When too much time has passed, I hop down, and after tossing the wet paper towel away, I pull on the door and flick the light off.
The hallway is dark, with the emergency lights the only source of illumination. I can’t remember if the lights were on or off before I went into the bathroom.
My hands go to my hips and I can feel my scowl forming. “Keen,” I call.
No answer.
There doesn’t appear to be anyone at the end of the hallway. He didn’t stay where I told him to stay.
Did Keen leave me here?
If he did, so help me God—
Just as I pass Jordan’s office, the door opens and a hand clamps around my waist. And then in a split second, I’m spun face-first against the wall.
Fear bombards me, but not because I am afraid for my physical safety. No, I’m afraid for my emotional safety.
A callused palm clamps ever so lightly over my mouth. “I’m sorry, Maggie.”
My mind fills with images of his hands moving up and down my body. Images of his hands holding cards. Images of his hands holding my arms over my head. So many images that I can’t stop them.
Keen Masters.
Still, out of sheer pissed-off anger, I brace the wall with my hands and push back . . . into an iron-hard body. “I told you, I don’t want this.”
“I didn’t lie,” he softly whispers into my ear. Freeing my mouth, his warm breath cascades down my neck. “But to be honest, I knew there was a possibility that it was there; I just chose not to look.”
I inhale sharply. The air rushing through my nose carries with it the familiar scent of Cartier, and I can’t stop my knees from going weak. “Then why did you insist we leave?”
He presses his face into my hair, breathing hard, but says nothing.
Those pesky little butterfly wings feel like they’ve multiplied and are trying really hard to get free. Turning around, my hands land on his strong shoulders, and his big hands easily slide to my hips. “Why did you make me leave the club, Keen?”
Remorse blazes in his eyes. “I couldn’t stand to see you with another guy.”
My heart slams against my ribs like a bird in a cage, and no matter how hard I try to control my rapidly increasing breathing, I am completely unable to. I slide my hands down the bulge of his forearms to place them over his hands on my hips. “Why?” I ask, my voice soft, but knowing. Knowing that this push-and-pull between us is a sea of sexual tension that won’t end. Knowing that despite my vow to not let him in my bed again, I will. Knowing that I’m going to let him fuck me, right here, right now.
His voice is thick with tension. “You know why.”
With our eyes locked, our bodies touching, and the heat around us blazing like an inferno, I don’t feel like I have to hold anything back. “Because you were jealous.”
His nod is slow. “That, and because I want you. I haven’t stopped wanting you since I had you, Maggie.”
Maggie. Maggie. Maggie. My name on his lips is a sound I revel in, and I give myself up to him. “I want you too, Keen,” I whisper, “but I can’t—”
Before I can finish telling him I can’t go through what happened before again, he crushes his mouth over mine, swallowing my gasp of excitement. His lips are soft but the kiss is hard, punishing, brutal.
A silent demand for me to open my mouth, which I do.
A silent demand that I meet his tongue thrust for thrust, which I do.
A silent demand that I surrender, which I also do.
There is no way I can’t.
And just like that, all the bricks of anger I spent the past months stacking come tumbling down.
I’m too overwhelmed to stop it from happening. Overwhelmed by his scent, the heat of his skin, and the taste of him, hot and sharp . . . just like I remember, and at the same time so much more.
More intense.
More passionate.
More sensual.
Gripping the back of my neck with one hand, he slides his other hand down my stomach. His slide so much softer than his grip.
Hard and soft.
He’s hard and soft.
Nipping at my lip, tasting me, devouring me, he eases his hand from my stomach down to my hip and then wraps it around my bare thigh. “Tell me you want this.”
With a shudder, I kiss him back harder, wondering if I might draw blood, and this time hoping I do. Hoping I can mark him in some small way. All the while I kiss him, I cling to him like I’ve never clung to a man before. “I want this.”
His growl does funny things to my stomach and when he tugs my thigh up so he can press himself deeper between my legs, my skirt rides up, revealing my skimpy lace thong.
For a moment he freezes, and I start to worry he’s going to end this, but then he crushes me harder against the wall, grinding his erection into me.