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Anger pulsed through her, driving her actions before she could think about what she was doing. Anna crawled over him, straddling his hips and pulling out her knife. She pressed it into his throat.
It would be so easy. One quick swipe, and her problem would disappear.
His eyes opened slowly. So slowly, she almost thought that he’d been awake the entire time, just like he had been last night. There was no squinting at the bright winter sunlight that poured in through the window, no yawn or stretch or even a startled look at the fact that she held a knife to his throat.
Nope. He just opened his eyes and stared up at her, completely unmoving.
How could one man have his shit that together? There was no way. No freaking way.
“What are you waiting for?” he asked.
That only managed to irritate her more. She knew she wasn’t really going to kill him. And it pissed her off that so did he. Couldn’t he at least pretend to be a little bit intimidated?
She groaned and pushed off of him, but before she could, his hands were on her hips, pulling her down against him. Her knife slipped from her hands, dropping to the floor as she steadied herself on top of him.
“What are you doing?” She was on top of him, her legs straddling his hips and her hands on his chest… and that felt very, very wrong. Mostly because it felt so right.
“Why did I wake up with a knife to my throat?”
Knife. Knife. Right, the knife. “The handcuffs.” She grabbed them, holding them in front of him. “Why the fuck are these here?”
Tingles of warmth danced across her hips where his hands were, and she hated it. Hated that her body responded to his touch.
“You can hold onto them if you’d like.”
That was it? That was the answer? “Why wouldn’t I just use them on you, then?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “I know how to get out of a pair of handcuffs.”
“Yeah, I doubt that.” It wasn’t like rope, where you could eventually loosen the knots or find a point of weakness. It was freaking metal.
He shrugged.
All she could do was stare down at him for a moment. Everything about Hayden was just… hard. Hard muscles, hard features, hard expressions. Hard as hell to read. Even his blue eyes that she could usually find answers in remained icy and void of any feeling.
She forced herself to look away, tucking the cuffs into her pocket and moving to get off of him. His hands only tightened on her hips, dragging her down, right along something else of his that, at that moment, was very, very hard.
Her breath hitched, arousal flooding her body against her better judgment.
She was a woman, and she had needs, after all. And he wasn’t that hard on the eyes. To others, maybe, but not to her. And really, how long had it been? Far too long. It wasn’t her fault, nobody would blame her if she just scratched the itch a little, right? Right.
She—no. She would absolutely not.
She moved to get up, but his hands anchored her to his hips. “Are you going to deny how much you want me, Anna?” She bit her lip as his hips lifted, pressing more firmly against her and sending waves of heat through her core. “Are you going to deny the way you clung to me in your sleep? The way you couldn’t get close enough?” His hands moved back, cupping her ass and squeezing her down against him. “Deny the way your hips are rocking against me, even now?”
Her hips were… oh shit. They were.
And it felt so freaking good she never wanted to stop.
She couldn’t think of words, couldn’t think of anything. Then she remembered the handcuffs. The carrying her back to camp as a prisoner. The forcing her to help his cause and ignore her own. The gun to her head when she was just trying to escape. The complete and total destruction of her plans that had been in the works for years.
Years. Wasted. Because of him.
Revenge was the only thing she had to hold onto and he’d ruined it. She would never move past that and let him in. Attraction be damned.
She surged off him. “Go to hell.” She paced in the small space, working to quiet her racing heart and silence her screaming body. “You, too,” she whispered under her breath. Her body could go to hell, too, if this was how it was going to react to the enemy.
Hayden sat up in bed, leaning over to pull on his boots, as if he were completely unaffected by what had just happened. He dared call her out for wanting him, and then act like he didn’t feel the same way? As if he felt nothing in her presence?
