His smirk was smug. “Perhaps.”
Because I look like her?The thought should have been enough to sober this irrational desire building inside me. It wasn’t. In fact, I could feel my resolve crumbling. I wanted him. “If we have sex, it will be on my terms.”
“When,” he corrected with a devilish look.
Need throbbed between my legs. It was unbearable because I knew exactly what I was denying myself. I blinked. “What?”
“Whenwe have sex, Firefly. Notif, because you and I, it's inevitable.”
Cocky son of a bitch. He was so fucking sure of himself. “Is this whole thing some elaborate ploy to have sex with me?”
The playfulness vanished from his eyes as if I’d just slapped him across the face. His irises were dark and grim. The swift change in them took me by surprise. “I don’t need to trick a girl into sleeping with me,” he stated.
I realized what I had implied and how sore of a nerve that must have hit for him. No, Brock was not Carter. Not even fucking close. They weren’t even on the same playing field, and I wanted to tell him that, but I couldn’t, not without risking the secret I’d sworn to keep. I wouldn’t betray my promise to Mads, even to soothe the churning storm in Brock’s eyes.
But I knew another way to calm the turmoil within him.
Taking a long swig from my drink, I set it aside next to the forgotten book. I couldn’t even remember its title. I stood up. “No, you don’t,” I agreed, my gaze fastened to his.
His aqua eyes were cloudy as I walked to him. I didn’t know how I knew, but I just felt it. He needed me as much as I needed him. We were both suffering, and for one goddamn night, we both could lose ourselves. It was one night. I wouldn’t lose my soul or my heart in one single night.
This meant nothing.
One night.
That’s what I told myself.
But as I stopped just inches from him, my fingers reaching out to take the glass from his hand, I knew once wouldn’t be enough. Not for either of us. We wouldn’t be leaving his room the entire weekend… if we made it there at all.
“So, what do you want to do?”
The sound of his husky voice nearly was my undoing. Instant lust. I might not have a thing for jocks, but I did have a thing for troubled guys. The more fucked-up they were, the more I wanted them.
And I wanted the ever-loving shit out of Brock Taylor. Right now.
I dipped two of my fingers into the glass, swirling the liquid before lifting them to run along his lips. His mouth parted as he licked my fingers, tasting the bourbon there, and then he took them between his teeth.
Desire flared throughout me.
I lost all rationality. I was caught up in him, and there was no turning back.
Setting the glass on the fireplace mantel, I removed my fingers from his mouth, letting my hand fall to his bare chest. My eyes never left his as I ran my nails down the length of muscle to the flatness of his stomach. He sucked in a sharp breath when I skimmed over the low waistband. I tilted my head to the side, enraptured by the whirlwind of need gleaming in his eyes.
Screw it.
Or screw him was more appropriate.
One night. Then, after the weekend, my resolve would be rock hard.
Kind of like his abs.
Dear God, what was he made of?
My heart pounded as he caught my wrist.
I smirked.
Chapter Twenty