Page 135 of The Chase
I rolled my eyes.
“It’s a fact.”
My sex throbbed and I forced myself to pull back from this erotic brink.
“I’ve offended you?” he asked softly.
“What girl doesn’t want to be taken hard by a hot guy?”
His eyebrows rose. “I make theKama Sutralook vanilla.”
I raised my chin proudly. “So, we’re compatible in the bedroom, then.”
“Well, it’s a start.”
“Wilder, I’m going to tie you down and torture you until you open up to me.”
“Not into that.”
I cupped his face in my hands and leaned in and kissed him, my tongue entering his mouth and swirling around his, demonstrating my power.
He pulled away and blinked at me. “You’re going to have to do better than that if you want me to open up more.”
“I’m not wearing any panties,” I snapped. “Now how about some compromise?”
“Not quite seeing the connection.”
Frustration welled in my belly. “I’m right here but you block me from getting close.”
“I’m really rather boring. Nothing more to add really.”
I walked away from him and quickly headed into the next room, relieved no one else was in here so I could calm my annoyance.
Upon the walls were paintings of the Himalayas. The artist seemingly the same for each one from what I could tell. Every season had been captured. That snow-covered tip of Mount Everest was worth revisiting when I cooled off and was calm enough to appreciate its Zen.
My feet jolted to a stop.
I saw him in the next room and even with his back to me I recognized that tweed-wearing threat. That unmistakable upper-crust English accent grating on my nerves. Nigel Turner, that wilyLondon Timesjournalist was here.
I slid left and turned a doorknob and stepped into a hallway. Lifting my hem, I made my way down, unsure of the plan, just knowing I had to get as far away as possible.
I cursed him for using the same name as one of my favorite painters. Joseph Mallord William Turner was one of Britain’s most talented romanticist landscape painters, and by all accounts he’d been the sweetest man and easily one of the most gifted masters of watercolor.
No, Nigel had no right to share his name.
I hurried round the corner and bumped right into Violet, our bodies clashing, and I almost fell backward. Steadying myself, I waved my apology and caught my breath as pain thrummed in my chest and my teeth chattered.
“Are you okay?” she said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
“Sorry,” I said. “I was trying to get away from someone.”
“Have you fallen out with Tobias?”
“No, it’s not him. Just saw a journalist who’s been hounding me.”
“Why?”
“It’s complicated. Has something to do with my father’s estate.” I didn’t want to get into it.
