There was something blistering in his eyes, something burning, and alive. The picture he made, laid out on her bed, was disturbing and enticing at the same time. She wondered what it would be like to lay down next to him, feel the heat of him against her skin.
Flustered by his untoward behavior and her own reaction to it, she backed up a step.
“On it, not in it.”
“So technical.”
“You’re rumpling my bedspread.”
“Wanna rumple it even more?” His smile was lazy.
It took her a moment to figure it out.
“No!”
“Don’t be so standoffish. You’ve got a real comfy bed. Come on over here and take a load off.”
“No.” She fisted her hands. “I’ve got to get this done, so we can be on our way. If you’d quit distracting me, I’d appreciate it.”
“Funny, I could say the same thing to you.”
Jane gritted her teeth. “You get on my nerves.”
“Well, damn, I literally asked for that. I might get on your nerves, but you don’t find me borin’, do ya?”
She thought about it for a moment. Byron was many things—irritating, infuriating, presumptuous, and entirely wicked. He bothered her in a way no other man ever had, but she didn’t find him tedious or dull.
What does it mean? And, more importantly, why do I care?
“No, which is odd.”
His smile widened. “I imagine you find most people tiresome.”
“Yes, and I find them exhausting—managing all those social rituals and feelings. It’s a lot of effort for a few moments of fleeting pleasure.”
“Pleasure? My favorite topic, now we’re gettin’ to it.” He laid down on the bed and placed his chin in one hand. She resented the proprietary way he acted, as though he was staking some sort of claim. “Tell me everything.”
“This subject matter’s inappropriate.” Jane could feel a blush staining her cheeks. Again.
She wished he didn’t bother her so much. She excelled at being cool and unflappable, except around him.
“Don’t give a damn about bein’ proper. Gotta say I’m glad I was wrong about you.”
“Wrong about what?”
“Given our embrace last night and your reference to pleasure, you like bein’ touched more than you let on.”
“You’re confusing being a prude with being selective.”
“Ah, so you don’t just let anyone in.”
Somehow she couldn’t quite break his gaze. The man is magnetic.
“No, I don’t.”
He stood, stalking toward her. “Makes a man want an invitation.”
With Valentine, she felt only fear, with Byron—exhilaration. Yet, they were both dangerous men.
I’m in over my head.
“Go on, I’m listenin’.”
“It depends on who’s doing the touching and if they’ve been invited to do so.”
“Sounds like you ain’t selective enough, if he’s only givin’ you a couple seconds of pleasure. You should try a man who knows what he’s doin’ in the bedroom.”
“Which would involve a lot of pointless dating. I don’t like casual, social touching—all those handshakes and hugs. I like it on my terms—when and if I want it.”
“And here’s where I point out, you’ve already asked for it, darlin’. You demanded to be wrapped up in my arms.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“As though I asked you for something….”
His nostrils flared. “Indecent?”
“Yes.” Jane cleared her throat. “I had an emotional crisis, and you comforted me, nothing more.” And yet, if she closed her eyes, she could still feel his arms around her.
“Yes, but I consider it to be a startin’ place. And I wanna point out, you’re the one who propositioned me.”
“I most certainly did not.”
“But you did—ask me, that is, and I’d be happy to see to any other desires too.”
Jane bit the inside of her cheek as her temper flared. “I see. And you’re the right man for the job?”
He had a gleam in his eye. “Nobody’s ever considered me Mr. Right, but I’m fun—all pleasure, no exhaustin’ social rituals necessary. And you got strong emotions when it comes to me, which is a very good sign.”
She tried to follow his twisted logic. “Yes, the emotions are strong, but not in a good way. I can’t decide how I feel about you.”
For some unfathomable reason, he looked even more pleased.
“Give it some time, darlin’.”
Time for what? To wear her down?
Would she give in, if only to get some peace?