Havana really wished he’d drop the subject. It hurt to hear he’d once cared for someone so much he’d wanted to imprint on them, because it highlighted that he hadn’t even come close to experiencing any such feelings for her.
The hurt annoyingly did nothing to douse the sparks of electric sexual tension that bounced from him to her. Nor did it make her hormones cease doing the damn foxtrot. It was impossible to stop her body from responding to him, apparently.
“She’s part of my past—that’s it,” he added. “She’s not important. I don’t want her back. I want you back.”
Havana rolled her eyes even as the claim made her stomach flutter. “What you want is a weekly hookup. There are plenty of women out there who I’m sure would be more than happy to be your new fuck buddy.”
He edged further into her personal space. “I don’t want other women. I want you. And don’t make out like you were just a convenient body to me, Havana. What we had might not have been serious, but it wasn’t cold or impersonal either.”
“True. You never treated me with anything less than respect. But the fact is that I never meant anything to you.”
His eyes briefly flared. “You meant something,” he said, his voice low and soft and so damn intimate it made her pulse jump. “You still do.”
“I don’t buy that.”
“You should. It’s the truth. I’ve never lied to you before. Why would I start now?” He tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and then gently flicked her lower lip with his finger. “Did you know I have a policy not to get involved with any of my tenants?”
She felt her brow pinch. Actually, no, she hadn’t known that.
“It’s not wise to mix business with pleasure, and I’m not in the habit of going against good sense.” His warm, calloused hands loosely cuffed her wrists, his gaze glittering with so much heat and carnal promise. “But,” he began, dropping his tone to bedroom territory, “I knew the second I first laid eyes on you that I was going to have to have you.”
That soft, velvety rumble danced down her spine, hummed along her raw nerve endings, and tightened her nipples. Four months of them sleeping together had trained her body to respond to his “sex voice.” And he goddamn knew it.
She swallowed. “Tate—”
“I knew there’d be no fighting it, and I sure as fuck didn’t want to fight it. So I didn’t bother trying.” He slowly smoothed his hands up her arms, over her shoulders, up her neck and onto her face. His eyes dropped to her mouth, gleaming with unabashed hunger, and her heart started working overtime. If she let him kiss her, she’d be lost. Still, it was an honest to God’s struggle not to lick her lips in invitation.
She didn’t dare try to push him away, because she didn’t trust that she actually would shove him backwards. She didn’t trust that her hands wouldn’t instead yank him closer. “You should go,” she rasped.
“I don’t want to go, baby,” he whispered. “And I don’t think you want me to either.” He smoothed his thumb over her cheekbone. “I meant it when I said I missed you.”
“You missed fucking me,” she corrected.
“That, too.” He dropped his forehead to hers. “Still miss the taste and feel of your pussy. So fucking sweet and tight. I liked knowing no one else could have it … that only my mouth could taste it … that only my hands could touch it … that only my dick could fuck it. I was far more possessive of it than I had the right to be.” He punched his hips forward, snuggling his cock—God, he was so hard—against her pussy. “Hmm, there it is. I can smell how wet it is for me.” He moved his mouth to her ear. “I want it, Havana.”
She hitched in a breath as he ground his cock against her, hitting her clit just right. Her nipples seemed to tighten even more, and her aching pussy spasmed. She grabbed onto the countertop behind her—it was her only anchor right then.
God help her, she wanted him inside her. There. Now. Hard and fast and rough.
But that would be bad. Right? She didn’t know. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t reason. As if the intense chemistry in the air had made her brain shrivel up.
He skimmed his nose along the side of her face. “Let me have you.” He lightly nipped her jaw. “Let me.” It wasn’t a plea. Wasn’t even a request. It was an attempt to lure, cajole, entice. An invitation to sin and submit.
She shivered as he dipped his head and his breath fanned her hypersensitive neck. Without thinking, she tilted her head slightly to give him better access. A growl of approval rumbled its way up his chest.
He pressed kisses along her throat. “Let me give us what we both want, Havana.”
She bit back a moan as he ground against her clit yet again. Hell, she was going to cave, and she knew it. There was only so much a girl could take.
If he’d tried bossing her into giving in, she could have resisted—even if only to be contrary. But he’d coaxed, seduced, charmed. She found that a lot harder to fight … which he knew perfectly well, the tricky cat. And, honestly, she didn’t want to fight it.
Maybe Bailey was right. Maybe if Havana took the time to burn out what she felt for him and work him out of her system, she’d get the closure she needed.
He lifted his head and slid his fingers into her hair. “I need this.”
He wasn’t alone in that. One night, she decided. She’d allow herself one last night with him, even though … “It probably isn’t a good idea.” She let out a shaky breath as he lowered his face to hers, leaving their mouths mere inches apart.
“Tell me you don’t want this. If you can say it and mean it, I’ll step back. I will.” So slowly it was agonizing, he lowered his face that little bit more … until their mouths touched as he said, “Tell me you don’t want it.”
She couldn’t. She didn’t. And he seemed to take that for the surrender that it was.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Fisting her hair, Tate took her mouth and plunged his tongue inside. And there it was—that sweetly addictive taste that had set up a craving in him four months ago. He groaned, long and loud. Fuck if he hadn’t missed it.
As need exploded between them, he used his grip on her hair to angle her head and sank his tongue deeper. The kiss was hot. Wet. Hungry. Urgent. He couldn’t get enough.
He swore he could get fucking drunk on her taste—it made his head spin, just like her delectable scent that now perfumed the air laced with arousal. It made his inner feline frantic for her, like her scent was fucking catnip.
Tate growled low in his throat as she thrust her fingers through his hair and wildly scratched at his scalp. The sting made his rock-hard dick throb painfully. He roughly ground against her clit again and again, feeling the heat of her pussy through their jeans.
Neither of them had much control. They were both frantic and desperate, yanking at each other’s clothes. Soon, both his tee and her blouse were gone. She curled one leg over his hip just as he cupped her breast and thumbed her nipple through the black lace of her bra.
Arching into his hand, she tore her lips free to take a breath. With a snarl, Tate claimed her mouth again, nowhere near done with it. He feasted. Devoured. Plundered.