His gaze flickered between her face and her breasts. “I know what you’re doing, Rachel. You’re picking a fight so we’ll have angry sex and you can keep some distance between us. Well”—he shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it onto the chair, exposing an expanse of muscle that should be illegal—“I have news for you. I’m not going to help you. If you want to make love, you’ll have to ask me nicely and make me feel like you want me and not just a body to use to ease your tension.”
“Oh, for the love of Gucci.” She threw up her hands. “When did men become all sensitive? It’s only sex. If you don’t want it, feel free to go back to the guest room.” She tossed back the covers and climbed into bed, leaving him the side closest to the door.
“Yeah, you’d like that. Because you like distance. You don’t like up-close and messy emotions. And you definitely don’t like feeling vulnerable.” He took off his trousers and underpants and stood, naked and proud, hands on hips, staring at her. A beautiful, thick, long erection pointed in her direction. Which was very distracting.
“Thank you for your analysis,” she said, dragging her eyes from his hard length. “I could have saved thousands in therapy if I’d just met you sooner.”
As usual, her comments didn’t derail Harvard. He remained irritatingly calm. “Relationships are messy. They’re emotional. And they don’t work if one of you refuses to be vulnerable and trust that the other person will take care of you.”
“This. Isn’t. A. Relationship.” She lay on her back and tugged the bedcovers up around her, then tightened them at her sides by slashing her arms down hard. “I don’t understand why that doesn’t sink in. I’m beginning to think it would be easier to train a cat.”
“You don’t train a lover, Rachel.” He lay down on the bed and mirrored her pose, but without covering his body. Instead, he lay there like a cake buffet outside a Weight Watchers meeting.
“You aren’t my lover.” Damn, she sounded hoarse and achy. “Right now, all you are is a house guest who’s in the wrong bed.”
“That’s not the way to get me to make love to you.”
“Stop calling it that. It’s just sex. A bodily function. Nothing more.”
He turned onto his side and propped himself up on an elbow, and she practically salivated at the sight. “It is way more than just sex when two people have feelings for each other.”
“The only feeling I have for you is irritation.”
“Well, then. All of this”—he waved a hand down his body—“is off-limits until you admit we’re in a real relationship. If you want to go further and admit you actually have feelings for me, then that would be great too. But I’d settle for you admitting we’re in a relationship.”
Never, in all the years she’d lived in her apartment, had Rachel entertained the idea that the glass bottom of her pool might crack and flood her bedroom. But in that instant, she almost hoped it would, and that the smug, stubborn, annoying man beside her would drown.
Keeping her eyes on the water, she said, “I’m going to sleep now.” And then she grabbed the remote and turned off the lights, leaving only the glow from the pool above.
Forcing her eyes closed, Rachel tried to keep her mind from the naked man beside her and go to sleep. This was ridiculous. Why did he have to make such a big deal out of things? They were in the same bed. They touched. They spent time together. What difference would it make putting a label on whatever was happening between them? He was just trying to drive her crazy.
She took a few slow breaths, trying to calm her mind and relax. That’s when she felt the bed move—rhythmically. Her eyes snapped open as she turned her head toward Harvard. And stopped breathing entirely.
He lay on his back, the soft light caressing his dark skin. One arm lay behind his head, the other…
She found it difficult to swallow as her mouth became suddenly dry.
“What are you doing?” she croaked, her eyes glued to his large hand wrapped around his stiff erection, sliding slowly, almost absently, up and down. Like a switch had been flipped, the tension that consumed her became a desperate desire to touch. To replace his hand with hers. To caress, taste, kiss.
“I’m trying to relax,” he said.
At his low, rumbled words, her eyes shot to his. The sensuality in his heavy-lidded gaze had her clenching her thighs together.
“Well do it some other way,” she told him. “I’m tense too, and you don’t see me with my hand between my legs.”
His eyes turned blacker. “I’d like to.”
As a rush of pure adrenaline raced through her, she had to fight to stop from reaching for him. Her attention kept straying back to his slow, steady movements as he stroked himself. Why, oh why, was watching him do that such a turn on?
“Find another way to relax,” she ordered, sounding breathless.
“I’d like to, but you’re being difficult. All you have to do is say what I need to hear, and I can make all your tension fade away.” His hand clenched the base of his erection, and he let out a low moan.
Rachel’s fingers curled into the bedspread. “I don’t know why I have to say anything.”
“Rachel,” he purred, “no more lies.”
His thighs widened as he continued to stroke. This was torture. Pure, utter torture. “Fine,” she snapped. “We’re in a temporary relationship. Happy now?”
“No.” Harvard’s thumb slid across the crown of his penis. “There’s nothing temporary about this. It’s a relationship, period.”
“Rubbish. No one knows how long something will last when they get into it.”
“You can’t use that as an out. I know you. You think you can admit there’s something between us right now, then say it was good while it lasted come morning. No. We’re in this together, and we aren’t searching for an end date. It’s a proper, normal relationship. And if you want my cock, you need to admit it.”
“You’re being completely unreasonable,” she snapped.
“Then I guess I’ll just carry on, all on my own, over here.”
Was there ever a more annoying man? “Fine. You win. We’re in a relationship.” The words almost choked her.
His hand stilled. “For how long?”
“As long as it lasts,” she gritted through clenched teeth, thinking it would most definitely only be until the morning.
“I want to hear you say that you don’t plan to sabotage us and that you’ll give us a chance.” He stared at her. “Which means no dumping me in the morning to prove a point.”
“Whatever.” Could he read her mind now? “We’re in a serious relationship, and we’re going to see where it leads. Happy now?”
“Honestly? I’m a bit worried that you’ll smother me in my sleep, but otherwise, well done.”
She let out a feral growl. “Can we have sex now?”
“No.” Harvard rolled to his side, propped himself up on an elbow and slung his other arm over her waist. “But we can make love.”
And then, at last, he kissed her.