When she stands, the glare never disappearing from her face, I look away. My only mistake was looking down first. It’s obvious she’s not wearing a bra, and one peek at the outline of her nipples in that tank top is enough to make my cock take notice.
I clear my throat, shifting my hips so I’m half inside the small media room and half out.
“Where have you been?”
“Working.”
Her jaw clenches, hands opening and closing as if she’s trying to decide which fist to hit me with first.
“You didn’t call.” She inches closer, so close I can smell the sweet scent of her bodywash on her skin.
I’m such a weak man. God, I feel powerless when she’s this close.
“You barely texted.”
I take a step back, knowing if she gets much closer, I’m not going to be able to keep from reaching for her.
She doesn’t take the hint, and before long, she’s standing right in front of me, head tilted back so she can shoot fire in my direction.
Her honey-golden eyes are filled with anger and insolence.
“You’re a client,” I remind her, knowing damn well she’s more than that. I ignore the pain that flashes in her pretty eyes because I have to take command over this situation, again. I never should’ve lost it in the first place. “You’re not my damn girlfriend, Anna. I don’t answer to you. You’re a job. That’s it.”
Of all the things I could’ve said, this seems to hit the mark dead center. It’s what I needed to say, but I regret the last part immediately. But like pouring rain back into a cloud, it’s impossible to take back.
I expect her chin to quiver, maybe a tear to drop down her cheek, but then her lip tilts up in a sneer a single second before both of her palms shove against my chest. Unprepared for this response, I stumble back a few feet.
“A job?” she snaps before walking around me and striding down the hallway toward the bedroom. “I fucking know what I am!”
I follow her, wanting to backpedal.
“Anna.”
“No!” she hisses as she swings open the closet door. “I’m a fucking job. Dani doesn’t fucking matter to you. This is about getting paid.”
That couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Well, guess what, asshole? You’re fired!”
Uncaring of how expensive the clothes are, she begins to rip them from the hangers in the closet before tossing them all in a pile on the bed. The shoes are next, the boxes flung without concern onto the growing pile.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I snap when she disappears into the bathroom.
“Leaving.” Her arms are burdened with beauty products. They end up on top of the other things.
I grab her by her upper arms, not trying to hurt her but increasing pressure when she tries to pull away. I wasn’t prepared a few moments ago when she shoved me, but there’s no way she’ll get away from me right now unless I allow it.
“Let go of me,” she seethes through clenched teeth. She jerks so hard, I know if she keeps it up she’s going to hurt herself.
In three steps, I have her pinned to the wall. She glares at my chest, refusing to look up at me.
“You’ll stay where you’re safe, and that’s final.”
She lifts her chin, finally looking up at me even if it is to glare. Her jaw unhinges, and I know I’m seconds away from getting every ire this fiery Italian can manage.
“Don’t open your damn mouth unless it’s to—”
I snap my jaw shut, blaming her proximity, the angry inhales and exhales of her breath pressing her breasts against me, and the pressure of her thighs against my own, on what I was about to say.
“Unless what?” she snaps.
Maybe it’s the pink in her cheeks. Maybe it’s the way her lip quivers as she waits for my answer. Maybe, just maybe it’s the fact that Annalise Grimaldi has driven me crazy with her attitude one too many times.
Or, maybe it’s because I can just no longer resist her.
Instead of letting her go, instead of taking a step back and telling her to go about her merry damn way, I inch closer, hovering my lips over hers until her breath becomes my own.
“Deacon,” she whispers, but it’s not a warning like it should be. It’s a plea, her way of begging me to come just an inch closer.
It should’ve been what made me snap back to reality, but all it does is make me want her more.
I slam my mouth against hers, partly because I can no longer resist the need to know what her lips feel like against mine, but mostly because I’m pissed that I don’t have the strength to step away.
She moans, the perfect sound rushing past her parted lips. I slip my tongue inside, my body nearly seizing when she presses her own forward. My fingers tangle in her silky hair as I tilt her head to the perfect angle for me to dive all the way in. Breathing becomes impossible. Thinking took a long hike off a steep cliff.