His palms coursed down my arms so he could pick them up and sling them over his shoulders, forcing me to hang them around his neck. His smile was brilliant.
“I thought you were pissed about what we did. What I did.”
“What? No, I—” He distracted me by planting his lips on mine, and I turned to the side. He didn’t seem to care. His mouth continued to find places to kiss me. My voice was hushed. “I liked it a lot.”
His words dripped with seduction. With persuasion. To emphasize his request, his hands trapped my waist. “So, stay.”
“I just told you, I can’t.” Yet I made no effort to escape from him.
His eyes gleamed with arrogance. “If you feel like you can’t handle it, that’s fine.”
The asshole was challenging me on purpose, and his words made my face grow hot. I bit back my knee-jerk reaction, which would have been telling him I could handle anything he threw at me.
It was good I didn’t say it. It would have been a lie.
I centered myself and plastered on a smile. “Okay, thanks for understanding.”
He so rarely gave himself away, it was a treat when his expression turned into a scowl. I hadn’t given him the answer he expected. Would he try to talk his way into getting what he wanted?
I’d do everything to make that impossible. I moved quickly to my pants and retrieved them from the floor. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Stop.”
He used the same tone from before, the absolute one which made me want to do anything he said. Since my back was turned, he didn’t see my eyes fall shut, but he had to have seen my shudder.
“You don’t want to spend the night,” he continued, “that’s fine. But you’ll have a conversation with me first. Don’t just fuck me and leave.”
Chapter
TWENTY-THREE
Holy shit. My eyes went wide and I spun to face Kyle. He looked pissed at himself that he’d said it, because it revealed a lot. Did he still believe the lies I’d left on his voicemail, saying he was just a good fuck and he’d been nothing more to me?
“I wasn’t—” I tried to defend myself, but his angry eyes accused.
Wait a minute. What was he playing at here? Why tell me we couldn’t have a relationship and then demand I act like we were in one?
“You don’t make any sense,” I said, more to myself.
He stormed over, wrapped his arms around my waist once again, and lifted me. “That’s your fault. You cause it.”
Was he drunk? This was the most he’d ever let his guard down with me. And . . . oh my God. Was this because of the scene we’d just done? I’d given him my trust tonight. Was he attempting to do the same now?
I wrapped my legs around his hips and held on as he laid me down on the bed. If I was going to curl up beside him in his bed, he needed to concede something as well. At least it seemed like now was the perfect time to get what I wanted.
I waited until he had us positioned with our heads on the pillows, the sheets over us, and his arm around me like he used to do when we were together. “What happened in New York?”
His shoulders tensed.
“Hey,” I said. “You wanted to have a conversation. Seems fair I get to pick the topic.”
He was silent for ages. He didn’t look at me, he just stared vacantly over my shoulder, as if he could wait me out.
“This conversation is fascinating, counselor,” I said, “but I think I better get going.”
He locked his arm tight, preventing me from leaving his side, and his focus came back to me. “Sharon wanted a ring.”
“Ah,” I said. “She gave you an ultimatum.” Was this Sharon an idiot? Kyle wouldn’t like that. And why would anyone want to force a proposal, anyway?