He grits his teeth.
“Where. The. Fuck. Have you been?”
I wince at his words, finding myself speechless. I place my hands on his solid body, pushing, and when I do, he grabs my hand, lightly squeezing my frozen fingers. He lowers them before asking again.
“I asked you a question, Keats. Where the hell have you been?”
“And I told you to stop calling me that,” I counter. “And how about none of your goddamned business, Heath. You’re not my dad.”
“No?” He lifts a dark eyebrow. “Guess that it’s good that I’m not. Because if I was, I’d put you over my fucking knee.” My breath hitches as he speaks. “Don’t you know how goddamned worried I’ve been about you all day?”
I scoff, rolling my eyes up at him. “It’s called ‘Do Not Disturb’ mode on your phone. Look into it. And what are you so worried about? You made it perfectly clear that I should stay away from you.” I cross my still chilled arms. “Or did I mishear you last night?”
His jaw ticks, his stubborn chin set in defiance. The scruff along the sides of his sharp jaw seem darker in the dim elevator light—more pronounced, and as I look closer, I can see how pale his skin is. Looking like he’s aged ten more years in the past day, I almost reach out to him to soothe his sallow skin, but indignation—hard and fast—makes me stop.
I drop my hand, trying to wrench the other still set firmly in Heath’s grasp. He only holds on tighter.
“Let me go,” I throw at him. I incline my face to meet his dark stare. And I’m shocked when he says “No.”
“What do you mean no?” I try to step away from him, but can’t. He’s practically got me pinned. My back pressed against the cold elevator wall, my neck arched upwards to face him, I’m almost overcome by his presence, my pulse pounding as Heath crowds me in the small space, his broad shoulders like a barrier over mine.
He’s just…so tall. So damned built.
His body is like limestone beneath a Valentino suit, and just when I think he’s going to let me go, he takes a step towards the elevator doors, pressing them shut. He presses pause on the dashboard, stopping the elevator from moving, and in the deathly quiet cage, he returns to my side, glaring down at me, his tawny irises alive and full of heat.
He raises my hand to his lips and kisses it, his touch surprisingly tender.
“You’re fucking right,” he sighs. “That is what I said. I let my mouth say something it really didn’t mean.” He inches closer. “So let me show you, Violet, how I feel. I don’t trust my lips to tell the truth right now…but this?”
He places my hand over his heart.
“This…I can’t fucking hide from.”
He bows his head to mine. With my hand still on his heart and the sounds of Hanson no longer in my ears, I feel a beat that matches my own, a rhythm I didn’t expect. Heath’s heart races under my touch, playing a broken melody, and as he lowers his lips to meet my waiting mouth, I slip into his kiss letting it take hold of me, pressing my breast against his to make the music that only he and I ever could.
The mending of two broken souls.
In that instant our mouths touch, I feel what he feels, fear what he does.
The connection between us is scary, fucking unreal, and in his arms, my last emotional wall comes crumbling down at his Italian leathered feet, my body heating from within as Heath deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue smoothly over mine to make me moan so loud I’m afraid the elevator will shake.
I’m hot and can’t get my clothes off fast enough. I reach for the Burberry scarf, letting it slide to the floor. The sound of fabric hitting the ground is soft, the noise barely audible. But the small move ignites some type of flame within Heath, and as he pulls out of the kiss, his eyes focused on mine, a fire scorching in his cinnamon gaze.
“Fuck this shit,” he hisses. And then he lifts me.
The headphones in my hand fall to the ground, my purse dropping with them as he presses into me. His fingers flying to my collar with deft skill, he removes my coat, slinging it to the side, and my gloves and heels are next to go as he removes my clothes, kissing at every bare inch he can find.
My breath picks up, my exhales turning into pants. My words are a whimper when I finally find the will to speak, and as the buttons of my cream-colored blouse go bouncing along the elevator walls, I huff in spurts, my hands dying to unearth the impressive erection I feel pressing at my hip. I grab Heath’s face.
“What—what are we doing right now?”
“What we should have done a long time ago. Showing each other how we feel…” He clutches my chin, facing me. “This won’t be a fuck, Violet. This will be more.” He speaks into my face, his halting breath minty and hot. “This is me talking right now. Not Mr. Tequila. Or Mr. Sparrow. Just Heath. And just Heath needs you to know that you are the only woman he can be just Heath with.”
He kisses me. Hard. And I feel it everywhere on my body. I tremble under his touch. Even more so when he pulls back, pressing his furrowed forehead into mine. “I’m fucking in love with you, Violet Keats. From the moment I met you. I’m tired of pretending I’m something I’m not—someone I’m not. I want to give you all of me—show you everything,” he breathes. “And by everything, I do mean every. Single. Inch.”
My stomach twists under my open blouse, my chest rising and falling fast. I grip Heath with all the strength my hands can give, and with a slow nod, I lick the edge of his bottom lip, shucking his suit jacket from his muscular shoulders.
With a slow deliberate finesse, I undress Heath Sparrow, stripping his shirt from his chiseled body. I open the zipper of his slacks like a present on Christmas Day. Tearing at the seam, I lean back into his arms, raising my own above my head, pressing them against the elevator wall as he pins me. I meet his curious gaze with a small sigh.
“Show me.”
His stroke is gentle at first, slow as he slips inside my skirt. With a parting of my panties, he slides his firm hardness along my soaking slit, pressing at its opening, and I gasp as he stops just before plunging, his voice a gritty growl in my ear.
“Are you sure?”
I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.
I’m tempted to tell him just that when I wrap my hands against his well-formed ass, my body eager to receive his. I pant.
“I… I want Mr. Tequila b-back. He knew better than to—to talk.”
I feel his grin. Licking my earlobe, Heath lifts me up higher, impaling me. Now sitting on his immaculate cock, he lowers me slowly, halving my consciousness into two. With a breathy gasp, I give in, my body fitting around his like a firm glove, and when his thick length throbs, he groans, a guttural sound I feel all over my quaking body. I bite into his shoulder.
“Fuck, Violet,” he hisses, his voice sharp. “How do you feel so fucking amazing?”
The words are like kryptonite, weakening me at the knees. And when he starts to move, bouncing me harder and harder, his hands on my ass, and his lips at my neck. He mutters words—filthy dirty little words against my open collar and I struggle not to scream his name, my body squeezing from the pleasure building inside out.
“So fucking sexy, Violet. My God, I couldn’t want you more.”