“Because you’re so stareable. Don’t do that,” she insisted, no,imploredwhen he stiffened, his eyes going glacial. Frustration stormed inside her, releasing in a sharp clap of laughter. “This is ridiculous. The ability to communicate is literally in my job description but I seem to fuck it up with you.” She huffed out a breath, shaking her head. “You should grant me leeway because you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. And you—all of you—” she waved her hand up and down “—are a lot.”
“A lot of what?” His body didn’t loosen; his face remained shuttered. But that voice...
She shivered. Her breath caught. Her breasts swelled. Her thighs squeezed. Was it possible to orgasm from a voice alone? She might be the test case.
“A lot of—” she spread out her arms the length of his shoulders “—mass. A lot of attitude.” She exhaled, her hands dropping to her thighs. “A lot of beauty,” she murmured with a tremble she hated but couldn’t erase. “A lot of pride. A lot of...” Fire. Darkness. Danger. Shelter.
Passion. So much passion. And sex. A promise of hot, burn-her-alive-and-leave-nothing-but-ashes sex.
Her fingers curled into her palm.
“A lot of intensity,” she finished.
Achilles stared at her. And she fought not to fidget under his hooded gaze. Struggled to remain still as he leaned forward. That tantalizing, woodsy scent beckoned her closer.
“Mycah, come here.”
She should be rebelling; she should be stiffening in offense at that rumbled order. Should be. But no. Instead, a weight she hadn’t consciously been aware of tumbled off her shoulders. Allowing her to breathe deeper...freer. Because as Achilles gripped the lapel of her jacket and drew her closer, wrinkling the silk, he also slowly peeled away Mycah Hill, the business executive who carried the responsibilities of several departments... Mycah Hill, the eldest daughter of Laurence and Cherise Hill, who bore the burden of their financial irresponsibility and unrealistic expectations.
In their place stood Mycah, the vulnerable woman who wanted to let go. Whocouldlet go. Just this once.
So as he reeled her in, she went willingly, until their faces hovered barely an inch apart. Until their breaths mingled. Until the fire from his bright gaze heated her skin.
This close, she glimpsed the faint smattering of freckles across the tops of his lean cheeks and the high bridge of his nose. The light cinnamon spots should’ve detracted from the sensual brutality of his features. But they didn’t. In an odd way, they enhanced it.
Had her wanting to dot each one with the tip of her tongue.
“What?” she whispered.
“Say it again.” He released her jacket and trailed surprisingly gentle fingers up her throat. “I want to find out for myself what the lie tastes like on your mouth.”
Lust flashed inside her, hot, searing. Consuming.
God, she liked it.
If she wasn’t careful, she could easily come to crave it.
“Do you still think I’m slumming it?” she murmured.
Achilles stared at her. “I don’t care.”
She blinked, not certain how she felt about that answer. “Why?”
“Because.” He didn’t remove his gaze from hers as he lifted a hand to her lips, stroked a thumb across the bottom one. “I want be buried inside here.” He pressed against her. Hard. “I want to get lost in there.” His eyes flicked down to her thighs. Between them. “I want that more than I dislike your...suit.”
No manhad ever talked to her like that. And his words hurled kindling on the inferno already burning inside her. She wasn’t a stranger to men. Even enjoyed them. But never had she felt so desired. No, that didn’t describe this. Never had she felt sovital. As if she were as necessary to him as food, as water...as oxygen.
She knew what she looked like. Knew what she brought to the table. Also knew her connections, her name, her pedigree were as much an enticement as her face or her body. Sometimes even more so.
Yet this man wanted her in spite of those trappings. Those...albatrosses.
That deepened her hunger for him.
She didn’t analyze it. Just accepted it.
More than that. She ached for it.
“So... Am I closing out tabs here or what?”
