‘I was trying to be friendly. Women always complain about their husbands.’
It was another thing she and Anna laughed about. It had been such a long time since she’d laughed about anything.
‘Anyhow, I read somewhere it’s something men think about. Often.’
‘Perhaps you need a lesson in what men think about.’
The low growl of warning made her shiver in anticipation. She glanced at the huge bed. The soft pillows. Crisp white sheets.
Thea turned back to him. ‘There’s nothing I want to learn from you.’
‘Are you sure?’ he asked softly. ‘If you change your mind, all you have to do is ask. Nicely.’
‘Your vain hope’s begun to delude you. My presence is obviously a bad influence.’
That tight band in her chest gripped her again. Pressing harder. She needed to get out of here. To breathe something more than the scent of him, which curled through her with every inhalation and lit fires inside.
‘May I go now?’
He shrugged. ‘If you want.’
She stood. He watched, as if he’d assessed her and found her wanting. Like her father. But she could do this. If he found Alexis, everything would be worth it. She grabbed her book and made for the door.
‘Thea.’
The cold command in his voice stopped her.
‘No woman I’m sleeping with leaves my room looking like you do.’
A superior smile played on his lips. She wanted to wipe it from his face.
‘And how’s that?’
‘So completely untouched.’
Was this simply a terrible game to entertain a bored rich man? Her blood pumped hard and hot. She tossed her book and pen on a table. Tipped her head upside down and scratched her fingers through her hair till it was a tangled mess. Wiped her palm roughly across her lips so the gloss smeared.
‘There. Better?’ she sneered, hands on hips. ‘Or should I tear my clothes as well?’
His lips narrowed a fraction in displeasure. Excellent. Some hint that she’d affected him.
Thea whipped round to leave. She didn’t hear the silent footsteps marking his approach. Only sensed his heat as he moved close. She turned, her back against the cool wood of the door, tipping her head up to look at him. She was trapped by his devilish lips, the slash of high cheekbones. And his eyes... Sparkling and shimmering, like water in sunlight. Angry. Arresting.
She couldn’t move. His perfect fingers teased along her jaw, slipping down her throat and behind her head. An exquisite burn was left by his touch. She knew he could snap her. Break her like a twig. But the languid softness in his eyes said nothing of anger or hurting.
Another hand settled on her waist. Hot. Possessive. The atmosphere took on a life of its own. Trembling with the spark between them. His thumb traced the line of her lower lip. A whisper of a caress. Setting her body alight. The world blurred and her lips parted as if there would never be enough air to breathe.
He drew her close and she pressed into him. Hands on his chest. Liquid heat between her thighs. She should push him away, but those muscles under her palms... Sculpted. Like stone. Every morsel of
him was too male, too much.
His mouth dropped to hers and her mind blanked. She breathed the scent of him, cool and crisp like the mountains, full of wild thyme and rosemary and pine. His lips coaxed. Encouraged. Probed. Too gentle for this man. She fought not to succumb, but his hold on her and his wicked mouth dragged her under. She’d give everything for the feel of his tongue as it explored and danced with hers.
His hand was in her hair, the hardness contrasting with his gentle lips. And the seduction of it drizzled over her like honey. Drowning her in its sticky sweetness. The dark, luscious kiss deepened and took her into the abyss. Her control shredded, ripped away as her body thrummed with primal need.
She wrapped her arms around his neck. Pulled him down. If she was to drown, he’d drown right with her. And as she fell into the intoxicating rhythm of their breaths and lips and tongues he pulled back.
She gasped. Christo turned her, his arms banding her waist. Holding her upright because she’d fall if he didn’t. His lips at her ear. And she looked in the mirror opposite, saw herself. A wanton creature she didn’t recognise. With wild hair and passion-drugged eyes. Red moist lips and her chest heaving. Her nipples tight and proud against the soft knit fabric of her top.