Pitch Imperfect(39)

Her voice came out in a whisper. “Can’t we agree to forget about the past?”

Their eyes met and she was caught as inescapably as the heron’s prey, hanging on Rob’s answer as if hearing it would somehow loosen his stranglehold on her mind and body.





Chapter Nine

Rob tightened his hands around Anjuli’s waist. Her full lips were parted and trembling. Inviting. He’d wanted to kiss her since he’d seen her on the sofa and he wanted to kiss her now, to caress her until she was hot and willing. Until the thought of any other man was wiped from her mind. But if he kissed her now he wouldn’t stop; he would pull up her skirt and wrap her naked thighs around his hips...

He was a fucking mess.

Anjuli’s breathing was shallow, her eyes glazed with passion, reminding him of what she looked like when she was underneath him. On top. Blood that should have been pumping into his brain pumped into his cock, overpowering the voice of reason. He didn’t want to talk about the past or the house; he wanted to make love to her. Thrust into her sweetness and hear her moan in pleasure.

He pressed his hips into her body and her eyes widened with something that looked like panic. Or fear. The Anjuli he’d known would have stomped on his toe, punched him or slapped him at the very least. Was she so desperate for Castle Manor to be restored that she’d allow him to hold her against her will? Something inside his chest twisted at the thought, urging him to erase the worry from her face and reassure her that he would do whatever she wanted.

Shit. What happened to casual sex and walking away?

An angry, perverse part of him enjoyed having the upper hand. She needed him. He could have her in his bed, slake his desire and then call an end to it. She wouldn’t even care, despite her outward offence at his sexual overtures. She was hardened, he reminded himself, used to living a lifestyle he neither understood nor agreed with.

He cupped her bottom and her hazel eyes turned green. The same dark, alluring shade he saw when he made her come. No matter what she’d said in London, she wanted him. He knew it as solidly as the feel of her body, trembling in his arms. His head spun, and for a moment he was dizzy with elation. “We’ll no’ forget the past until we have sex, and plenty of it,” he said thickly. “You want me to make love to you.”

Her mouth fell open. “You...I do not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous is trying to deny that you want me so much you’re trembling, or that you wanted me in London.”

“Get over yourself.”

He smiled and tightened his hand around her full cheek, enjoying the way her breath sped up when she felt his arousal. “You used to have better comebacks.”

“I never used to need comebacks with you.”

“And you never used to lie about your desire.”

Her mouth set into a stubborn line. “I used you to forget Brendan and that was the extent of it.”

Instant, blinding rage shot through him. Why was she insisting she didn’t want him? He wasn’t a violent man, but he wanted to punch the wall and shatter the glass. Or better, punch the man she’d been married to, the man she’d pretended to want instead of him. Because he was sure of it, now. B.R. Kavon hadn’t been in her head or her heart that night, not the way she’d looked at him like she used to, right before he entered her. He crushed Anjuli against his crotch so tightly she gasped.

“It was my mouth you clung to and my cock you begged for,” he reminded her.

“I was drunk, remember, and you took advantage,” she accused.

Rob stiffened as if she’d dealt him a blow. He loosened his hold, but she didn’t move away, staring up at him with the same panicked fear he’d seen before. Did she believe he was the type of man who preyed on inebriated women? God damn it. Why hadn’t he kept his dick under control that night? He cursed himself for giving in to his desire, remembering how heavily she’d come on to him. And how drunk she’d been.

Fuck, but she’d made him hot, and she was doing it again now. He cupped her heaving breast, brushing her rigid nipple with his thumb, wanting her to remember how much she’d begged for his touch. She let out a soft, involuntary gasp, filling him with possessive, savage pleasure. Anjuli may have had sex with him in London because she was drunk, but she wasn’t drunk now.

“I could have you on the sofa right now if I wanted,” he said.

Mrs. P. tsked from the doorway and they jumped apart.

“That would be awfully messy, my dear, and I think the sofa would stain. It is black, you know. Then the cleaners would gossip, and we wouldn’t want that. The desk is a much better place for sex. Nice and hard, and such a lovely view.”