“For one thing.”
“And we haven’t talked about…” She glanced away. “Anything.”
“We will,” he promised.
“And this is all a sham.” She fluttered her hand between them.
“For now.” If she caught his mumbled words, she didn’t show it.
“But I wasn’t expecting to come home to you and your stupid sexy glasses, because you’ve been gone for three days straight.”
That’s what this really was about. She was angry at him for leaving—because he’d left before, and their world had upended. He should tell her why, tell her where he’d been and what he’d been doing. But that might also make it worse.
“You know,” she said, eyeing him suggestively. “Angry sex is the best sex.”
Christ, his fingertips were tingling. He was so ready to rip the red excuse for a dress off her body. He’d take her up against the wall, and make it so good for her. His body was at full attention, his cock screaming at him to do as she was asking. “We’ve never had angry sex, Luciana.”
When the anger came, there’d been no sex at all. Only silence.
Lucy leaned in, red lips pouting. “There’s always a first time.”
There was absolutely no way he could continue this conversation, not when she was eating him alive. A one-eighty was required. “How about a shower?”
“Together?”
“No, Lucy. Just you. Alone.”
Laughter rolled out of her completely without humor, and when she advanced, every muscle in his body tensed. “You want me to take a shower all by myself, Joel?” she purred as she edged closer, brushing her body to his, leaning in as her lips touched his jawline. “Will you be out here thinking of me under the steaming water? Naked and wet.”
If she was trying to prove a point, she’d made it when she’d first entered the apartment. He wanted her. He’d never stopped.
“Luciana,” he groaned. She was so close the scent of her made his mouth water.
“Mmm,” she moaned. “I love when you say my name like that. Like I’m a sin that you want to commit.” She looked up at him, her eyes suddenly shiny and vulnerable, the mask falling off. “Do you remember how it was, Joel? Between us?”
He caught her by the shoulders and dragged himself away. His control had been frayed since she walked back into his life, and now it was snapping. “You know I do. I remember every fucking second in vivid detail. The minute I left, I wanted to come back. But it’s not about me, it’s you. It’s always been you, Lucy.” He held her gaze prisoner until he was sure the words had absorbed into every brain cell. “And that’s why you’re going to go take a long shower before you tuck yourself into bed.”
Of all the reactions he expected from her, the livid anger flashing through her eyes was not one of them.
“Fine, Joel Morgan. You sit out here like a good boy and suffer your blue balls for the sake of your pride. I’ll be in my room.”
With a decisive twirl away from him, she sashayed down the hall toward her bedroom like she was on a mission.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
What was it about honorable men that made her blood boil? On paper, Joel was perfect. Rich, powerful, competent, among many other things. He held a silent gravity that everyone respected and was drawn to.
But there’d been a cost. Perfection was his biggest flaw, and he’d created a lonely world for himself. He was always thinking of what was best for others, living his life making sure everyone else was happy.
Once upon a time she’d cracked that veneer, seen him take what he wanted and needed. Then it vanished almost as quickly as it came, and he’d gone back to being the immaculate version of himself. The version that couldn’t hurt anybody.
The fool was too honorable for his own good. He’d totally killed her buzz. Why did he have to send a car for her, or wait up, wearing those stupid sexy glasses, no less? How dare he turn her on when she was mad at him. It was infuriating.
Damn his moral compass. If he could only see her now rummaging through her suitcase for the vibrator she’dpacked. Fricking glasses. Fricking jaw flex. Fricking gorgeous, reasonable man.
The silicone vibrator was tucked discreetly in an inside pocket, a trusted travel companion. Using it didn’t usually result in anything dramatic, but the way her lust raced through her now, like a firecracker ready to go off, she wondered if she should find a way to gag herself to keep from screaming.
She moved to the mirrored dresser. Maybe there was a tie or something she could use. But when she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she faltered. Hours later, the magic Brit, Nat, Vanessa, and the crew at the salon had worked was still breathtaking—even to her self-critical eyes. The dress her sister let her borrow, the hair, the make-up, the desire heightening the color on her cheekbones.
