Page 40 of Rival to the Billionaire

His kiss is raw. Fast. Emotional and unexpected. And before I can say anything or react, I feel his hand on my waist, his fingers brushing against my red sequined dress.

Up close, his scent—that musky, masculine, achingly familiar smell of him—combined with the neediness in the way he says my name sends every nerve ending in my body into overdrive.

He slams his mouth on mine, taking my taste hard, aggressively, his tongue pushing deeper into my mouth, my lips parting instinctively for him.

His body presses mine into a tall marble countertop, our mouths and tongues moving together, hot, hungry, insatiable.

Ryder makes no attempt to be gentle. And I'm not sure I want him to be.

He grabs my hips, pulling me hard into his unyielding body as I melt against him. This close, there's no denying that he's one hard mass of man, his muscles coiled, strong, as he pushes me into the countertop, pinning me between hard granite and firm, salty sensation of him.

I try to breathe, but it is impossible, we're so close. Close enough for our bodies to damn near meld, and yet, I want to be closer still…to feel him under my fingers, under my tongue.

His right hand slides up my body, over the sequins of my dress, to my bare neck and beneath my hair, holding me there. And I gasp, my body arching up to him, the warm heat between my legs, so near to becoming a furnace, a fire just a touch away from combustion.

I'm amazed. It takes less than a minute for Ryder Anderson, epitome of all that I hate, to turn my neatly ordered control into a ball of flaming chaos.

I sigh as he removes his lips, staring down at me.

"Jenny," he growls, his mouth moving against mine. "Jesus, fuck, you taste good."

Pressing my body into the marble, his hard chest tightens under my breasts and my body instantly reacts.

I feel everything.

The solid muscles of his chest. The throbbing sensation of my swollen nipples under my soft bra and dress.

And I feel the rapid rush of blood as he kisses me harder, his fingers flexing as they roam from my neck and down my bare arms.

I attempt to regain my lost control, but the second I open my mouth to speak, Ryder quickly kisses the words away.

"Can I tell you that I dreamed about this?" he breathes. "Fuck, I fought this, but I don't think I can fight it anymore."

He looks at me, his cerulean-blue eyes intense, and I know that right now, what he's feeling is deeper than rage. He's feeling the wordless longing that I've been feeling since we started working together all those years ago.

The mutual lust.

The terrible desire.

His mouth travels to my neck, landing there. Small kisses, burning, soft and possessive, assault my skin as his hands travel south, down to the skirt of my dress.

And I am lost in this moment. I am lost in the feel of him.

Especially when he lifts the sequined fabric, stroking the skin underneath, dangerously close to my inner thigh.

I shudder against Ryder, dig my fingers into his strong shoulders and dig my back into the marble countertop to support myself as my thoughts begin to scramble with a million questions all at once.

I release a breath that shudders all the way to my toes. "You've…dreamed about this?"

He chuckles. "I have. Though, the setting," he peers around the elegant, marble-covered bathroom, "involved a hell of a lot less toilets and way more privacy than we've got here."

His hand reaches under the edge of my skirt, and I bite a reply short. I'm lost in this moment, mindful of every action of his. What he says. How he says it. His smell. The way he holds me…

"Ah, yes, I'm sure your dream accommodations—and women—are much more 'accommodating'."

His eyes glint at me, teasing, knowing. "I wouldn't know. I never dreamed about any woman but you."

Those words do something. His stare softens as he moves closer, his breath minty and cool. "Tell me you didn't ever think about this, Jenny. That you didn't ever consider what it would be like to use all that heat you throw in my direction, for something else. For something more."

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