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“Michael?” she snapped as she disappeared from sight.
And with a grin, Harvard answered her summons.
Honestly, just when you thought you had a man trained, they wandered off and did their own thing. Hadn’t she made it clear they were sleeping together? What would be the point in him going back to his own room?
A thought occurred to her as she rounded the bed. “Are you trying to be sensitive because my father had a heart attack?” she asked him as he walked through the door. “Because it was only a mild one, and it was mainly due to the amount of bacon he’s been scoffing in secret.”
Harvard locked the door before staring at her. “You’re naked.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. That was the kind of astute observation she expected from an MIT graduate—not. “Yes. I am. I thought we might have sex. But you were in the other room.”
He shook his head as if dazed. “Why do I get the feeling you’re ordering sex the same way you’d order a pizza?”
Now he really was irritating her. “Have I misread the signs? Do you not want to have sex with me? Is the erection you’ve been sporting these past few days purely a medical issue? Do I need to take you to the emergency room? Because walking around like that surely can’t be healthy.”
His gaze flickered between her face and her breasts. “I know what you’re doing, Rachel. You’re picking a fight so we’ll have angry sex and you can keep some distance between us. Well”—he shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it onto the chair, exposing an expanse of muscle that should be illegal—“I have news for you. I’m not going to help you. If you want to make love, you’ll have to ask me nicely and make me feel like you want me and not just a body to use to ease your tension.”
“Oh, for the love of Gucci.” She threw up her hands. “When did men become all sensitive? It’s only sex. If you don’t want it, feel free to go back to the guest room.” She tossed back the covers and climbed into bed, leaving him the side closest to the door.
“Yeah, you’d like that. Because you like distance. You don’t like up-close and messy emotions. And you definitely don’t like feeling vulnerable.” He took off his trousers and underpants and stood, naked and proud, hands on hips, staring at her. A beautiful, thick, long erection pointed in her direction. Which was very distracting.
“Thank you for your analysis,” she said, dragging her eyes from his hard length. “I could have saved thousands in therapy if I’d just met you sooner.”
As usual, her comments didn’t derail Harvard. He remained irritatingly calm. “Relationships are messy. They’re emotional. And they don’t work if one of you refuses to be vulnerable and trust that the other person will take care of you.”
“This. Isn’t. A. Relationship.” She lay on her back and tugged the bedcovers up around her, then tightened them at her sides by slashing her arms down hard. “I don’t understand why that doesn’t sink in. I’m beginning to think it would be easier to train a cat.”
“You don’t train a lover, Rachel.” He lay down on the bed and mirrored her pose, but without covering his body. Instead, he lay there like a cake buffet outside a Weight Watchers meeting.
“You aren’t my lover.” Damn, she sounded hoarse and achy. “Right now, all you are is a house guest who’s in the wrong bed.”
“That’s not the way to get me to make love to you.”
“Stop calling it that. It’s just sex. A bodily function. Nothing more.”
He turned onto his side and propped himself up on an elbow, and she practically salivated at the sight. “It is way more than just sex when two people have feelings for each other.”
“The only feeling I have for you is irritation.”
“Well, then. All of this”—he waved a hand down his body—“is off-limits until you admit we’re in a real relationship. If you want to go further and admit you actually have feelings for me, then that would be great too. But I’d settle for you admitting we’re in a relationship.”
Never, in all the years she’d lived in her apartment, had Rachel entertained the idea that the glass bottom of her pool might crack and flood her bedroom. But in that instant, she almost hoped it would, and that the smug, stubborn, annoying man beside her would drown.
Keeping her eyes on the water, she said, “I’m going to sleep now.” And then she grabbed the remote and turned off the lights, leaving only the glow from the pool above.
Forcing her eyes closed, Rachel tried to keep her mind from the naked man beside her and go to sleep. This was ridiculous. Why did he have to make such a big deal out of things? They were in the same bed. They touched. They spent time together. What difference would it make putting a label on whatever was happening between them? He was just trying to drive her crazy.
She took a few slow breaths, trying to calm her mind and relax. That’s when she felt the bed move—rhythmically. Her eyes snapped open as she turned her head toward Harvard. And stopped breathing entirely.
He lay on his back, the soft light caressing his dark skin. One arm lay behind his head, the other…
She found it difficult to swallow as her mouth became suddenly dry.
“What are you doing?” she croaked, her eyes glued to his large hand wrapped around his stiff erection, sliding slowly, almost absently, up and down. Like a switch had been flipped, the tension that consumed her became a desperate desire to touch. To replace his hand with hers. To caress, taste, kiss.
“I’m trying to relax,” he said.
At his low, rumbled words, her eyes shot to his. The sensuality in his heavy-lidded gaze had her clenching her thighs together.
