Page 45 of Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games 2)
Connor, arms crossed over his chest, legs spread apart, scowling.
“Funny meeting you here.” I let the door swing shut behind me.
“What was your relationship with Søren Killgaard.”
It isn’t a question, it’s a demand, delivered with dangerous softness. I decide to sidestep. “In the words of your client, my feelings about the subject are immaterial.”
“I didn’t ask about your feelings. I asked about your relationship.”
We stare at each other. The color is high in his cheeks. His breathing is slightly irregular.
“Why?” I ask softly. “Are you jealous?”
“Fuck yes,” comes the instant, husky response. “But that’s not why I’m asking.”
A little thrill burns through me at his admission. “Then why are you asking?”
“Because there’s a hell of a lot you’re not telling me, and that lack of knowledge could compromise this job.”
“We’ve already been over this.”
“Let’s go over it again.”
After a long, tense interval, I say, “No.”
His arms unfold. He takes a step toward me. I take a step back.
“Why not?” he asks, and his voice is velvet darkness.
My heart begins to beat faster. I’m not afraid of him; it’s his intensity that’s getting to me. His proximity. The way I can recall with perfect clarity how he sounds when he comes.
I moisten my lips. “Because it’s none of your business.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. It stops him dead in his tracks with a look of incredulity on his face. Slowly, he shakes his head. “Don’t do that. Don’t pretend it didn’t happen.”
My ears go scalding hot. “We had a deal. One night, remember? One night to get it out of our systems, and then we’d never mention it again.”
He softly corrects me, “One night and one morning.”
The way he’s looking at me makes my nipples hard and sends a rush of heat between my legs. I can’t help it, my body responds to this man like nothing else I’ve ever experienced. I’m an addict, he’s a needle full of heroin, and even though I know I’m not supposed to want it, I do.
He must see something in my expression, because his dark, dark eyes turn an even deeper shade of black. He takes another step toward me.
“Connor,” I warn, backing up.
“Yes, Tabitha?”
“I’m going to touch you everywhere, Tabitha. Anywhere I want, anywhere it pleases me.”
The way he says my full name, the deeply sexual tone of it, sends my heart racing. I retreat another step until my back comes in contact with the door.
Connor advances. Lifting his arms, he sets his palms flat against the door on either side of my head. He leans in close to my face. “You were about to say something.”
“You said we were both professionals.” I try to keep my voice stern, but fail. The words are a breathy whisper, more come closer than stay away.
“We are. And I’m asking—from one professional to another—what your relationship to Søren Killgaard was so I can then determine how much satisfaction I’m going to get from putting the bastard in prison.”
He’s betraying himself. A moment ago, he said it was about compromising the job. I’m amazed to find myself reaching up to touch his face. He stills when my fingers come in contact with his skin. His breathing goes ragged. I see the pulse pounding in his throat.
