Page 46 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
Amused by my fury, he smiles. “Passion,” he reminds me, smug as shit.
I look around for something to throw at him.
“Let’s call a truce.” He strolls forward, hands in his pockets.
As if I’ll feel safer that way.
“No truce. No way. And you’re the one who started this war, remember?”
He makes a face, like he’s doubtful.
“Yes, you. Wait, why am I even talking to you? You fake kissed me!”
“Did I?”
“Yes! You admitted you did!”
“Hmm. I don’t recall that.”
“So we’ll add dementia to your long list of problems.”
By now he’s trapped me at the edge of the bed, advancing so stealthily I hardly noticed it, which was probably his dastardly plan all along.
I stand my ground and flatten my hand in the center of his chest, bracing my arm so he can’t move forward. “I’m not a joke,” I say, my voice raw. “I’m not a plaything.”
“I never said you were.”
Under my palm, his heart is a jackhammer. We do the hate breathing at each other again, which apparently is becoming our thing. Then we do the hate eye fucking again, which is definitely becoming our thing.
He says softly, “You’re giving me grief about how I look at you? You should see your eyes right now.” His voice drops an octave. “So dirty, bella. So very, very dirty.”
“I’m not selling the company, no matter how much you try to sex it out of me.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Sex it out of you?” As I watch with ragged breath, he sinks his teeth into his full lower lip. “Now that sounds interesting. Let’s discuss.”
“You’re a pig.”
“And yet you want me.”
“You’re unbelievable!”
“Yes, women have told me that before. Usually right after they come.”
I can’t even with this guy!
Then it’s like he remembers something. He looks around, frowning. “What are you doing in here?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? Trying to get rid of you!”
He looks at the wad of sheets in the corner. He looks at the freshly made bed. Then he looks back at me. The smile that breaks over his face is breathtaking.
“My darling ex-stepsister. Are you moving in?”
Very deliberately, I slide my hand up his chest until I reach his neck. Then I grasp his throat—lightly, but enough to let him know I mean it.
His skin is hot to the touch, and his throat is strong. Thick. It makes me think of other hot, thick body parts.
I officially hate myself.
