‘Yeah, you,’ he snarled. ‘You don’t see me trying to punch anyone, do you?’
She wrestled her arm out of his grip, but as she turned to face him he backed her against the sand-washed brick of the restaurant wall.
‘You deserved it.’ She hurled the words at him,
angry that her shiver of reaction had nothing to do with the chilly sea air and everything to do with his nearness. She raised her arms to shove him away but he captured her wrists, held her hands easily by her side to hold her still.
‘Let go of me.’
‘Not until you settle down,’ he said in that firm, domineering voice that made her feel like a six-year-old.
‘How could you do that?’ she asked, her voice breaking on the accusation and making blood surge into her cheeks.
‘Do what? Ask you about Demarest?’ he replied, his face shadowed by the moonlight. ‘Because you lied to me last night.’
‘So what? I knew this was a pity date. I knew it,’ she ranted, determined that he would never know how easily he’d primed her with his let’s-get-naked hormones. She yanked her wrists free, wedged her hands against his chest.
‘A pity date! What the hell…?’
‘Oh, come on, Montoya. I knew you were patronising me. I figured you had an ulterior motive.’ How could she have lost sight of that so easily? ‘But I never thought you’d stoop that low.’ The more she thought about it, the more outraged she became. He’d taken advantage of her inexperience and her vulnerability. Just like Brad. ‘Did you learn that in cop school? How to flirt women into a coma, and then go in for the kill?’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking about how you played me.’ As if he didn’t know. ‘All those smouldering looks. All the flirtatious words and clever little touches—as if you wanted me. When we both know all you really wanted was to question me about Brad.’
‘Are you nuts?’ The rising fury and frustration in his voice made her pause for a moment. ‘You think I was faking that?’
‘I know you were,’ she shot back—not prepared to fall for the soft words and flirtatious tricks all over again. Even if the tone wasn’t all that soft now.
He swore under his breath. Then murmured, ‘To hell with this.’
Grasping her cheeks in callused palms, he slanted his lips across hers.
Shock came first, the gasp of surprise giving him the access he needed. His tongue delved into her mouth, firm and seeking and hungry. The shudder of arousal bolted down to her core. She squirmed, easing the ache against the hard wall of his chest. Rough palms trailed down, his thumb stroking the pounding pulse in her throat as he framed her face and angled her head, to take more.
The blast of need burned through her system as her tongue tangled with his. And the fast, furious exploration turned to slow, insistent strokes. He tasted delicious, the hot spice of heat and lust and man making her head spin. She reached for him, her fingers fisting in cool linen and feeling the flex of muscle beneath.
He lifted his head at last, his breathing as harsh as hers.
His hips trapped hers, and the ridge in his pants prodded her belly. ‘You think that’s fake?’ His eyes glittered in the streetlight.
She shook her head, unable to speak as her tongue had gone numb.
‘I’ve been sporting that most of the night,’ he continued. ‘Ever since you licked the salt off the rim of your first margarita.’
Iona blinked, desire unfurling in long ribbons of need.
‘It appears I may have misconstrued your motives,’ she choked out in a husky whisper.
His eyebrows shot up and then he laughed, the sound amused and arrogantly male. ‘Yeah, just a little.’ He dropped his forehead to hers, let out an unsteady breath, his thumb tracing the line of her collarbone in an absent caress. ‘I shouldn’t have made this about him. Because it’s not,’ he murmured. ‘I screwed up and I’m sorry.’
‘I accept your apology,’ she replied breathlessly, the magnificent erection cradled against her belly.
He stepped back and her eyes darted down to the bulge of their own accord.
Oh, my!
Her tongue wasn’t numb any more; it had swollen to twice its normal size—along with a few other parts of her anatomy. ‘I stand corrected. That certainly doesn’t look like pity,’ she murmured.