Page 90 of Gilt

I am mad at him. A message that he probably isn’t getting since I’m wrapped around him like a pretzel. I snake my arms around his torso and dig my fingernails into his back. He responds by pressing me against the wall.

“Let it out, Duchess,” he urges me. “Show me how pretty you are when you hate me.”

Oh God, I wish I hated him. It would make it so much easier to walk out that door and take control of my own life.

“I hate you,” I murmur against his mouth, and he sucks my words away with a kiss, plunging his tongue deep into my mouth. Since he’s not going to let me verbally get my point across, I rake my nails down his back.

He winces audibly before whispering, “I told you I like it.”

Rough? I’ll give him that. When he goes to kiss me again, I bite down on his lip until iron floods over my tongue. He pulls back and runs his tongue over his injured lip. “If you aren’t careful, I’m not going to be able to stop.”

“Stop what?” I demand breathlessly.

He answers with a thrust that I feel through two layers of denim.

“Did I ask you to stop?” I ask.

“Be very careful with what you say now, Duchess,” he warns me, “unless you want to find yourself naked in my bed.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what I want.”

“You hate me,” he reminds me.

I love you. The words trip over my tongue, but I swallow them away. Now isn’t the time to reward his behavior with affection.

“Goddammit, Jameson, take me to bed.”

“No way,” he says with a grin. “Not angry. At least, not for the first time.”

I can’t help but like the idea that there’ll be a second time or a third. I don’t think I could ever get enough of him, and if he keeps acting like this, we’ll have plenty of angry sex in our future.

But there’s an ache building inside me that can’t be ignored, so I decide to change my tactics. “Don’t you want to take me to bed?”

“Fight fair,” he advises me. “I can’t handle it when you pout.”

I stick out my lower lip, realizing I have all the ammunition I need to get my way. I circle my hips, rubbing against him. There’s more than one way to get a rise out of him. “Please?”

“Christ.” He grabs my hips and forces me to stop. “I want to stay in control.”

“And I want you to lose control,” I whisper.

“Is that what this is about? A power struggle?” He nuzzles my neck before nipping the curve of my shoulder. “Because you hold all the cards, Duchess.”

I stop pouting and revel in his admission.

“You look pleased with yourself,” he notes.

I press my heels into his back, forcing him to crush his body harder against mine. “I hold the cards?”

“Yes,” he mutters.

“Then take me to bed,” I order him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

He kisses me as he swiftly maneuvers our tangled bodies across the foyer toward the stairs, but before he can carry me to my requested destination, a familiar voice shrieks.

Jameson stops, and we break apart, our eyes still locked together. “We have company.”