'You really go for the jugular, don't you?' he drawled with ominous restraint. Sarah knew she should apologise but pride imprisoned her tongue. He shouldn't have started asking personal questions.
'Regretting your agreement already?' His mockery was the last straw, and Sarah took from him the one weapon with which she could strike back with impunity.
'What agreement?' she said coldly and turned to pick up her bag from the chair.
Although she had been half expecting something it was a shock to feel his hand lock around her wrist and pull her back to face him.
'You're not going b
ack on your word,' he told her tightly.
'I didn't give you my word.'
'As near as dammit!' He jerked her so that she stumbled, nearly crying out from the pain in her wrist. Those elegant-looking hands had the strength of the devil. He looked as if he wanted to hit her almost as much as she wanted to hit him. 'I'm warning you, Sarah, don't push me.'
'Don't push you!' she exploded, her temper past flashpoint. 'How can you push a juggernaut? Why don't you just go away and leave me alone!'
'I can hardly do that now, I'm in too deep,' he said tautly, and then, considering her animated face and splendidly blazing eyes, uttered with studious insolence. 'Fascinating, you look quite vivacious for once. Want to go one further and take a swing at me?'
She had never wanted anything as much in her life! Sarah lashed out in fury, catching him on the side of the forehead with her tightly clenched fist. His hold slackened enough for her to pull away and dart towards the door, her bag forgotten.
Before she had got three steps he was there in front of her, grabbing her forearms, pinching the flesh between rigid fingers. There was a flush on the high cheekbones and for the first time she saw him fighting for control of his temper. They glared at each other until Sarah, her anger still undiminished, began to struggle.
'Let me go, you're hurting me.'
'Not half as much as I'd like to,' he ground out, tightening his grip until she whitened.
'I didn't mean to hit you,' she gasped. 'You shouldn't have invited me to.'
‘I didn't know you were going to take me up on it. Not the shatterproof Mrs. Carter. Your self-control isn't what I thought it was.'
'Nor is yours. You're hurting me.' He didn't loosen his grip and a yellow light smouldered in the hazel eyes, promising retribution.
'Well, at least you got it out of your system. You've been dying to do that since we first met!' 'It was your fault.'
'Oh no, don't unload your neuroses on me. If you weren't so emotionally stunted you wouldn't have been so bloody hostile in the first place.'
'There's no need to swear,' she said automatically, her mind functioning on its lowest level. He had a fluent command of the language that rendered swearing obsolete and made his use of it sound doubly vicious.
'I don't suppose you ever do that, do you? You prefer foulness by implication. Very civilised of you.'
'Civilised is the last thing I'd call you!'
'Then you won't be surprised if I act the savage,' he snarled and shook her hard, until her head fell back and the predatory mouth swooped and fastened on her trembling one in a grinding, relentless travesty of a kiss.
The assault was bruising, insulting in its intensity; the pain in her arms and the soft inner surfaces of her mouth as they were crushed against her teeth excruciating. He meant to punish, to humiliate and subdue, and he succeeded. Although she clamped her mouth shut against the angry invasion she was agonisingly aware of being completely at his mercy. His strength was overpowering, never before had she been so conscious of her physical vulnerability as a woman and her mind sheered off in panic at the thought of what he could do if he chose to exercise the privilege of his strength.
She would have tried to cry out but she didn't dare open her mouth. She wanted to beg him to stop but she couldn't find the breath. He was holding her tight, so tight she could feel his heart pounding against her crushed breasts like a trip-hammer. She was helpless, she couldn't breathe, she was suffocating, she could taste blood on her tongue, she could feel. . . oh, God, she could feel. . .
As suddenly as he had swooped he lifted his head, the yellow light gone from his eyes to be replaced by one she couldn't identify. But she could identify the sudden uncoiling in the pit of her stomach, the smooth, heavy shift. Dazedly she shook her head in repudiation. How could she have felt anything but pain and fear?
'That has the distinction of being a first for me,' he murmured huskily into her confused face. 'I've never kissed a woman in anger before, at least not in genuine anger.'
Her treacherous imagination wondered briefly what dangerous, exciting love games this man might play when aroused. Perhaps he sensed the thought because his hands loosened their hold and the deep, dark pupils of his eyes seemed to expand into her mind.
'I expected you to use some of that athletic ability of yours against me.' He let his fingers trail over the marks his grip had left on her arms and felt her tremble. 'But you didn't.'
'I. . .' She hadn't even tried, she realised, just accepted his strength as superior without testing it . . . without wanting to. And where had her anger gone? She should be furious with him for mauling her. 'You didn't give me time ...' she began weakly as his hands slid up to her shoulders. He smiled, an enticing, sexy smile that warmed his face from within and he pulled her towards him again, slowly, gently.