which he’d lifted above her head, were pinned against the wall. Watching her chest rise and fall, he felt her shaky breath bathe his skin. He stared at those gray eyes and wondered why he would even contemplate a life with this woman.
He leaned in.
“I hate that you smell like cinnamon,” she hissed.
“I hate that you never shut up, not even during sex.”
She glared at him and he glared back as he grazed her nipple with his thumb, feeling it stiffen into a cherrystone. His dick twitched and his breath jerked, becoming jagged like the low throttle of an engine. He let go of the hand he’d pinned against the wall and pinched the nipple hard, watching her eyes flash and her breath catch.
“Go ahead,” he growled. “Slap me.”
She lowered her arm. Making a fist, she held it against his chest, pushing him with it.
“I hate that you speak Gaelic.”
I hate that my dick is at your command and always looks for any opportunity to salute you. But I’m not going to tell you that.
Instead, he drew in closer. Feeling her breath on his lips, he slipped his arm around her waist but suddenly stopped.
He looked over his shoulder to see Boudica staring at them.
He grabbed her wrist. “Come on.”
She pulled it away. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Not even to the bedroom?”
“That counts as anywhere. So … no.”
“Well, I’m not going to do this with Boudica watching us.”
