Page 26 of Arrogant Bastard

She backs away. “I…can’t…”

“You so fucking can. Just stop fighting me for a second. Admit you’ve missed me as much as I’ve missed you. That you want to kiss me as much as I’m dying to taste your gorgeous lips again.”

Her gaze slowly drops, as if she’s fighting the urge, to my mouth. She licks hers, and my whole body tightens with the need to take what she’s so stubbornly refusing us both. I barely manage to remain where I am.

“I can’t start this with you again, Killian—”

“We won’t be starting because we never ended.”

Pain drifts across her face, and for the first time, that haunting that became so familiar in our last weeks together, the haunting that I tried to convince myself didn’t exist, films her eyes.

“What we did was—”

I silence her with a finger on her mouth. “If you don’t want things to get more fucked up than they are now, do yourself a favor and don’t call what happened between us wrong.”

The gravity of my words gets through to her. She flushes and looks away. Toward the dressing room. We both take a breath before she looks back at me. “You kept my things. Why?”

She’s trying to distract me. I allow it for a moment and let my finger drop. “Too much effort to throw them away.”

“Seriously, you have literally dozens of minions at your beck and call.”

“Seriously. I tried to give them away. For some insane reason, I got into an argument with Debbie every time she pulled out the suitcases. The last time I tried, she point-blank refused and threatened to quit. And since she’s the best housekeeper I’ve ever had, and I wasn’t in the mood to do it myself…” I shrug.

“Well, you wasted your time bringing the clothes with you. My tastes have changed.”

“I look forward to discovering the new changes for myself.”

Her chest rises and falls in agitation for almost a minute before she shakes her head. “I’m not going to fuck you, Killian.”

I breach the last few feet between us. Back her up against the wall. Just like I did last night, I lean in close and catch her earlobe between my lips. The sound of her breath hitching transmits straight to my cock. “That’s fine. I’ll do all the work. I have four years’ worth of energy just dying to be expended. All you’ll have to do is take it.”

She makes another sound, a cross between a whimper of need and a growl of frustration. Then she dives beneath my arm and backs away quickly. “I’m going to the bathroom. I don’t want you here when I come out.”

I have to lock my knees not to follow. “Come to the kitchen when you’re done. Breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes.” At her wide-eyed surprise, I smile. “No, baby, I’m not cooking. We have company. So make sure you’re wearing something other than that indecent thong and top. I’d rather not commit grievous bodily harm against the chef for catching a glimpse of you like this.”

I walk out of the room before temptation pushes me to my breaking point. I ignore the sounds coming out of the kitchen and head back to my bedroom. My cold shower does pathetically little to help with my raging hard-on. It’s only the thought of the danger in our immediate future that distracts my libido for enough time to get myself under control.

By the time I tug on my cargo pants and T-shirt, I’m no longer a hormonal embarrassment, although when I exit my bedroom and catch the faint smell of her shampoo, things get a little jerky again. I grit my teeth and head for the kitchen. She arrives a minute later. And stops at the sight of the man wearing an apron and tossing ingredients in a hot pan.

She looks from him to me, one eyebrow raised. I hold out her coffee. As she moves toward me, I can’t help but stare at her body. She’s changed into a pair of dark jeans and a gray T-shirt with a shiny black heart printed on it. The material hangs on her leaner figure, but all her perfect attributes are still very much visible. And still causing chaos in my body.

When she clears her throat, I drag my gaze upward to her faintly stained cheeks and the pointed look she’s sending me.

“This is Mitch. He works for me.”

Mitch looks over his shoulder. “Morning, ma’am.”

She eyes the six-foot-five giant suspiciously. “Hi. He works as your chef?” she asks skeptically.

“Among other things. He can’t tell you what those other things are though, can you, Mitch?”

Mitch cracks a small smile as he walks over with two plates. “No, sir.”

“Why not?” she asks.

“Because I’ll be forced to kill him, and I like having him around. He makes a mean omelet for starters. Here, try it.” I cut a portion of mine and hold the forkful against her mouth.

She glares at me but is too polite to refuse in front of Mitch. She takes the offering and chews. “It’s very good, Mitch.”

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