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‘How?’
Anger surged through him. He’d been on a knife-edge all damn day, his emotions in turmoil, his hunger for her driving him nuts—but not nearly as much as his yearning to ask her to stay with him. Which was even more nuts. They’d grown up, gone their separate ways. They had nothing in common now—nothing that should make him want her this much. And now she was accusing him of... What?
He didn’t even know what she was talking about. He’d given her the one thing he was capable of giving her without sinking them both any further into the mire. And she’d just told him she hadn’t wanted that either.
‘You were exhausted—barely awake,’ he ground out. ‘Because you’d been up all night doing my damn job for me.’ Blood was pulsing into his crotch, making it hard for him to regulate his temper. Or his voice, which had risen to a shout they could probably hear back in Manhattan. ‘You needed to sleep.’
Her cheeks flushed. ‘So you decided to help me with that? Well, thanks a bunch. Next time I have insomnia I’ll be sure to order up Dane’s pity orgasm remedy.’
‘You ungrateful little witch.’
Fury overwhelmed him. He’d wanted nothing more than to feel her come apart in his arms, make her moan and beg and say his name and only his name. But she’d been tired and emotional. And then she’d struck him right through the heart with that statement about him being the only one.
It had taken him a moment to figure out what she was telling him. But when he’d got it—when he’d realised he was the only guy she’d ever slept with—it had felt like watching his boat shoot across the finishing line of the America’s Cup and being knifed in the gut all at the same time.
The burst of pride and pleasure and possessiveness had combined with the terror of wanting to hold on to her too much—throwing him all the way back to the grinding fear of his childhood. So he’d held back. He’d given her what she needed without taking what he wanted for himself.
And now she was telling him what he’d given her wasn’t enough.
‘Ungrateful?’ She seared him with a look that could have cut through lead. ‘Don’t you get it? I don’t want to be grateful. I’m not a charity case. I want to be your equal. In bed as well as out of it.’
He grabbed her arms, dragged her close. ‘You want to participate this time? I don’t have a problem with that.’
She thrust her hands into his hair, digging her fingers into the short strands to haul his mouth to within a whisper of hers. The desire sparking in her eyes turned the mossy green to emerald fire.
‘Good, because neither do I,’ she said, then planted her lips on his.
The kiss went from wild to insane in a heartbeat. The need that had been churning in his gut all day surged out of control as he boosted her into his arms.
He couldn’t keep her, but he could sure as hell ensure she never forgot him.
* * *
Rough stubble abraded Xanthe’s palms as her whole body sang the ‘Hallelujah Chorus.’ Her breasts flattened against his chest and their mouths duelled in a wild, uncontrollable battle for supremacy.
His tongue thrust deep, dominant and demanding, parrying with hers as wildfire burned through her system. She hooked her legs round his waist, clinging on as he staggered down to the cabin with her wrapped around him like a limpet.
Barging through the door, he flung her onto the bed. She lurched onto her knees, watching as he kicked off his trunks. The thick erection bounced free, hard and long and ready for her.
Everything inside her melted. All the anger and agony and the terrifying vulnerability was flushed away on a wave of longing so intense she thought she might pass out.
This was all they had ever been able to have. She had to remember that.
He grabbed the front of her T-shirt and hauled her up, ripping the thin cotton down the middle. His lips crushed hers, his tongue claiming her mouth again in a soul-numbing kiss. Drawing back, he helped her struggle
out of the rest of her clothing, his groans matched by the pants of her breathing.
At last they were naked, the feel of his skin warm and firm, tempered by the steely strength beneath. Muscles rippled with tension beneath her stroking palms. He cupped her sex, his fingers finding the heart of her with unerring accuracy. She bucked off the bed, his touch too much for her tender flesh. He circled with his thumb, knowing just how to caress her, to draw out her pleasure to breaking point. His lips clamped to a nipple and drew it deep into his mouth.
Sensations collided, then crashed through her. She sobbed as the blistering climax hit—hard and fast and not enough.
‘I need you inside me,’ she sobbed, desperate to forget about the aching emptiness that had tormented her for so long.
He rose up, grasped her hips, positioned himself to plunge deep. But as he pressed at her entrance he froze suddenly. Then dropped his forehead to hers and swore loudly. ‘I don’t have any protection. This wasn’t supposed to happen.’
His dark gaze met hers, and her brutal arousal was reflected in those blindingly blue eyes. She blurted out the truth. ‘It’s okay. As long as we’re both clean. I won’t get pregnant.’
‘You’re on the pill?’
