“I don’t play games, Beau.”
“This is a game,” I assure him. “And I haven’t got a fucking clue what the rules are.”
“You’re absorbed.”
“There’s a lot to be absorbed by.”
“I agree.” His hand lands on my knee, and my stomach cartwheels. “An awful lot. And I don’t know what the rules are either.”
“Then why do you seem to be playing this game better than I am?” Experience? Success?
“You’re wrong.” He releases my knee and gets up, walking casually to the fridge and getting a bottle of water. I stare at his back, and all I can see are the scars beneath his T-shirt. Thick, uneven, damaged skin. “You’re playing the game far better than I ever could.”
So there is a game. “How?”
“Because I’m snookered,” he says quietly, and I frown at his back. “You want to be invisible,” he goes on. “Forgettable. Blend into the background.” He turns and tips the bottle to his lips, while I stare at him with my mouth slightly agape. “Problem is, Beau Hayley,” he whispers, coming closer. Closer. Closer. “I. See. You.”
My spine straightens, and despite knowing he can’t possibly really see me, I’m wary. “You don’t know me.”
“Don’t I?” he replies, his head tilting. “Your jokes on the phone were a poor attempt to mask your misery. Your fake carefree attitude is a poor attempt to mask your hurt.”
I scoff, getting up and walking toward the elevator, which feels like fucking miles away. Is this why he wanted me to stay for a drink? So he can point out my shortcomings? Pretend to know me? “Fuck you, James Kelly,” I say under my breath.
“Your anger now is a poor attempt to mask your craving.”
Outraged, I swing around. I don’t know when this job went from being a job to a personal annihilation. “Craving for what?”
“Many things.”
“Like?” I yell, getting worked up, something that hasn’t happened in a long, long time. I don’t allow it. Can’t allow it.
“Like revenge.” He starts a leisurely pace toward me, and I lose my breath. “Like escape. Like darkness.” He arrives before me, his fierce, almost angry face close to mine. “Like me.”
“I don’t crave you,” I breathe, avoiding that he’s probably hit the nail on the head with each one of his other assessments. Revenge. That one word hits me hardest of all.
His arm rises slowly, and he rests the tip of his thumb on my nipple, brushing the hardening nub into full erection through my shirt, making my chest concave. “Say it again. Tell me you don’t crave me.”
I can’t talk. Can’t see straight.
He works his touch up to my throat and strokes me softly. “You’re as clear as the glass you’re surrounded by, Beau Hayley.”
“And what do you see?” I gasp, trying so hard not to lean into his touch.
He smiles. It’s almost a sick smile. “I see the woman you were. The woman you’re trying to forget existed. The one with power. Unbridled strength.” He releases me and steps back. “But I want you to find her. Show me who she is. Show me what she can do, how strong she is.”
It’s not the first time I’ve lost my breath in the presence of this man. It won’t be the last either. But it is the first time I think I understand him. He really has seen right through me. I have no room in my clustered mind to analyze how right now. No room to ask the questions I should be asking. There are too many sparks flying, and the prospect of more is too much to resist. This is a whole new world, and I’d be lying if I said I’m not getting a sick thrill from it. It’s different. Overwhelming. Diverting.
“Let’s get the inevitable over with, shall we?” James’s face seems to darken. He’s serious. “Show. Me. Who. She. Is.”
I step back.
I see him brace himself. I should smile on the inside. He has no idea, but he asked for it.
Show you?
I lock, engaging muscles I haven’t engaged for years.
I load, filling my lungs with air and my legs with bounce.
He stares hard, goading me, watching as I call upon the woman I used to be. The woman I need to be to take on this man. The woman with potent, limitless faith in her abilities.
I launch into the air and spin, wrapping my legs around his neck, and take him down to the floor. I land softly. He does not. Stress leaves me and something else fills me. I don’t know what; I’ve never felt it before, but it feels electric.
I look down my body to his head that’s trapped between my thighs. I don’t know what I expected. A smirk was not it.
“This is going to be way more fun than I ever imagined,” he says, his voice gravelly, and it’s not because I’m limiting the supply of oxygen to his head. Fun? I have not a moment to consider it.
He twists suddenly, and I’m spun onto my front, a knee in my back, my arms restrained behind me. How the fuck? Disorientated, I blink, feeling warmth moving in on my ear. “Oh baby, you’re going to be fun to break.”
I snarl, throwing my head back and colliding with his nose. He hisses, and I spin over, jumping to my feet, breathing heavily. “I’m already fucking broken, you stupid assho—oh!” I’m caught off guard when his leg swipes out, taking me clean off my feet, and I land on my back with a thud and a cough.
James is spread all over me in a second, panting down at me. “Then we’re both safe,” he whispers, dipping to kiss the edge of my mouth. A volcano erupts inside of me. My want and craving break the scale. But I still fight him, trying to get my hands between us to push him away. I fail. So I sink my fingers into his T-shirt and yank hard, ripping it apart across his back. He growls, wrestling with me to win my hands, pinning them down over my head. He transfers my wrists into one hand, takes the other to my shirt, and yanks it, ripping every button off.
“Do you submit?” he whispers, dragging his palm down my torso, my body bowing violently, pleasure flooding me.
“Never.”
“Good.” He slams his lips over mine.
I. Am. Gone.
I don’t know where, but I like it, need it, and I might not ever want to come back. I open up to him, mouth and thighs, and attack him with equal force, our tongues lashing dangerously, our kiss borderline psychotic. “Let go of my hands,” I pant, sinking my teeth into his lip, straining against him.
“No.” His face plummets into my neck, his groin rubbing into me, and I cry out, the stabs of pleasure cutting me in two.
“Scared of me?” I ask, bowing my back, pushing my breasts into his chest.
He bites at my throat, then sucks hard, before rolling to his back fast, sending a stool flying across the kitchen. It clatters against the cupboards as I come to rest on his waist, my hands still held in one of his. He reaches up and pulls the cups of my bra down, and my boobs spring free, aching. I lick my lips as I study him, his hair in disarray, his eyes pits of fire. His jaw ticks, enhancing every sharp inch of it. He is the most beautifully dark thing I have ever seen.
I roll my hips, rubbing into the iron rod of flesh beneath me. James hisses, swallowing hard. “I’m not scared of you, Beau.” He sits up, getting his face close to mine. “I’m scared of us.” He bites at my cheek, and my head falls back on an almighty moan as he takes my hands and places them over his shoulders. The moment my palms come to rest on his skin between the ripped material of his T-shirt, I feel the uneven flesh of his back. But I’m too drunk on lust to ask. And I can’t bring myself to stall what’s about to happen.