“I doubt that. He wants to sleep with me. He’s thinking with his manhood and little else,” Penelope said.
Phoebe didn’t look like she believed that. “Let’s look at the facts.” She held up a finger to count of her points. “You and he had something happen a few years back. You refuse to tell me what happened but I’m willing to bet that at least a kiss happened. Since then, neither of you have been with anyone else. You fight when you see each other, and you said so yourself—he wants you. So while you may not be holding out for him, he is for you, dearie.”
“How positively uplifting,” Penelope muttered. Things were looking more dismal than ever.
On the other side of the dance hall, not far from Penelope’s dressing room, music echoed in full swing as the smaller ballet troupe performed. Tarina Mey, her boss and an incredible dancer in her own right, would be getting on stage to perform her number with the accompanying troupe any minute now. Penelope finished the last dab of lipstick to complete her exotic makeup for tonight’s show.
Bam, bam!
Two hard knocks sounded. Both of them jumped at the sound; Phoebe answered the door.
All the oxygen in the room was sucked out in a vacuum as Ryon Ward filled her doorway. The last time she’d seen him she’d left him with an erection—and on the verge of orgasm. Tonight he looked incredible: dark, scowling, and intense. Even his hands looked ready to curl into fists—or maybe into her hair as they had yesterday. Her stomach twittered anxiously.
Phoebe looked back and forth between them then her eyebrows slowly rose. “Well, I should be going. I came to see Tarina’s performance anyway. Talk to you later,” she said to no one in particular. Ryon stepped to the side to let her pass, then closed the door behind her.
Once more it became quiet, so much quieter with only Ryon in the room with her. He silenced the world around them so that she could only focus on him. Tension could be felt flowing chaotically between them. His eyes trailed down her body then back up. Heat sparked in his eyes.
For some reason she felt the need to say something— anything to clear the silence. “I-I’m about to go on soon. I have to go.”
He took two steps toward her. The crowded dressing room didn’t leave much space for the general’s larger-than-life presence. He looked like he wanted to take her over his knee. Not that she had a problem with that, under certain occasions. She found the whole idea rather wicked, actually.
“Not yet,” he said. “We need to talk.”
And like that, at the reminder of the Claiming, her arousal shriveled up like an old prune. “No, thank you,” she said brusquely. “You need to leave so I can finish getting ready.”
“You look ready to me.” His eyes scoured her once more making her flush hotly.
“Be that as it may, I still am not ready. Now leave.”
“Finish getting ready while I’m here because I’m not going anywhere, Pen.” He crossed his arms across his broad chest.
There it was again, the nickname which never ceased to suck the breath right from her.
“Insufferable man…” She looked back over her makeup and costume, but she already knew she was ready and didn’t have anything else to do—but to face Ryon.
“We left off last night in an awkward place,” he said. He sounded unsure of himself. It was the first time she’d ever heard him like this and it caught her attention.
“Is that how you’d describe it?”
“We never finished discussing the Claiming.”
Her heart froze a beat in fear. “I can’t discuss this. Not now!” She had a show to do. She couldn’t dance with thoughts of Ryon or of her claiming or of this weekend. There were too many questions and worries to deal with. She much preferred to ignore it.
He stopped before her, coming too far into her personal space. “Yes, now,” he insisted. “I’ll be at the arena this weekend. I will fight for you, Pen. And I will win. Do you understand what that means?”
He was so close she could smell him. His masculine scent was heaven to her senses like rich, heady sex. So potent was his scent she had to fight the urge to drift forward and bury her face in his shirt.
“You’re not looking at me,” he said angrily. “Are you even listening to me?” He grabbed her by the shoulders. His touch didn’t hurt but it did startle her into looking up at him.
It was a mistake to look at him. Now, only a breath of air separated them. Her breasts grazed his chest. His gaze dipped down to her mouth—and stayed there.
“Ryon…I need to know.” She licked her dry lips, his eyes tracking the movement with predatory regard. Her voice pitched low to mimic her mood. “When you went home last night did you think about me? And what we did?” She boldly pressed her hips against his.