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“Because I’m having the week from hell and I may need to keep that night free for work, that’s why! And don’t ever ask me a question like that again. I’m not here for it.”
His brows furrow. “A question like what?”
“Like that one!” I stab my finger at him. “You made it sound like I didn’t have a good reason for not being able to go to the gala.”
“Christ. I asked you a simple fucking question.”
“No, you didn’t. There was a whole lot of subtext there.”
His jaw clenches. “Do you intend on going to war with me every time you don’t get your way?”
My eyes go wide, and I finally lose the last shred of control I have.
In a wild blur of energy, I’m in his face and I have my hands to his chest. “You are the most infuriating, arrogant, frustrating, presumptuous, self-important asshole I have ever met!”
He grips both my wrists with one hand and turns me in his hold so my back is to his chest. Bringing his other arm around me, he pins my body to his. “And you are the most argumentative womanIhave ever met,” he growls against my ear.
I struggle in his hold, grasping his forearm, trying to force it away from me. “Let me go!”
Tightening his hold, he rasps, “Not until we fucking work this out.”
“The only one who has to work anything out is you. None of this is on me.”
“How the hell is this all my fault?”
“Are you serious right now? This is why we’re in this mess. You are so fucking clueless.”
He spins me back around to face him, crushing our bodies together. His brown eyes meet mine and I suck in a breath at the anger and heat colliding there. When they trace their way down my face to my lips, to my throat, to my breasts, I feel every second of it deep inside.
“Fuck,” he growls, bringing his gaze back to mine. “I have a mind to bend you over this desk and fuck this out of you.”
When his hand glides up my stomach toward my breasts, I smack it away. “Don’t you dare touch me.”
Jameson Fox doesn’t like being told not to do something. I see that clearly in his eyes. And, God, if I don’t feel it all over me when he decides to pursue what he wants.
He grips my face and roughly pulls it to his.
Our lips crash together, and he kisses me with everything he has.
I’m helpless but to kiss him back, but I don’t stop fighting him.
I press my hands to his chest and attempt to push out of his hold. He doesn’t let me go. He tightens his arm around me, keeping me in place with the kind of strength I’m not match for, and continues kissing me.
I finally manage to tear my mouth from his. “Don’t kiss me!”
His eyes search mine. “You want this.”
“I don’t fucking want this.”
“You’re a bad liar. You want it just as much as I do.”
I slap my hands to his chest. “I hate you. Even if you were the last man alive, I wouldn’t want this.”
“You might hate me, but there’s no denying you crave my touch.”
My hands take over again, pummeling him. There’s far too much energy inside me. It’s savage, and intense, and unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I need it out of me.
He takes it for a moment, and then in one swift move, he’s got me in his arms, he’s swiped everything off his desk, and he’s lifted me to sit on it. Moving into me, between my legs, he takes hold of my face with both hands, and demands another kiss.
