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He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe as his gaze roamed down her body. His lips quirked. “I saw all that up close last night, angel. No sense in covering up now.”
Her headache roared back, reminding her exactly how much champagne she’d drunk. “I need to go home, but you ripped my dress.”
“You were taking too long getting out of it.”
“Oh my God.” Heat burned her cheeks. She was probably tomato-red. She turned away and gathered what was left of her clothes. “Last night was such a mistake. What was I thinking?”
“Showing up in that dress, you were thinking you wanted to get laid. And you did.”
“Not by you!”
His smirk faded, and a dark shutter fell over his features. He pushed away from the wall and prowled toward her. “Then by who?”
She refused to feel bad. She’d just been telling the truth, after all. “It’s not important.”
“It is to me.” He backed her against the wall and caged her in with a palm planted on each side of her head. “Who were you trying to seduce?”
She tilted her chin up and kept her lips pressed firmly together, but she didn’t need to answer. She saw the moment he connected the dots. Something vulnerable flickered in his eyes, there and gone in a blink, then his lip curled in disgust.
“Ash. Of course.”
Okay, dammit, she did feel bad. “I’m sorry. You’re just not—”
“What? Civilized?”
“My type.”
“Angel, with the way you screamed last night, I’m exactly your type.”
“I was drunk.”
“No, you weren’t. Tipsy, maybe, but I wouldn’t have taken you if you were drunk.”
“Well, there’s a difference between sexual compatibility and—”
He gripped her chin in his hand and stared down into her eyes. “You think you want the sheriff, but he’s too good. You’d be bored of him within a month because he’ll never make you as wet as I can. Are you on birth control?”
God, she felt like she was on a tilt-o-whirl with this man. Her head was spinning. “What?”
“It’s an easy question. Are. You. On. Birth control?”
“Uh… yes.”
“Good.” His mouth dropped to hover over hers as his free hand dipped between her legs. “Because we’re out of condoms, and you’re not leaving here without my handprint on your ass and my cum leaking down your leg.”
chapter seven
It was the wrong thing to say. Donovan knew it as soon as the words left his lips.
Anger flashed in her eyes. “You can’t talk to me like that.”
“You liked it last night.”
“That was last night.” She shoved a hand against his chest. “Now back off.”
He held up his hands, took a step back, and told himself the rejection didn’t hurt. His dirty mouth hadn’t bothered her when he was her demon. He’d worn that stupid mask, and she’d been able to convince herself he was someone else. But now, in the harsh light of dawn, she couldn’t deny his identity anymore, and she was disgusted.
Had he really thought this would go any differently?
