Bunny and the Beast(Divine Creek Ranch 22)(5)

She pursed her lips because he’d caught her slip. “No. Your house is too far but also too close to all those whips and chains you must have hidden in your secret dungeon lair.”

Joseph snorted in amusement and kept his eyes on the road. “Fine. We’ll go to your house.”

“We can’t.”

“Why not?” he asked, using a clipped tone that made her teeth grind.

“Because I said so. I’m sure you’re not used to being told no, but get used to it in my presence. You’re gonna hear it a lot, honey.”

Instead of getting pissed off, his eyebrows rose, and he glanced at her. “Is that a fact? So you plan for me to be in your presence quite a bit, do you?”

She fisted her hand in her lap. “No! That’s not what I meant, damn it.”

Oh yeah it is. You like him. You want him in more than just your presence, honey.

Since talking back to your inner devil was frowned upon, she ignored the stupid voice and struggled to keep up with the real conversation. “I just meant I’m not one of your doormats. You keep pushing me around, and it won’t work.”

He gestured to the dashboard. “You’re in my car, aren’t you? You got in willingly, didn’t you? Maybe my methods aren’t as fruitless as you think. And since when do you think I prefer ‘doormats’?”

Frowning, she said, “Your subs. They enjoy you pushing them around and humiliating them. I’m not that kind of girl, and I never will be.”

He pulled over on a dark stretch of road. “You have some mistaken ideas about what I enjoy, Bunny Carrigan, and you need to do some research before you criticize what I do and who I am. I don’t appreciate being judged incorrectly by you any more than you would enjoy it.”

Taking a deep breath, Bunny held up her hands in surrender, knowing she was talking to a brick wall. “Tell you what. Right here and now, I’ll tell you I’m sorry. I’m sorry for biting you. I’m sorry for cussing at you. I’m sorry for pushing your buttons, setting you off, and getting your back up. Take your pick. You and I are like oil and water. We don’t mix. We shouldn’t mix.”

“More like gas fumes and a lit match.”

“What?” she asked, turning to look him in the eyes.

Staring at his hands on the wheel, he whispered, “We’re more like gas fumes and a lit match. Get them anywhere near each other and they explode.” His grip tightened on the wheel.

Shaking her head at his quibbling, she said, “Whatever. I said I’m sorry, and nothing more needs to be said. Let’s just say we tried to be friends and call this one a draw.”

“A mutual loss.”

“Shut up with your correcting me. Just drive me to the corner of Main and Landon Street and I can walk home from there—”

Words froze in her throat when he turned his gaze on her. Suddenly his hands were in her hair, gripping it firmly by the roots as his lips crushed hers, sending a shockwave through her system, confusing her with the need to be held even tighter—until it hurt. She wrapped her arms around him as if clinging to a pier in a storm, about to be swept away by a tidal wave.

He released her to draw a rasping breath. “We’re not nearly done, woman. We’ve just barely gotten started.”

Craving the heat of his mouth, his taste, she couldn’t summon an argument as he yanked her over the console and crushed her to his chest. Sinking her fingers into the short hair at his nape, she held on as tightly as she could, wishing she could burrow inside of him, be held close and protected.

And what will you have when he finds out you have someone waiting for you at home? He’ll let go.

The voice of reason was like a bucket of ice water poured over her head, and she attempted to pull away from him, knowing she couldn’t allow it to continue. The sensation was intoxicating and probably addicting. There was no room in her life for the complications that came with Joseph Hazelle.

“Stop. Please,” she whispered, her lips brushing against his, sharing his breath. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“My life is already complicated enough. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” he murmured, catching her lower lip between his teeth and tugging.

“No.” She shook her head and was surprised when he gazed at her and finally nodded.

“You are a conundrum, Bunny Carrigan, I’ll grant you that much.”

“Is that a fancy way of saying I’m a bitch?” she asked, making light of the lingering tension in the compact interior of the sports car. She knew perfectly well what a conundrum was, but he needed to understand she wanted a less complicated existence where she wasn’t constantly matching wits. Needed it. She’d already had enough arguing, head games, and violence to last a lifetime.