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Tessa’s throat constricted. “And that is?”
“Because I want you, damn it!” he admitted angrily. His fingers curled into a tight, impotent fist. “God knows I’ve tried to fight it, but the truth of the matter is, I’ve wanted you from the first time I saw you in the barn.”
“Because I’m here. Because I’m convenient,” she bit out, angry with herself and with him.
“Because you’re you,” he said heavily.
If she’d expected anything, it wasn’t this kind of confession, and though a part of her longed desperately to hear just those words, the more rational side of her mind told her it was the liquor talking—not the man.
Dropping the sheet, she slid to the side of the bed. His eyes followed her every move as she grabbed her robe and shoved her arms down the sleeves.
“Don’t,” he said, when she tried to tie the belt at her waist. “Leave it open.”
Jaw taut, she cinched the belt as hard as she could and swept across the room. “What do you really want from me, Denver?” she demanded, wishing he were stone-cold sober. “An affair? A quick roll in the hay? A little more ‘experimenting’—isn’t that what you called it—like we did when we were younger?”
He winced. “Of course not.” His gaze drilled into hers. “I just want you.”
Tessa’s heart beat a quick double time, but she didn’t trust him—couldn’t. Not after her humiliation at the creek. Not after seven years of being treated as if she didn’t exist. “The way you wanted me earlier?” she asked, feeling a hot flush of indignation steal up her neck.
“I said I was sorry—”
“I heard you.” She inched her chin upward. “But I don’t trust you, Denver. You’ve come back here practically accusing every member of my family of trying to rob or steal from you. You think we’re all a pack of arsonists, embezzlers and liars. And you think I was your uncle’s mistress.” She could feel the flames leaping to her eyes, the anger burning brightly in her soul. Just because he wanted her was no reason to believe that he had ever loved her. So furious that her breasts were heaving, she placed her palms firmly on his chest and pushed. “I think you’d better leave.”
His hands flew from his sides, capturing each of her wrists. They tightened possessively and his nostrils flared. “If you’re through destroying my character—”
“Not quite,” she retorted. “And now you have the audacity—the unmitigated gall—to think you can waltz into my bedroom, claim that you want me and think I’ll fall into bed with you just because you’re sorry!”
“Oh, no, Tessa. I’ve never thought you could be pressured into doing anything you didn’t want to do.” A furious muscle worked in his jaw, but his thumbs rubbed in slow circles along the insides of her wrists, and his smoldering gaze never left hers.
“Then what?” she demanded, trying to ignore the erotic feel of his gentle fingers.
“You’ve always given me a fight—a run for my money. But always before you’ve been honest with yourself.”
“I am,” she insisted, though her voice faltered a bit. If he’d only quit touching her, then maybe she could think!
“I don’t think so.”
“And what about you? Have you been honest with yourself?” she threw back, but his arms surrounded her and he kissed her fiercely. His lips were hard and sensual, and she could taste the liquor lingering on them. Her heart pounded erratically, beating like the wings of a frightened bird, thudding wildly against her ribs. All the taunts forming on her tongue disappeared into the shadowy corners of the room.
Though she tried to push away, he held her close, hands splayed across her back, forcing her to curve against him, hips and thighs pressed tight, the thrust of his desire hard against her abdomen.
&n
bsp; “Get out,” she commanded, but even as the words passed her lips, she’d circled his neck with her arms, her mouth returning all too eagerly to him. Heat, liquid and dangerous, began to curl within her, and she had trouble breathing, couldn’t think. “Don’t—”
“Don’t what?” he whispered across her ear, and she shivered with the ache that was building out of control.
“D-don’t touch me—oohh.” She felt his hand move forward along her belt, untying the knot. The terry fabric parted and his hands delved inside, long fingers searching.
“You want me to stop?”
“Y-yes. Oh, Denver, please!” She shuddered when he touched the firm point of one hard nipple and could barely hold back a cry when he bent his head and took that hard little button, hidden in the folds of soft cotton, in his warm mouth.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, she held him close, and her legs seemed to turn to water. She felt each tiny button of her nightgown as it slipped through its hole, knew when the yoke had parted and the cool night air touched her breast. Still he toyed with her through the cloth, the fabric wet and hot as his tongue searched for and laved her nipple.
“Please?” he repeated, his voice hoarse.
Moaning softly, she tried to fight the tide of desire that kept pulling her under its warm, liquid depths. Her head was swimming, her breath trapped deep in her lungs, but one tiny scrap of her pride surfaced. “Please, don’t—don’t—try to humiliate me again. Don’t use me.”
