Power and Possession(21)
She abruptly halted. “Sorry.”
The silence was thick with indecision and bafflement.
Rafe’s nostrils flared, then he said slowly, “I don’t like feeling this way.”
She could have said, what you don’t like is actually feeling something, anything. But she understood his dilemma. The difference was she didn’t mind feeling something new and different. “Would it help if I left in the morning? That way we could take advantage of this crazy attraction between us—enjoy it, have some fun.” She looked up into his shuttered gaze. “Then go our separate ways tomorrow. Would that work for you? No strings attached, no untoward feelings, just us getting off a few times.”
As the silence lengthened, she said, “Maybe some other time then,” and turned to get her shirt. She’d never begged for sex; she wasn’t about to start. Call it pride, female power, fucking hot-tempered crankiness. And whatever his problem was, she suspected it was beyond the simple remedy of a night of sex with her. Too bad. He was insanely hot.
He watched her walk the few feet to where she’d dropped her shirt, pick it up, put it on, and then move toward the bedroom door.
Nicole’s hand was on the latch when Rafe said, “Wait.”
But she didn’t wait. She opened the door and walked out into the hall.
“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?” he called out.
In reply he heard her footsteps receding down the corridor.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Now what?
By the time he made up his mind, she was already out of sight. Racing down the corridor, he saw her as he reached the top of the staircase. Swiftly descending the wide, carpeted steps in great leaps, he scooped her up in his arms just as she reached the bottom of the flight. “You can’t leave,” he said, turning swiftly and moving back up the stairs. “I don’t know why, but you can’t.”
“Want me to tell you why?” Although seriously, she’d need a degree in psychotherapy.
“No.”
Typical male introspection. “Do I get a fuck at least? Hey”—she gave his chin a sharp snap with her thumb and middle finger—“look at me.”
His amber eyes glowed like flame. “The fucking’s guaranteed, babe.”
“I’m not your babe,” she said tartly. “I’m not anyone’s babe.”
“You are right now,” he growled, beginning to travel down the long hallway. “For as long as I say you are. And the way I’m feeling, it’s gonna last a while.”
“Well, if that’s the case, wiseass,” she said, pissy and hot-tempered, not in the mood to fold without considerable compensation, “I’m going to need that apology.”
“Or?” A narrow-eyed glare.
“Or you won’t enjoy the fucking.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“Jesus, is that supposed to frighten me?” Her voice was all sass and insolence; she was intrinsically unafraid. A character trait like that of her uncle Dominic, whom she’d challenged since childhood. “You might want to think about saving your unprotected dick from my retribution instead of threatening me.”
He suddenly smiled. “Retribution? That’s cute.” Entering the bedroom, he pushed the door shut with his shoulder.
“Whether it’s cute is for me to know and you to find out.”
He came to a stop in the middle of the room and looked at her with a small frown. “Christ, you’re mouthy.”
“Yeah. So?”
“So I should kick you the hell out.”
“Go for it. You could go fuck that bitch from Rome.” At his sudden grin, she said, “What?” when she already knew the answer.
“I don’t want to fuck her.” The warmth in his eyes had nothing to do with temper. “We both know what I want to do. So if it helps, I apologize.”
“Accepted.”
He lifted one brow.
She wrinkled her nose, then smiled. “I apologize too. I’m guessing you’re going to be worth an apology or two.”
“It depends on how you feel about continuous sex,” he said pleasantly.
Her smile was mischievous. “Wow, you’re that good?”
“You can let me know in the morning.”
“So all the stories are true.”
Unabashed by the insinuation, he said, “Fuck the stories. This is different; we’re different.” He grinned. “Mostly you’re different. I’ve never stopped anyone from walking away before. I usually would have been out the door first. But with you, I can’t even visualize the end game.”
“That decision’s not just up to you.” That voice of female power was persistent, or perhaps just on call twenty-four/seven.