Page 91 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
At the sound of my name, I snap my gaze back to her. She stares back at me with an eyebrow arched in disdain.
“Step aside.” She looks pointedly at the door, which I’m blocking.
I manage three steps to my right. Then I glare at Brad as he slowly makes his way across the shop. His pace quickens as he skitters sideways past me like a crab, then he’s gone.
None of the tension leaves my body, but at least he’s gone.
“Your turn,” says Kimber, dismissing me.
Instead I close the door and lock it. When I turn back to her, she’s got her arms folded over her chest and her jaw set.
“I’m not doing this with you now.”
“Doing what?” I move closer.
“Don’t play that game,” she warns, glowering.
Oh, love. This isn’t a game.
When I don’t say anything, she inhales an agitated breath and taps her toe against the floor. “What do you want from me?”
Everything. I want everything from you. And I want it now. I stop a foot in front of her and stare down into her eyes. “Time to eat the frog.”
She crinkles her forehead. “Excuse me?”
“It’s something my father used to say. If eating a frog is the worst thing you have to do in a day, don’t put it off. Do it first thing and get it out of the way.”
Her gorgeous green eyes kindle with anger. “You’re comparing kissing me to eating a fucking frog?”
God, I love that temper. I love that I don’t intimidate her. I love that she never tries to impress me, never bites her tongue, never backs down.
I love that she doesn’t care about my money, my title, or my family name. I’ve never met a woman who wasn’t after at least one of those.
Most of all I love that though she’d rather die than admit it, she’s enjoying this bargain of ours as much as I am. Those cheeks are pink from more than anger.
“It’s a metaphor. But I was talking about you,” I say, staring hungrily at her mouth. “I’m the frog you have to eat. Might as well get it over with early so you don’t have to think about it for the rest of your day.”
Her lips flatten. “You don’t get to call all the shots here. You can’t just show up unannounced, demanding kisses.”
“Yes I can. I just did. And I’ll do it again. Give me my kiss.”
She says frostily, “For a guy who said I’m a mediocre kisser, you’re awfully eager to shove your tongue down my throat.”
I said it because I know there’s nothing more she thrives on than a challenge, but now I see it was a mistake. I went too far. I hurt her feelings.
Fuck.
“I’m sorry. That was stupid. It won’t happen again.”
She blinks, taken aback. A shade of the hostility fades from her posture, but she’s still upset. “Why did you say it, then?”
“I wanted to rile you up.”
She’s beginning to look confused, worrying her lower lip with her teeth and frowning. “So . . . you don’t think I’m a bad kisser?”
That she cares what I think makes my chest tighten and my pulse start to pound. I can’t tell her that I made myself come three times last night thinking about her mouth. Her body. The little sounds she makes when she’s wrapped up in my arms. I can’t tell her that she’s my fucking wet dream, that I can’t get her out of my head no matter what I try.
I can’t tell her anything yet. I don’t want to scare her off or overwhelm her. Because if I told her what I really want from her, she’d run for the hills.
