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“Fucking about?” I hiss. “God, you’re disgusting.”
“And she’s back to hating me.” He chuckles. It’s an empty sound that sends my stomach plummeting to my feet.
“Is that what this is? All a joke to you?” I jump to my feet, knocking the table. My wineglass topples over, smashing.
I hesitate, looking at the broken shards. I should clean them up.
Logan jumps to his feet and the table rattles, making the pieces of glass scatter.
“Why don’t you tell me whatthisis, Mads? Because I haven’t got a fucking clue!” His eyes rain green fire.
There are so many words on the tip of my tongue that I want to hurl at him.
But none answer his question.
I don’t know what this is.
But I know that I’m not going to stand here while he laughs at me.
I spin and storm into the house to escape his heated glare. The bottle of wine we’ve shared makes my head swim as I race through the kitchen and into the open-air hallway.
“Don’t run from me!” His voice bellows behind me, making me startle.
My heart races, adrenaline gripping me as I push forward, running toward the staircase.
“Leave me alone!” I kick my heels off so I can race barefoot over the cool marble tiles.
“Mads! We need to fucking talk about this!”
My hand curls around the staircase handrail as my foot hits the bottom step. Refuge calls to me in the form of a guest room, any room. One with a locked door where he can’t see me. Where I don’t have to look into his emerald eyes.And feel.
His chest slams into my back, startling me enough to cry out. His hand curls over mine on the handrail. And then his lips are at my ear, his deep, labored breaths warm against my skin as he presses our bodies together.
“You can’t keep running and ignoring this.”
The deep gravel of his voice has goosebumps peppering up my spine.
“There is nothis,” I whisper. “I hate you.”
An arm slides around from behind me, encasing my waist and pulling me back against him with a gentle but controlling force.
His erection digs into my ass cheeks as his breath dusts the shell of my ear.
“No, you don’t.”
I struggle against him, but his grip around my waist is too tight and all I achieve is wriggling enough that I rub myself against his cock until a needy whimper springs from my throat.
“I do,” I croak.
“You don’t,” he growls.
He flexes his arm around my waist, and I still.
“You’re a liar,” he clips. “A fucking liar, Mads.”
“Stop,” I whisper. But it’s weak.I’m weak.
“You don’t fucking know what you are. But I bet if I put my hand inside your panties now, you’ll drip all over my fingers.”
